Practice night
Late night practices during on-again, off-again pandemic restrictions — life of a hockey and ringette mom in Canada
It’s dark but mild. The wind, remnants of that destructive Kentucky tornado, swept away all the white Christmassy snow.
I sit in my jacket but without my winter coat in the driver’s seat of my twenty year old car.
I can see the arena from my vantage point.
Under my behind I placed a green pillow, the same one I lug into the arena to help cushion my butt from the cold cement bleachers rink-side. This is an older arena. Only the new complexes have plastic seats and functioning heaters up above.
I never used to sit in the car during practices. Before covid, I would come and go as I pleased, sit here, stand there, mingle or not, leave and come back at a moment’s notice.
Now? Too many rules.
Too many arrows.
Not enough toilet paper in the stalls.
I prefer to sit in my car in peace, surrounded by darkness and nothingness.
And silence.
I think about stuff.
I think of my kid inside the arena, tying her laces, getting coached, excited to hit the ice.
