There are some things in this world that just shouldn't go together. Spinach and ice cream. And ice skates and guns.
We drove to Grand Rapids for Thanksgiving this year, giving thanks for the ability to spend the holiday with our family without the hassle and expense of flying. After the Thanksgiving festivities were over, we planned to meet friends in Chicago for a night. While the trip to the windy city was planned at the last minute, ice skating was a key component of the weekend's festivities.
Now that we live in snowy Michigan, I thought it was the perfect time to unearth my ice skates from my parents' garage. After suggesting that idea to my Mom, I learned that the ice skates were, in fact, sold at a garage sale years ago. So much for childhood memories! And while Steve insists that we move his inline skates from one side of the country to another, he has never owned ice skates.
That meant both of us were in the market for new skates in advance of our much anticipated Chicago ice skating adventure. And where better to find them than Rylee's Hardware on Michigan Street in Grand Rapids. After all, it's where I always purchased my skates as a kid.
What I never remembered about Rylee's (and this is probably a good thing) is that the innocence of ice skates and sleds is interrupted by case and cases of guns. Hand guns. Rifles. Other guns. In fact, to get my ice skates sharpened, I had to wait at the gun counter while all around me were men in hunting gear, talking about their hunting conquests.
And yet, through all the trauma of standing at a gun counter for 15 minutes listening to stories of blood and guts, I got a great deal on a pair of ice skates. In fact, I think they are better than the ice skates my Mom sold years ago. Just don't tell her.
We happened to have a great time ice skating in Chicago. The weather cooperated, the skates were fairly comfortable and the only thing forcing us to quit was the rough ice.
I'll admit that the trauma of the gun counter lasted only a short time. And it makes for a pretty funny story, particularly in the "welcome to Michigan" spirit. But I still stick by my assertion: some things just don't mix.
