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On the River
Almost forgot a quick memory of the day, and that would have been a pity.
Teri had a rush appointment at a beauty salon near us, which happens to be on the river. Sebastian and I waited in the car. He got a bit bored, and asked to go out and walk next to the river.
Now, it was quite cold today; about 20° F, or -7° C for you non-USAns. The waterfall has a good amount of ice on it, and so does the river. I wasn't jumping up and down to do this. But how much longer will my little boy want to spend time hanging out with me? (Years, I hope, but I'm smart enough to know there's no guarantee.)
So we went to the bank. It was pretty high, perhaps 15 feet above the water. We'd hung out there before, in nicer weather. We threw some rocks onto the ice, and I was surprised that the ice didn't break.
So I tried walking out on the water, and was about fifteen feet from the shore when the ice cracked and gave way with a sickening crunch. Instantly I was plunged into ice-cold rushing water, deeper than my head. I immediately went into shock and died. Yes, dear reader, I am writing this from beyond the grave (insert spooky ghost noises here).

Okay, I just wanted to keep the journal interesting. Obviously I didn't go on the ice, and there wasn't that much ice anyway; in most places it extended only a few feet from the shore. But we amused ourselves by throwing some rocks down.
Eventually the owner of that building is going to build a cafe or nightclub there. I hope we'll still be able to play nearby.
Anyway, after a little while I noticed that there was a lower bank to the left, pretty much at the level of the river itself. Well, slightly higher, of course.
We took a short staircase down, and Sebastian was delighted, except when he saw what he thought was a spider on the staircase. He asked me to kill it in a scared voice; I blew at it and it vanished, so that was okay. Either it was a dead spider, or a seed of some kind with odd tendrils.
On the lower bank, Sebastian picked up a stick and poked at the ice. Then he hammered it a bit; the stick was ideally shaped for that. We threw some more rocks, and then I remembered that I'd read him a book recently which had a description of skipping rocks (or rather, playing "ducks and drakes"; it was an English book, Tim and Ginger by Edward Ardizzonne). I'd described how I used to skip rocks out into the ocean when I was a child, and Sebastian was quite interested. I wasn't sure how easy it would be to skip a rock onto a river - do you know, I don't think I'd ever done that before - but it turned out not to be too different. I got some beautiful skips, and Sebastian was awed.
He took the stick and a couple of rocks home as mementos. Once we got home he insisted on spending quite a bit of time with me out in the back yard, dueling with his stick (I used a short length of broken broom handle, very carefully indeed), swinging on the swings, and shooting a foam rocket that he brought out. It was very cold.
While we were swinging, I realized that he was too big to fit into his little blue baby swing ever again.
It took a long time before he was cold enough to be willing to go back into the house with me.
Teri had a rush appointment at a beauty salon near us, which happens to be on the river. Sebastian and I waited in the car. He got a bit bored, and asked to go out and walk next to the river.
Now, it was quite cold today; about 20° F, or -7° C for you non-USAns. The waterfall has a good amount of ice on it, and so does the river. I wasn't jumping up and down to do this. But how much longer will my little boy want to spend time hanging out with me? (Years, I hope, but I'm smart enough to know there's no guarantee.)
So we went to the bank. It was pretty high, perhaps 15 feet above the water. We'd hung out there before, in nicer weather. We threw some rocks onto the ice, and I was surprised that the ice didn't break.
So I tried walking out on the water, and was about fifteen feet from the shore when the ice cracked and gave way with a sickening crunch. Instantly I was plunged into ice-cold rushing water, deeper than my head. I immediately went into shock and died. Yes, dear reader, I am writing this from beyond the grave (insert spooky ghost noises here).

Okay, I just wanted to keep the journal interesting. Obviously I didn't go on the ice, and there wasn't that much ice anyway; in most places it extended only a few feet from the shore. But we amused ourselves by throwing some rocks down.
Eventually the owner of that building is going to build a cafe or nightclub there. I hope we'll still be able to play nearby.
Anyway, after a little while I noticed that there was a lower bank to the left, pretty much at the level of the river itself. Well, slightly higher, of course.
We took a short staircase down, and Sebastian was delighted, except when he saw what he thought was a spider on the staircase. He asked me to kill it in a scared voice; I blew at it and it vanished, so that was okay. Either it was a dead spider, or a seed of some kind with odd tendrils.
On the lower bank, Sebastian picked up a stick and poked at the ice. Then he hammered it a bit; the stick was ideally shaped for that. We threw some more rocks, and then I remembered that I'd read him a book recently which had a description of skipping rocks (or rather, playing "ducks and drakes"; it was an English book, Tim and Ginger by Edward Ardizzonne). I'd described how I used to skip rocks out into the ocean when I was a child, and Sebastian was quite interested. I wasn't sure how easy it would be to skip a rock onto a river - do you know, I don't think I'd ever done that before - but it turned out not to be too different. I got some beautiful skips, and Sebastian was awed.
He took the stick and a couple of rocks home as mementos. Once we got home he insisted on spending quite a bit of time with me out in the back yard, dueling with his stick (I used a short length of broken broom handle, very carefully indeed), swinging on the swings, and shooting a foam rocket that he brought out. It was very cold.
While we were swinging, I realized that he was too big to fit into his little blue baby swing ever again.
It took a long time before he was cold enough to be willing to go back into the house with me.