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Buku Swine Not?: A Novel Pig Tale by Jimmy Buffett

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Swine Not?: A Novel Pig Tale by Jimmy Buffett

Author:Jimmy Buffett [Buffett, Jimmy]

Language: eng

Format: epub

Tags: Fiction, General

ISBN: 9780316114059

Google: eItEPwAACAAJ

Publisher: Little, Brown

Published: 2009-05-12T20:25:56+00:00

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Swine Not?: A Novel Pig Tale by Jimmy Buffett

CHAPTER 26

That’s What Moms Are For

BARLEY

 

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Swine Not?: A Novel Pig Tale by Jimmy Buffett

Author:Jimmy Buffett [Buffett, Jimmy] , Date: July 7, 2019

,Views: 22

Author:Jimmy Buffett [Buffett, Jimmy]

Language: eng

Format: epub

Tags: Fiction, General

ISBN: 9780316114059

Google: eItEPwAACAAJ

Publisher: Little, Brown

Published: 2009-05-12T20:25:56+00:00
CHAPTER 26

That’s What Moms Are For

BARLEY

DAD HEADED back to his aliens in Iceland. Hopefully he’d find his pot of gold at the end of an arctic rainbow, but either way, he left behind some happy memories. After losing the state championship, the Barton Academy Falcons hung up their soccer cleats until the spring season — all but me. I did get selected to attend the Red Bulls Academy, and it was so cool.

The field was under a giant bubble dome right next to Giants Stadium, and we played every weekend when the Red Bulls weren’t in town. Soccer was now a cold-weather sport. Who would have guessed that?

The other big discovery in New York life was ice-skating. I had thought about going out for the hockey team before Red Bulls soccer had come my way, and I kind of got hooked on skating — another wonder of living across the street from Central Park, where there were huge frozen ponds when it got cold enough.

Back in Vertigo, ice was something we put in our tea every day, and snow might have fallen in Nashville three or four times in my whole life. Winter there was just a constant procession of gray clouds and cold temperatures that put people into a hibernation frame of mind. But in New York, like everything else, they made the most out of cold weather.

Maple and I attempted ice-skating for the first time one Sunday afternoon in late October, when Mom had the day off and took us to the ice rink in the park. She had brought along one of her hotel sous-chefs, a woman named Ilga who came from Finland — where ice skates must be as natural to feet as toenails. To all our surprise, we were up and gliding around in about fifteen minutes. An hour later, we had advanced beyond basic gliding and had moved on to stopping backward and crosscutting.

Maple really took to the ice like a fish to water, and as much as I laughed and fell and motored around, most of all, I enjoyed watching Maple. For a girl who had never set foot on a frozen pond, she was remarkable. And then there was the stunning blue skating outfit she had pulled together overnight. People on the ice asked her where she bought it. She beamed and answered, “I made it.”

Ilga said Maple was a natural on the ice. Several of my sister’s friends from school showed up at the rink, and I guess the competitive gene kicked in. By the end of the day, Maple had done her first spin. It was simply great fun, and Mom even included Rumpy. She had bought a telescope for the fish tank and had aimed it at the rink. It stood in front of our big window, facing the park, and Mom had taught Rumpy how to look through it. I know our pig is capable of things way beyond most people’s understanding, but seeing her peering into a telescope atop a New York high-rise was a startling thing.

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