Hockey Clips and Video Clips

While waiting at Riley Rink for my almost fourteen year old to return from the state hockey tournament I videod clips of the goin's on in the warming room and out on the rink for a short class movie. One engaging youngster of age six, having just gotten off the ice from Sunday night Stick and Puck with dad was most engaging. His composure for the short interview was astonishing for a six year old. His brother, not to be outdone by junior, sat for an interview as well. He was equally engaging and charming. These two young men reminded me greatly of my own little man when he played for the youongest level of NHA Hockey, the Mites.

Now, at age almost fourteen, my little man is no longer learning to skate, but instead slugging it out with other young men, like himself, who seem to think the skill is in being tough enough to slam and be slammed. What happened to the charming six year old who was fasinated by the blade on the ice, how it turned and flashed with hockey players gliding in rhythm, in time, a team, a ballet with hockey sticks?

I once took my little man to see a game at Middlebury College with the varsity A team. I forget who the opponent was. However, they were equally skilled. The game was, in fact, a ballet. The strength of the young men playing was unquestionable. The more impressive aspect of the game was the coordination, timing, restraint and skill in playing as a team. There was, of course, the inevitable checking, but that was not the objective. The objective was the amazing skill and handling of the puck - how the team could seemingly "feel" what the other was doing. Those young men who spent days and weeks and months playing and drilling and knowing one another could literally "feel" where the other was on the ice. It was amazing. My young man was as transfixed as I was.

At that time, those qualities of quiet restraint and skill where what amazed us both. Now, when I try to talk to my young man about hockey he only wants to talk about who slammed who and how his team got them back. It saddens me. For me, also a hockey player, of the female persuasion, this is not the game. This is a part of the game to be ignored as a necessary evil of Men's Hockey. At age six, when there is no checking allowed, there still seems to be a love of gliding, handling the stick and puck and working as a team. To send a pass and receive that pass and move the puck up the ice in unison, in time, as a team is beauty. It still holds fascination for a six year old, and for me.

This is what I'd like to capture in the making of a video. Obviously, in the short clips I made that Sunday night at Riley Rink there is not enough footage or the right kind of footage. It is perhaps a start. And perhaps as I continue in school I'll have the opportunity to learn more of the skills and techniques to make this video. For now, it's just finding time to make a short, short video and an audio clip. Writing about it is fun, but now the film's the deal. My words will have much more impact if in image and motion. Perhaps with video, I can even get the attention of my own fourteen year old hockey player.

Infant Hour at the Wi Fi Café

11:30am and the quiet, focused click clack of computer keys is drowned out by the slightly shrill voices of young moms talking about nipple shapes, shopping deals and baby rashes. There is the cooing of little guys who find it thrilling to gnaw on a leather wallet, drooling over zipper and stinky old leather alike while mom attends to brother or sister. Squeakie sqeakie. Perhaps a rubber duckie? High fives all around from tiny hands for Josh who serves moms much needed cappuccino. Many "pleases" and "thank you's" – more than you'll hear from any other table. Six moms, seven children aged, what? About six months to eighteen months? Every high chair in the café is filled and the heretofore quiet cafe is abuzz and with activity, mom chat and feeding.

The moms are without make-up, although most never wore it, with Birkenstocks, clogs and Sorell boots. This is, after all, Vermont. Long hair in permutations of buns and poney tails. One mom who has braved loose tresses has tiny hands entwined in a grabable bunch. All, with beautiful cherubs. And this, the Spiral Press Café is the place of choice to bring them so mom can have an adult moment where all will be happy. Did I say, all?

Are we, the moms whose babies now wear braces and choose their friends over a café excursion with mom, are we, the moms gone back to work or grad school and the book club members and older gentlemen working on something very important and the young executives and local business folks (various insurance agents, attorneys, etc.) meeting with colleagues, are we adverse to the cacophony of baby and young mom sounds chasing after falling sippie cups and cookies? All appears ok. Heads are still down after a moment of acknowledgement that the guard has changed. Everyone seems to have noted that the babies are cute, and, well, back to work, baby noises and all.