Skip to main content

A Love/Hate Relationship

Why I love my pool:
•What is it that draws a person to the movement of water? Just watching it flow, even just round and round in a rectangle current, is mesmerizing
•The sound of the bubbling filter jet, especially late at night when the world is otherwise dark and still--the bubbling mixed with the sounds of frogs looking for dates makes a calming kind of music
•Day or night, floating on the surface with my ears just below the surface so that all I can hear is the sound of my own breathing, looking up at the clouds or stars and overhanging tree branches--a drug
•I want to give everything away, so offering my pool to my neighbors at all times brings joy
•The opening of the pool in May is a sign of summer and a signal to bring out the floaties and noodles

Why I hate my pool:
•This big hole in my yard requires daily care--skimming, vacuuming, filter emptying, chemical adjusting, ph testing...............blaaaaaaaaaaaah
•When Hu
sband has a broken leg and can't do the job that has been traditionally his, it falls to me to maintain the whole bloody system
•While I enjoy the look of the trees in the back yard, they shower an endless stream of little bloomy seedling things. Every gust of wind brings a new rain of crap to be removed
•The filter is enclosed by a fence, and there are creatures inside the fence
•In the fall, while you wait for the pool guys to come over and close the thing, you still have to skim and treat and backwash, even though it's too darn cold to swim

I'd say the benefits outweigh the burdens. But I do love the fall--I'm ready to let go of the things of summer--light clothes, a bottle of Mike's Hard Lemonade on the patio, swimming. I'm eager to embrace the things of fall--warm comforting clothes, tea with honey, falling leaves, sleeping with the windows open on crisp cool nights, burrowed under the sheets and blankets.

During my final 2006 visit to the pool place to test the water, I learned the pool guys will be here Monday to close up the big hole in my yard, and I can't wait. Enough already.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night.
The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago,
Turned around backwards so the windshield shows.
Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse.
Still, it's so much clearer.
I forgot my shirt at the water's edge.
The moon is low tonight.

Nightswimming deserves a quiet night.
I'm not sure all these people understand.
It's not like years ago,
The fear of getting caught,
Of recklessness and water.
They cannot see me naked.
These things, they go away,
Replaced by everyday.

enough said?

Mr. Anonymous

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

Ish People

Tell an Ish person to show up around 9 a.m., and you'll see them somewhere around 9 a.m. Tell them to show up at 9ish, and you'll see them anywhere from 9:05 to 9:20. You have given them license to dilly dally, and who wouldn't take advantage of that? The other night at the big shindig dinner party, one of the drummers said the rehearsal the next morning would begin at 9ish. "I am an ish person," he says. Immediately the clanker goes off in my head--oh, good, I thought. I can deliver my daughter a little late. No Ish person is early, so if you say 9ish, that does not mean give or take 5, 10, 15 minutes. It's exclusively a taking phrase. Take an extra 10 minutes to drink your cup of coffee. We won't mind. We're Ish people. Sunday's rehearsal started at 2:00. Because it was conducted by the same people who conducted the Saturday rehearsal, my understanding was 2-ISH. My daughter is worse than I am about taking liberties with Ish time frames, so she d...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...