July 2002
My Own Treasured Friends,
There is a waterslide not far from my home and if the wind is blowing just right, I can hear the kids squealing with delight as they rush down the thrilling curved incline to ker-plunk at the bottom in a pool of refreshing aqua pura. Swimming and pool high jinks of a safe sort are all part of summer.
Naturally, this reminds me of the exciting summers with my sisters and brother and all the neighborhood kids.
We found our backyard most appealing. While others had larger yards in which to play kickball or swings sets from which to hang upside down, our yard was the favorite on the hottest days of the year. Why? Because our father bought us a swimming pool. Not an in ground fancy thing with a diving board, but a light blue, plastic pool whose edges were held upright on a simple round white wire frame.
The first time I laid eyes on it, I thought our pool was huge. I mean really huge! I was probably about five or six and was required to wear an inner tube around my middle for safety's sake. I now realize that it was probably 12 feet in diameter and only about 18 inches deep.
We took turns holding the garden hose to fill the pool. It seemed like hours until the water was up high enough for swimming, but we didn't care. We just knew that fun was to be had if we were patient. I can't count how much time we spent in the pool or the games we invented - our favorite was Captain of the Ship, so named for the sole survivor who remained on the inflated lounging raft after everyone else was bounced off. We often splashed so much water from the pool we had to refill it, but the wave action we produced would have made Popeye himself jealous.
In order to keep the pool clean, we had a bucket of water stationed poolside. We always stepped in to rinse our feet. Needless to say, we sometimes had thoughtless guests who ran and jumped in with dirty feet, but that was ok because every few days we drained the pool and started all over. We'd remove the plastic sides from the wire fencing, and watch the water rush out. Of course, it was much more fun to step on the edges to speed the process along. While engrossed in this exciting activity, you could occasionally hear a scream from some poor kid who'd fallen victim to a bee sting, which was prone to happen when we ran barefoot in the grass.
Eventually, my sister, Nancy, and I graduated to actual swimming lessons. We'd ride our bikes to the closest high school that had a pool, which seemed to me as if it were 25 miles away. I guess it wasn't that far, maybe 2 or 3, but it sure wore a little kid out.
When we arrived, we would don the required bathing caps. Note to anyone who is unfamiliar with that particular instrument of torture - when you tried to get it over your head, it not only felt like the rubber was pulling out every last strand of your hair, but it also made you look like a golf ball in the process. And for your pain and suffering, it never even kept you hair dry!
Oh, and how about the added allure of nose plugs? You know, those pink pinchy things that kept you from getting water up your nose, but forced you to swallow chlorinated water instead because you couldn't breathe through your nostrils. Imagine if you will, the entire becoming picture. Had we known any better, that specific humiliation would have set the bar for all future degradation. To my knowledge, no one has a photo of us dressed in our swimming garb. If they did, how could they keep themselves from blackmailing us with the thing? Horrors!
Those were fun, wonderful days in this child's world. Our only concern then was whose turn it was to ride on the front of the raft in the pool. Now when I hear the happy summer sounds of children, I find myself thinking of landing just one good thump on that bully who always knocked me off and held my head under water. That's what dreams are made of.
Hey, I'm not the one who decided I was gracious. Remember, it was Nancy who bestowed that title upon me. What I will admit to is being human! But as always,
Love from Amelia Island,
Jane Marie
PS Wahoo! July 19th is Flitch Day! For those few persons out there who are unaware of the occasion, it used to be that once a year married couples were given a slab of bacon as a reward if they could prove they had lived harmoniously during the previous 12 months. Sadly, very few couples "took home the bacon.”
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