Everybody IN The Pool

I have always dreamed of having a pool. When I was growing up, my mom’s friend two doors down had one and I spent many hours in that pool while my mom and Mrs. F. talked about their stories (translation for you younger readers: soap operas), their husbands (there was a lot to talk about believe me) and the neighbors.

We have a very small backyard and a pool is just not possible. I humor myself by saying it’d be too much work, we’d only have 4 months to use it, we’re never home anyway to use it, blah, blah, blah.

But I still want one.

Probably because of our record-breaking heat over the last week, I have noticed pools in many back yards during my daily commute and on the weekend while running errands. Some are in ground, with beautiful landscaping and fencing, some are above ground with big giant crocodiles you can lay on floating on the top. But they all have one thing in common – they are empty.

I don’t understand this. In my mind’s eye, if I had a pool, I’d get up, put on my bathing suit and not get out of it until it was time for bed, just like I did as a child or I do now when on vacation at the shore. My skin would be permanently puckered and my new perfume of choice would be Eau de Chlorine.


I suppose if I jump on board the raft called “reality”, I know why. People are busy with life and can’t/don’t allow themselves to relax and enjoy. Summer is the time of picnics and camps and vacations and yard work and gardening and the year-round chores – cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping – don’t go away because the pool is a refreshing 80 degrees. Life doesn’t stop because the pool is uncovered and awaiting a splash.

If you have a pool or know someone who does, stick your toe in and see how good it feels. Sit on the edge and churn the water around with your legs. Make a cup with your hand and fill it with the cool water and empty it all over your arms. Take off your sunglasses, lean forward with your arms in front of you and dive in. Get your hair wet. Swim around a bit. Get on board a raft and let your fingers dip in the water. Do it for me. Do it for the envious woman driving by your house, seeing that empty, beautiful pool. We’ll both be glad you did.

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