Thursday, June 22, 2017
“Yeah, me neither,” I concurred, “especially after the Chaos that was the pool.”
“Let’s just go in Utopia,” DL headed to the sauna, opening the door wherein only Sandy lay, supine atop her usual queenly shelf.
“Hello, Ladies,” she said.
“Hi, Sandy,” I replied climbing up to sit in the corner next to her. “How’s it going?” DL situated herself on the shelf below, lying down in calming satisfaction at the status of the nearly empty Utopia.
“How was the pool?” Sandy asked. “As if I need to ask.”
Sandy sat up, shaking her head, eyes widening, “I hope you’re okay?”
“Oh, yeah, fortunately it was another woman and we weren’t going too fast, but hell, she didn’t tell me that the other circle swimmer had gotten out and she was gonna split the lane. I couldn’t see anything through the fog of my mask, you know?”
“Yeah,” Sandy nodded. “A little communication goes a long way. I remember one time I had the same thing happen to me and when the woman crashed into me, she had the nerve to exclaim, ‘WHAT!!! Do I have to get a Tetanus shot now?’” Sandy sighed in weary memory of the incident.
“What did you say to her?” I asked Sandy now.
She shrugged, “I don’t really remember. I remember thinking, Lady, what are you talking about? With all the AIDs and STDs and whatever the hell else is in this pool, it was a public pool mind you. This didn’t happen at The Club. And then I thought, to myself, no, I’m not gonna say all this. I mean, I have all of these judgments swirling inside my head. Do I really want to let them out and become one of those Angry Old Ladies that I despise?”
Was it an Angry Old Lady attribute? Or did the world just need my entirely justifiable virulence on occasion?
Tonight, I hadn’t yelled at Crash Woman at all, even though it was, technically, her fault for not communicating. She was so apologetic and I hadn’t been hurt nor had she.
Plus, she was cute.
And so, summer at the Y. Oh boy!
Fortunately, I’m up to date on my Tetanus Shot.
I think….though maybe I better double check. For the future. Cuz the next swimmer I crash into may not be quite so cute….
….and I might just let those Judgements out of my head and into the pool.... Justifiably!
Posted by Cj at 1:07 PM
Thursday, June 15, 2017
“What!!!” I exclaim. “In the middle of the summer they’re gonna close the pool?”
“Yes, well, they think there are more options for folks to go elsewhere in the summer than in the middle of winter.” She shakes her head, sighs loudly.
“Uh,” I mutter, “not sure that’s true. But thanks for telling me.”
“You didn’t see the signs?”
“Nope, but you know, there are a LOT of signs around here. Too much signage means that I don’t read anything.” Sandy chuckles, tossing some crap in her gym bag.
“Oh, up at the front. You know the pool closure is in fine print,” she says. “At least it's posted.”
“Yeah,” I admit, “but why don’t they post the closure info on the door out to the pool? Or put the dates on the bulletin board under the water temp. Then swimmers would see.”
“Oh, well, you’re talking logic there, Carol,” Sandy laughs.
“Yeah, okay, I have to remember where I am. Logic doesn’t prevail here at the Downtown Oakland YMCA.”
“You got it…..” she agrees,zipping up her gym bag and putting on her sweatshirt.
Not in the electorate.
And so, it’s no surprise that there’s little logic to be found in the workplace or the home or the YMCA.
Logic is a rare occurrence.
Part of me is appalled. Yet part of me, too, has to admit that logic can be vastly overrated. I mean where would artists and dancers and musicians be with logic? It’s all about emotion, right? Oh, dear. Now that’s something I am an expert in. Emotion.
Today, I’ll go with why the hell don’t they post the pool closure dates at the pool?
Logic, Carol, logic. Remember where you are. At the Downtown Oakland YMCA, where pool closures are rampant and logic is scarce.
"See you next week," Sandy calls out to me as she heads out.
"Yes, next week. If the pool isn't closed."
Sandy laughs, waves bye over her head, as I scurry to finish dressing before the Y closes.
Oh, and the joke on her T-shirt? I remember now! "Not playing with a full duck"!
Posted by Cj at 4:38 PM
Wednesday, June 07, 2017
“Enjoy it while you can,” Sandy proclaimed, shaking her head as I climbed up beside her on the top shelf of Utopia. DL had already settled in on the bottom shelf, languidly stretching out in the warmth of dialogue and exhaustion.
I’d been telling Sandy how I’d had an entire lane to myself in the pool. That NEVER happens at the Oakland Downtown Y. It had been perfect swimming bliss to not be in a Splash Sandwich or kicked by Shoe Swimming Woman or crashed into by a swimmer not holding her lane.
“The summer camps will be here before you know it,” Sandy continued.
“What do you mean?” Tattooed All Over Woman on the other side of Sandy perked up. Was she a swimmer too? I didn’t remember seeing her in the pool. I think I would’ve remembered! The tattoos were all over and elaborate. Although I couldn’t quite tell what they were of in the dusky dim light of Utopia.
Sandy turned to her new audience. Ready to inform. It was her job here at the Downtown Oakland Y: “Every summer, round mid June till about the end of August, the kids are let out of school and enroll in summer camps here at the Y. They get dumped off behind the Y here, and lemme tell you, like it isn’t crazy enough around here already, those kids are looking to get run over by someone driving and texting in their SUV. Anyway, they take over the pool and the facility so…..” Sandy settled back into her slouch, “just beware.”
“Guess you scared her off,” I joked.
Sandy smirked. “She needs to know. It’s crazy round here. Why, I remember a time that my sister-in-law’s brother was riding his bike down Telegraph Ave and someone opened their car door and wham, cut right through his juggler and he was a goner.”
“And that’s not all,” Sandy was on a roll tonight. “You know how pythons are running wild in Florida and there’s a call out to hunt down as many as possible?”
“Uh….I think I’ve heard of that,” I murmured. Do I really want to hear about killer snakes now after the Killer Car?
“Well, one guy caught a python who had swallowed an entire deer! A deer! Can you believe that? Imagine the mass that was found in that Python. Why it was bigger than you, Carol!”
DL got up. Weaved out without looking back. “Sorry, DL!” Sandy called after her, chuckling.
“I think she had reached her heat limit actually," I said. "Though maybe it was the python story…..”
Sandy rose and followed DL out, though not before one final comment to ponder: "It’s not as bad as the news,” Sandy said before closing the door behind herself.
I was left with Coconut Oil Smearing Woman who gave me a perplexed look. “She’s right.”
“Yes, I know, that’s why I avoid the news,” I said, starting to rise.
“Yeah, well, I work at a radio station so I hear it all all the time.”
“I bet you do,” I nodded. A radio station? I wondered which one, thinking this added a whole new dimension to Coconut Oil Woman. But it was time to go and I was hot, tired, hungry and well….frankly, didn’t want to hear anything else that might give me the willies.
“See you next time,” I said to her, making my way to the showers and back to the lockers where Sandy was still holding court.
“It smells like fruity lip gloss here,” I commented, dumping my wet swim stuff on the stool as I began to turn my lock's combination.
DL continued to rub lotion on herself in luxurious mode situation. Sandy nodded, “Yeah, I know what you mean. Better that than last night. The sauna smelled like a Zoo.”
DL’s stopped her lotion luxury, eyes wide, and cracked up. I joined her.
Later, DL says to me, “Only Sandy could take Utopia to Zootopia!”
What does a Zoo smell like?
I don’t even want to go there…..at least not now…..
Posted by Cj at 12:46 PM
Sunday, April 30, 2017
I laugh, slightly embarrassed, slightly amused. Is it that obvious? How the hell did the conversation go from casual pool post laps chit chat to my deepest darkest psychological insecurities?
The chat had begun innocuously enough. “Is that a new suit?” Handsome Swimmer Man had asked.
“Nope, just one that’s been resurrected. I haven’t had a chance to get online to check out that site you told me about last week.”
He had nodded, shrugging, “Yeah….”
“I mean, the time gets away from me, you know? What with all these different jobs I’m juggling.”
“How many jobs do you have?”
“Three….four…depends on how you count them up…”
He shakes his head, “What do you do?”
“I teach writing….”
Where the hell did he get that? I blame water in the ears. “No, I teach college level. At a couple of universities. Mostly grad students.”
I feel a little under the gun at this point. Why is he interrogating me so? I mean, it’s a lot of questions, right? I’m game though, mostly cuz of his eyelashes.
“My wife got her MBA at FFU.”
“Ah….” Suddenly I know a lot about him. An MBA wife. From FFU. She’s businessy and crisp. “What kind of work do you do?” I ask him.
“I know only how to use computers, not how they work,” I joke.
“Your tool is only as good as the person using it.”
It sounds like he’s said this a zillion times. I just grin. Feeling a little chilly, I stretch my leg up onto the deck lean my head toward my knee.
“So, if you teach writing you must be a writer,” he asserts, staring me down.
“What do you write?”
“Novels, short stories.”
“Under what pseudonym?”
I wonder why he thinks I’d write under another name? He’s just after that question people always ask when they find out you’re a writer: Are you published? And this is where the bitterness shows through I guess. Cuz I bristle at this query. Why must I be published? Why must I have a broad readership? Why don’t I? I’m such a failure.
Blah blah blah…..
And so, yes, I am bitter and I tell him so. With a teasing tone, of course. Hell, I don’t even know him, right?
“You’re bitter, really?” he asks.
“Yup,” I laugh.
“No…well…yeah….well…..” I hesitate.
He jumps in, “I’m bitter too!” he exclaims.
“Sure, why not?” he grins.
He chuckles. “No, I’m not a writer. Maybe I should take one of your classes.”
“Uh….well, you’d have to be a student.”
He shrugs, “True….”
“I do have private clients….” Why did I mention this?
“What kind of novels do you write?” he asks.
“I’m working on a novel about an artist, one of the later Surrealists, and his three muses.”
“Yes…” I answer, "but actually I just made most of it up…”
“Did Breton have 3 muses?” he ignores my assertion round the imaginative narrative.
“I have no idea,” I laugh. “It’s fiction.”
“Ah, of course,” he nods.
I can tell he’d keep talking if I did, and now I really was getting cold. “I have to get out,” I say, “getting cold.”
“Oh, yeah…sure…I’d love to read your novel.”
I laugh. “If I finish it, I’ll send it to you.”
He starts to call out his email address as I climb out of the pool, shivering now. I’ll never remember it and tell him so.
“That’s okay,” he nods.
He dives back underwater, falls into his smooth rhythm like he’d never been the interrogator of an unpublished bitter writer.
Yet am I really I bitter? Oh, sure sometimes. Who wouldn’t be? But most of the time, I don’t care. Esp. when I’m actually writing. Like right now. No bitterness in sight. Just words and more words and stories and dialogue and yes, the pool…..my first love and inspiration….
Posted by Cj at 6:18 PM
Monday, April 24, 2017
When I spied him lurking on deck, standing in front of My Lane, his blobby white belly spilling out over his too small blue Speedo, I prayed silently to myself that he wouldn’t choose my lane.
They always do. Why is that? I think Sandy is being generous in giving them that much of a critical thinking future brain. But I like it that she assumes that I’m a ‘good swimmer’---I don’t think she’s ever seen me swim!
No, I think they choose me cuz I’m small and easy to push around. When they splash in, their massive waves bounce me into the lane line, I gulp large quantities of water or hafta hold my breath when I pass them. It’s hard!
So, tonight, when Gross Belly Man splashed in with his bright yellow Zoomers, I cringed. Why me?
And I know why.
Most of the time I like being small. But this week, for instance, on the most crowded BART since Communist China bus rides, my smallness was a drawback. I was immediately smashed under some hipster’s armpit who was completely oblivious that I was even there with his earbuds in and his smelly flannel shirt.
I couldn’t do it.
Tonight, fortunately, a lane opened up and I was able to move out of the Splash Sandwich lane after only a few laps.
But even a few laps was too many. With Belly Over Speedo man. Sorry, but some guys should just not sport those suits!
Yet, I don’t think I could really achieve this kind of expansive deterrent. I could swim in the middle of the lane more—lane hog---yes, I do try for this. But I think, cuz I am small, this just isn’t enough to dissuade the large undesirables.
Maybe Sandy is right. I’m too good of a swimmer. So, next time, when I see a Big Belly Man lurking in front of my lane, ready to jump in, I’ll just start swimming really badly. I’ll splash a lot. Wave my arms in inefficient stroke motions. Generally create an image of floundering inexpertise.
I’ll give it a try this week and let you know how it goes.
In the meantime, I’ll eat some pie and ice cream and cookies and M&Ms and….
Hey! I already do that!
Posted by Cj at 12:41 PM
Wednesday, March 08, 2017
“Woo Woo U?” she says as we walk toward each other, meeting in the middle of the locker room here at Hilltopia. DL’s here tonight too, behind me, curious.
“Oh, yes” I exclaim as we are now close to each other, standing face to face. She tells me her name, which I really want to write out cuz it’s so good, but I’ll make something up to protect her WWU anonymity. I’ll just call her Bella Bellisima, or BB for short. “Bella,” she says, “Carol,” I say. We laugh.
“Of course,” she says. “I recognized you from The Hair.”
It’s always about the hair, isn’t it?
Later after my super cold swim, I’m in front of the long mirror frantically trying to dry my hair before going outside in the dark cold before the Y closes. Another swimmer is there, too, pursuing the same endeavor. I notice she has fantastic hair. Big and fluffy and dark with a dramatic grey streak down the side.
“Oh, yeah,” I nod. “It’s from swimming!”
She laughs, goes back to her stupendous hair drying project. Her hair is more than ‘wild’—it’s another being. It’s got a life of its own. It says, very loudly, ‘Look at me! I’m fabulous and don’t you forget it!’
Yup, in the end, as it is in the beginning, it’s all about the hair.
Just ask DL. She’ll confirm this.
She’s got fabulous hair!
Posted by Cj at 6:47 PM
Thursday, February 16, 2017
“I itch.” E shrugs, continues scratching at a large patch of burned and peeling skin on her hip.
I know I must have been staring. I try not to, but can’t help myself. E’s skin is in a miraculous molting phase. And it’s no wonder she itches.
She was in a fire that burned like 99 percent of her body about a year ago? I’m so bad with time, but I remember when she first came back to Utopia, the damage was severe and heartbreaking. How could anyone survive such a trauma? The pain. The terror. The hideousness of it all.
Yet, E seemed characteristically unfazed by it. She acknowledged that it hadn’t been her time to die. And then she went on. With her daughters. And her work. And her time here at Utopia.
I haven’t seen her in the pool for some time. I would imagine that the super chlorinated water would not be a healing salve for her poor damaged skin.
In Utopia, DL and I had found a seat in the crowded scene. I noted that a towel was spread out on the top shelf, taking up valuable space. But whatever, I was too tired from my swim to ask who the towel belonged to so I just plopped down on the shelf below.
Do I stare?
Yes I do.
But it’s okay. She’s got her eyes closed, right? And besides, what else can I do? Pretend they’re not there?
E ambles in. She’s still scratching. Sits down beside me and sighs deeply. “I itch,” she repeats.
“Yes,” I nod, “I bet.” Cause what else can I say? I mean, I can’t really imagine what it would be like to have your entire body fried to a crisp, so I can only try to quell the slight nausea that rises in me whenever I am too near E.
She launches into a spiel about a concoction she’s made to help soothe the itching. To no one in particular, but everyone’s listening. “I use the olive oil. The ginger. The eucalyptus. The ….” Something else I can’t quite understand cuz of her Utopian accent.
But Naked Confidence Woman understands and joins in, “Aloe vera?”
Naked Confidence Woman sits up now, nods emphatically as she positions herself Indian Style. I don’t look back now. Way too intimate.
She proclaims: “They say that anything you put on your body you should be able to put inside it!”
“Ah….” I nod, thinking how no way would I really eat E’s concoction.
“It smells wonderful!” Naked Confidence Woman exclaims.
E nods in agreement. “Yes, yes….” Then she fades into a tired space. I think how tired she must be. To have her body itching like that to the point where the scratching seems to be peeling off the excess layers of skin.
Ewwwww. I do NOT want to think about that.
So I get up and leave. DL’s already gone? When did she leave? I get so immersed in the Utopian Conversation Situation that I missed her exit. Damn. I wonder if she heard the concoction exchange?
Later, DL and I are dressing and I’m yammering on and on about I don’t even know what, and Naked Confidence Woman, dressed now, leans around the corner and blurts out, “Have you heard of Brene Brown ? She does a Ted Talk about Vulnerability?”
“Uh…..” I glance over at DL, whose eyes are wide and mirthful behind her glasses.
“You sound just like her. When I heard you talking….” she explains.
“Oh,” I say, laughing softly. “I guess I could give a Ted Talk on Dreams and Cats.”
Instead, I just mutter some inanity about how I’ll have to check out her Ted Talk when I get a chance. Vulnerability.
That seems about right. E should feel some Vulnerability around her skin and her life. Naked Confidence Woman obviously doesn’t have a Vulnerable Bone in her body.
I’d been especially vulnerable all day. The traffic in the morning put me near tears. Then late to work which sent me over the vulnerability edge if I hadn’t been at work. I felt raw. Exposed. Traffic and lateness can do that to a person.
And so, yes, I’ll have to check out the Ted Talk. I need to learn about strategies to cope with vulnerability. Is that what it’s about? Or is it about allowing yourself to be more vulnerable?
I’ll let you know.
In the meantime, E is so courageous. To have that itch. And to scratch it.
Posted by Cj at 6:17 PM