Reckless Drama

“You know, you aren’t allowed any Product in here.”

PP sets the green bottle of conditioner on the sauna bench next to her, glares at Anti Product Woman since it’s dark in the sauna and she can get away with it.

What the hell was her problem anyway?

PP had been getting a Hostile Vibe from her the moment she’d entered Hilltopia.

PP had just been lying there, minding her own post swim exhaustion business, when APW entered and sat down next to her. Too close.

Why? There was tons of room in the sauna. APW coulda sat on the other side of the sauna, far far away from PP and her Potential Product Unveiling.

But yet, no. She’s sat too close and sent out those Hostile Vibes.

Was it because PP was in her favorite spot? PP knows that everyone has a Favorite spot. She liked the top shelf corner, and that’s where she was today. Maybe this was APW’s favorite spot too and she was miffed that she couldn’t have it?

Or had APW seen PP swimming and been irked for some reason? Though PP couldn’t imagine why. Sure APW was a ‘walker’ and not a ‘swimmer’—nothing wrong with that, but maybe APW had seen PP swimming and wished she could swim too?




Or maybe APW was just a Stupid Bitch.

“I know,” PP now answered to the Product Intention Question. “I wasn’t going to use it in here. Just getting it out....” (If that’s okay with you, you stupid bitch---PP refrained form this though. Why start an altercation if it can be avoided?)

And Chevron Movie Woman musta thought the same thing since she piped in, “Yeah, you know people hang stuff all over the rails there.” She pointed vaguely to the hot stones surrounded by a little wooden fence. “Even though there’s a sign right above it that says, “Do NOT hang anything on the Rails.”

CMW laughs nervously.
“Yeah, well, there’s no sign that says anything about Product,” PP states, just for the hell of it.
“There should be!” APW snorts. “There is at other Y’s.”

Yeah, well we’re not at other Y’s are we? PP wants to answer but decides to keep silent. It’s obvious, right? No sign forbidding Product means that Product could be used, but PP knows better. She’s respectful of the other ‘sensitive’ members and scent.

Not that her Green Apple Suave Conditioner doesn’t smell terrific. In fact it might help APW if she used some. Make her smell better.

Did she smell bad?

PP couldn’t really tell. But her attitude smelled bad.

“I’m going to go see the movie Bernie for the 3:50 show. Have you seen it?” CMW pipes up, eager to steer the dialogue away from Product?




PP wonders. She’d never thought of her as someone who’s particularly sensitive to what is going on around her. She babbles about inane movies she’s seen, her various boring work scenarios at Chevron, her condo association’s imposition on her time.

Yet today, it does seem like she wants to smooth out the air. Take the tension away.

PP likes this. It’s so unexpected. And welcome.

Not that APW has any clue that this is going on. She’s sitting next to PP fuming. PP can feel the heat radiating out of her and it’s not from the sauna.

Why oh why are Social Protocols in place that prevent one from partaking of such fun provocation?

It happens on Soap Operas all the time.

Daisy barges into Phyllis’s apartment. Offering a stupid gift of a glass elephant that Phyllis just flings away, shattering it against the wall. Daisy yells about how she’s just trying to be nice. They need to get along. Phyllis hisses that Daisy is a liar and she is only trying to get into her good graces cause she’s married to Phyllis’s son. Daisy says that she loves Daniel and Phyllis just has to get used to it. Phyllis grabs Daisy and shoves her against the wall. Daisy fights back and slugs Phyllis in the gut, sending her into “Oh MY GOD OH MY GOD! What have you done? I’m going to lose the baby” convulsions, doubling up in pain, and collapsing on the shag carpet.





Daisy walks out of the apt, smug smile on her face as Phyllis continues to scream in agony begging her to call 911.

Damn!


If only PP could partake of one tenth of this kinda Reckless Drama! Why her life would be so much more exciting!

And dangerous.


CMW is babbling about how much she adores Shirley McClain even though she’s a bit older now and her old movies are more entertaining though she’s really looking forward to seeing this movie today......


APW is still seething, eying the bottle of Green Apple suspiciously. Like what does she think PP is gonna do?

PP glances over at her, and then slowly opens up the bottle of conditioner. Takes a long slow whiff, ‘Ummm....smells so good...” she coos.
“You better not use that Product in here!” APW exclaims, nostrils flaring.
“Oh, why ever not?” PP sings, squirting out a big green glob on the palm of her hand, letting small bits of it splatter onto the wooden bench, dangerously close to APW. "There's no sign saying I can't."
“I’m warning you! You better leave now or else....”
“Or else what?” PP asks sweetly, as she begins smearing the gooey green into her hair.
APW stares down at CMW, who grins up at her sheepishly. “I think it smells good.”

“ARRRGGGHHH!!!” APW cries, collapsing in stricken horror, suddenly paralyzed. She watches helplessly as PP finishes applying the goo through her hair.

Writhing pitifully on the sauna room floor, APW raises one arm, weakly, beseeching PP to take pity on her. "No product...." she whines. "....allowed...."

PP gazes at AWP for a moment, then squats down next to her, placing the open bottle of Green Apple Product on the floor beside her, too far for her to reach. Too close for her not to smell.

Waving bye-bye to CMW, PP saunters out of the the sauna, AWP’s cries echoing pitifully as she heads for the shower, a smug smile spreading over her face under her goo laden mass of Green Apple Hair.

SWEARING!!!

“FUCK! SHIT! BITCH!!!! FUCKING BITCH!!! SHIT!!!!”

PP sighs to herself. Sitting on the toilet, she can’t help but listen to Scraping Walker Woman’s Rant.

Though now since she’s in a wheelchair, PP guesses she’s Swearing Wheelchair Woman.

Damn. PP is in no mood to deal with her. She’s tired and hungry and wants to get home after a surprisingly nice swim. (“It was so nice today, wasn’t it?” a fellow swimmer had commented afterwards. “Yes, so peaceful. No screaming kids,” PP had answered.)

Now there was a Screaming Wheelchair Woman.
“SHIT! BITCH!”


Flushing the toilet, PP decides that she better go see what was the matter. She’d been hoping someone else would wander into the locker room, but nope. Where the hell was anyone when you needed her?

“FUCKING BITCH SHIT!”
PP follows the sound of the rant, around the corner to the wheelchair accessible stall.
There she is, wedged in between the toilet and the door. Was she stuck? Had she hurt herself?

“Are you okay?” PP asks.
SWW stares up at her, surprised. “Of course, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Shit, PP swears to herself. Does swearing up a storm at the top of your lungs in a public place constitute okayness?

Evidently in SWW’s universe.

Sighing, PP tries to keep her tone calm and sympathetic. It’s hard.

“Well, I could hear you swearing from the other stalls. What’s wrong?”
“Oh, that!” SWW laughs softly, embarrassed? No, just amused. “I was just mad at her is all. I know she saw me and I said ‘Hello’ to her and she didn’t even answer me. I know she saw me. I know she did….”

Her voice trails off. She shakes her head, her naked back arched over in a permanent hunch.

“Oh,” PP smiles. Shit, is that all? She doesn’t say this. “Well, maybe she was having a bad day,” she offers.

“Oh, yeah, you’re probably right,” SWW laughs, wheeling her way out of the stall now. “She was having a bad day. But I know she saw me. I said ‘Hello’ and she just ignored me. Just walked right past me. Why did she do that?”

Her bright blue eyes pierce into PP’s demanding an explanation for another’s rudeness. It occurs to PP that this other woman may not have been in the mood to deal with SWW’s insanity today. Or maybe, as is often said and studies have been done, people with disabilities are seen as ‘invisible’—literally so. This could be it too.

But more likely, the woman was just busy, or preoccupied, or having a bad day and just didn’t respond.

And again, this is what PP proposes and then adds, “I know it’s hard when someone’s rude to you, but don’t let her spoil your day. You’re at the Y and going to the Pool and the pool is quite lovely today….”

“Oh, is it? It was nice yesterday!” SWW exclaims, distracted now.

Cuz this is what the pool can do as we all know. It can distract. It can soothe.
And today, PP is particularly glad for the Pool’s power. She understood why SWW was angry. It musta been a pretty rude encounter for her to get so upset. After all, she was so friendly and sweet to everyone, saying Hello and asking after them.

Unless she was yelling at them to stop asking her if she was okay. Which is exactly what PP had done today.

And she hadn’t been. Not really.
But now, now she was. Or seemed to be.

And this of course was all thanks to the Pool.

SWW wheels into the shower and grunts as she turns on the water, begins spraying her hunchback to ready for pool entry.

"Have a nice pool time," PP calls over to her as she heads back to her locker.
"Oh, I will. Thank you. You have a very nice figure, you know? I used to have a nice one but since the accident I....."

Lady Bits

“Is this Somebody’s?” PP points to a disgusting, flesh colored Brassiere (and yes it’s a brassiere and not a bra) lying cup up on the top bench of Utopia.

The sauna’s crowded tonight. Two women who were sitting next to the Brassiere have moved over to make room for PP, but then there’s the issue of what to do with the disgusting piece of lingerie.

They all laugh, shaking their heads.

“I mean,” PP joins in, “I know it’s Somebody’s, but is it anybody’s here?”
“Nope,” Turquoise Bead Necklace Woman shakes her head, pulling her Y issued too small white towel tighter round her own ample bosom.

And so, PP picks up The Ownerless Brassiere. Gingerly. It’s so disgusting. She doesn’t really want to touch it. Who the hell would just leave their bra lying around the sauna?

Tosses it on the next bench down below her and takes its place.

Turquoise Bead and Blond Accent Woman resume their conversation about how computers suck: “I’m just afraid if I move my laptop that I’ll lose all my information on in.” “Ummm….Yes, ma’am I hear you…..”

PP glances over at DL who’s on the opposite side of the tiny cramped heat room, trying to relax.
But there’s something amiss.

It’s the Brassiere. It’s coloring the atmosphere of Utopia in a strange unsanitary lingerie way.
The door to Utopia slams open.

Aquatopia Woman enters. PP and DL had just had a Bonding Moment over the travesty of a BART agent being fired for giving away unused tickets to a poor high school student (“He was 66? That effect his pension I would imagine? They say they doing the right thing by firing him, but then if the same thing happened to them, they’d be Crying to Mama all the way home….”)

She surveys the spot where PP is now ensconced. Stares into PP, sneers, and then looks down down at the brassier, lying ickily on the lower bench. Picks it up and glares at PP.

“I wish you hadn’t put that there. It’s all wet.”

For a split second, PP considers what to say:

“Well, I wish you hadn’t left it up here taking up the space that someone could sit in.”
Or
“I wish I hadn’t had to touch your goddamn disgusting bra.”
Or
“I wish you had a brain in your head that would tell you that it’s not appropriate to leave your goddamn bra alone in the sauna….”

But PP decides against all of the above; she's not gonna win this Bra War. Mutters a kinda surprised but also kinda surly, “Sorry.” And then shrugs.

Brassier Wish Bitch harrumphs.

“Is that your underwear on the railing there?” Turquoise Bead Woman pipes in. Thankfully.

“No. They are not!” BWB flares. It is all so offensive. Imagine! She left her Brassiere here to dry and someone had the Audacity to move it so that she could sit down!

She stomps out.

All the women in Utopia start to laugh, the group giggle growing, till they’re shaking. Turquoise Bead Woman glances over at PP, rolls her eyes.

“I don’ know ‘bout you ‘all but my mama tol me don’t go leavin your Lady Bits around. Keep your Lady Bits with you at all times. Don’t no one wanna see your Lady Bits lying around….Even if they is 46 Double D’s!!!!”

They all laugh harder.

“Thanks!” PP gasps. She’s so relieved that it wasn’t just her being a presumptive bitch moving the brassiere.

Turquoise Beads nods, “Pleaaase! She was so outta line! Guess her mama didn’ make her awares of keeping her Lady Bits to herself.”

She pulls out one of those pumice stones and starts in on her calves, rubbing rubbing rubbing in vigorous circles. PP is thankful that she’s supportive around the Bra Moving, but the Exfoliation of the Lady Cells (DL’s contribution to the story) is disgusting!

Why can’t she keep her teeny tiny Lady Bits to herself?

The bits are flying!

The little white flecks of flesh float into the cramped claustrophobic darkness. PP can’t really see them, but she can hear them.

Glances over at DL, who’s still grinning, but also eying the Exfoliation Procedure.
It is so gross.

PP is starting to feel nauseous. Needs to get outta there pronto. DL rises, weaves out the door, with PP close behind her.

They’re still laughing though. Can’t even speak as they head to the showers, "Lady Bits Lady Bits Lady Bits" still ringing in their ears.

REALLY?!

“Hi, can we circle swim please?”

He sighs audibly. They can hear it at the pools in China.

He rolls his eyes heavenwards. His eyeballs float to the ceiling, hang out for a moment, before drifting back down into their sockets.

Then he speaks, his beady beard moist and serious. “Really?” he asks.

“Really.” PP answers. “It’s not like I want to circle swim either,” she continues because, hell, no one does. Does he think she’d ask him to if it weren’t absolutely necessary? She waves at the crowded pool that is the Mayhem of the downtown Oakland Y. What the hell is going on? A Wednesday evening at 8:45. Usually she has to split a lane, but circle swim?

Rarely.

And tonight all the lanes but Really Man’s have 3 or 4 swimmers in them already.
“I can’t circle swim with him,” Really Man gestures toward Tortoise Orange Trunk Man. And yes, PP sees his point; if he’s swimming his ‘intervals’ super speedy, then TOR would be a hindrance. But that’s not her problem. Or is it?



“You need to get the lifeguard to manage the lanes. Get him out of here,” Really Man continues, boss of her.

She hates this. Who the hell is he to tell her what to do? Why the hell doesn’t he get the lifeguard over to manage the lanes himself?

But he doesn’t. Stands there staring at her. It’s up to her to action the situation.

“Excuse me, LIFEGUARD!!!??? “ she hollers. What else can she do? It’s 8:45; she only has 45 minutes before the pool closes. If she sits here arguing with Really Man any longer, she won’t get her swim in.

It’s a lifeguard she hasn’t seen before. Where’s Perky Russian Guard when you need her?

This lifeguard slowly slowly slowly climbs down from her Tower. She is so bothered.
And it’s PP’s fault that she must answer to her summons. Sauntering over, she stares at PP through her wire rimmed glasses, supremely bored.

“We need help with managing the lanes,” PP starts, pointing at Tortoise Orange Trunks. “He needs to be in a slower lane so that we can circle swim here at all the medium speed.”

Bored Guard nods and to her credit does shift swimmers around. A Super Swimmer Guy comes up behind her. She motions for him to join PP’s and Really Man’s lane.
PP climbs in, Really Man watches her. He is so ickee. But she has no choice but to swim in his lane.




Really Man starts and stops. He waits at the wall for her. Staring, motioning her to go ahead. Hell, why couldn’t he have just done this with Tortoise Man? What was such a big deal that he had to command PP to commandeer the lifeguard for lane management?

Obviously, it had been all about The Power. PP really hates this. She tells DL about it afterward, who shakes her head and confirms PP’s seething about being bossed around by some guy. “I hate that!” DL had announced to all the bubbles in the hot tub.

They both laugh. But PP thinks she shouldn’t have done Really Man’s bidding. Esp. when he wasn’t even swimming with the other swimmers—that starting and stopping annoying thing that interrupted everyone’s flow—but again, she thinks this was a Power Thing.

Why couldn’t he be more liked Super Speedy Man? Who was sweet and cute and very accommodating.

Such a contrast to Really Man.

PP hopes that she never sees or swims with Really Man ever again.
But if she does?

She’s gonna make sure she swims REALLY slow. And blocks his way. And waits at the wall and then right when he comes to make his turn, she’ll take off in front of him….
That would be so damn fun.




Really.

Only in Berkeley

“How ya gonna keep your book dry?” She chuckles good-naturedly, almost winks at PP.

They’d shared a lane together. Have already exchanged pleasantries about how pleasant the other one is in the water: “I like swimming with you,” Good Natured had said when she’d climbed into the tub, PP already basking in the heat needed waters.

“You don’t splash.” PP had made the same reciprocal compliment, with GN saying how she’d been in the pool the other day and this man was splashing so much that another woman had actually gotten out of the pool. “I try to be considerate. Not splash,” she laughs. “But like my mom used to say, if you don’t want to get splashed, stay away from the pool.”

So true, yet PP always selects the least splash-likely candidate to share a lane with. And today’s GN had been a winner.

So, now, in the tub, Book Boy barely deigns to answer the book stay dry query. He’s reading Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath after all (only in Berkeley), an endeavor that is way above chitchat in the Berkeley Y’s hot tub. (PP’s here cuz of Easter; both the Oakland and Hilltop Ys are closed.)


He peers at the two women above the quality paperback, “I can keep it dry.” PP thinks, Yeah, I bet you can. But doesn’t say this, just nods as GN starts listing Steinbeck’s entire canon. “I haven’t read that one,” she shakes her head, mystified at herself. “My favorite is In Dubious Battle. (PP loves this) But, of course, there’s, Of Mice and Men, The Winter of Our Discontent, and .....”
“I have to admit that East of Eden is my favorite,” PP interrupts. “I’m a sucker for the big soap.”



Book Boy is pointedly ignoring them at this point. As to be expected.
She laughs. “Oh, yeah, I love that one too. Have you been down to Salinas to his house? They’ve built a new museum there. It’s fabulous.”
“No, no, I haven’t.” PP shakes her head.
“You should go. It’s completely renovated. And then I remember we went up to their ranch in Fremont. Have you been there?”
“No, I didn’t know he had a ranch in Fremont.”
She nods, knowledgeably, as only Berkeleyites can do. “Yup, he and his sister used to play Lancelot and Gwenivere there.”
“Really?” PP is beyond delighted at this tidbit of Steinbecken Lore. She never knew this fact, though it made sense. Didn’t he write a book about the King Arthur? She seems to recall this, but then her brain is a bit water logged at this point so she doesn’t bring it up. GN doesn’t pause for a breath anyway.
“They took the dog there. Charlie.”
“Oh,” PP gushes. “That Travels with Charlie is really my favorite. I adore that book.”





She nods, “Yeah, I’ve heard it’s a good one. I haven’t read that one either. But he and his sister and the dog used to go up there to Fremont, play Lancelot and Gwenivere. It musta been beautiful then.”
She pauses, transported to Fremont in the days of Steinbeck’s Round Table games. PP nods. “Yes, I bet it was.”





“You Native Californian?”
PP smiles, “Kinda. I grew up here.”
“Yeah, me too, sorta. I actually was born in Brooklyn, then we moved to Penn, then to Calif, then back to NY, then to LA again. We hadda pool growing up. That was the life. Getting outta bed at 11 a.m., having your girlfriends come over, lounge around the pool all day. All the neighborhood kids would come over. Mom would bake cookies and make Kool-aid.” She sighs.




“Yup, those were the days.” she continues. “My mom was always a good sport about having all the kids over. But hey! Better to have your kids in your own back yard than running all over tarnation.”
She chuckles. PP tells her how her mom did the same. Tells of the kids that sat on the embankment above their pool, craning their necks over the fence, pining for an invite to join in the fun, till finally, PP’s mom told ‘em to come on over.
GN nods, “Well, you have a good rest of the day,” she float walks out of the tub. “Time for the Steam Room. I tell you, it’s like a Country Club here.”
PP laughs with her, watching her languid round middle-aged stroll weave around the pool to the locker room.


“We must be on the Same Path!” PP laughs as she spies GN getting dressed in the same aisle as her locker.
“I’m going to Grocery Outlet next. You headed there?” she chuckles.
“Nope, got my shopping done already.”
“Yeah, I decided to go after the Y. Otherwise, I got the cold stuff sitting in the car.”
“Yeah, my ice cream’s safe and sound in the freezer.”
“Exactly.”
PP decides this means that she likes ice cream. Even though the ensuing discussion of Edward Abbey and The Biochemical Blah Blah Blah of the Brain books belie a taste for sweets.
“So many books to read, so little time,” PP laughs through the cliché.
“But we still seem to find the time to watch TV.”
This also delights PP. So many Berkeleyites view TV as the next Anti Christ. “What do you watch on TV?” PP asks.





“Oh, I watch a lot of stuff. Lately it’s Dancing with the Stars.”
PP is beyond delight now. She loves DWTS? In Berkeley? But yet, this is what happens. These intellectuals, downing their carrot juice in mini Perrier bottles (GN had already shown PP this innovation), reading heady sciency non-fiction about the Brain, listing Steinbeck’s entire oeuvre, but yet, they still like DWTS!!!!
Only in Berkeley.
“My name’s Denise, by the way.”
PP almost keels over. Her name is Denise! How perfect is that! She’ll have to tell DL about this Berkeley Denise who adores Steinbeck, Ice Cream and DWTS.
Only in Berkeley!

The A-Word

“I hafta admit that I played the Lotto yesterday.” Friendly Asian Water Walker leans over the lane line, confidential. PP grins, considers taking out her earplugs, but still had 200 yards of warm down to complete. If she takes them out now, and tries to reinsert them later, they’ll leak. So she opts for fuzzy hearing instead.

“My mother wasn’t very happy about it.” FAWW rolls her eyes. “I’m like, MOM! It was only a dollar! But my brother…..” She leans in closer to whisper to PP, “He well…. He has a gambling problem. It’s an issue. In Taiwan.”

She pauses, thinking.

PP wonders if she’s thinking whether she should be telling family secrets in the pool. Or maybe she’s just trying to figure out how to explain her brother’s issue with gambling?
So PP nods, “It’s part of the culture, isn’t it?” she offers.
FAWW nods slowly, considering. “Yeah, you know, you’re right. It is part of the culture. But my brother. Well, it’s just that he had money and friends they take advantage, you know?”



PP isn’t sure how this connects to the gambling issue, but she’s learned to be patient when collecting stories at the pool.

“He had friends that he leant money to, and then they said they were gonna pay him back but of course they never did. You have to watch out for that. For people that take advantage of you. Like I have this friend. Well, she was a friend,” FAWW chuckles softly, shaking her head, “and she doesn’t drive and so she wanted me to take her mother shopping and when I told her, ‘No, I can’t do that,’ well, she got really mad at me and called me the A Word.”

FAWW sighs.

PP wonders what the A Word is. Asshole? Is FAWW so polite that she can’t say this word? Or again, is her refusal to ‘swear’ part of the culture? PP remembers this from all the teaching she’s done with students from Asia, Taiwan in particular, that this sort of formal politeness, this hesitancy around speaking ‘profanity’ was part of their culture.

Today, in the pool, there’s something kinda sweet and refreshing about FAWW’s refusal to say the A-Word that PP can’t help but like.

But maybe she is simply upset that her former friend called her The A-Word cuz she refused to be taken advantage of, and so she couldn’t say it?





PP decides this last possibility might be the case since FAWW seems like she’s processing the whole loss of friendship situation. So, she suggests, “Yeah, well, that’s a lot to ask someone to do, take their mom to the store. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time. But mostly you don’t need ‘so called’ friends calling you The A-Word.” PP uses her nomenclature to build rapport in the pool.

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t need that.” She frowns, then shakes her head. Then a relieved smile breaks out. “You’re right. I do have better things to do. Though I’m retired now. Are you retired?”

PP laughs. “I wish! I’ll never retire!”

FAWW joins in the giggle. “Really? I thought maybe you were retired.”

“Nah, I’m just on a break this week, so I’ve been able to swim in the middle of the day like this.’

She nods, “It’s nice, huh? To swim at this time.”
“Yeah, it sure is.” PP glances up the empty lane, the sun shimmering through the windows, sparkling tiny diamonds on the water, puffy white clouds glancing across the blue blue sky.
“But just cuz you’re retired, doesn’t mean that you should be carting around people’s mothers. I guess people just think you have all this time to run their errands for them, right?
“You’re single right?” FAWW asks.
“Yup. So, yeah, single people get taken advantage of too.”
She nods, taking this in. “No kids?”
“No, well, I have the 3 cats.”
She chuckles. “Oh, I love cats.”
“They’re my substitute family.”
“I can’t have them though. Allergic.” FAWW sniffles, then breaks into a grin. “Well, I better let you get back to your swimming. I talk a lot! You need to finish, right? You glide so effortlessly. I am always so jealous!” She laughs, shy now.


Later, in the parking lot, FAWW comments on PP’s fluffy pink sweater, “That’s cozy.” Touches it, leaving her hand a little too long on PP’s forearm?

Or is this PP’s imagination? That the question about her being ‘single’ in the pool before was nothing, not a come on or a checking her status sort of situation at all. But just part of the general dialogue around single retired women being taken advantage of?

Yet, PP had to admit that she would be flattered. If FAWW had a bit of a crush on her. Not that she’d do anything about it. FAWW was attractive and smart, but not really PP’s type.




PP unlocks the Geo as FAWW heads over to her plush grey Toyota, pops open the trunk and starts rummaging through its contents. Climbing into the Geo, PP plops down, sighing, unwrapping a granola bar, and watches in tired happiness as three puffy white clouds drift across the blue blue sky.

It's NOT okay!

“Is there a cell phone in here?”

Her indignant stridency rang out into the sauna at Hilltopia after hearing the tell-tale sing song tone.

Of course there was a cell phone in the sauna. Isn’t there always? Amazon African American Woman had sauntered in moments before, plugged in, and settled down to some serious cell phone rap. PP hadn’t said anything. Why bother?

Plus she was blissfully tired from her long Saturday swim. She just wanted to rest and let the heat do its magic. Now there was gonna be a cell phone confrontation.
Oh, goody!

Cell Phone Police Woman was sitting up now, her pale white breasts sagging, her wrinkled belly slack. But her voice.

Nothing slack about that.

“Ummm....” Amazon murmured, gently rocking to her Cell Tunes.
“Cell phones are NOT allowed in here.”
Amazon unplugs one ear, eyes her interrogator lazily. “I been comin' here 9 years and ain’t nobody ever tol' me I can’t.”
“Well, it’s not okay. There are naked women here.”
PP’s making herself as small as possible in the dark corner next to Amazon Woman. Police Woman is on the bottom deck, facing Amazon Woman now, indignation filling the air.



Amazon doesn’t answer, but starts to put the ear plug back in.
“I’m going to call upstairs if you don’t get rid of the cell phone.”
“You go right ahead.”

PP can’t believe it. Why not just put the cell phone away? Police Woman is right. No cell phones are allowed in the sauna.
But that is exactly why she probably didn’t. Amazon Woman is a Rule Breaker. You could tell.
PP kinda likes this, but then again, kinda doesn't, hater of cell phones that she is. But the naked women part intrigues her as Police Woman rises and stalks out of the sauna to make the call.
Amazon Woman turns to PP, genuinely mystified? “You hear my music?” she asks.
PP nods. “Yeah, a little,” she answers.
“Yeah, okay, I can understand how that might be a annoying.”




“But she seemed more concerned about our being naked. Like you were gonna take pictures or something?”
Amazon doesn’t respond. Frankly PP doesn’t think she looks like the Naked Woman Camera Predator type, but guess you never know.

PP starts to gather up her stuff. Part of her wants to stay and see what happens next, but another part of her is just too tired and hungry to care.
“They’ll be right down,” Police Woman announces as she re-enters the sauna.
“You can hear my music, is that the problem?” Amazon asks politely.
“It is NOT okay to have cell phones where naked women are!” Police Woman is seething at the imbecility of it all. “You could take pictures. And then upload them on to the Internet for everyone to see!”
Amazon woman nods slowly. “Okay, yeah, I can see your concern.”
Then she plugs back in the earplug and starts to sway to her music.




PP decides that maybe she better get out before a Real Fight ensues. Not that she thinks this will happen, really.
Or could it?

Neither woman appears to want to back down. Confrontation was buzzing in the heated darkness.

PP leaves. The Internet Naked Woman Sauna Camera Possibility intrigues her. She's never heard of this. Not that it isn't possible, but it did seem just a bit far-fetched that Amazon Woman would be out to take Police Woman's naked picture and post it all of the the Internet.

On her way out, PP almost runs head into the Shy Latina who runs the front desk.
“You lookin' for the Cell Phone Culprit?”
Shy Latina stares at PP like she’s never heard anything about it, even though it seems obvious that this was her task at hand.
PP points toward the sauna. “In there. Have fun.”
Shy Latina doesn’t smile, and why should she? She’s on her way into a nasty situation.

PP heads for the toilet, but inside the stall, stands for a moment waiting to hear if anyone starts yelling.
Shy Latina comes back out after only about 10 seconds.
PP thinks it’s over and takes a seat.

“Hello! Yes! The woman on the Cell Phone is still in the sauna!” PP hears the anger and frustration ooze from the phone and under the stall. “It is NOT okay!” she repeats.

And PP agrees. It’s not okay to have a cell phone in the sauna. And it’s not okay to ignore the Shy Latina’s admonishment if in fact that is what happened.

Obviously, Shy Latina wasn’t authoritative enough to get the job done.
What would happen next?

PP wasn’t waiting around to find out as she headed to the shower to escape the ensuing battle.

One thing she could be sure of. There probably won't be any Cell Phones in the shower!

Leave Those Oranges Alone!

“I never want to see another crate of oranges as long as I live!” Hurt Back Woman sighs longly, shifting her heft in the dark corner of Hilltopia’s sauna.

Laughing, PP watches in concern. Back pain is nothing to mess around with. She knows this from Owen Hill’s odious back ailment. She’ll never forget the time they brought the cat to the vet and Owen was in so much back pain that he just had to lie down on the cold linoleum of the waiting room floor and writhe and cry.



That was a bad day.

This day, though No More Orange Crate Woman seems to be in pain, she was in the pool earlier with the Rusty Hinges, so she could move. The water’s restorative powers doing their magic.

“I was visiting my sister in law, she lives in Merced and she was loading crates of oranges into the truck and I just lifted one and handed it to her, and yup, there goes my back.” She sighs. “This happens every 3 years or so. I just have to be careful.”


Nodding, PP offers, “Yeah, I know what you mean. We reach a certain age and then we really have to watch what we do. Things that we used to do even a few years ago……well…we just can’t anymore."

Somehow this discussion is appropriate today since it’s her birthday. The general decrepitude of middle age, while on the one hand is slow, is, on the other hand, lightning fast. It seems like only a few years ago that she could swim 50 yards in less than a minute. Now, even with her fins, if she makes it with 5 seconds to spare, she’s doing good.

She doesn’t tell Orange Crate Woman all of this though. Just nods and offers a sympathetic response: “Like with my swimming, I have to use the fins a lot cuz of my neck pain.”

OCW grunts as she shifts her heft. “I did this once.... let’s see....it was when I was 40 that was 25 years ago? (PP marvels at this tidbit—she’s 65?! Wow! She doesn’t look that old. How old does she look? Like 45? It’s so weird. Age. Appearance. Body Aches and pains and limitations.)

“So, I was due for another bout of it.” She laughs, ruefully. “It’s been 3 weeks. I just have to take it easy. It’ll heal. I haven’t been to my chiropractor. Though he would say to just lay down on the floor with a towel rolled up under your head.” She rolls her towel to show PP. Then chuckles. “He said if he told all his patients this trick he’d be outta business.”




“But he told you,” PP smiles.
“Yeah, he did. So I just gotta remember to follow-up and do it. But I tell you, I’m never gonna look at oranges the same way again.
“That makes perfect sense,” PP agrees, thinking how at least she has a reason for her back pain. An Orange Reason no less.

Getting up, PP feels a bit woozy as she always does when she sits too long in the sauna (something she tends to do when chatting with someone to gather a story).

“May you heal quickly,” she calls out to Anti Orange Woman before shutting the door.
“Oh, my!” the tone of her voice is genuinely touched. “Thank you!”

Italian Counts and Cats

“It’s about time!” Sandy proclaims, squirting another splash of water on her beady body.

DL and PP laugh as they find a spot in Utopia. PP needs this. The pool was Splash Hell this evening. She was forced to share a lane with Splash Bongo Man who had been surprisingly chatty, “Are you leavin' already," she'd joked when he finally heaved his scrawny self outta the water. He'd nodded, then given her a crooked crazed grin, "Yeah. Now you have it all to yourself. Enjoy!”

Oh, she was glad he was gone! His manic splashing had worn her out and created neck wrongness.

“Rumor has it that you had run off with an Italian Count and were temporarily ensconced at his Umbrian Villa teaching English till you married, but this was contingent upon his mother’s approval till you were able to make perfect gnocchi.” Sandy is in top form this evening.


“How did you know?” PP jokes as DL stretches out on the bottom bench, sighing blissfully.

“Seriously though,” Sandy continues, “Did you have a wonderful trip? What was your most favorite thing you did?”
PP had to think about this for a moment; there were so many. “The pool adventure in Florence was fantastic!”
“Yeah?”

“Si, si. My sis found the pool and then found the bus route; something I don’t think I woulda done. Then we actually did it. Got on the bus. Found the pool. Signed away all our rights in Italian. Who knows what we signed!”
“What do you mean?” Sandy asks.
“Oh, you know how you visit someone’s club, like here at the Y for instance, and they make you sign some release form absolving them from all responsibility if you drown.”
“Oh, sure.”
“Well, I think this is what it was. Who knows. We didn’t speak Italian and all the beauteous women at the desk didn’t speak English so we just signed the forms and went our merry way into the waters.”


Sandy nods, serious.
“What else?” she asks.
Thinking, PP lights up. “You know, you travel a lot. It’s the things that you stumble upon that are the best. Like the cats at Largo Argentina ruins.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the Roman SPCA. There’re these ruins in the middle of Rome, near the Parthenon neighborhood-- you know it?”
“Sure,” Sand nods, listening intently.



“And on our walk back from the Parthenon, we see these columns sprouting up in the middle of a square and then I see a cat. And then another cat. And then I look down into the ruins, and there are LOTS of cats. And then I go down these stairs, and it’s CAT Sanctuary Roman style with Roman Cat ladies trying to get you to adopt a cat to take back to Oakland with you.”


“You’re kidding?”
“Nope.”
“Like there aren’t already enough cats here,” Sandy snorts.
“I know. “

“Though I suppose those Roman Cats would be Tough Guys, eh? No collars for those Roman Cats. Unlike the pampered cats here in the States.” Sandy chuckles demonically.


“Hey, you’re right,” PP giggles, eying DL who’s starting to sit up, readying herself to leave the sauna. PP imagines that DL can’t drag herself away from the Roman v. US Cat Collar Conversation, but maybe she’s just dizzy and moving slowly.

“No collars on those Roman Cats! I never thought of that!” PP grins.
Sandy nods, then takes on a gravelly Tough Guy Cat Voice: “What you doin'? No collar for me Bro!” She laughs, suddenly embarrassed. “Actually that sounded a little too Oakland, but you know what I mean.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re absolutely right!” PP nods. "I wonder if the Italian Count has any cats at his Villa in Umbria? And if he does, do you think they'd be collared or not?"



Sandy thinks for a moment before replying, "It'd be up to his Mother. They have all the power."
"Yes, that's true," PP concurs. "If she said the cats need collars, then they'd have them. And if she decreed no collars, then that would be law."

Opening the door to the sauna to let herself out, DL sighs, "Va beni!" she sings softly, before floating out of the sauna, leaving PP and Sandy to grin in her wake.



(http://gelsihouse.com)

Le Tone Françoise

“Oh, no!” PP laughs as she reaches across to open her locker. “Here we are all in the same corner when the whole locker room is empty. This always happens, doesn’t it?”
Sexy French Swimmer shrugs, moves her stuff aside. “It is not a problem,” she murmurs philosophically.
“Guess it is a good spot,” PP continues as she pulls her clothes out and starts to lotion up.

“The water today....” SFS sighs. “It was very nice, don’t you think? The temperature. It was good, no?”
Actually, PP thought it was a bit on the chilly side, but then she always does. No need to interfere with someone else’s Swimmer’s Bliss. So she lies: “Oh, yes, it was lovely.”

“And the pool, it was not crowded,” SFW continues in her dreamy sexy accent.
“Yeah, at first, when I got here, there was someone in every lane, but it worked out okay,” PP nods. “We got our own lanes even with the Rusty Hinges taking up 2 of them.”

“The other day!” SFS suddenly exclaims, her Bliss vanishing. “You would not believe it!” If Incensed were personified, SFS would be IT. “I go to get into a lane to share with this woman and she stops and you know what she say to me?”

PP starts to answer, but there’s no pause: Rhetorical French Narrative at work. “She say: ‘Don’t you want to go to That Other LANE!’ And I say, what do you mean? The other lane! She say again, and she say it like that....'SFS spits out the words, disdain dripping from her. "And I don’t know what she is talking about. When I get in I look around before I take my glasses off and see that all the lanes are full. And then, I take my glasses off and go to get in this woman’s lane and she says this to me: 'DON’T you want to get in THAT lane! It is empty!' She say it like THAT!” SFS repeats again, her pretty nostrils flaring. Really.



PP knows this is serious Lane Sharing Business. Something that they all hate doing, sharing a lane, but then again, it’s the Y and here at Hilltopia, one often gets one's own lane. So to just split a lane, while not ideal, really isn’t so bad compared to some pools.

“Do you know what I mean?” SFS asks PP now. “It was the way that she said it. She could have just said, ‘Oh, do you see? There is a lane empty?' Or she could have said, ‘I think that the lane next is empty. Maybe you would like to swim there? But nooooooo! She says it like THAT!”
“It was her Tone,” PP offers.

“YES!” SFS jumps on this. “It was Her Tone! She did not have to say it like that! I could not see. I take my glasses off to swim and then I can not tell.”

PP nods. Earlier, SFS had gotten in the lane next to PP’s and PP had given her a hearty ‘Hi’ since they often chatted, but SFS had just nodded, barely said ‘Hello’ like she hadn’t recognized her.
Now PP knew why.
Glasses.

“I never woulda thought of that,” PP says now. “I mean about the glasses.”
“Oh!” SFS laughs, shrugs. “That is because you do not wear them.”
“I wear them sometimes, but only for reading,” PP laughs. “I resist them because of the aging.”
SFS shakes her head. “It is not because of the aging,” she says, missing PP’s point entirely? Which is that PP resists the aging process or the idea of it at every turn and breaking down and wearing bifocals is just one of her ways of denial. But maybe SFS is younger than PP? Or the French are just way too cool to worry about such things?

“The glasses are for the Visual,” she asserts. Obviously. Anyone could see this. Why didn't PP?
“Of course,” PP agrees, feeling a bit vain and old. Or is her meaning just lost in translation?

Or is it, again, all about Tone?

Yes, that’s it. The French, like the Italians,(now that PP has spent 3 weeks in Italy, she's an expert--oh and she watches lots of Italian movies too!) are all about Tone. If you want to get across an opinion, you say it with that Certain Tone that will communicate your meaning no matter what the language. Disdain. Joy. Bitterness.



Sophia Loren, in Marriage Italian Style, had no difficulty communicating her bitterness to Marcello Mastroianni. PP got it without the subtitles even. Plus Mastroianni was such a stereotypical Italian Philandering Husband that who needs the exact words when Sophia tells him to F***$$^^? off? She says that with her Tone.

And today, SFS, too, says it with her Tone. Her Tone of disdain for the Stupid Lane Sharing Woman. Her Tone of nonchalance with the aging process. Her Tone of delight when PP asks her her name and then mispronounces it.

“You will not remember it,” she laughs as they run out into the rain, so wonderful after the horrid drought of the last few months.
“But it has a ‘yes’ in it!” PP jokes. “Yes I will remember!”
“See you later, PP!” SFS calls out as she hurries to her car.
And PP can’t help but detect a tone of warmth in her au revoir.
Oui?
Si?
Yes!

Piscina, Poetry and Penance in Roma

I

“Buon Giorno?” PP greets her, hesitating. She is, of course, in the middle of feeding cats. Oh, Roma, the City of Gatti! They’re everywhere, including here at the Cimitero acattolico, aka the Non-Catholic Cemetery. PP and DHBF have stumbled upon it looking for what else? A pool.

“C’mere!” DHBF had called PP over to the computer to show her, what else? A map! “There should be a pool here.....” He shoves the pretty green and yellow map on the screen at her. “Google says it’s only a 21 minute walk from here,” he beams.
PP eyes the map dubiously. Google is so not her idea of a trustworthy source even though everyone else on the planet thinks it’s God.
“21 minutes?” she asks. “Ummm....”
“Yeah! Isn’t that great?”
“Sure, if it’s true. But maybe we should just walk over there first to make sure it’s really there before luggin all of our swim stuff around like we did in Venice.”
“That makes perfect sense,” DHBF nods. “You ready?”
“Guess so.”

PP had tried to stifle any excitement. After the disappointment over the pool in Venice she didn’t want to get her hopes up here in Roma, but it would be so very cool if the pool were this close.

45 minutes later they stand in the Cemetery for Non-Catholics asking the Cat Woman where the pool is. She tries to help as a rotund calico clamors for her kibble. “Piscine?” she repeats. Then launches into a stream of Italian Pool Directions. PP and DHBF shake their heads. “No, no. No parle Italiano. Parle Englise?”
She shakes her head, “No...no....” as the Calico knocks a forkful of tuna out of her hand.
Somehow she communicates that the pool is next to the nursery they’d walked past already by making a flower shape with her hands –plus the Italian for flower is close to English. PP can’t remember the word now of course, but trust her, it is.

So....okay, this is good. They go back to the nursery and the pool will be right there and.....

PP has to go to the bathroom. She has to see Keats and Shelley and Gregory Corso before she heads off on the pool quest.

She does all of the above, noting the lovely verse on Corso’s gravestone:






Dubious though still of their ability to actually find the pool, she sighs. They’re all gonna end up in the water again anyway---why does she have to practice so much while she’s living?

“Hey! There’s an information place here,” DHBF lights up. He loves Visitor Centers. Once, when they were on a weekend trip up in the Gold Country he went to the VC to find a hike and this was how they found the smoking mini volcanoes. But that’s another blog.
Here they’ve found pyramids and poetry.
Would the VC know where the pool was?

“Buon Giorno!” DHBF calls out as they pop into the center filled with poetry, calendars, postcards and cats.
“Parle Englise?”
“A lot!” An affable gent grins. Turns out he’s from the Bay Area, San Rafael even. And so, DHBF hits it off with him immediately. He’s got an Italian sidekick at the computer who looks up the pool address and yup, it’s just up the street by the nursery like Gatto Chicka had said.
“Did you see Corso’s grave?” San Rafael Man asks.
“Yes, we did. I didn’t realize he was buried here in Rome,” PP answers.
“Yup. If you go on YouTube you can see him wandering the City streets. Course by that time he had a bottle of beer in his hand 24/7.” He shakes his head sadly.
PP nods. It is sad. But then again, Corso did end up in Roma next to Keats. That seems perfecto.
“Grazie for the pool info,” she thanks them.
“Sure, no problem. Good luck,” San Rafael Man waves good-bye.

II




PP stands at the rail on the balcony above the chaotic pool that only Roma would have. It’s packed with swim team kids of various ages, ranging from maybe 8 to 14? (She is terrible with kids’ ages) There are 6-8 kids in a lane. They’re swimming backstroke in frantic crooked lines. A coach follows them on deck, hollering commands at them that PP can’t understand since they’re in Italian. But she’s been where those kids are. “Get the lead out Jameson! Let’s see some hustle there!”
Shit.
How the hell did she ever do sports? Those kids all look like they’re swimming for their lives. And here in the country where relaxation and la dolce vita are king.
Not in the pool!

It’s a cute little pool. Indoors. 4 lanes. 25 yards. But already, PP knows that this probably isn’t gonna work. The place seems like a private club and she’s just not up for paying 25 euros to swim again (not that she paid it in Florence thanks to her sister. But sis was back in Torrance and besides, PP wouldn’t expect her to pay again.)

Hell. Weren’t there any goddamn public pools in Italy?
There must be. Just not on Google. Or wherever this Internet swim site connection is.

She lingers on the balcony for a moment with all the parents and little brothers and sisters that aren’t in the pool. It would be so nice to come back and swim laps without all the kids, she thinks.



But it was not to be. The woman at the counter shows them the schedule. The price? 130 euros for 4 months.
“Can’t I just come swim once?” PP asks, knowing the answer.
She shakes her head, “No, no....sorry.”
“Do you know of another pool we could try in the area?”
“You could try Roma Uno,” she offers, but they may need Medical Certificate, I don’t know.”
Medical Certificate? PP doesn’t even ask, but gets the address from her and they head out back onto the busy blvd.

III

PP doesn’t even have the energy to document Roma Uno. But she will muse on the Medical Certificate Aspect of it since it’s so weird.

This is a fact. Some sort of doctor’s official certificate must be brought back to Roma Uno if she wants to pay the 30 euros to swim there. (Yes, this is the price and at least it would be possible to swim here barring the medical obstacle.)

What could this be?
“They just don’t want all of us Foreign Tourists bringing in nasty diseases from around the globe to contaminate their pool,” DHBF offers.
“Like what?” PP asks, puzzled. “AIDS? Cholera? What kinds of communicable diseases are spread in pools?”
“Leprosy!” DHBF laughs.
“Leprosy” PP giggles. “That must be it! All of the Swimming Romans are afraid that we’re going to give them leprosy in the pool and all of their bella limbs are going to fall off and they won’t be able to wear their high heels anymore!”

They both laugh. It is funny. Leprosy.
But yet, this does mean that PP has no pool to report on in Roma. Other than these two pools that were not meant to be.

“The Vatican has a pool,” DHBF suggests. “We could try that when we go there tomorrow.”
“Are you kidding?” PP laughs. “I’m not swimming at the Vatican.”
“Why not?”
She pauses. Good question. Why indeed.
That night, before their big day at the Vatican, PP pictures all of those nuns floating in the pool, their habits billowing in the blue blue water. Their heavy shoes sinking down into the watery depths.




It’d be a good story, to swim at the Vatican.
But not this trip. It’s just too much to try to find another pool. PP can’t handle the disappointment anymore.
Even though a swimming nun would be fun, wouldn’t she?