It's 4th of July at the Y!!!

I knew it would be bad. I mean, hell, it’s 4th of July. The height of pool mayhem season, but I needed to swim. And when I got out to the deck of the Hilltop YMCA, things were pretty calm. Only one serene woman swimmer in the center lap lane. A couple of parent tots in the far lane. I was pleasantly surprised as I grabbed the empty lane farthest from the tots.

The water felt cool, refreshing. I needed this! I’d been sick with a heinous headache for days and today was the first day I was up and about. So, of course, the first thing I do is head for the pool. Even though it was a holiday.

And holidays at the Hilltop YMCA are notorious for pool pandemonium.

I got lulled into a rhythm nevertheless. Even with this knowledge. Swim while I can.

But the din started to grow. I stopped at the wall for a moment to change equipment, noting how the lifeguard had now taken out a lap lane and opened it up for more parent tots. I sure hope they had their swim diapers on. (But that’s another blog)

Today, I just wanted to get a swim in before more lap swimmers showed up now that there were only 3 lanes instead of 5.

A shy older gent stood at the deck as I came to the wall, “You wanna swim here?” I asked him. He nodded, climbed in gingerly, began a slow leisurely side stroke.

Okay, I can handle this as long as he doesn’t kick me.

But then the din grew. The lane next to me now had 3 swimmers, the serene woman now surrounded by mayhem as no one knows how the hell do circle swim at the Y.

I turned at the wall, ready to head back down the lane, when lo and behold, A Mammoth Man was spastically swimming right toward me. On my side of the lane! With no regard to my being in the lane. Did he just not see me? Was he just an asshole?

What the hell?

I stopped mid lane. Stood there, mouth open staring at him. “Excuse me!” I hollered as it was so loud now in the room. He stopped in time not to run into me. His Mammoth Self righteous self staring into me like I was the one who was in the wrong. “Did you tell him that you’re in the lane? That we need to circle swim?” I pointed to Sidestroke Man who continued so slide past me, oblivious. Of course.

Mammoth Man just stared at me. Confused? Arrogant? Hard to tell through my foggy mask. I beckoned for the lifeguard, “Hey, can we get some help over here?” Hoping he’d come and do his job, you know, referee the situation.

But Mammoth Man took great offense. “I don’t need any HELP!” he hollered at me. I stared at him, stunned, holding my comeback of “Well, sir, I beg to differ, but actually you need a LOT OF HELP!!!”

I said nothing though, as Mammoth Man shook his head at me. Oh so miffed. Women? Lap swimmers? Who knows what was going through his Big Thick Skull! “I’m getting out anyway!” he yelled at me.

I stood there, watching him swim past me and pull himself out. What the hell? He just got into my lane to stop me and have a confrontation with me to get out again? Why the hell didn’t he just get out from the walking lane where he’d been 10 minutes ago (Yes, I’d spotted him there earlier. I’d had an ickee vibe from him, but had ignored it. I should listen to my Pool Intuition!)

***
The lifeguard never came to check out the situation as it was happening but did come up to me later after Mammoth Man left, “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t come over earlier. Is everything okay? I mean I saw him get out so I thought….”
His voice trailed off. Shit. Okay, yeah the lane offender had gotten out, but isn’t the lifeguard’s job to come to the situation as it’s happening?

Whatever.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I told him. “I just don’t understand why he got in the lane only to get out.”
“I think he was confused,” the lifeguard said. “I’ve never seen him before.”
Yeah, I thought, that’s giving him the benefit of the doubt---confusion. I think he was just a big belligerent asshole who wanted to mow me down. Or didn’t see me? Or maybe he was confused, but hell, shouldn’t he be in a mental institution then?

Okay, maybe that’s extreme, but you know, that’s how I feel when I swim on holidays.

I’m in a watery mental institution and there’s no way out…..except when you hit the wall.

Show Some Respect!!!!

The pink ball plops into the middle of my lane. I stop, exasperated, but undaunted as the boy springs into my lane, fetches the ball and dives back into the mayhem family lane. Yes it’s summer at the Downtown Oakland Y and while I have my own lane, I have the misfortune of it being next to the family lane. Hence the ball interruption.

But whatever. It’s no big deal, right?

I keep swimming. Swimming. Swimming. Maybe 10 laps.
Then again, the pink ball plops into my lane.

Shit. The same process is repeated. The boy hops into my lane, retrieves the ball, and hurls it back at his playmates. He’s loud. Brash. Confident. Doesn’t give me a second glance. I stop. Stare at him in amazement. Then stare at the lifeguard who’s standing on the edge of the deck observing the lap swimming interruption .

Why the hell doesn’t the lifeguard do anything?

Oh, yeah, I’m at the Downtown Oakland Y. The lifeguards are completely ineffectual. And part of me thinks, okay, it’s not their job to parent the kids’ raucousness (no parents in sight by the way. This kid is probably what? 10? 11? His companions about the same age, maybe a little younger. I’m terrible with ages, esp. kids. )But in any case, even if the lifeguards aren’t responsible for the kids, they are responsible for the smooth operation of the pool and one thing that keeps the pool running smoothly is NOT interrupting lap swimmers!

I remember observing this same phenomenon weeks ago. The pink ball splashing into this lap lane. But that lap swimmer had just kept on swimming. Didn’t even stop. No matter how many times the ball spun into his lane, he just kept swimming, a steady unrelenting freestyle.

Not me. I’m pissed. But I do keep swimming, thinking to myself—Patriarchy! It starts early! The ball throwers and interrupters are all giddy-uncaring-run-over-old-lady boys. Both bump-on-the-log lifeguards are men. And me? I’m just an old Crone trying to do my laps! The Patriarchy just mows me over!

I’ve had it!

DL had sent me an email weeks ago about how she and her niece were playing this game: every time something went wrong, they’d blame the Patriarchy. They were at a restaurant, had ordered a pizza, when the waiter delivered it, it was burnt: Patriarchy! Her niece’s mom was sick, a bad cold had her in bed for weeks: Patriarchy!

And so tonight, when I am just trying to swim my swim, and these boy children are rowdy and uncaring, I think to myself—Patriarchy! It starts early!!!

But I press on, trying to get in my laps. Too soon, it’s 9:28. I have two minutes left before the whistle blows (Patriarchy) and yup, the pink ball plops into my lane AGAIN!!!! This time, the kid swims under my lane to retrieve it, and then just floats underwater in front of me completely oblivious? Or belligerently taunting me?

I’m on my kick board. I want to wait till he emerges and then brain him with it! But instead, when he does finally surface, this time, I’m standing there, steam coming out of my ears, and I just start yelling:

“You know, I’m trying to swim laps here! This is not part of the family swim play area!”
The kid stares at me, taking his mask off, his dark eyes wondering what the hell?

And then I let him have it: “Show some RESPECT!” I holler.

His mouth opens slowly, then ekes out a sincerely contrite, “I’m sorry,” before diving back under the lane line to the safety of his friends and family swim sanctuary.

Wow! I think he really heard me! Why didn’t I yell at him sooner? Now my swim is over, but at least I got an apology!

Will I change the Patriarchy? I think not, but maybe at least this kid will think twice before tossing the pink ball into the lap swimmer’s lane.

Pink ball? Any significance to this? Maybe the Matriarchy working her subtle magic?

Later, in the hot tub, I tell DL the story and her eyes widen in wonderment when I repeat the “Show some Respect!” command.
“That’s the worst thing you can say to a kid!”
“Yeah, guess that’s why it worked. Even on the Patriarchy!” She giggles,nodding.

We go into Utopia, no Sandy tonight. I lament her absence, wanting to tell her the story.
DL says, “Oh, yeah, she’d have something choice to say about it! Too bad you can’t share the blog with her. Maybe in another Universe….”
“Yeah, cuz we know in this Universe, I never could! Share the blog!!!”

DL starts to giggle. I join in. We can’t stop. The laughter rings out into the hot air. We can’t stop. Truly. It’s like we are in 7th grade and passing a note back and forth and giggling so hard and trying not to, knowing we’ll get caught, but the giggles are contagious and have a life of their own.

Now, the giggles subside, a few women enter quietly into Utopia, settle in, a quiet reigns.

I close my eyes, breathe deeply, relaxing, finally ……Then open my eyes and stare up and into the dark ceiling. I watch, mesmerized, as a pretty pink ball appears before me, hovers for a moment above me, and then slowly, magically, begins to float up and up, resting for a moment on the ceiling before disappearing into my imagination.

Emotional

“Were you swimming in the pool tonight?” ,her voice a wistful resignation.

“Yes,” I say, thinking where else would I be swimming, but refrained from being a smartass. Something about her, lying with the bag of ice on her belly, was vulnerable, tender. I don’t think I’d ever seen her before in Utopia, though Sandy knew her. But Sandy knows everyone.

Sandy’d been haranguing earlier about the idiocy of women who do whatever they want-- to hell with everyone else. This started with my relief that the hot tub was working again. “Last week, it was closed. Something about broken glass?” I reported, leaning back into the corner, letting the dry heat soothe.

Sandy had harrumphed, “Some people! They bring a bottle of Perrier, and leave it on the side of the Jacuzzi and oh gee, lookee! It fell into the hot tub and broke into tiny little pieces. Oh well. Or there was this woman last week, she brought her glass jar, glass mind you, into the sauna here, full of some unsavory soup concoction, and left it there, under the bench while she went to work out!”

Sandy had shaken her head in disgust while I had grinned, murmuring some sort of agreement about the nerve of some people. But Wistful Resignation Woman had seemed confused by Sandy’s outrage. “I guess that would be problem,” she ventured. And Sandy had slapped her thigh, “You bet your sweet bippy it’s a problem!” And then slowly climbed down from her perch, exiting Utopia.

This is when WRW had mentioned the pool to me. I get it. A fairly safe topic, right? I mean she probably figured I wasn’t bringing any soup in the pool with me.

“I was thinking of going to the pool tonight,” she continued, softly, wobbly even. “But I was just too emotional. I just had to come into here, and then take the steam and then here again….. I don’t know…... I couldn’t swim….”

“Yeah, I understand,” I sympathized. “Sometimes, you just have to take care of yourself and take it easy. Self-care and all.”

She laughed, softly, a warmth floating up into the air, “Oh yes, you got that. We are our own biggest babies!”

We both giggled. And I wondered, what was she so emotional about? Why did she mention this to me? I’d never met her before. And frankly, I was afraid to ask. I mean, what if it was something really bad? Like someone died? Or she had cancer? See where my mind goes? And so I didn’t ask and she didn’t seem to mind, but just continued musing aloud. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional today….maybe my period is starting soon…..”

Her voice trailed off as I agreed, forgetting for a moment that a lot of women still dealt with the fallout from their periods. Mine was such ancient history, thank gawd! But that’s off the topic. The thing that struck me was her willingness to just talk to me. Like we were old friends. That we’d known each other for years and years. Or in another life?

I don’t dismiss this. I mean, it could be. What do I know? Maybe she remembers me from a past life, but my memory is so bad that I don’t?

This would make sense.

But honestly, I just think she wanted to voice her emotions, her vulnerability. And sometimes, saying it out loud to someone you don’t know is the most soothing. It’s somehow healing…..A stranger might judge you, but here in Utopia, now that Sandy’s gone, she’s probably pretty safe. At least with me. At this moment. In this life.

And after a swim!

I gathered my swim stuff up as quietly as possible, climbed down off the top shelf, glancing over at her.

Her musings floated up and into the dark air. She sighed, softly, adjusting the ice bag on her belly. Closed her eyes.

And I drifted out.....

Smile!

“Smile!”

Seriously? I glare at the beaming dorkguard at Hilltopia Pool. I’ve just finished my swim and I’m tired and cold. It’d been an okay swim till the end when some spaz got in the lane with me and I had to dodge his wave slapping stroke.

Dorkgaurd Smile Commander approaches the women’s locker room door, repeating his smile command and then even goes so far as to make a smile upward shape on his own mug with his index fingers. Grinning widely in pantomime.

Shit.
"SMILE!!!" he commands again.
“Why?” I growl as he holds the door open for me.
“Because life is good?” he exclaims. “Because it’s a beautiful day?”

I sigh, shake my head. All my life I’ve had men, and it’s always men, telling me to smile. It really pisses me off and normally I’d just let this go but today, well…he got me on a short fuse day.
“You know,” I say, “that’s a really Sexist Thing to say.”
His own smile takes a downturn.
“Do you ever tell men to smile?” I ask.
He pauses for a moment. I can see that he’s thinking about this. “No…” he admits, slowly. “I’ve never told a man to smile.”

Triumphant, I push past him into the locker room, “Well, there you go,” I quip, not looking back as the door slams behind me.

Was I a bit too harsh with him? I mean, he was just joking around right?

Well, from his point of view, he was. But the underlying subtext is that women should always be walking around with a big hearty grin on their faces no matter how they’re feeling. That if they’re not smiling and cheerful, then something is wrong with them. They’re not feminine. They’re not submissive. They’re not some man’s baby doll!

Maybe my anger bubbled up today cuz I’d just seen this French Film about how the gender roles had been reversed. It was called, Je ne suis pas un homme facile (I Am Not an Easy Man) and the protagonist, a sexist pig who made stupid comments to women all the time about their height and their lips and their voices, bonks his head on a light post while gawking at some women in high heels, loses consciousness, and when he comes to, all the world's gender roles are upside down. Women have all the power. Women have all the management jobs. The men have all the service jobs. The women wear the power suits and belch and crack sexist jokes about men’s legs and asses and dicks.

So, when SmileGaurd told me to 'Smile!', this movie was fresh in my mind. Plus! I just had had enough.

A week later, walking in the parking lot to the pool, Smile Guard spies me and stops to wait for me. Oh, damn, I think to myself. Why is he in my Sphere?

“I owe you an apology,” he says, stepping beside me as we make our way toward the Y.
“Yeah, well, it’s an Education,” I say, smiling. “Apology accepted.”
“I’ve been looking for you all week, wanting to say I’m sorry.”

I grin. This is fantastic! I hope he’s lost some sleep over it too!

But I don’t say this, I am in a gracious mood today. Besides, he got it. He’s apologizing. Maybe he’ll think about it next time he tells a woman to “Smile”

Or even better, maybe he’ll never make this sexist command to a woman again. I wish he could go into that French film, shave his legs, wear high heels, be someone’s assistant.

That’s not likely to happen, I think to myself, as he holds the door open for me. I smile. Thank him.

Okay, okay.... I admit, there are a few things I like about sexist behavior. At least he didn’t tell me to smile as I scan my card at the desk and head down the stairs for the pool.

Birds, Cats, Chopin and Hawaii

“Did you sight the ever elusive Norton Bird?” Sandy chuckles mostly to herself as I turn to DL, questioning.
“That’s what she calls BLN.”
“Oh,” I nod. BLN is our moniker for Linda Norton, aka Beauteous Linda Norton. She also is known as the Norton Bird, evidently.

She is a woman deserving of much attention and many nicknames, so good to know that she’s also a Bird.
I respond to Sandy, “Nope, she wasn’t in the pool.”

“Does she still do the machines upstairs?” Sandy asks.
I shrug, glance over at DL for the answer. “Yes, she does,” DL affirms.
“Good to know,” Sandy slaps on some more lotion, then reaches for her red sweatsuit pants.

“Well, if she’s not in the pool, then I don’t see her. And as you know, Sandy, the pool is the only thing that matters.”
“I was waiting for that,” Sandy grins, pulling her red sweatshirt top over her wet head.
“The water is the best, though, don’t you agree?”
“It’s where I’ll end up,” Sandy agrees. “Just toss my ashes out into the sea under Diamond Head. That’s good enough for me.”

I laugh, thinking how that’s a fine idea for any swimmers’ last rites. Or even non-swimmers for that matter….. I will always remember taking the little boat out onto San Pedro Bay with my family, my father carrying his mother’s ashes in the urn. Then as we got into the middle of the blue blue bay, he opened the urn and let the ashes float out into the wind and into the sea.
“She always wanted to go to Hawaii,” my little sister quipped.

And we all laughed. The joke breaking the sadness and the missing of Grandma Birdie. I miss her still so. But thinking of her floating under the blue skies of Hawaii in that beautiful sea does make me smile.

Now, I sigh, thinking about swimming in that sea at Waikiki. “I love that ocean swimming under Diamond Head!” I exclaim to Sandy.
“Yup, it’s fine spot for swimming. Not too deep.”

“And so warm and smooth!” I gush. “That’s why they call it Paradise, DL!”
DL nods, starting to pack up her stuff so we can get the hell outta the Y before the garage closes at 10 pm. It’s 9:55 now, but Sandy’s on a roll for some reason tonight.

“Just like the Joni Mitchell song,” Sandy says now.
DL nods, I, of course, have no clue what she’s talking about: “What Joni Mitchell song?” Sandy recites the line. It’s totally foreign to me.

“Ummmmm…..I don’t know it,” I say.”

“Well, I’m probably a little older than you are,” Sandy allows.

“Nah, I don’t think so. I just only know Chopin!”

“Well, laa deee daaaa!” Sandy sings out. And we all crack up. “Have you ever named one of your cats, Chopin?”
“No, that’s a good idea though,” I say, wondering why the hell not. “We did name them all literary names for awhile, you know, Gertrude and Alice and….”

“Those are kinda generic,” Sandy proclaims.
I laugh. “Yeah, I suppose. Not like your name for Linda, The Norton Bird!”

“Yup, she’s always flying,” Sandy says, grabbing the last of her stuff and packing it away in her bag.

“See you next week,” I call out as DL heads out of the gym in front of me.
“Yup, till next week," Sandy calls back. "You ladies have a good rest of your evening.”
“Oh, I’m sure we will. You too.”

As DL and I climb the stairs, I huff and puff, wishing I were a bird that could fly up and out.
Yet, I’m a fish. As Sandy said, "Were you a fish in your former life?”
Undoubtedly.
But maybe in my next life I can be a bird. Maybe a swimming bird? Yeah! A duck or a gull or a coot or……

What’s a good swimming Hawaiian bird? I’ll have to get back to you on that. In the meantime, quack on!

Hey! I'm THERE!!!

“Are you using this machine?”
I point to the towel wrapped around the seat,
He shrugs,
Takes the towel,
mutters, ‘no.’
And moves on.

Denise stands and chats
about this and that
as I pull down the weights.
Then she goes over to
another machine.

Again with the towel
Wrapped around the machine.
She looks around
No one there
She moves the towel
And
Wham!
There he is.
“Hey, I’m there!
I’m using that machine!”

He’s in her face.
Too close
She walks away.
Sicilian anger.

“Are you okay?”
I ask her.
She nods, yes,
But I know she’s not.
We continue to
Workout.

I Was There Man
Comes up behind
Denise, “Just to let you know,
I’m off that machine.”
I glare at him.
He walks away.
Denise continues to
Pump away.

We go to the treadmills
Denise chooses a machine.
“Hey! I was on that machine!
My water bottle’s there!”

We burst out laughing.
Water Bottle Man puts in
His earbuds,
Listens to
Water music?

“What’s going on
tonight?” I ask her.
She’s still laughing.
Starts using many examples.
“What are you doing in
my house? Didn’t you see
my car in your driveway?”

And I join in,
“What are you doing in my lane?
Didn’t you see my
Giant Rubber Ducky!?”

I go to the pool.
I see my lane.
The Rubber Ducky’s
Floating there.

Or is it only I
Who sees it there?

Toebox

In the hot tub, DL and I rest for a moment, letting the watery heat therapeutic our bodies and brains. Then the water starts moving. We are in waves. Why? I glance to my side. On the steps floats a Large Bouncing Woman , jiggling her entire body up and down, up and down, creating wavy waves that jostle us back and forth. We both start to giggle.

“I remember when O and I went to Germany many many years ago,” I grin, trying to keep my balance on the seat as the waves continue to cascade outward into me. DL nods in encouragement? Actually, she has no choice but to listen to the story: Hot Tub captive audience. “And there was this beautiful indoor pool in a little town called, Garmisch Partikirchen. The pool’s water was calm and peaceful when I first ventured in and began swimming laps, but then I noticed that it was getting harder and harder to lift my head up to take a breath. The water was swooshing into my mouth? Why? So I stopped swimming and stood in the center of the pool for a moment. All of the pool patrons had swarmed into the pool. They were boisterous, laughing, splashing. Was this causing all the waves? No….I saw now that there were actual large uniform waves being generated somehow. A wave machine?”
DL’s eyes are wide, delighted behind her foggy round glasses.

“It was hilarious and marvelous!”
She nods.

I let myself be waved about by Bouncing Woman’s machinations now. And think to myself how I’d never encountered anything like the Garmisch Wave Machine in all of the pools I’ve swum in since, and today, with Large Bouncing Woman making these little waves, I'm reminded me of those bigger waves in Germany, so long ago. I can still savor the delight. Still hear the Germans calling out in glee. Wave induced nostalgia? Sure, why not?

But back to today. I start to tell DL about my day, my woes, my shoes. I’d started wearing tennis shoes to work cause my ‘work’ shoes were hurting my little toe. It had become all red and swollen. And, I just didn’t care anymore how I looked at work. My Business Crisp days are over!

DL and I have started this thing about ‘not caring’. Or no, that’s not true, we are going to try not to care about things. And then text each other about what we don’t care about. For instance, I really don’t care that I’m wearing my tennis shoes to work now instead of my more business crisp footwear that hurts my toes. And really I don’t!

And DL doesn’t care that she wore her blouse inside out all day. And I don’t care that my hair is a straw stick mess---but then see, it sometimes happens that we can say ‘We don’t care,’ but actually, we do. The wrong hair don’t care desire is just that—a desire. I actually care a lot about what my hair looks like.

“And so if you wear men’s shoes than there’s more room for your toes!” Bouncing Woman exclaims, raising her foot out of the tub and spreading her digits. Then letting her foot fall back into the tub. Kersplash. More waves!

“Oh, yeah, that’s true,” I say. “I’ve been wearing boy’s shoes for my whole life.”
“Good for you!” She nods her approval, sinking back into the tub. “It’s called a ToeBox!”

That word: toebox! It sounds like a sinister receptacle for some evil kidnapper to send detached digits if the ransom isn’t paid pronto. “You better pay up, Mr. High and Mighty, or your daughter’s dear little toe is gonna show up in a toebox on your front step!” I see Marlon Brando in The Godfather, looming behind his massive desk, flicking a tiny box back and forth between his index fingers on the desk’s shinny top.

Gross! I start to feel a little queasy thinking about Brando and the ToeBox as DL and I heave ourselves out of the hot tub. Toebox Woman starts in talking to someone else.

I still feel sort of wavy as I weave toward the sauna, though less queasy out of the watery heat and the wavy water.

Water and waves and ToeBoxes. It's hard to put it all together. So, I won't try. I'm just going to sit in the sauna, close my eyes, and feel the gentle wavy heat of Utopia.

Modicum of Awareness

Stopping at the wall, I glance up through my foggy mask. A yellow snorkeled woman is making the circle swim motion with her hands, drawing ovals in the air with her index finger. “Can you guys circle?” she asks.

I hate circle swimming, but what are you gonna do, except ….there’s a situation in my lane.

“I’m happy to,” I lie to her, “but good luck trying to get him to stop!” I point at Maniacal Hostile Man, who has just turned at the wall in front of us, not stopping, completely ignoring the obvious request to circle swim. He had done the same thing to me when I’d tried to get him to acknowledge me upon trying to enter “His” lane. The lifeguard, though, uncharacteristically, had been on it. Had gone to the opposite side of the pool and stopped Maniac Man with his big red rubber guard thingee. Manic Man had stopped. Thrown off his cap. Gesticulated hostilely. Then had put his cap back on and swam back down the lane toward me.

Did I really want to share a lane with this guy?
Nope.
But no choice. The Downtown Oakland Y pool was mobbed and his was the only spot where I didn’t have to circle swim.
He was a menace. Splashy and arrogant. How does this come across in the pool? Oh, I dunno. Maybe when he smacked me with his arm and didn’t even stop to apologize?
I tell Yellow Snorkel woman this.

“Oh, forget it,” she shakes her head. “I don’t need to deal with that!”
“Yeah, I thought of crashing into him back, but….” I shrug.
She glances down at my paddles lying on the side of the deck, nodding toward them, yellow snorkel in hand: “Those are pretty good weapons!”

We share a chuckle.
She walks away. Gets into the pool, no problem, two lanes down. Sighing, I continue to swim in His Lane. Every couple of laps, I glance around, hoping for an opening, but no one is leaving. So, I’m trapped in Menace Man’s lane.

Finally he gets out. But not out of the pool. He’s shifted over to the Family Swim section since all the families have gone. There are two large yellow Rubber Duckies floating in the water. I’m kicking now, so I surreptitiously eye him as he separates the duckies by about 6 feet, placing his arms out wide to make a sort of corridor. Then he starts to make odd noises at the Duckies. I can’t really tell what they are. Nothing intelligible. Not words. Just guttural gurgling noises, then he runs through the ducky corridor batting them around. Then he stops and repositions them again to make another run.
It’s hard to describe. But it’s insane.

I have never seen anything like it. I think he’s got some Mental Issues with Rubber Duckies that I don’t really want to think about too closely.

After about 10 minutes, he gets out of the pool. He looks normal. Too tan middle aged guy in sorta good shape in a black Speedo with a good head of wet hair.
I watch as he leaves the deck.
And think, damn. I shared a lane with a Rubber Duckie Fetish Man?

Ickeee!

I finish my swim, the pool calmer now that he’s gone.

Heaving myself out, I catch Yellow Snorkel woman’s eye. Go over to her. Report the Ducky Situation
“You’re not gonna believe this, but after he got out of the lane, he moved over to the family swim lane and started doing Something Strange with the Rubber Duckies.”

She looks at me for a moment, then grins, “Get out of here!”

“Yeah, it’s hard to describe, but I don’t think it’s normal. Beside the fact that he was such a jerk about stopping at the wall and communicating with other swimmers about sharing the lane. ”

She shakes her head, “Yeah, well, all we want is a Modicum of Awareness! And if it’s more than that, it’s a Happy Day!”
We both crack up.
I wish her a good rest of her swim as I turn to grab my stuff from its hook on the wall.

A Modicum of Awareness. Good phrase! I’m going to adopt this in my daily life:

For impatient drivers on I 80 who tailgate.
For cellphone texters on Market Street who bump into me.
For hostile swimmers at the Oakland Y who have not even a Modicum of Awareness?

Before leaving the deck, I glance one last time at the family swim section, the two rubber duckies now floating serenely in the blue grey water.
Did I really see what I saw? Hear what I heard?
The Rubber Duckies bob up and down. One of them gives me a sly wink.....

A Modicum of Awareness?
Just ask the Rubber Duckies.

Quack ...quack....quack!

Something Big

“Are you going to do something big?”

Through my foggy mask, I gaze up at the voice wafting down from a slight woman’s figure. She’s perched on the edge of the deck, feet dangling in the water. I think she’s smiling? But hard to tell.
I laugh anyway. It’s her question. What does she mean, am I going to do something big? Like change my career? Publish my novel? Swim in this cold pool?

I figure it’s the last item, but maybe it’s something else. I’ve had the lane to myself for all of 5 minutes here at the frigid Berkeley Y pool. My back and arms ache from the cold. I have to keep moving.
Maybe that’s the something big?

Or maybe she thinks, since she’s asking to share a lane (did she in fact ask me?) and I’d been swimming down the center, ‘something big’ means splashing with much spatial span the butterfly or large kicking up of waves down the center of the lane or…..

I have no clue, but she gets in and starts swimming before I have a chance to clarify.

She is small and splashless, which to me, is something big as far as a lap lane partner goes. I mean, she will be easy to share the lane with. A BIG deal in any pool, but esp. at the Y.

After 20-30 minutes, she climbs out and I barely miss her. She was so smooth. And in comparison to the bearded swimmer that gets in after her, her presence is a Big Loss!

Later, in the Berktopia sauna with DL, there’s a woman there stretching with complete inhibition. She’s got no qualms about doing yoga poses with wide open legs stark naked.

I think, is this the same woman who shared a lane with me?

Of course, I can’t tell because of the fogged mask syndrome, but I think, after a few minutes of trying not to stare at this woman and purposely avoiding making eye contact with DL (otherwise it’d be all over!) that, no, this isn’t the same woman. I don’t think Something Big Questioner would be doing the obscene stretches in the sauna. (Can I call them obscene? I mean, we are all women in the women’s sauna and so there is nudity, but the stretches? They make me feel slightly queasy)

DL rises and leaves and I mean to ask her later if she felt queasy too, but then forget since there’s so much lost routine coming to Berkeley instead of Oakland ---we are wary of Oakland since DL’s car window was smashed and her registration stolen when she was parked in back of the Y on Webster Street. So, in the meantime, we’re at Berkeley where there’s a garage that is open till midnight and a guard at the front.

Yet, it’s strange not to be at Oakland with the Utopians. And the Berkeley sauna, while hot and delicious for my frozen body, hasn’t made a good first impression.

I don’t want to come here every week and have to avert my gaze from Obscene Yoga Stretching Woman.

Though Something Big Woman was nice.

So there is that, right?

Is it something big?
I'll have to get back to you on that....after I recover from my queasiness.....