OLD LADY SWIMMERS (THE LOVELY I PART II)

“Where did you get that most excellent purple cap?” Penelope asks as she finishes tucking her hair into her ordinary Speedo cap.

“Tee hee!” The Lovely giggles, pleased. “Isn’t it great? I can’t remember exactly, but I think down at Transports on College.”
Penelope nods, remembering her former life on College Avenue. Frequenting Transports was part of this life. Yet she doesn't remember any such caps.

The Lovely I’s was vintage layered scallop. You know the type. Thick rubber with little layers of rubber leaves folding upon each other. And it was, as already mentioned, an enchanting purple hue (The Lovely I’s favorite color---Penelope knows this cause when she used to car pool to Mills with the Lovely I and picked her up at her cute house, it had lavender trim. Penelope had commented on this fanciful dress. The Lovely I had nodded, admitting proudly of how purple was her favorite color.)

So, now admiring this purple cap, Penelope is taken back to pictures of Esther Williams, swimming her graceful backstroke, big smile plastered on and a scalloped cap holding her locks inside.

“It’s a Classic Old Lady Swimmer Cap,” The Lovely I had grinned. “I for one can’t think of a better thing than becoming an Old Lady Swimmer. In fact I think I’m well on my way. This summer at Mills, when all the kids were there with their mothers, it’s always their mothers, isn’t’ it? I noticed that these mothers were REALLY YOUNG! I used to see them, it seems not so long ago, and think how they were my contemporaries, but not anymore. I am well past the child bearing years.”

“Thank God!” Penelope exclaims.

“Yes,” The Lovely I agrees, “you and I do definitely agree on That One.” She stares for a moment, pensive, into the mirror as Penelope tucks the last lock into her own cap and begins the earplugs insertion process. Soon she won’t be able to converse anymore, but she does want to finish the Old Lady Swimmer musings.

Sighing, The Lovely I smiles serenely into the mirror, before picking up her enormous gym bag and hefting it over her Lovely shoulder. The Old Lady Swimmer musings seem to be over.

Yet as Penelope finishes the earplug insertion, she considers the Old Lady Swimmer Pronouncement and its preference over other Old Lady Considerations. Or at least this is how it comes across to her.

She doesn’t want to think of herself as an Old Lady ever. It’s so depressing. There’s such a stigma in our culture against being old, esp. for women. Old Women are obsolete. They can’t bear children, they’ve lost their beauty, they serve no purpose.

But yet, she guesses that if she does become an Old Lady, if she makes it that far, then yes, being an Old Lady Swimmer is the way to go. And swimming, she’ll predict, will do much to combat this stigma against old age and what it means. What one can do.

For the beauty of swimming is, Penelope is certain, that she’ll be able to swim her whole life. Even if it means swimming more slowly, with fewer yards, and in less time.
She’ll always swim.

So, when Penelope pictures herself and the Lovely I 20, 30, 40? years from now she sees them still swimming laps in a blue blue pool. The Lovely I will, of course, still be lovely, and she’ll still be swimming albeit at an old lady pace? She will sport the Lavender cap and be quite pleased to be doing so.

She’ll smile and sigh happily after her swim and continue to make pronouncements on this that and the other thing (Penelope had told her about the Black Adonis as her nurse. The Lovely I had been suitably impressed, but then had told the story of how she’d once tried to talk with him at Mills and ‘Well, I hate to say it but he was kinda boring. You know, the Hot Guy. The Hot Guys don’t have to try.”)

Hot Guys don’t have to try?

Hell, Penelope is betting that Old Lady Swimmers don’t have to try either. They’ll just be naturally entertaining.

Esp. if you’re an Old Lady Swimmer with a Classic Old Lady Cap.

Purple, of course. And excellent, no doubt.

New Neural Pathways

“It’s good to swim in different pools,” the Lovely I beams over at Penelope as she adjusts her goggles. “It carves out New Neural Pathways.”

Penelope grins, delighted. It’s so wonderful to have the Lovely I here at the Hilltopia pool with her. Just like old times. What with the Lovely I’s pronouncements echoing across the lanes as the Rusty Hinges start to fill up the walking lane.

“What are the Rusty Hinges?” The Lovely I had asked Penelope earlier.
“You’ll see,” Penelope had teased. Later she’d explained how she thought, at first glance of the pool schedule, that Rusty Hinges was the name of some aquatics instructor. It was only later that she’d learned that it was a special class for arthritis sufferers.

“That is so great,” The Lovely I had giggled when she’d told this story, sincerely appreciative of the different interpretations of a pool schedule.

Penelope still remembers taking the Lovely I to water therapy at the Albany pool after her fall from a horse. Broken pelvis. Penelope can’t imagine the pain. Gallbladder surgery is nothing compared to some kinds of pain.

And water therapy did the trick then for the Lovely I and was doing the trick for Penelope now after her surgery. Today was the first day that she’d felt no ‘pulling’ at her wounds. (She didn’t know how else to describe it. It wasn’t pain exactly but a strange tightness around the small incisions in her midsection.) She’d adjusted her swims accordingly. More kicking with the fins (no butterfly kicks yet though); less freestyle without the paddles; more backstroke of all things. (Penelope is a horrid backstroker but for some reason this stroke didn’t ‘pull’ the way the freestyle did)

Was she carving out New Neural Pathways as a result of these ‘adjustments’?

What did the Lovely I mean by this anyway? That when one is in a new pool, the old habits had to be adjusted? At Mills, the Lovely I had one routine, and here in Hilltopia she was being forced to create a new one?

How different could it be?

You got in the lane. You swam up and down. You counted your laps or timed your swim.
How did this change your neural pathways?
Of course, being the Lovely I, her Neural Pathways are very sensitive and creative. They must notice any teeny weeny difference in routine or situation. And this ‘difference’ was a good thing.
Penelope gets this. Her new routine with adjusting her swim was Neurally Challenged.

She had to THINK.
And this is what she wanted to avoid when swimming.
Usually.
So, maybe this idea of it being a good thing to swim in different pools has to be tempered. It isn’t something you’d want to try all the time.

At least not if you’re a creature of swimming habit like Penelope.

Or the Lovely I.

The Black Adonis

“Are you a swimmer?”

Penelope had been watching him from her hospital bed, her post anesthesia drug haze providing a questioning filter. Yet, she was almost certain. It was he. The Black Adonis. From Mills College pool.

He would sit under a big tarp, in his black Speedo (yes, he could pull it off; most guys, esp. at Mills where Pasty Academics reigned, were better off in the floppy Hawaiian print shorts)

But the Black Adonis, for this is what he was, well.... much swooning took place at the pool for all the non-Lesbians.

Under his tarp, in his black Speedo, he’d be reading. Penelope was never sure what. She imagined it must be Homer or Melville or......something Big and Bold and Manly.

For he was a Manly Man.

And now....?
He’s a nurse?

What kinda of Manly Man is a nurse?

A real Manly Man, that’s who.

When she’d come back from recovery, he’d been there, donned in his green nurse fatigues, helping to lift her from the recovery bed to her hospital one, his hands strong and gentle, his voice soothing and calming. “That’s right. Easy does it. You’re okay....”

And Penelope had allowed herself to be lifted, the pain dulled from the meds, thinking, Is this the Swimmer from Mills that she knew?

Yet at this point, she’d been too out of it to ask. So when he came back in to take her blood pressure (it was so low! perhaps the only benefit from surgery), she’d asked him, “Do you swim?”

He’d smiled, shyly, “I swim at the Berkeley Y.”

Penelope thought about this for a moment, “Yeah, maybe I’ve seen you there. (She sometimes braved this Y when all else failed. It was way too cold and cranky for her though.) “But did you used to swim at Mills?”

He removed the cuff from her arm, “Yeah, I used to.”

“Me too,” Penelope had laughed softly. “If you can believe it now!”
He grinned, “Sure, sure, I remember,” he chuckled. “We all look a little different out of our swimwear.”

You can say that again! Penelope thought, imagining him in the Speedo under the tarp reading Homer.

She’d never really spoken to him during all the time she swam at Mills. She did remember one time when he’d come over to join the pow-wow at the Hot Tub. Penelope didn’t recall what he’d said. In fact she doubted that she’d remember anything he said.

His body....

It was a work of art. Tall, muscular, strong. Many swimmers, even those in ‘shape’ had imperfections.

But not the Black Adonis.

He was a God and that day at the Hot Tub, Penelope probably just stared.

She was prone to that when presented with a fine specimen.

So, today after her surgery, when the Black Adonis had lifted her out of her bed, she’d thought, Hell, maybe my stay in the hospital isn’t gonna be so bad after all.

And it hadn’t. Thanks to The Black Adonis.

And her sister, Laura, whom Penelope never will ever be able to repay.

They’d gone for one last swim the day before her surgery, like a ‘Last Meal’ before the execution was how it had felt. But her sister had been happy for a swim. So this day after, the day when the surgery was over and they were still in limbo over the results, (not to worry now--the Path Report came in a few days later--all was benign--whew!)Penelope lying in bed, a haze of drugs swirling around her consciousness, the previous day's swim seemed like a dream.

Later that evening, sis had gone home, exhausted from the day of waiting and reading. Dashingly Handsome BF had stayed late; they were watching Animal Planet’s show about the Tortoises of Australia. TBA had come in for the last BP check and had stayed for a moment to watch a giant tortoise, swimming in the blue green waters off the Great Barrier Reef.

“Swimming!” Penelope had pointed, giggling, the lasted batch of pain meds working oh so well.
He had nodded, serious and thoughtful, taking a moment from what must a horrendous job, going around to all of the post surgery patients and taking their vitals every 15 minutes.

“They are beautiful,” he murmured, watching the tortoises swim effortlessly through the murky greenish blue.
“Yes, they are,” Penelope had agreed, thinking how lucky she had been to survive her surgery. To have DHBF here at her side and her sister with her and, yes, The Black Adonis, sharing an Animal Planet Moment.

Maybe getting your gallbladder out wasn’t so bad after all.

Esp. if you find yourself, oh so thankfully, in the hands of an experienced swimmer.


http://www.arkive.org/aldabra-giant-tortoise/geochelone-gigantea/video-06b.html

Sicilian Poets

“LN, this is DL. DL this is LN. Fellow Sicilian Poets.”

It was love at first sight. Or would the Italians call it Amore Instantaniosa? In any case, Penelope watched in rapt wonderment. How could two total strangers be simpatico upon first meeting?

The two Sicilians beamed at each other. One gracious and soft. The other shy and warm. “LN wrote that book that I loaned you,” Penelope continued to DL, who barely nodded as she continued to gaze at LN. (The Public Gardens, Linda Norton, Pressed Wafer Press)

“I loved your book,” DL’s eyes shone behind her wire-rimmed glasses, beginning to steam from the hot tub’s warm bubbles?
Or for another reason?
An Italian reason?

“Oh,” LN murmured, genuinely touched, “You don’t know how much that means to me. You made my day.”

The two women gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes. Penelope expects Tony Bennett or Maria Callas to start blasting through the intercom system of the Downtown Oakland Y. (And okay, Penelope just googled Maria and found out she's Greek, not Italian, but you get the idea)

“Where are your people from?” LN asks.
“They’re from....” DL sings a beautiful Italian Town name that Penelope has never heard of. But of course, LN knows it and nods.
“Where are your people from?” DL asks LN, who answers with a similarly indecipherable town in Sicily.
Penelope wants to participate and tell how her people are from the suburbs of LA, but knows this isn’t the time or place.

The two women continue to talk about their people, their mothers and grandmothers. The land and the food and the music and the shoes.

Okay Penelope just made that last part up, but you know what she means. Italians. There’s something about Italians that makes Penelope swoon. She doesn’t know exactly why.

But it could be the shoes.

“I want to include you in our conversation,” LN nods toward the Interloper who’s been standing too close in the tub to their situation.

Penelope has been pointedly ignoring her for the 10 minutes that the Sicilian Poets have been sharing.

Why?
Because she had been the blob of Penelope’s lap swim this night. A Big Fat Square Blob floating down the middle of the lane, completely blocking Penelope and Graceful Powerful Swimmer.

They’d both just gone around Square Blob. She was so completely clueless from the moment she entered the water. “Can you circle swim?” she’d asked at 9:10 with only 20 minutes left.
Damn.

Penelope could tell from the get go that she was trouble. Big Trouble. Big Square Trouble. 5 feet tall. 5 feet wide.

Before either Penelope or GPS had a chance to say anything, Big Square Trouble had jumped in, and started floating down the middle of the lane. Penelope would not call it swimming. She was like a lump of molasses in Jell-O. It was unbearable. And with only 20 minutes left.

It was impossible!

So, now, when Big Square Trouble had intruded upon the Sicilian Poet Love fest, well, Penelope was cranky. She oozed her hostility at BST, but to no avail.

She was already telling her story of being a goddamn Russian Immigrant and sharing a similar experience to the Italians except that the Russians thought the Italians were fascists and in fact they were for a time there weren’t they what with Mussolini and all.

Penelope did not want to hear about Mussolini.
She wanted to hear about grandmothers on the shores of Sicily baking bread and crying songs.

Damn.

But LN and DL didn’t seem to mind. They just continued to beam at each other; once in awhile, LN would nod an encouragement to Square Woman till finally she announced that “We could all stay in the hot tub all night and exchange these marvelous stories, and I’m all for that, but it’s time I said good night.”

And so she did, giving DL one last loving gaze and inviting her to contact her.
“She’s on the Facebook,” Penelope had offered.
“Yes,” LN had laughed softly, “It’s all so easy now.”

And this is exactly what it was all about when in the presence of Italians, isn’t it?

That ease of being. That way of welcoming.

And the shoes. Penelope still thinks those spike heels covered in expensive black leather have a lot to do with it.

CHEATER CRY BABY

“Have you heard about Mark Spitz’....” Sandy stops herself in mid-question, shaking her head, laughing.... “I mean Michael Phelps’ Pressure Chamber?”

“No,” Penelope grins, “I haven’t. What’s that?”

“It’s this chamber that he goes into to simulate very high altitudes. Like the Swiss Alps and such.”


“Isn’t that Cheating?” DL asks, sitting up from her usual prone position in Utopia.
“One would think,” Sandy continues. “But evidently not.”
“How does it work?” Penelope asks, thinking of course DL is right. Stupid Michael Phelps is a Cheater. His lungs are not his own but instead are some monstrosity by-product of a torturous pressure chamber.

“He goes into this chamber, and like I said, it simulates very high altitudes, and practices breathing very thin air. It must increase his lung capacity. That way when he’s swimming, he can use this increased lung capacity in order to have an edge over his competitors.”

“Sounds like Cheating to me,” DL nods.
“Yeah, me too. How is that fair? Do other swimmers have access to such devices?”
”He’s been able to keep it under wraps. In other words, he doesn’t advertise it.”
“Yet you know about it.”

“True, true....” Sandy grins, pleased. “But you bring up a good point about its fairness, DL. I hadn’t thought of that.”
DL lies back down on the bench, sighing. “It does seem like an unfair advantage. I wonder how much such a chamber costs?”

“Precisely,” Sandy nods. “He’s got the capital to purchase either the chamber itself or buy the time he needs to spend in it.”

Swimming Class Situation, Penelope thinks to herself. Phelps must have millions of dollars to his name at this point in his career. What with those 20 some odd Olympic medals, he’s set for life.

So, why, when he loses a race, is he such a Big Baby Head? (Penelope owes this title to her sister, Snart)

Cuz that’s what he is when he loses. When he came in 4th in the 400 IM and Andrea came running up to him, shoving the microphone in his face, he could barely speak to her. “What happened out there Michael?”

“I dunno....I.....” Michael shakes his head, stunned.

Penelope thinks this must be it. He’s just not used to not making all of his Goals.

After his last race, the 4X100 IM, where he'd won Gold with the help of his teammates, Bob Costas asks him if he’d reached all of his goals.

“I know you came to these games with a very specific set of goals in mind,” Costa jabs. “I’m just wondering, did you meet all of those Goals?”
Phelps shakes his head, laughing, “The goals were met.”

“But did you meet all of the goals that you set at the onset?”
Phelps gives him a steely look, “All of the goals were met.”
He won’t answer the question about what exactly the goals were. i.e.: to win 4 gold and 3 silver? Or to win 7 gold ? Or....?

And Penelope has to wonder if Phelps’ brain was maybe pressurized too much in that Swiss Alps Chamber. Wouldn’t that lack of oxygen affect the brain too?

So much so that the articulation of goals eludes one?


Nah, Phelps is just being a Cagey Asshole.

Penelope is so glad he’s retiring. Give someone else a chance to shine in the next swimming Olympics.

Someone cool, a woman, like say, Missy Franklin!

She doesn’t need a Pressure Chamber to increase her lung capacity. Her lungs are all natural. You can just tell, don’t you think?

Go Missy.
Good-bye Michael.

And never forget Mark Spitz.

THE POOL IS SO POLITICAL (cont.)

Part II


“We have good news for you....”
PP waits on the other side of the phone for good news? About the Geo?
“Congratulations! Your car passed smog.”
“You’re kiddin?” PP jumps up and down in front of her big sunny window, barely able to contain herself. The Geo passed smog? With the Check Engine light on?
Good News Auto Boy continues to explain just how this happened. PP doesn’t care. She’s just so relieved. The Geo passed smog. She can go pick the car up. Mail in the registration.

And go to the pool.


So, when she floated out on deck for the 4:30 to 7:30 Lap Swim (yes, this is what the schedule said), she was on Cloud 9. Or 10 or 11.

So so so happy to have the Geo pass Smog and not have to worry about it for another two years.

Yet, there was a tiny voice inside that nagged her. Why aren’t the lane lines in for the entire pool? she wondered. What if there’s a repeat of Pool Pandemonium from Tuesday with Attitude Bitches, Chicken Lifeguards and .....

PP’s Pool PTSD was rising in spite of reassurances to herself that this was Lap Swim time. Till 7:30. No such untoward situations should arise.

But yet....

As she hopped into the pool, she couldn’t quite shake her uneasiness. In spite of her Elation around the Geo. In spite of the present peace that prevailed.

It happened.

Slowly at first. She noted a small family. Mom, Dad and kid. Mom wearing her Hijab in the pool, climbed in first. Giggling as her clothes became saturated, she slowly started walking down the non-lane lined side of the pool.

Not lap swimmer was she. (PP had every confidence that no way could Mom do 20 laps.)
Then Dad climbed in while the kid just raced back and forth on the deck, from the equipment storage unit to the side of the pool, handing his parents kickboards, pull buoys, and floaty units. Laughing, screaming and running (Hey, wasn’t there ‘no running’ on deck?)

Okay, she thought. Maybe the kid was just gonna hang out on the deck while the parents did their ‘laps.’

Nope.
After all the equipment had been procured, the kid jumped in, screeching on cue.

PP stopped swimming her laps in mid-lane. Glances up at the Clueless Lifeguard who’s sitting dully on her stand.
“Excuse me” PP calls to her. “But isn’t it Lap Swim right now?”
Clueless stares at her, her look saying what? Huh? It’s Lap Swim? Was it only perplexity? Or was it stupidity? Or even fear?

She doesn’t answer PP but goes and gets her co-worker, a Guy, of course, who stands over PP, arrogance oozing out of his tattoos.

“It’s Lap Swim now, right?” PP repeats. “There’s not supposed to be families in the pool till 7:30. (It was 5:30 at this time)
Arrogance Tattoo Guard shakes his head. “There’s not a lot of people here. She (Clueless Guard) didn’t know. You’ve got your own lane.”

PP starts to shake, standing in the water. And it’s not from the cold. “The fact that I have my own lane, at least for now, is beside the point. The schedule says it’s Lap Swimming and so therefore, everyone should be swimming laps, and no kids are allowed. I plan my entire day around this schedule. I don’t understand why you don’t honor the schedule. What’s the point of having a schedule if you don’t adhere to it?”

“Hey, Lady. Chill out!” Nosy Walker Man stops in the lane next to PP to admonish her for her unreasonableness, shaking a scrawny finger in her face. It takes every ounce of PP’s control not to yell, “Fuck you!” But she refrains, knows when she’s being ganged up on.

And the fact that it’s two men against one woman does not escape her notice.

ATG continues, empowered by Nosy Walker Man’s support? “The Lifeguard has the authority to make changes to the schedule. When there’s not a lot of swimmers swimming laps then it’s up to the Lifeguard’s discretion to let in rec swimmers. If you read the fine print, you’ll see that.”

“Are you Fucking For REAL?” PP wants to scream this, but again, doesn’t. Why not?
At this point, she’s afraid that she’s going to be kicked out of the pool for causing a disturbance. Even though she’s right.

Because, no way does it say anywhere on the schedule that Lifeguards have the Authority to make Capricious changes to the Lap Swimming hours. She did check later.


Later she’d told this story to the Lovely I, who’d been suitably incensed. “What is it with Young Pricks treating middle aged women like this?” She proceeded to share her own such experience with a YP at her camera store treating her like she didn’t know what she was talking about, how she was making up the problem, the general tone being, Lady you are a pain and you don’t matter and we’re not gonna listen to you and what are you gonna do about it?

And that’s just it.

There’s nothing that PP could do about this Pool Situation at this point, but back away. Still shaking, she dove under the water, swimming as hard as she could to get away from Young Prick.


Being a middle-aged woman is hard enough what with your loss of estrogen, youth and sex appeal. And this is precisely why, PP thinks, that middle-aged women get treated like they’re invisible. Because they are.

Sure she’d heard this before—it seems so cliché and dramatic.
Yet, in fact, her experience this week proved the cliché to be true.

And so, she did finish her swim, but her shaking didn’t stop until she got out, stood under the shower, and then lay down in the sauna for a good long while.

She was hot now. And more than a little bothered.

Chill out?

PP has a long way to go before she’ll ‘chill out.’

Young Pricks beware. Esp. if she can prevail upon the Lovely I to join her at Hilltopia.

THE POOL IS SO POLITICAL

Part I.

“It used to be that you had to be able to swim 20 laps in order to be allowed in the lap lanes.”

Super Swimmer 8:30 Man shakes his head, then grins. “I remember when I used to bring my son here.....they wouldn’t let him in the lap lanes cuz he couldn’t swim the 20 laps. Later, of course,” he chuckles, “he could out swim me....”

PP nods, intently interested, “That’s very interesting. Evidently, that rule no longer applies.”

She’d been telling him about her unbelievably hellacious experience earlier that evening. How’d she’d arrived and all the lap lanes were full. Not with lap swimmers, but goddamn rec swimmers lolling about. Floating on kick-boards. Flailing with bar bells. Giving swim lessons.

“I’m just giving her a swim lesson,” one self-righteous Pool Cow had harrumphed at PP when PP had tried to explain to her that in order to be in the lap lanes, she and her two friends needed to swim laps, translation, up and down and up and down and up and down the lane without stopping. Hence the name, “Lap Lanes.” PP hadn’t included this last snide obviousness, but it had been on the tip of her tongue.
PP had actually had to stop in the middle of the lane; she couldn’t swim any farther cuz the ‘swim lesson’ was blocking the lane. Signaled dramatically to the lifeguard. Who completely ignored her.

Fortunately, another Lifeguard was on it. Nodded to her, “I’ll just try to get them all in the same lane.”

Yes, the swim lesson group was taking up 2 of the 3 lanes. He asked them to move. They ignored him. “Hablo Espanol?” he tried.

“Hey! I speak English!” Swim Instructor Cow hollered back at him. “I was born in this country.”

Shit, PP thinks, now it’s become a political matter to get the stupid cows to move outta the lap lanes.

PP tried to talk to one of the swim ‘students’. “You need to move out of this lane,” she insisted. Swim Student looked right through her. Maybe she wasn’t born in this country? Maybe she didn’t speak English?

Maybe PP was gonna slap her if she didn’t get out of the lap lane pronto!

Fortunately, Native English Speaker Teacher finally did. Lumbering slowly under the lane line and into the next lane with the Teacher.

Relieved, PP started to swim down the lane and then back again. A Real Swimmer asks if he can share her lane. “Sure,” she nods, actually relieved to share a lane with someone that knows how to swim laps.

She swims a few hundred yards, thinking the worst is over. Till, damn. Two Lolling Girls on kick-boards had now entered her lane and were floating right in front of her. PP almost considers running into them, but thinks better of it. She’s into confrontation at this point, but not of the physical nature.

“Excuse me,” she seethes, “You need to swim laps here.”

One of the Kick-board Girls gives her a look like PP is a piece of cat shit floating in the pool. “I AM swimming laps,” she stares into PP, daring her to contradict her.

PP does.

“The hell you are,” she shouts.

Kick-board Girl shrugs and starts to float down the lane in front of PP, blocking her swim completely.
Damn. What the hell was she gonna do?
She waves at the Lifeguard now.
He completely ignores her.
She stands in the middle of the pool, slapping the water in frustration, seething at the injustice of it all.

She is invisible.

Why the hell do they even have lap lanes if the lifeguards aren’t going to enforce the practice of swimming laps in them?

Shit.

Miraculously, the lane next to PP empties out. She pops under the lane line and starts swimming furiously, leaving Kick-board Bitch to float along, swimming ‘laps.”

Later, when PP tells Super Swimmer 8:30 Man about all of this and he tells her about the 20 lap rule, she can’t believe that she even got a swim in.

When she tells him about how the Lifeguard was completely unresponsive to the point of ignoring her pleas, SS 8:30 grins broadly when she pointed out the guard. “Oh, that guy? He’s a Chicken.”

PP laughs. Yup, this is so true. He is a ‘Chicken.”
And when she’d told him about the bitches on the kick-boards, he nods, “They give you Attitude, right?”
“Right.”
“Yeah, I’ve had that happen to me too.”

This made PP feel a little better. Sometimes she thinks she gets treated the way she does because she’s a petite middle-aged white woman: Attitude Girls can have their way with her. Not that it was OK for them to give SS 8:30 Man Attitude too. It was just somehow reassuring that it wasn’t just her. They behaved like they owned the pool with everyone, middle aged white women, fit Asian Men, Goddamn Chicken Lifeguards.

It was an equal opportunity Attitude Blanket in the pool at Hilltopia.

At least PP got a swim in. This night. Tuesday.

Friday, was another story.....

Manhattans & Frank

“How’s your summer goin, Sandy?” PP asks as she settles onto her favorite top corner.

It’s late at Utopia. DL and PP have just entered into its heated sanctuary. Ahhh....quiet. At last.....

“I’m enjoying the long evenings,” Sandy sighs, satisfied and relaxed. Unlike PP. She’s just survived, and yes that’s the only verb for it, what might be the Most Mayhem Swim of the summer. So far. Usually, Oaktown’s lap swimming was an issue, but tonight, the ‘family swim’ had been Pure Pandemonium. 1000’s of small screaming children splashing, flailing, screeching, their parents encouraging such obnoxiousness in wild abandon.

“Yeah, they’re so nice...” DL agrees wistfully, lying down and sighing.
“Well, at least there’s something nice about summer!” PP jokes.
“What do you mean?” Sandy’s alert now. How could there possibly be anything bad about summer? And usually PP would agree. Till she tried to swim tonight.

“The pool,” PP answers, shaking her head. “What I don’t understand is all the little little kids in the pool at fucking 9:30 at night. Hell, when we were that age, we were in bed by 9:00 even it were light out.”

“I hear you there!” Sandy snorts. “That wraps my panties up into a wad too! We were always in bed early, even in the summer.”
“Yeah, I mean, I hated it, but.....”

“Our parents had their priorities straight. Put the kids to bed and mix up the Manhattans.”

PP and DL crack up.

“Yeah,” PP agrees, “I mean, I don’t think my parents drank Manhattans, I think it was some brown alcohol, like J&B or Cutty Sark ---at least those are the bottles I remember.”

Sandy nods, “It was a different time. My parents would invite their friends over, usually other couples, and they’d pour the Manhattans and the party would start.”

”Put on the Frank Sinatra and dance!” PP laughs, remembering how Frank permeated her childhood: My Way; Fly Me to the Moon; I Get a Kick Out of You.


She grins as the lyrics float into her consciousness:

I get no kick from champagne.
Mere alcohol doesn’t thrill me at all
So tell me why should it be true?
That I get a kick outta you!

It definitely was a different time. What did parents listen to now? PP had no clue. She was so far removed from the music of Oakland families. Maybe they just came to the pool. Well, obviously, half of Oakland did at least! And while, PP is all for kids swimming, hell she was a kid once who adored swimming with her family, she didn’t do it at 9:30 at night when she was 5 years old.

Nope. When she was 5 years old at 9 p.m. on a summer night, she and her sisters would lie in bed, the light still filtering through the drapes, the sounds of kick the can and random shrieks echoing from outside.

And Frank.
Always Frank.


Fly me to the moon
Let me swing among those stars
Let me see what spring is like On Jupiter and Mars

In other words, hold my hand
In other words, baby, kiss me






PP could use a dose of Frank right about now.
Maybe when she gets home, she’ll get him out, put him on, and do just a little dance.....
For summer.

That Video

“Hey, PP, did you get a chance to watch That Video I was telling you about?”

Dropping the paper towel into the trash, Gladys (aka Friendly Asian Water Walker) showers PP with a warm happy face.

Laughing softy, PP shakes her head as she rolls her suit up in her yellow towel and gathers up her lotions from the bathroom sink. “No, not yet. Glad you reminded me.”

It comes back to PP immediately. The Video. The first time Gladys told her about it, PP had just walked out on the pool deck, gritting her teeth as she surveyed the Mayhem swim lesson scene floating before her.

One lane actually had a sign posted in front of it, 'Lesson in Progress', where the usual little boy in Hawaiian print trunks was diving for plastic rings with his young, patient teacher in tow. Dad, for some reason this day, was following the two of them up and down the lane, mask and wet suit on, not swimming or talking. Just watching? This is what parents do, PP knows, but it added yet another body to the already crowded pool.

The usual kids section was full of adults, well, maybe not full, but for Hilltopia, having a cluster of 5 or 6 adults flailing about in half the pool was annoying. Not as annoying as a pool full of screaming children, but the mere fact that the pool wasn’t just for ‘lap swimming’ when this is what was posted on the schedule....

Well, you’ve all heard her whine about this before.

So, when Gladys waved a cheery ‘Hi PP!” from the walking lane and then started babbling to PP about some video on Comcast about "a ... that....cat... reporter....." well, PP couldn’t really hear her. She had her earplugs in on top of being distracted by the mayhem. And so, she didn’t even try to understand all that the video was about.

Today, then, when Gladys asked her again, PP assured her that she’d check it out. “I think you’ll really enjoy it,” Gladys enthused, grinning as she bent to unpack her large gym bag.

“What was it called again?” PP asks.

Gladys frowns, pausing for a moment. “Something like Cat Starved for Attention Climbs on Reporter”.’ She giggles. “It’s on Comcast. Do you get Comcast?”
PP shakes her head.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. You said that yesterday.”
“Can I see it on You Tube?”
“Oh, probably. Yeah. You could check You Tube. Do you like animals?”
“Sure.”


“Well, there’s this video on You Tube about a Beluga.”
“What’s that?”
She grins at PP in amazement. “You don’t know what a Beluga is?”
“Uh, no....”

“It’s one of those whales with the big white foreheads shaped like this....” She makes a sweeping motion over her dark head.

“Oh, yeah. Of course, I know what you’re talking about,” PP laughs.

“I knew you did. Anyway there was a baby one up in Alaska and someone an Animal Rescue Person saw it swimming around and around frantically without its mom and so they called in some help and were able to capture it and save it. They even had to call in a Needle Natal Expert no....not that Neo Natal... That's hard to say!” She starts giggling uncontrollably. "Oh, you know what I mean!"

“Yeah, I do," PP grins, trying to dispel her embarrassment over the Neo Tongue Twister. "That's lucky for the baby whale. So cute.... Did you see the front page of the Chronicle’s Book Review today?”

She shakes her head no.

“Well, there’s a new book out, I can’t remember the name, but it’s about a baby Monk Seal that was rescued from abusive parents in Oahu and how this woman, a marine biologist..... Terrie Williams, I think was her name, brought it to her situation in Santa Cruz and wrote a book about it. So cute.”
“That is cute,” Gladys agrees. “The book review?” she then asks, puzzled. “You mean inside the Insight?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”

PP knows that many people don’t read the book review. In fact many people don’t read books at all. They just watch videos and Comcast. Nothing wrong with that.

Except there is.

Isn’t there? If no one read books then the world would be such a desolate place. Why, PP just finished reading Night Shift by Maritta Wolff. It took her to a world of ordinary desperation in Americana 1940 something. Three sisters all living their lives and losing their dreams and finding their happiness and carrying on in their own private hells.

PP never wanted it to end.

She needs this kind of escape to these other fictional worlds where her imagination can settle in and bask in this alternate universe. Without books, big novels in particular, why she’d just be.... she'd be......

Lost.

Yet, talking with Gladys this afternoon about the book review it did strike her that she probably didn’t read the book review or many books for that matter. Now why PP has this presumption she can’t really say. Gladys seems like an intelligent, thoughtful person. And she’s retired. Lots of time to read!

But yet, whenever she chats with her, it’s about what?

Sports (Did you catch the US open today?)
Traveling (Have you been to Yosemite?)
Gambling (My brother has a real problem)

Frankly this last one was by far the most interesting tidbit of chatting. Why there's a start to a novel most definitely.

And of course, it’s just pool chatter. You can’t really have an in-depth conversation with earplugs in and mayhem without.

Hell, though, what difference does it really make? If people read more, and spent less time time watching cat videos, would the world really be a better place?

Hell yeah!

Or is it the other way around? If people watched more cat videos and read less then.... PP has to admit that she can become obsessed with the cat videos on You Tube.

What did they all do before You Tube?

Read more?

Perhaps.

Today, though, PP is gonna check out the Cat Seeking Attention Video on Comcast.

That is if she can get it on You Tube.

DL's Poem

though I went to the place wherein utopia resides i did not enter the water but not because of the tides it was just the sort of evening, without my friend cj, that meant the torture machines were the only way so i spent my time at the Y on the bike watching tv with wendy nearby in her pink sweat suit waving at me all was well though it wasn't nearly the same without my dear friend cj of swimming fame! ~Denise Leto~

Pack Rat v. Hoarder

"What's the difference between a Pack Rat and a Hoarder?"

Sitting on the top shelf of Utopia, Sandy pauses, head bent, sweat dripping from her brow, then glances up at PP, "A Pack Rat knows that there's some use for an item and so won't throw it away. For example, I had this Christian Dior Jacket and it was missing the buttons and so I went to Goodwill and found myself some authentic or authentic enough buttons and sewed them on and you know now whenever I wear that Suit out, people look at me and say, "That is such a Beautiful Suit." And I just smile and nod and say, "Why thank you."

"So a hoarder would keep the suit but not find any buttons to make the suit useful?"
"You got it."




PP nods, but wonders if she really does. Get it. She’s the opposite of a Pack Rat. She throws everything away. Papers & files (she recycles these); Clothes (okay, she leaves these at the Chandler Apartments Lobby knowing that Someone will find a use for them); Books (yes, she actually dumped several boxes worth of ‘useless’ paperbacks in the blue recycling bin when last she moved, sacrilege as that is).

And sure, there are a few things that she ‘collects’—not of her choice, of course. People insist on giving her things even when she’s proclaimed a moratorium—e.g.: cat Knick Knacks, Hello Kitty stuffs, refrigerator magnets.



So, when the idea of keeping something, no matter what it is, just for the sake of keeping it, of not being able to throw it away for whatever reason, does elude her. Although she kinda gets the idea of sentimental attachments to ‘things’, esp. obvious things like a child’s toys or a dead pet’s collar—yikes! She does save these!

What the hell does that mean?

She can’t let go of all her cats? The collars symbolize a yoke to the Feline Ghost?
And these used and frayed cat collars definitely have NO use, so they’d, according to Sandy’s definition, be in the Hoarder’s category (no pun intended).





Hoarding Dead Cat collars.
What was she thinking?
Of course she gets it.

But yet, she could maybe resuscitate her reputation a little by reusing these, right?
Why couldn't Pablo use Alice's old collar and Sylvia could use Gertrude's and....

No. This would be wrong. Cats deserve their own individual collars. It's the least she can do for making them even wear the damn things. Which she has to. Cause what if they got lost and didn't have their phone numbers and ....

Hell, she better just admit it.

She's a Cat Collar Hoarder.

And proud of it.

She thinks.....

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.