RAINBOW WAVE DAY!

“How’s the bathroom?”
Ian shrugs, “The usual.”
I nod. Why the hell doesn’t Hawaii clean its public restrooms? It’s Paradise in every other way, but the bathrooms?
Disgusting.
I rise from my shady view of the lovely sea, snorkelers dotting the surface, the clouds floating over the blue grey sky. I do need to use the restroom, but…..
Sighing, I venture over.
Poke my head in first, the dark, dank, sandy, cave of the public elimination situation.
It is unusable.
Now. I know I’m a bit squeamish, but hell, I did travel and live in China. I think I’m pretty tough when it comes to bathrooms, but….today?
I simply can’t.
I will spare my more squeamish readers the terrifying details.
Use your imagination.
Or not.


“I can’t use this bathroom,” I announce.
“That’s too bad,” Ian points to the sea, “it looks like there’s a lot going on out there. It’d be nice to swim here.”
We’re up past Sunset Beach, at Pupukea beach, in Oahu's North Shore area. The sea is calm in the summer and I long to dive in; however, my wretched bladder calls and sure I could go in the sea but….
No I can’t.

So back in the car heading down Kamehameha highway to Kaneohe again.
We spy the sweet beaches along the way, jammed with dome tents and families and barbeques and suspect bathrooms.
Where oh where will we find a bathroom for me?
Then I spot it.
Atop a grassy hillside amidst a grove of graceful palms.
“What about that one?” I exclaim.
“You think that one will work?” Ian asks.
“I think so.” At this point it has to as Ian does a cab driver U turn and we head back to the parking lot. Leaping out of the car, I head up the little hill and into the cement block housing the bathroom.
Enter.
Ah….
No one there. No grossiosity.
I am relieved!

Okay, okay, I know this preamble is a bit much but it’s a big part of my travel experience—finding suitable bathrooms. So when I do, well…it’s such a beautiful thing.
And to top it off—the beach here…..
It is astonishing.
Sandy white slopes of shade under swaying palms. Not too crowded, but with the usual families boogie boarding. Mostly locals which is a good thing.
And WAVES!
"WARNING. NO LIFEGUARD. SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK" the signanage announces.
Perfect, I think.
“It looks a bit rough,” Ian remarks.
“Nah, it’s okay,” I grin, “let’s stay here and swim!”
And we do.


I don my bright pink suit and then cover up head to toe in my anti-sun suit.
Then wasting no time, I dive in.
Oh how delicious! The water is a balmy 80 plus degrees. The waves are small and fun. I body surf the first one.
Racing down the side of the little wave, I’m exhilarated. I forgot how much I love to swim in the ocean. It’s just the best.
And to top it off.
The sky.
There’s a shower approaching. I can see it in the distance as I bob up and down over the waves.
And is that a rainbow?



Only in Paradise would you have the combination of the perfect water temperature, wave action and a rainbow on the horizon.
Will it come my way?
I dive under another wave. It’s too wonderful to be in this water with a rainbow on the way.
And when it arrives?
Of course, it’s not a rainbow anymore, but a delightful shower of warm raindrops falling on my head, my face, my back.
Ian jumps in now and we crack up together.
This is the best! The rain comes down harder in sharp little pellets. I laugh like I haven’t since the last time I swam in the rain in Hawaii. I think of my student who has the picture of the delirious swimmer in the rain floating in the sea of Chile. “I’ll think of you, Alyssa, when I swim in the rain in Hawaii,” I told her the last time we spoke.
She’d laughed, “That’d be so awesome!”

And I did think of her, working so hard on her writing, creating a book that she will be proud of. I know it. But still so frustrated and defeated when last I spoke with her.
Yet when I’d mentioned my trip to paradise and how I’d think of her when swimming in the sea rain, she’d brightened immediately.
The Sea Rain has the power to transform.

In the moment and in the distance and in the imagination.

And thanks to the bathroom gods who guided me to this enchanting beach below the north shore of Oahu….

MIRACLE ORANGE ELIXIR

“Is That yours?” P nods toward the mysterious orange lotion in the shadows. She had noticed it when Retrieval Woman had left the sauna. The bottle was enticing. P likes to steal product left behind at the gym even though this goes against the Y’s Core Values. Maybe because it’s against these values?

No, P just likes free stuff. So she’d been eying the orange lotion when RW had reentered the sauna and claimed her elixir.

Laughing softly, RW shakes her head, a strong accent (Russian? Czech? Something Eastern European?) accompanying her embarrassed reply. “Yes, it is mine. I have it for my Fat Stomach.” She giggles strangely. “It gets fatter everyday. I eat a lot of bread and.....”

Her voice trails off as P nods, wondering how the Orange Lotion fits in with Bread Overindulgence.

“Do you swim?” P asks, knowing that she doesn’t but it seems like a good topic to bring up in light of the Fat Stomach Situation.

RW shakes her head, “Oh, no. I do not swim.”

“That’s too bad,” P replies, though secretly she’s relieved. The pool definitely doesn’t need any more swimmers to fill its Aqua Mayhem this summer.

“I use the Lotion on my Fat Stomach and it does help I think,” she continues.

P eyes her in the dark. A white Y issued towel covers her ‘Fat Stomach’; her bleached blonde hair hangs in curly waves round her pale face; her eyes are moist and round. RW seems on the Verge of something and P isn’t really in the mood, yet she feels for her and her Fat Stomach that keeps growing (even though P has no idea what this would be like—all that swimming keeps her stomach at bay)

What could be in the Orange Lotion that could make the Fat Stomach go away? Are there such Miracle Cures for eating too much bread? How does it work? Does one rub it on the stomach and then watch the fat disappear? Does the sauna’s heat help to fortify this process?

P has never heard of such a thing. A lotion that melts away stomach fat. She’s intensely curious, but there’s something delicate about RW. She seems like she’s ready to cry.
P isn’t in the mood for crying. So, she hesitates in her fact-finding questioning.

“I have a surgery 3 months ago,” RW announces.
“Oh?” P nods, wondering what this has to do with anything.
“And since this surgery, my stomach it keep on growing and growing.” She giggles, shyly, embarrassed? “But I do like to eat a lot of bread. This is why my stomach is fatter and fatter....”

P remembers a friend who had a similar stomach issue and thought the growing was due to too much gluten. Her stomach just kept growing and growing and getting bigger and bigger till finally she went to the doctor and it turned out she had a cyst the size of a football inside her uterus.

Damn. P wonders if RW has the same situation? But she said she’d had a surgery, so...Should she mention the Cyst Possibility?

She opts for vagueness: “I hope it’s not something more serious?”

RW sighs, “No, I had the surgery. I am OK. I just eat too much bread.”

P wants to witness the miracle of the Fat Eating Orange Miracle lotion but decides against a request for such a demonstration. She’s curious, but squeamish. What if the lotion bubbles off her stomach in weird little fat globules?

P wouldn’t be able to handle that.

“Well, I hope that your stomach improves,” P offers.

RW smiles shyly. Shakes her head sadly. Is it that hopeless?

Suddenly the day catches up with P and she has to leave the sauna pronto. She needs to get home and eat something. She thinks she has some bread in the freezer. She’ll defrost it. Devour it. Watch the Young and the Restless.

And be glad that she doesn’t have to worry about a Mysteriously Expanding Stomach..... Esp. since she wasn't able to steal That Miracle Orange Elixir.

WARRIOR MERMAID

It’s summer at the YMCA and every day is a battle. In the pool. In the locker room. P must be strategic if she hopes to win a lane. A hairdryer. A little piece of her sanity.

“You know,” Janet sidles over to the sink where P attempts to yank a chlorine saturated tangle out, “I was at the pool yesterday, and all the kids had just come in, and the lifeguard was there and I said to him, “Oh the sweet sound of children!” She giggles softly as the baby sitting on the locker room floor lets out another uncensored wail. Mom is busy with big brother and Little Bro is having none of it.

“WHHHHAAAAAA!!!!!” he shrieks as if someone has murdered his puppy in cold blood on the floor directly in front of him.

Janet has moved back over to the sink, drying her hands after a wash, when the giggles start to tumble out. P can’t help but join in. They laugh and laugh and laugh.

Wailer Baby stops for a moment. Stunned? Distracted? He stares at the two women, his big brown eyes moist with tears, before opening his mighty mouth wide to the ceiling, letting forth another impressive scream.

Janet starts laughing again, matching his volume with her mirth. P can’t stop the giggles, wishing she’d had this strategy of Warrior Mirth earlier when the Newbie Lifeguard had started letting kids and more kids into the lap lanes.

The back story for this battle began with a swim team from a closed pool somewhere in Pinole. These kids were taking up two lanes in what is usually a quiet time at the Y, Sunday late mornings, 11:30 or so. P had spoken to the Newbie Guard about the swim team. His response had been cool and detached, explaining the situation and how these kids were “Pretty serious and not too noisy. You can pick a lane and swim. No problem.”

P had sighed. Loudly Part of the battle each summer was training the New Lifeguards. Why it was her job, she’d never know. But it was.

Yet today, she could tell This One wasn’t worth her Training Time and so she’d just muttered about how cranky it was. To have the lanes taken up with a swim team. Not to mention it made her feel all of her 55 years swimming next to 11 year olds who could swim the breaststroke faster than her freestyle with fins.

But back to the families. And the ongoing battles with aforementioned children. P is somewhat prepared for Children Mayhem Eventuality as the schedule had said it was “Family Lap Swim” from 12-2. Whatever the hell that meant.

First it was a dad and his son. They were so fine. The dad coaching Jr. on his stroke; the kid serious in his attempts to traverse the lane.

This is what Family Lap Swim is all about right?
Wrong.

Next, enter Mom with Hello Kitty daughters. They all clamor into the lane next to P. No laps here. Not even an attempt. There is some maneuvering of a kickboard. Baby Hello Kitty climbs up on deck with the board bigger than her, slamming it down into the water, hitting big sister on the noggin. Crying and laughter ensues.
But not laps.

P had kept swimming. After all, what can she do? They are a ‘family’ she supposes, but where the lap swimming is seems of little interest if it is even in their vocabulary.


Then the mom with the 3 teenage daughters. The daughters jump in, giggling and flailing. Again, no lap swimming, though the 11 year olds in the swim team are making valiant attempts to continue their workout in spite of the girls flagrant disregard for their lane squatters rights.

P had glanced up at Newbie Guard, who sat, oh so predictably, like a bump on a log, atop his white lifeguard highchair throne. He doesn’t glance in her direction. He doesn’t glance at the end lane now rife with mayhem and no lap swimming whatsoever.

In strides another lifeguard. This one knows the ropes, or at least P had thought so till she saw, to her horror, his motions to his compatriot to undo the lane line and thus give free rein to the Mayhem.

“Isn’t it Family Lap Swim?” P yells to Rope Knower Guard.
“It’s Family Swim,” he manages to be heard over the shrieking.
“It’s FAMILY LAP SWIM!” P hollers back.

He stops the process of lane attrition and rises from his squatting position on the deck, wipes his hands on his red trunks, and lumbers over to the posted schedule on the bulletin board. Stands for a moment, finger scanning down the column of blocked times for Sunday. Ambles back to where P waits, righteous in her Lap Swimming Indignation.

“You’re right,” he sighs, kneeling to screw the lane back into this solid lap swimming position. “It is Family Lap Swim. Whatever that means,” he shakes his head.
“Seems like they should be swimming laps during it,” P offers, trying not to smirk, but sometimes when a battle is won, the smirk is hard to control.
“Yeah, I’d have to agree. They should be swimming up and down and up and down.” He motions one long arm back and forth to demonstrate.
“Not much of that going on over there,” P nods to the frolicking screaming kids in the end lane.
“No,” he agrees.
“Guess you need to clarify that with your boss,” she adds, just because.
“Oh, I will,” he says, “believe me, that’s the first thing I’m going to bring up at the meeting this week.”

P takes off down her lane, this battle won. For now. Wishes she could attend the meeting. Not as a participant, but as a Mighty Mermaid Warrior. Strong in her Win. Minor and half hazard as it was.

For after all, it wasn’t like the Mayhem Lane had been told to swim laps or get out.

Back in the locker room, swimsuit on now and ready for his role to add to the Mayhem, the baby wails one last time as Mom scoops him up off the floor.

Janet gives P a knowing look and a final big grin, before taking off.

P smiles to herself as she heads to her locker to collect her stuff. Warrior Mermaid triumphs in small ways today.


But such triumphs must be taken and appreciated. Exhausting as it was to have each day a battle, she knew she had no choice.

It was Summer. It was the YMCA. And Warrior Mermaid was ready to fight.

THE ZUMBA ZONE

“You didn’t make it to the pool,” P comments when Admiration Woman approaches.

“No, I did not,” AW shakes her head, makes a dramatic pool deprivation sad face. “I go to the Zumba class with my friend.”

P had actually seen AW zumbaing. She had what it took. The sways. The rhythms. The Hot Pink and Orange Skin tights Zumba pants.

“That musta been fun,” P nods now, glancing over at DL who’s surveying the exchange from behind dark glasses. P likes the dark glasses, esp. in the Y locker room. It’s cool and Italian Mobstress.

Now AW shakes her head, the pretty dangly earrings sparkling in her delicate earlobe. “It was okay,” she shrugs. “I mean, I went because my friend or…..” She pauses for a moment, thinking, “Yes, she’s my friend, she wanted me to go, but I think the pool is better.”
“The pool is always better!” P jokes and they all laugh, the giggles echoing in the now empty locker-room.

“ATTENTION MEMBERS AND GUESTS!” The intercom blares, “THE YMCA WILL BE CLOSING IN 10 MINUTES. I REPEAT. THE YMCA WILL BE CLOSING IN 10 MINUTES!”
AW ignores the Intercom Edict, keeps talking a mile a minute now that she has an audience? Or it’s a subject she’s just getting warmed up to?
“You are right, of course,” she huffs.

“The Zumba would be so hard for me,” P grins. “I can’t tell my right foot from my left. Everyone would be moving to the left and I’d be moving to the right. Everyone would be moving to the right and I’d be moving to the left.”

DL laughs softly. AW nods. “I have my whole day like that!” she proclaims. “Every time I move to right, everyone else, they move to the left. Every time I move to the left, everyone, they move to the right. There was something going on today.”

“You were in the Zumba Zone,” DL dubs it.

“Exactly! You are right!” AW jumps on this. “I was in the Zumba Zone!” Her eyes sparkle as she leans in to exclaim. P glances over at DL who is sitting on one of the benches, her eyes doing hell knows what behind the dark glasses.

Well, P can guess.

“ATTENTION MEMBERS AND GUESTS. THE YMCA WILL BE CLOSING IN 5 MINUTES! THE Y….”

“Sounds like they wanna get outta here,” P hates to be rushed, esp. when she’s in the middle of collecting a story from AW, but what can she do? The Intercom Edict makes her too nervous to buck its mandate.

DL gathers up her stuff as AW ambles calmly over to her locker, her hips gently swaying to a Zumba Zone Tune?

P thinks she’s imagining this, but it’s a nice image as she follows DL out of the locker-room and up the stairs.

“So you see what I mean?” P asks DL. “’Bout how AW is sexy but well…..she’s got That Look in her eye, you know the one I mean?”

DL finally removes her shades, “You mean the one where she’s too close to you and her eyes bulge out, the pupils dilate to the color of big black olives and sparks fly out from her irises?”

DL moves close to P, makes her eyes pop at her, using her index finger to dramatize the Crazy Eye.

“That’s it!” P cracks up, marveling once more at the Poet’s Ability to get right to the heart of the matter in these few choice words and actions.

DL grins, and then starts to giggle. P’s laughter grows, suddenly, expansively. They’re in the Zumba Zone as they tumble out of the YMCA, their right feet merging with their left, their left into their right, the giggles shaking them into the Zone, out of the Zone, out onto the parking lot, under the glowing Zumba Zone Moon.

INSPIRATION

“Are you Italian?”

Admiration Woman had gushed her opening greeting before blurting out this question. Her eyes shining. Excited.

Where the hell did she get this from, P wonders? Oh, yeah, that’s right. Sophia Loren is P’s long lost twin!

“Uh….no…why do you ask?” P says instead.
“These goggles you show me on last week? You said they were from Italy.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. They are. (P remembers now how she'd recommended the fabulous Aqua Sphere Mask, made in Italy, when AW was asking the lifeguard about goggles.)



"But unfortunately, I’m not Italian," P sighs longingly. "Though I wish I were! I am Italian in my heart,” she offers.

AW nods. “Yes. I do know your meaning.”

“Are you Italian?” P asks, knowing that AW is Something Sexy.
“Oh, no,” she giggles. “I am from Brazil.”


Of course, P thinks to herself. Sexy and crazy. Perfect.

“I mean that is where I live the first twelve year of my life. Then I come here and I marry and that it does not work out and I have my kid and now here I am. I have some little bit of Italian, maybe, way back in my ancestor, but no, I am from Brazil.”

“I’ve never been to Brazil. But I’d like to visit. Where are you from?”
AW rattles off an exotic locale in her native tongue. P tries to pretend that she knows where it is but then decides that since it’s not Rio maybe few Americans would know it anyway, so asks where it is.

“It is in the Midwest,” she nods, describing neighboring towns that are nowhere near Greenville, Indiana.

“My mother she come with me here to America. Oh, I am so lucky to have her here with me. I did not know her when I was growing up, but now I get to know her and I am so blessed.”
P doesn’t ask why she brought her mother into the dialogue, but just goes with AW’s crazy lack of Linearality Dialogue.

“Well, your mom was raising you and you were growing up and younger and so yeah, it makes sense that you didn’t really know her when you were growing up,” P offers.
“That is it exactly!” she exclaims. “But now, it is hard to find the word to talk to her, you know? I want to find the word but it is not there. I feel so sad about this but what can I do?”

P nods having no idea what she’s talking about. “Are you doing anything for Mother’s Day?”
“Oh, yes!” she brightens instantly. “We will go to Church. And then we will go to brunch me and my son and she will be so happy and I will feel so blessed.”



P nods again, wondering what to say next. But to be honest, she doesn’t have to say anything. She only has to sit in the Hilltopia Sauna and nod her head. AW will do all the rest.
“Have you read the book, Eat Pray Love,” she asks.
“Yes, that’s a fun one, esp. the first part about Italy.”
“I love that book!” AW gushes.
“Have you read her short stories?” P asks.
“No!” AW eyes shine, enthusiasm oozing.
“They’re very well done. I think the name of the collection I read was called, Pilgrims but you could just look up the author on the internet. Her name is Elizabeth Gilbert.”


“Elizabeth Gilbert,” AW repeats thoughtfully. “Wow! Thanks! You are always such an Inspiration.”
P laughs, wants to return the compliment by telling AW that no, in fact, she, AW, is such An Inspiration. If only she know how many great blogs she’s inspired.

Inspiration comes in all forms, though. As Sophia Loren once quipped, "Everything you see I owe to spaghetti."

And for P?
Everything you see, she owes to the Pool. But spaghetti's not far behind. Nor is gelato, cappuccino, Dante, Michelangelo, Leto and of course, Sophia....

Flipper Woman Mows Down Red Baron Man

P had been blissfully swimming in the end lane of the Oakland Y for 30 minutes. Each minute that went by without intrusion, was a sublime revelation. Why couldn’t it always be like this? Dreamy Aqua Murkiness.



She’d been thinking about what DL had said earlier, “He must have some sort of Bacterial Infection,” in reference to the too smelly guy in the weight room. No that doesn’t even describe it. The Smell was so strong. Not really sweat smell. But a wrong smell. Something clinical that vapored up and into the gym, causing P and DL to clutch their bellies to stifle the nausea. So P had said,” It must be something clinical” and then DL had nodded and said, “Yes, it was something BACTERIAL.” Of course this had cracked them up, and P was still laughing underwater when she almost mowed down Red Baron Man.



She’d seem him earlier. Crossing under the lane lines, stopping everyone from their steady lap swimming. She’d ignored him though. He was on the other side of the pool and she was in the end lane. No one was gonna share this lane with her. No one liked to swim against the wall. This lane was hers!

So, when she did see him, out of the corner of her foggy mask, glance across her lane, she figured he was just using the ladder to get out.
Till she almost mowed him down.

How the hell had he gotten down to the other side of the pool without her seeing him?
She was going to blame her Bacterial Infection Reverie for not paying as close attention as she usually did.And also her false sense of security in having nabbed the end lane.
It was the Oakland Y. No lane was secure.

He was in the middle of the lane. Flopping slowly going nowhere. Simply doing the Blocking Float. P was swimming freely, mightily, kicking hard with her fins, thinking about bacteria when….

Damn!

She almost mowed him down.



Stopping just in time, she stood in front of him, glaring through her foggy mask: “What the hell are you doing?! I almost hit you!”
“You saw me,” he claimed. Indignant? Entitled? Crazy?
Instead of moving to one side of the lane and continuing on or apologizing and getting out or offering some sort of explanation, he simply plopped back into the water and continued to float block the lane.

Definitely crazy. P knew this from past observances of Red Baron Man at the Oakland Y. She’d never actually seen him swimming ‘laps’ but instead he was always just doing the Floating Block or the Standing Crazy. She’d seen numerous swimmers stop to keep from hitting him over the years. He just didn’t seem to get the concept of lap swimming.
Why was this? It didn’t seem that complicated. But yet, P had to think that he wasn’t quite all there.

Later, when P had told DL about the incident in Utopia, DL had come up with the title for this blog and they’d both shared a good laugh. And when, as they were leaving the Y, P had seen Red Baron Man at the front desk, causing some sort of trouble, and pointed him out to DL, DL had said, “Oh, he’s in his 70’s” (Earlier DL had claimed how she was really good at telling ages. P is not. Esp. through her foggy mask. So, when P had told DL about the incident and DL had asked how old he was, P hadn’t a clue, “50s? 60s?”)

But now, 70s? Okay, well, this might be one explanation, But P knows plenty of people in their 70’s who are completely aware of their surroundings and would never do the Float Block.

So what was it that made Red Baron Man so clueless?
P has a theory. It’s the hat. It doesn’t belong in the pool. It belongs on Snoopy. Or it belongs in the Great Gatsby. But it is not a swim cap.

Without the proper headgear in the pool, well doesn’t it make sense that the brain wouldn’t be protected in the proper manner from all those chemicals at the Y and therefore, situations might be skewed?

P likes this theory. It’s better than simply saying he’s nuts. Which is probably the real explanation.

She’s going to get him a Lime Green Cap from Big 5. Suggest he give it a try. See if it helps to guide his brain to one side of the lane or the other.
P hears your skepticism. But it’s worth a try!

Who knows. The green cap may keep some future poor lap swimmer from Mowing him Down.

And isn't that what everyone wants? A Crash Free Pool?

At the Oakland Y?

Only in your dreams, P. Only in your dreams......

ICE CREAM EGGS

“So, you doing anything special for Easter?” P asks to break the Utopian Ice.
Sandy snorts, then sighs shaking her head. “No, not really. G is giving up ice cream for Lent, but other than that.....”

“Ice cream!” P exclaims. Talk about sacrifice! She could never give up ice cream. It was right up there with swimming of the things she could not live without.

“I know, I know,” Sandy laughs softly. “I feel the same way you do. I usually try to support him by giving up the same thing too. Last year it was meat and I didn’t have a problem with that. But ice cream?” Sandy shakes her head, “I have to say he’s pretty good about it. He lets me eat it in front of him and such.”


“I would hope so!” P cries, thinking to herself how if he wanted to give up the most delicious food substance known to mankind that was his business. Sandy could be a supportive partner and all, but really. There were limits!

“I do try to just eat it on the weekends though,” Sandy continues, “so I’m not flaunting it in his face daily!” She chuckles, the mirth bouncing off the walls of Utopia.

P has missed this. She’d already had the “Long time no see” exchange with Sandy before heading to the pool. “Hope it’s not too crowded, see you in Utopia as you call it,” Sandy had fallen right back into the old patterns. Not asked P why she’d been gone and so P hadn’t volunteered the reason.

“You celebrate Lent, don’t you D?” P asks now in Utopia, noting how DL had been more than unusually quiet during the Lent Sacrifice discussion.

“I used to....” DL murmurs, her voice quavering ever so slightly. Immediately P knows. Easter must have been a big deal for DL’s mother, Martha Ann. Italians love the Resurrection, don’t they?

And now, with Martha’s passing so fresh, DL must be missing her so much. This is why P and DL have been out of the Utopia Loop the last few months. It was just too much for DL to venture out into the world after her mother passed.

P can’t imagine. Losing her mother. It would be devastating on so many levels. And with DL, there were these days, these rituals around holidays that all families have, but with DL, well, they were Grand Events. Now, this year, it will be so sad to have Easter, which had been filled with tradition and ritual and the spiritual without Martha to lead the celebration.


P doesn’t mention any of this while chatting with Sandy in Utopia. Though she suspects that Sandy knows something major has happened with DL. But being Sandy, she has way too much decorum and class to ask.

Now, DL rises and quietly floats out of Utopia, followed by Sandy’s nod and P’s usual comment about how it’s too hot in here for her.

Sandy doesn’t miss a beat but continues the ice cream narrative thread as soon as DL shuts the door: “I have this friend, she loves ice cream, and I remember one time I went over to her house and she offered me some. I asked her what kind and she opened her freezer and showed me 14, I swear, 14 different kinds of Hagen Dazs ice cream, all lined up in alphabetical order.”



“You’re kidding!” P grins. 14 pints of Hagen Dazs. What a vision!
“Nope, I kid you not. She only ate a little bit at a time. Just took a couple of spoonfuls. She liked to have a choice. Can’t knock her for that.”

P nods—choice. She gets this intellectually. That some people want variety. They want many opportunities to choose from. Not P. She just wants chocolate and vanilla. Preferably in one container. What the hell ever happened to Hagen Dazs Vanilla Fudge? That was her favorite. She misses it so.

“I’m completely addicted to Klondike bars now,” P offers to Sandy.
“I’ve not had one of those in decades,” Sandy muses.
“I know. They’re from a gone by era, but I can still pick them up right in my own freezer.”
Sandy laughs, “You have a Happy Easter.”
“You too,” P responds. “Eat some Ice Cream Eggs.”
Sandy grins, giving P a last look before heading out to the showers, “Good to see you again,” she says softly.
“Yes, you too,” P answers.



Buona Pasqua to all! But, especially to DL and the memory of her dear mother, Martha Ann Colone Leto, November 11, 1926 – January 22, 2013.

Admiration Situation: II

“Oh! I am so sorry.... I did not mean to any harm! Please forgive me!” Gushing Woman’s near sobs take P by surprise. What the hell was she so strung out about? And what the hell did it have to do with P? Deciding to just let it play out, P climbs up to the top corner of Hilltopia, cold and exhausted from her swim. She just wants to rest. She doesn’t have the energy for a Sob Fest.

But there is the Story Factor.....


Gushing Woman sniffles loudly, wipes her eyes, stares at P with longing. “I have no idea that what she said it is true. But now I know and can you ever forgive me?”
Okay, P thinks, guess she’ll have to bite, “Forgive you for what?”



“Oh the lifeguard, she say that me and my son we can not swims in the lane next to you. The lifeguard she say that we must swim in the other side of the pool.” She sniffles again, dramatically.

P had noticed GW and her kid in the lap lanes during her swim, but hadn’t really paid much attention since it had been a quiet night. They were mostly hanging out at the wall, laughing and playing. Granted they weren’t swimming laps, but P knows that this activity is rarely enforced in the lap swimming only designated lanes. So she was mystified why GW was apologizing to her. She hadn’t complained (like she usually did when the lap lanes were being utilized by non lap swimmers.)

Maybe the lifeguard had said that P had complained? But this didn’t make sense, or did it? Who knows? The main issue at the moment was how to calm GW down so that P could relax for a few moments and get warm without having to listen to her pitiful sniffling.

So she lied. Pretending that she had complained. That she did care.

“Oh, that’s okay,” P soothes. “It was a quiet night and there weren’t a lot of lap swimmers, so I don’t think it’s a big deal, you know?”
GW forced a teary smile, “You forgive me?”

“Sure, of course,” P sighs to herself, still wondering why it was her job to forgive her. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh, thank you thank you thank you!” GW gushed, relief palpable in the dark hot room. “I admire you so much! I told this man I saw he was swimming here the other day how much I admire you he had been swimming since 1967 and he looked like he was in his 50’s though he must be in his 60 or maybe even 70 and then I told him about you and how you got me to swim again I have not gone swimming for such a long time but now because of you I try to swim 2 time a week.”

“Really?” P is still perplexed about her role as Inspiration Swimmer. But maybe this happens all the time and she doesn’t hear about it?


Nice to think so, but hardly likely. What’s more likely is that GW is just insane and has honed in on P as a target for her Swimming Insanity Inspiration Situation.
Just her luck.
“I used to swim when I was younger,” GW continues, all evidence of her earlier tears completely vanished.
“That’s great,” P comments. And really it is but she was so tired and just wanted to rest without any inane conversation for once.

“Yes. I swim on the swim team and then I stop. I had my kid and then I did not have the time but now with you I swim again!” She beamed.

P had noticed, that contrary to her expectations, GW really could swim. Her bikini halter-top suit notwithstanding, GW had a lovely strong freestyle and a graceful underwater breaststroke.
“Glad to hear it,” P encourages, in spite of her instinct to avoid any sort of Swimmer Mentorship Role.

“HENRY!!! HENRY!!!” GW suddenly hollers, rising quickly from her corner and rushing out the door. “What you doing in here!? I told you to stay in the pool until I come to get you!”
P watches as Henry races by the sauna, giggling loudly, his wet white feet slapping dangerously on the locker room tiles.

“Is that your kid?” Another woman yells.
“Yes,” GW answers, racing after Henry.
“You better watch him. He’s gonna hurt himself running like that.”
“I know I know. Thank you I am sorry..... I know how he does. He not bothering you.”
P sighs. In fact Henry was a Big Bother. In the pool, not so much, but in the women’s locker room, his loud staring antics riled all the women.



P doesn’t want to get involved tonight for a number of reasons. She’s tired. She’s hungry. She’s feels a certain loyalty now to GW even though normally P would be the first to complain about a boy child this big in the women’s locker room.

So tonight, she just shrugs and heads for the showers as the sounds of GW’s futile mothering admonishments ring through the air.
“HENRY! I told you! Stop that. The lady she does not like that when you do that....”

ADMIRATION SITUATION

“I so admire you!”

Enthusiastic Admiring Woman plops down on the sauna bench kitty-corner to P. Her voice loud and excited. Her eyes shining (Yes, P can tell this even in the dark)

P turns her head from her prone position. Does she know this woman? Has she talked to her before? Maybe. People seem to remember her and then she doesn’t remember them. What’s up with that? she wonders. But doesn’t have time for in depth reverie since EAW is on a Mission.

“I see you here every Tuesday and Thursday or do you come every day?”
“Uh…no…..” P rises, deciding she better sit up for this one.

“Well,” she gushes on, “I see you and I think, Wow look at her! There she is doing her thing every day and she probably has a full time job and a family and a life but she still comes here and…..” She pauses to catch her breath. “I just so admire you!”

“Thanks,” P murmurs. Admires her why? For what? The Gushing seems so out of the blue. P is sure, now, that she hasn’t spoken to her before. Is the woman breathless over P’s swimming? Sometimes P gets compliments for her ‘smooth and graceful’ stroke. But this woman hadn’t said anything about swimming. Was she admiring her because she works out at her advanced age and it’s just so amazing?

Okay, here P is being a bit overly sensitive. It is her birthday the next day and she’s feeling old and tired and in disbelief at her advanced age. Yet she doesn’t really believe, until this moment, that others see her as ‘old’. And maybe Gushing Woman doesn’t but at this point in the exchange, P has no idea what she’s being admired for.

“I actually have a full time job,” P offers, “but no kids.”
“Oh, that’s okay!” Gushing Woman laughs loudly. “I have just one but I might have another. You know…..” She leans over toward P in the dark heat, her voice soft, conspiratorial “I have a very interesting experience…..”

P nods. What was she going to divulge? Some mystery with her kid probably. But no, not yet. That was later. And P may not have the time or energy to get to that point. But she digresses.



“I knew this woman, she was a gymnastic and she could not do the gymnastic because she had grow too tall. I take her out of the contexts…..” She pauses. P wants to ask what the hell this means, but doesn’t get a chance. “And so I say to her, ‘Why not do the swimming?’”
Gushing Woman leans back against the wall, sighing in satisfaction.
P waits a moment but nothing else is forthcoming. “So…did she do swimming?”
GW shines her bright eyes at P, then grins big, laughs. “I don’t know. Maybe she did. Maybe she didn’t.”

“Oh….” P starts to gather her stuff. After her late swim this eve she’s tired and hungry and while GW is a good story, P really needs to get home and eat.

“My son, when he was conceived, I could feel his Spirit in me.” P pauses and sets her stuff back down. “I tell his father, you be fathered now.” She rises and runs her hands down her hard body torso, demonstrating the Sperm Spirit Manifestations Miracle.

P stares at her, delighted. How great is this story? And all she has to do is sit here. Maybe she wasn’t so hungry after all.

“And my son, when he come out, he look like a little German Boy. His father, me, we are dark and my son, oh everyone think he adopted or has another father.” She giggles, hugging herself.

P knows this kid. He’s a Pudgy Little Terror in the pool. The lifeguards are forever yelling at him about one thing or another. “WALK!” “You have to get out of the water NOW! Family Swim is OVER!!!”


“Oh,” P exclaims softly, “I know your son. He seems to love the water,” she says diplomatically.
“Yes he does! When he was only 2 year old I take him to pool and he jump right in but first he march up like this!” GW stands, does a sturdy naked march across the floor of Hilltopia, her breasts jiggling only slightly in the demo. “Then he goes right into the pool! I jump in! I pull him out! I shake him and say, ‘Don’t you do that to me! You scare me to death!’”

“And then he just go and do it again!” She settles back down in her corner, giggling.
“That sounds kinda scary,” P comments.

“It was but not as much as when he was born! Oh! I thought that everyone was fine and then I have C section! His head it was right here.” She points to her rib cage. “And I tell the doctor, you have to get him out. He not breathing and the doc she says no you are dilated you are fine you don’t need C section and then all of a sudden his heart it stops beating and so they did the C section and his head it was caught on the umbrella cord but then they got him out and I heard him cry and I was so happy. I might to have another child but I don’t know.”

P has no comment. She is way too squeamish to ask for any details around a C section even if she knew what questions to ask. Though she is a little curious about the Umbrella Cord.



“I admire you so much!” GW exclaims again. “You are my Hero!”
Did she really say that?
P can’t really say for sure.
And she never did find out what GW admired her for. Maybe it was for her swimming. Maybe it was for her dedication to working out. Maybe it was for her ability to listen to insane women gush on and on in the sauna.

But whatever it was, it doesn't matter now. P has got the story. And as you all know, that is all that matters!

[p.s. P is not much of a numbers person, but....this is Pool Purrs' 400th post! Can you believe it? She can't! Thanks, Dear Readers, for keeping her going all of these years and for all of these hundreds of watery yarns!]

Good Person

“I am a Good Person! I give to Jerry Lewis Muscular Dystrophy Telethon. I give to AIDS research. I am a Good Person!”
“OK, OK, you Good Person. Now go! She want to relax. Close the door.”


Penelope has stumbled into a Situation. She’s not really in the mood. She’s cold and tired after her 52 minutes in the pool where it was more cold than not. She just wants to lie down in the Hilltopia Sauna and get warmed up. But there is an altercation.

And it’s not pretty.

Good Person continues to stand in the doorway of the sauna, the door wide open, allowing all the cold locker room air to come whooshing into the sauna.

Good Person is upset. Penelope has snuck in past her, crawling up onto the top shelf to try to get warm as the altercation rails on.

“I told you I was sorry!” Good Person edges into the sauna, continuing to leave the door open. “I was having a Bad Day.”

“Okay, Okay, you’re sorry. You having a Bad Day. I understand. Okay. You can go now. She trying to relax.”

Penelope’s not sure that she wants to be the impetuous for Good Person to leave. Good Person continues to block the open doorway, her wet tee shirt dripping on the floor, her square pale body shivering. From the cold? From anger? Frustration? What had she done?

“You go now!” Incensed Woman waves her away. “See?” She points to Penelope. “She want to relax. You leave now.”

Good Person backs out of the sauna. Shuts the door. Shuffles over to the sinks. From her vantage point inside the sauna, Penelope can see through the window to the solid white square form of her, leaning over the sinks, shaking her head. Then standing very still. It's a little eerie. Penelope wonders if she’s going to start screaming.

“She cuss at me!” Incensed Woman hollers over to Penelope, her voice booming loud. Emotion high. “She come into the locker room, she take her clothes and she.....” The words elude her. She makes a wringing motion, like squeezing water out of a swimsuit. “The water. It go all over the floor. Why she do that? Don’t she know that she not suppose to do that? I tell her she not suppose to do that. She get water all over the floor. And she start to CUSS at me.”

Incensed Woman shakes her head. “I no like that. I can not have her cuss at me. So I call upstair. They come down. They tell her she can not cuss at me. They apologize to me. But she still mad. You see?” She waves toward Good Person, who’s headed back toward the sauna. She’s heard the rant.

Shit.

Flinging the door open, Good Person blocks the doorway once again, her breath coming hard and fast. “I told you I was having a Bad Day. I told you I was sorry. Why can’t you forgive me? Why can’t you be my friend? I am a good person. I give to the Jerry Lewis Muscular......”

Good Person repeats verbatim her good works. Incensed Woman shakes her head, glances over at Penelope before launching into her rebuttal.
“Okay, okay. You are Good Person. I forgive you. Why can’t you understand? You are my friend. Okay? You go away now. She want to relax.”

Good Person never glances at Penelope. It’s as if Penelope doesn’t exist, even though she’s a main sub point of argumentation for Incense Woman’s Tirade.

“I was having a Bad Day. I said I was sorry....” Good Person stares at IW for several seconds. IW doesn’t back down. “Okay, okay, go away now. I forgive you.”

Something finally clicks. Good Person nods, backs out of the sauna, and closes the door.

IW sighs, shaking her head, sidles closer to Penelope. “I think she have Mental Problem, you know? I think there is something wrong in her head.” IW knocks on her wet skull with a petite fist, demonstrating the point of Mental Instability with Good Person.

Penelope nods, “Yeah, maybe....” She’s not really sure what to say. IW seems to have a Mental Problem too. Two Mental Problem Women in the same Sauna---not a relaxing combination.

“I can not have someone Cuss at me, you know?” IW continues, settling back into her dark corner.
”Yes, well, that’s a bit distressing,” Penelope offers. Because it must have been, but what was the cussing exactly? “***&&&KKK you C****@@@ I will wring water all over the floor if I ^^^&&& please. So F***&&& off!”

Somehow, Penelope can’t imagine Good Person going off like this, having observed her in the pool, water walking, for a couple of years now. She always had seemed a bit off, but many members of the YMCA seemed this way. Good Person always wore the white tee shirt, chewed gum, and walked staunchly back and forth in the lane, not interacting with anyone that Penelope can recall, but then again, Penelope was always swimming and didn’t really pay that much attention to the water walkers.

“She got kicked out of Oakland YMCA,” IW continues.
“Really?” Penelope tries to remember if she’s ever seen Good Person at the Oakland Y, but can’t recall ever spying her there.
“Yes. So now she come here. Her daughter pay for her to come here. It’s expensive.”

Penelope nods. So Good Person has a daughter, one that believes in the YMCA’s aqua benefits for her mother. The plot thickens. Penelope wants to ask about the daughter, but doesn’t get a chance.

“I just got this swimsuit yesterday. It’s a one piece. I don’t like two-piece. Do you?”
Penelope laughs softly, “No, I prefer the one piece.”
“I don’t like the two piece. This is a one piece,” IW repeats.

Jumping at the opportunity of actually finding someplace that sells swimsuits in January, Penelope decides to take a chance, “Where did you get it?”
“At Ross.”
“In El Cerrito?”
”No, in San Pablo. You know by the Casino.”

“Oh, yes....I think I know where you mean....” Penelope murmurs, wondering if she should really trust IW to direct her to swimsuit shopping destinations. But she did have a suit on and it did look fairly new, not the usual drooping ones that prevail in January.

“I am a Good Person,” the door has popped open again. Good Person pants heavily.
IW sighs, loudly. “I know I know. You Good Person. Now go away.”
“I was having a Bad Day.”
Penelope thinks it’s time to take a shower. She can’t handle another Exchange Repetition Situation.
“I know I know.”
“You forgive me? I said I was sorry.”
“Yes, yes, I forgive. Now go.”


And she did.
Where?

Penelope has no idea. But she's gonna check out the San Pablo Ross tomorrow. She may not be a Good Person, having never given money to the Jerry Lewis Muscular Dystrophy Telethon, but she does know when to take advantage of a situation. Esp. when it involves a new swimsuit.

One piece that is.