Summer's dreams of pooltime next summer

This extended summer has been great for selected veggies in my garden. I continue to find ripe tomatoes, cucumbers, and a copious bounty of green peppers for some unknown reason. But I just received a "pool update" notice from the country club that repairs are ongoing, and there will be no pool until next year. Between no tennis (hand still in a cast) and no swimming, it's been disappointing, and more tomatoes do not compensate!

I grew up on Long Island (New York) and was fortunate to spend my summers with friends and siblings at the Levittown Community Pool. We have home movies of my sister learning to dive from the high board when she was around eight. She ran to the edge of the board, hands high, head down, then turned around and ran back. This went on for about three attempts until she finally got up the nerve to go over the edge. Somehow, all that preparation wound up with a feet-first dive into the water; still, she was proud of herself. I was humiliated by my fear of diving when my younger sister was able to conquer the high board. I did eventually learn to dive, but never off the high board.

Per pool rules, we were too young to swim without adult supervision. Fortunately, one of the neighborhood mothers was always around during the week to take us. We kids didn't realize that the mothers took turns giving the other mothers time to shop or just take a much-needed nap. The fathers managed the pool parade on weekends. It was the best!

My first summer here brought back a flood (or pool-full) of great summer memories as I watched kids riding bikes and scooters or walking with towels, goggles, and pool toys to Waitsburg's community pool. The lucky kids got to spend the day in the pool; lucky parents got a bit of a breather and ended up with kids who slept well at night.

When we moved to Tucson in the summer of 1963, the average temperature was over 100 degrees. Do not believe those who say, "it's a dry heat; you won't notice how hot is it."

It's miserably hot and noticeable. Thankfully, we lived in an apartment complex with a pool. We swam from morning until dinner time, with a few meal and bathroom breaks. When we later moved to a house, we found the community pool and continued to spend summer days waterlogged.

In 1968, our family moved to Los Angeles, where the norm is to have pools at private homes, schools, apartments, and clubs, along with large community pools at the public parks. I still look forward to my L.A. visits where the agenda always includes tennis with a cool-off swim in the pool.

As I get older, swimming has become an attractive alternative to tennis and running. Considering I seem to twist, cut, break, and sprain bones and joints far too often, a more gentle exercise is not a bad thing.

I started this summer optimistically with a nice circle of tennis friends. Unfortunately, the optimism ended with my broken wrist. Now, I really miss a pool. The Waitsburg pool closed permanently last year, and the Dayton pool closed several years ago. Both communities are working to replace them.

Swimming and sunning with a good book sure beat yanking out my fading garden, hampered by the cast on my arm.