No dunks in the backyard swimming hole for the last few weeks because the water looks like this (note that no one has spilled gallons of milk into the water, but the phosphate level is high enough that it nearly glows at night and the cement bottom is not visible to the naked eye):
This is actually a distinct improvement over its appearance last week, when it more closely resembled a mosquito-breeding green swamp. Never has there existed a bigger (literally!) scourge on suburban living than the backyard swimming pool. Oh, sure, it provided a useful incentive as we prepared to move from the east coast to the left coast eight years ago when my daughter was a little girl with no desire to be uprooted from family and friends, but for a swimming pool right in our own back yard? Well, maybe a move cross-country wouldn’t be so bad after all.
In the last few years, however, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I have been sufficiently motivated to don my frumpy, burka-like suburban hausfrau modest, one-piece bathing suit and plunge in. Why is this? Surely modesty has nothing to do with it. Our property is fenced, and although the next-door neighbors are close by on all sides our privacy is pretty well protected.
Every spring as the weather begins to warm up, my husband and I make excited plans for romantic midnight swims, after which we’ll lie back and admire the starry night sky while sipping from glasses of mellow California wine. And every fall as that raw chill seeps into the air to let us know that months of rain will soon begin, we muse wistfully about another summer of lost opportunities.
Hmmm… Maybe it’s not too late. Where did I put that swimsuit?
Comments welcome