Saturday, June 12, 2010

The Pool


For many years our house was a ladies health spa. This was back in the 1970's and 80's when women and men still mostly segregated themselves for exercise. One of the lessors of the health spa decided to put in a swimming pool, on the leased property, and did. Today we are the proud owners of a 38 year old, 55,000 gallon, gunnite beauty. Compliments of that health spa manager whose business decisions may or may not have been the best.
For some reason I don't have any 'before' photos of the pool. Let's just say it was green and that the decking was also green...or at least several shades darker than it is now.

Every year cleaning the pool is a chore no one looks forward to but everyone pitches in on because it is the only means to an end. The green water gets pumped out, the leaves and debris are removed by shovel, pitchfork and wheelbarrow. The inside is pressure washed. The water is, again, pumped out. Then the whole thing gets a coat of new paint.

This year, Mark and Randall caulked up the skimmers and tiles because the pool was reputedly leaking. It doesn't appear to be leaking now but it's only been filled for a day so we'll see. We're having the decking redone--not completely but the delaminated portions will be repaired, the whole thing will receive a new coat of concrete and then a colored skim coat. I have to see samples of the colors in real life before I can choose a color but I'm leaning toward a light copper color.

We have repairs to make, things to figure out, but the mere fact that we are so blessed to live in this place is amazing. The pool? That's the cherry.

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Crossroads

On the day of my 45th birthday

this poem was published in the

Sanctuary at the Women's

Colony. I love it and thank

the author, Joyce Sutphen,

for writing this poem honoring

the process of living a life

beyond youth.

Crossroads


The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.

The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers sifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys in into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.

The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.


~Joyce Sutphen
Straight Out Of View, New Rivers Press

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