A Break in the Weather

"I heard there might be thunderstorms this afternoon," the lifeguard said casually as he passed us on his way around the pool to check the skimmers. He was almost successful at hiding a little grin, but the corners of his mouth and his eyes gave him away.

"I heard that, too," I said encouragingly.

"I'll get off a little early if it happens," he confessed.

"I know," I told him. "Fingers crossed!" And I meant, too, because so far? He's my favorite lifeguard this summer.

He nodded and smiled broadly as he continued on his way.

"I guess thunderstorms are like little snow days for lifeguards," I said to Heidi, who was a lifeguard for years.

"Hell, yeah!" she answered.

Watch the Birdie

There were only a few folks at the pool last evening when a young robin fluttered in. Still in that awkward adolescent phase between fledging and adult, its plumage was a bit of both, kind of mottled and tufty. "Is it sick?" asked our neighbor as we watched it hop curiously around the deck.

"Nah, it's just young," I shrugged.

A man swimming laps on the side nearest the little bird caught its attention, and soon it was scurrying up and down the edge of the pool, keeping pace with the swimmer. When he stopped at the ladder, the robin stopped, too, leaning in to get a better look. "Shoo, now," the man said as he climbed out of the pool, waving the curious critter aside.

But the robin was undeterred, and it followed the guy over to his chair and watched him towel off from a few feet away. When he stretched his legs forward and turned his attention to his phone, his new friend was not to be ignored. It flew right over and landed on his knee, much to the delight of everyone else at the pool, who had been watching the amusing drama unfold.

"Social distancing, bird!" the man scolded. "Give me six feet!"

Hydrotherapy

There was a time when the events of the world held a lot of fascination for me-- news, documentaries, true crime, talk shows, etc. on film, TV, radio, podcast, you name it-- they were usually my preferred form of entertainment.

That is not so these days. Instead I seek shelter from the sordid stories of people and their missteps. I don't want to know who killed who, who called who what terrible slur, or who blames who based on what facts have been reported and disputed.

I just want good old fashioned escapism in stories and activities. Unfortunately, when it's 95 degrees outside, and Covid-19 numbers are on the rise, escape doesn't seem like much of possibility. I think I'll go water my garden and float in the pool.

Saturday Evening Post

I spent my day puttering.

In the kitchen I fed my sourdough starter, made a levain for bread, and another for some raised muffins with peaches and berries.

In the attic, I organized the Halloween stuff (don't ask!), sorted my seed starting supplies, and tossed a few things that haven't been used in years.

On the back decks and front stoop, I pruned, watered and fed the hanging and potted plants.

In between, I changed the batteries in some flashlights, painted a couple of rocks, did a little online shopping, some reading, some writing, some journaling, a set of abs, a short kettlebell workout, and in a few minutes? We're off to the pool.

Classic Saturday, right?

Ghost Town

At 8:30 am we had the National Mall mostly to ourselves, with the exception of a few joggers, so it was still the perfect place to meet up with friends to walk and walk the dogs. This time our group veered to the left past the Washington Monument and picked up the trail circling the Tidal Basin just before the MLK Memorial.

There was a lot of flotsam, mud, and goose poop on the walkway, so we opted to go through the FDR Memorial, which was nearly deserted. A few people were doing some sort of photo shoot near the statue of Eleanor, but no one waited in the bread line, and we had the president and Fala all to ourselves.

Continuing on our way, we noted the empty cricket field, and crossing the Ohio Street Bridge over the inflow, we passed not one tourist on bike or foot, and when we arrived at the Jefferson Memorial, we could have climbed the stairs and stood alone with the 19 foot sculpture of that complicated Virginia man on its pedestal of Minnesota granite, but we chose to walk on instead.

And then it was past the abandoned paddle boats, and the closed doors of the Bureau of Engraving and the Holocaust Museum, and back onto the Mall where the sprinklers were set on jet, casting rainbows in their spray and keeping America's front yard green.

When I See It

We shared our pool time with a little boy today who had tons of energy and absolutely no volume control. As such, it was easy to offer my informal professional educational evaluation. "That kid is extra," I told Heidi as we treaded water in the deep end listening to his endless narrative about water taxis, bandits, and climbing Mountain Everest. I was borrowing one of my friend and fellow teacher's favorite terms for those students who are over the top, usually with a bit of self-regulation challenge tossed in.

Heidi hadn't heard the expression, but she appreciated its accuracy. "I like him, though!" she declared about the boy paddling and shouting in the shallows.

"All the more proof!" I told her.

Wicked Heat

I set my phone in the shade at the garden this afternoon, out of the way of the sprinklers as I watered and weeded. I kept my airpods in, though, and listened to a podcast as I worked. Right in the middle of an appreciation of Naya Rivera, the actress who played Santana Lopez on Glee, the audio abruptly stopped. The sun had moved to where my phone was and it had a too hot to use error message that I've never seen before.

As my phone cooled off, I continued to think about the character of Santana, though. Like Regina, the evil queen in Once Upon a Time, she was a complex villain with a well-developed heart and soul, which made her redemption in later seasons of the show moving. I appreciated that she was gay, and identified with all the teenaged heartbreak that went along with her sexuality, and I found her happy ending to be one of the most gratifying. And so I was genuinely sad when I heard that Naya Rivera had drowned.

Checking my phone, I found it sufficiently recovered to use again, and this time I put it in my pocket where I could keep it safe, but not before I put on my Santana playlist.