I Spy . . .

City living has its advantages and one big advantage this summer is that we have practically the whole YMCA pool to ourselves. When we lived in the suburbs, the pool was jammed like a can of wriggling, splashy sardines.

(On a side note: I have a strange relationship with sardines; I enjoy them and am repulsed by them at the same time. Describing them as wriggling and splashy has pretty well tipped the scale away from any possibility of enjoyment - in fact, my gag reflex is beginning to express its own feelings.)

This afternoon Little Bubba and I slipped away from work to take a dip in the pool. I can't think of a better place to play hookie. We splashed around and made up silly games.

Racing from one end of the pool to the other holding onto one foot was interesting.

Then I swam a couple of slow, lazy laps.

First on my back,
barely kicking,
staring up the pale, nearly cloudless sky.
I watched the trail of a jet, so high it was noiseless.
The huge pin oak came into view, leaves softly rustling.
The corner of my eye caught the rainbow-colored umbrella, shading a table.

A wave from Little Bubba's flailing legs washed over my face and up my nose.

Then the breaststroke,
none of that blowing out of air underwater,
just a slow, easy stroke while daydreaming.
I spied a dragonfly hovering over the turquoise ripples in front of me.
Another jet, this time coming in low and rumbly for a landing in the airport.
A horn blared on the nearby highway.
The dragonfly skittered off in search of adventure.

I swam right into the hard plastic lane divider.

On the way home we played our favorite in-the-car game: "I Spy an Idiot." It's a lot easier to rack up points with this game nowadays, with all the kids scuffing along with their pants around their knees, and people too busy yakking on their cell phones while eating french fries to stay in their lanes. Besides, there just aren't many Punch Buggies out there anymore.

We headed back to work refreshed and relaxed, ears sloshing and fingertips pruny, laughing and calling out "I spy an IDIOT!" all along the way.


Modemom said...

Okay, I give. What's a Punch Buggy?

P.S. Last paragraph is a gem!

Melanie (aka Timber) said...

It's what most people seem to say when seeing a Volkswagon Bug, and then they punch someone on the arm, I think! A little different than our simple version of "BEETLE!"

BBC said...

Oh no, I had no idea my son had wandered to your area and am so embarrassed that you saw him in his normal, pants-losing attire. *blush* I yell, "Barron! Pull up your pants!" in public as often as I can! hehehe

btw, since he's not been taken into state custody, he will be here if Mike still wants to talk to him next week. I hope you can squeeze in a visit!