julierichmond

It’s either been cold, cloudy, or raining this June. Every morning, at 7 am when the alarm goes off, I’ve wanted to pull Nelly and Bernadette, our puppies, (I don’t want to start this off with the wrong picture in your head,) close and go back to sleep for the rest of the day.

I haven’t done this once, not even on the weekend. By 7:05, my feet are in slippers. I stagger upstairs for coffee and to check the weather on my phone.

Things have started to look up a bit; three days in a row, I have put on my mismatched swimsuit and gone to a pool.

On Sunday afternoon, our friend, James, invited us to his apartment pool. The sky was cloudy, but the air was thick and warm.

We went. Thunder came. We packed up the towels and made dinner reservations nearby.

Day two was Monday. After work, my daughter invited us to visit the pool where she lifeguards. Same weather as Sunday, except the sun was out. I grabbed my bag from the day before and we went.

It took me a few minutes to make it down the pool steps, the water was freezing. It was smaller, no one was there. The air smelled like lilacs and chorine. My husband and I had an hour before Katy was done with work.

I looked up at her, said “Katy, count me down!”

Katy looked at me and said nothing.

I said it again, not that loudly. She was at work, even though no one was there.

She shook her head no.

I probably looked a bit silly, standing there, waiting for her to call out “10, 9, 8…” so I could plunge in, head first, shivering and smiling.

Our ritual for a million years was that when we went swimming, we would count down from ten before plunging head first into the water. It hasn’t happened much in recent years, we don’t go swimming together that often, she is nineteen years old and prefers to go the beach with her friends; I can’t imagine why.

In the beginning, I was the one doing the counting. But around the time her age went into double digits, she’d skip the steps, and dive right off the dock, or into a wave. Afterwards, she’d splash me a few times, before I told her I was ready and not to count too fast.

After she shook her head the third time, she giggled.

I got out of the pool and went home.

When my daughter came into the house last night, we talked. Actually, she sat me down and explained that while she is working as a lifeguard, she can’t humor her mom, even for a time honored tradition that ranks slightly above the dog cookie party at bedtime. Katy explained her response was not meant to be unkind, she was just uncomfortable.

We’d talked about giving it another try tonight, but when she didn’t respond to my text, I took the dogs for an extra long walk, and, once again, pulled on the same mismatched swim suit, the same shorts, the same sandals. I grabbed my beach bag without even checking to see if the goggles were still there.

It was already 530 by the time I left, so I drove to Cunningham Pool, about a mile away from our house. The parking lot was full, but I found a spot close to the entrance.

It took me moments to skip down the path that led to the gate; I left a trail of moms and dads, strollers and wagons, babies, and toddlers, teenagers, and not quite teenagers.

I found a spot, the same spot I’ve used ever since I started going to Cunningham by myself, about five years ago. It’s close to the showers, under a tree, near a bench and a water fountain.

I didn’t even lay out a towel. Just dropped my shorts, pulled off my shirt, and kicked off my sandals.

The water was ice cold. I walked in slowly at the shallowest part of a very large shallow end. While my body grew used to the temperature, I spotted our neighbor from across the street. One of the lifeguards looked just like one of Katy’s friends younger brother.

There were water toys scattered on the lawn, around parents and babysitters, many fully dressed. They were watching their kids play or scanning the water to find them, making small talk and laying out snacks.

It appears that mostly, water toys are exactly the same as they were when Katy was little. She had no interest in anything I brought, she’d just paddle around the pool, looking for a kind mom with a big basket or beach bag, and ask if she could borrow a pail, or a submarine.

Middle school boys were playing some kind of game that involved a lot of shouting, or maybe they were in elementary school. I saw three little girls teaching a baby how to swim, and heard a teenager yelling at his mom he was too old to babysit- “I have a life, and no one else has to come here!”

The only pre teenagers and teenagers at Cunningham tonight were babysitters, lifeguards, or those who had done something really bad and were on serious punishment.

That’s what it was like years ago, when my kids were young, and when my kids were not so young.

I’ve been going to Cunningham Pool by myself for a while now.

It only took me a few minutes to get used to the water, and to make my way to the lap lane. I sprinted, and did breaststroke. I went from one end to the other. on my back, just using my arms. I dove under and turned a few somersaults.

I’d stop to look around, and then slide back in the water. I swam for almost an hour.

Afterwards, I put conditioner in my hair and rinsed it off under the outdoor showers. There are pine trees all around the bathhouse, all around the pool. As night falls, they leave shadows, and I could hear the whisper of the needles, or maybe that was my imagination.

Cunningham is a kingdom, mostly for families, young families, and they are noisy.

It is also a kingdom for me, and one of my tiny traditions- swimming laps, by myself, on just before dark at Cunningham Pool.

I head home, already showered and ready for bed, just like the toddlers, to the delight of their parents.

I was not, and am not, the same woman, who wouldn’t go swimming last night because I needed my daughter to coax me into the cold by calling out numbers from ten to one.

Not tonight, anyway. Tonight, I am strong and sleepy. I don’t need a kiss from Katy or a night time conversation with my mom. I will slide under sheets as easy as I glided through the deep end of Cunningham.

It’s the beginning of summer.

Katy and I will go to the beach and eat ice cream on the boardwalk. Sheldon and I will visit the North End and find a spot by the harbor to listen to music from the pavilion.

Next week, I hope to spend some time at Ponkapoag Pond with some friends, swim from one end of the lake to the other and play ping pong in the lodge.

I am a strong swimmer; probably more competent in the water than on land.

I don’t need anyone coaxing me to dive in, I don’t need anyone watching or swimming near by to make sure I don’t drown.

But it’s always nice to have someone I love waiting on the deck, or swimming beside me.