I have the best life these days. I love it! For the first time since I can remember, I went to a swim meet, and not only enjoyed it, but looked forward to it! Since we are with a new team, I was not anticipating having anyone to sit with, which, in and of itself, would have been a treat. (I have mentioned how much I enjoy being alone, even in groups and crowds.) I go to the meets to see my kids swim, not so much to socialize. All I need is a clear view of my progeny, a book and a bottle of water. I double lucked out, though, because my dear, sweet husband directed me to a dad from our new team, who not only introduced me to his wife and another set of parents, but none of them minded that I talked a little, and read a lot. (Interestingly, the book I was reading is Quiet : The power of introverts in a world that can't stop talking, by Susan Cain -- my new hero!) I got to see my Joseph swim, and I watched their kids swim, too, without the need to critique everything, or make comments on who looked like what. I got to go to the meet and be a mom AND be myself -- the best combination ever!!
As a bonus, I get to see my husband in action. He shines when he talks to the kids before and after their events. His love of the sport is evident in the way he interacts with his fellow coaches, especially the ones he now works with. For the first time, in a very long time, he looks like himself on deck, and I couldn't be more proud.
There's another side to my joyful anticipation today: I am not working at a pool. Summer meets for the past few years have been trying for me, as I still felt like I was at work, even though it was someone else's pool. In the wintertime, I didn't quite have the same feeling, but I did find myself keeping a close eye on how the meets were running, since we hosted a major meet at the pool where I worked this summer; I knew what I was doing, and how I envisioned the meet, but I kept looking for that one thing that goes wrong that could have been avoided "if only." For the first time, I did not need to worry about that meet (the next time that meet will happen at that pool will be in seven years. No way will I still be there then!)
So, for the first time in a long time, I was quite relaxed going to a swim meet. No duties, no responsibilities, no worries. And on the way home, we stopped for fro-yo, chatted, laughed and rehashed. Just like the "old days" before swimming got stressful -- the days when we first met. I'm glad our boys are getting to know that man: the man that I married.
Showing posts with label pools. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pools. Show all posts
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
peace and a pool vac
Today I'll be going to work early to vacuum the pool. Although I'm irritated at the reason I can't just toss the robot in, I'm not minding that I will have the solitude and peaceful time. This means I won't have time to do yoga today, but I can practice yoga philosophies while working. There is a zen-like quality to vacuuming a pool; everything must be done purposefully and slowly, rhythmically and with a light touch. The only problem I ever have is that I tend to sunburn while vacuuming.
I love the water. I prefer nature to the pool, but still the water is peaceful. As I gaze into the water, I can think, open my mind, wander through my thoughts, meandering without having to connect one to another. When vacuuming the pool, I don't usually come to conclusions, as I do when watching currents or waves, or even when vacuuming the floors at home. Rather, the thoughts come and go of their own accord.
While thinking through is more often my goal, and necessary, I find the thoughtless thinking to be refreshing sometimes. Occasionally, I stumble across a thought that I would like to consider more thoroughly at a later time. Often, though, I can just let them go and be freed of their clutter. The only other time I am able to do so is in savasana, the resting posture: corpse pose. It's easier than it once was, but there are still thoughts I wish were not even there to begin with; memories I don't wish to have, heartaches, words said that cannot be erased, feelings that still strike a chord.....
Funny how the difficult thoughts float to the surface. The other day, I told my husband that the painful feelings we give voice to, those related to fear, anger and pain, seem to have less power when shared, while those related to love, joy and lightness become exponentially more powerful when spoken aloud.
Perhaps today, while I am alone with the pool, I will speak aloud the thoughts as they come to mind. Probably not, because I will feel silly......but I imagine if I can get past my own self, speaking them aloud will help them to grow or diminish as necessary.
I love the water. I prefer nature to the pool, but still the water is peaceful. As I gaze into the water, I can think, open my mind, wander through my thoughts, meandering without having to connect one to another. When vacuuming the pool, I don't usually come to conclusions, as I do when watching currents or waves, or even when vacuuming the floors at home. Rather, the thoughts come and go of their own accord.
While thinking through is more often my goal, and necessary, I find the thoughtless thinking to be refreshing sometimes. Occasionally, I stumble across a thought that I would like to consider more thoroughly at a later time. Often, though, I can just let them go and be freed of their clutter. The only other time I am able to do so is in savasana, the resting posture: corpse pose. It's easier than it once was, but there are still thoughts I wish were not even there to begin with; memories I don't wish to have, heartaches, words said that cannot be erased, feelings that still strike a chord.....
Funny how the difficult thoughts float to the surface. The other day, I told my husband that the painful feelings we give voice to, those related to fear, anger and pain, seem to have less power when shared, while those related to love, joy and lightness become exponentially more powerful when spoken aloud.
Perhaps today, while I am alone with the pool, I will speak aloud the thoughts as they come to mind. Probably not, because I will feel silly......but I imagine if I can get past my own self, speaking them aloud will help them to grow or diminish as necessary.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
a special psa
Yesterday, I hit a wall. I have a job that I really do enjoy most aspects of. There is always something that throws a monkey wrench into every job, and yesterday the whole hardware store seemed to be involved. Worse, it was a day off, and still the wrenches kept coming.
My job is in the Make People Happy sector, and, generally, that is what we manage to do. You may be surprised at how bending over to pick up a few straw wrappers and fruit slices can make people on an average day. Lately, however, the days have been far from average.
Above average temperatures have pushed most everyone to their limits. Working outside in the heat is one of the sacrifices we make to do our job, and we grumble about it, but only amongst ourselves. I am also honest about it: when people ask how I am doing, I flat out say, "I'm hot and sometimes cranky." They laugh, I laugh, and we move on about our business.
Please remember that those working in the service and/or safety industries are there for your benefit, but not for your dumping. Yes, we are getting paid to smile sweetly at you, but that is not all we are doing. I am also hauling your trash, lugging buckets of slop, picking up after you and your children, sweeping up, mopping, washing, organizing, and trying to make my payroll. Not for the money I make, either, but because I know how important it is for you to enjoy your visit. I cannot control the temperature of the air, the ground, your beer, and to a certain extent, the water around you. I cannot control the behavior of those around you, either. I can (and do!) address behaviors that have a negative effect on the overall environment, but I cannot do that before the fact. I was not hired to read minds, which is a good thing, because I missed that class.
Yesterday, I heard one more time that "this doesn't happen when Stephanie is here." Sure it does. Whatever "it" is. I trust those I have hired to do the job I expect of them when I am not there. You need to, as well. Your complaints, if you look at them rationally, are probably more due to the fact that you are "hot and sometimes cranky," too. The saying goes, "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen." I'd like to propose that if you can't stand how hot it is outside, you should find someplace air conditioned. Then let us do our (outside) job.
My job is in the Make People Happy sector, and, generally, that is what we manage to do. You may be surprised at how bending over to pick up a few straw wrappers and fruit slices can make people on an average day. Lately, however, the days have been far from average.
Above average temperatures have pushed most everyone to their limits. Working outside in the heat is one of the sacrifices we make to do our job, and we grumble about it, but only amongst ourselves. I am also honest about it: when people ask how I am doing, I flat out say, "I'm hot and sometimes cranky." They laugh, I laugh, and we move on about our business.
Please remember that those working in the service and/or safety industries are there for your benefit, but not for your dumping. Yes, we are getting paid to smile sweetly at you, but that is not all we are doing. I am also hauling your trash, lugging buckets of slop, picking up after you and your children, sweeping up, mopping, washing, organizing, and trying to make my payroll. Not for the money I make, either, but because I know how important it is for you to enjoy your visit. I cannot control the temperature of the air, the ground, your beer, and to a certain extent, the water around you. I cannot control the behavior of those around you, either. I can (and do!) address behaviors that have a negative effect on the overall environment, but I cannot do that before the fact. I was not hired to read minds, which is a good thing, because I missed that class.
Yesterday, I heard one more time that "this doesn't happen when Stephanie is here." Sure it does. Whatever "it" is. I trust those I have hired to do the job I expect of them when I am not there. You need to, as well. Your complaints, if you look at them rationally, are probably more due to the fact that you are "hot and sometimes cranky," too. The saying goes, "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen." I'd like to propose that if you can't stand how hot it is outside, you should find someplace air conditioned. Then let us do our (outside) job.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
first memory
This morning, listening to the radio, the question was asked, "What is your earliest memory?" They went on to say what the top first memories are. A list which ranged from gifts and celebrations to dentist appointments. I have always been aware of my first memory. Before I tell you about it, I must say that I find it oddly comforting. Even I have a difficult time understanding why. My first memory could easily have been my last moment....
In 1972, I was three years old, and a hurricane caused flooding in Elmira, NY, where my father worked. His office was unusable, and the Holiday Inn in Horseheads became home base until the clean-up was completed. Long after I began recalling the day, I learned these details, which is what made me realize it was a memory, and not simply a strange dream. I could never figure out why we would be at the Holiday Inn....
So many times growing up, I heard stories about Agnes from teachers, preachers, parents, strangers. Agnes was a turning point in the collective conscience of the region, and even here in Camp Hill, PA, I sometimes hear mention of the storm and it's aftermath, although my connections here are a younger crowd, so the memories are more shared history than personal observations. I learned this morning from a case study of Agnes that Elmira and Wilkes-Barre, PA, sustained the worst urban flooding associated with the storm. Again, this explains so much....
Agnes occurred early in the hurricane season, and the flooding in late June meant that Dad's office was closed for most of the summer. Along with use of guest rooms for office space, the Holiday Inn allowed use of the hotel facilities, which for us meant use of the pool. I clearly remember that the pool was crowded--certainly more crowded than I have seen a hotel pool in my grown up life. In my memory, as a three-year-old, I see more people than I am used to.
We went to the pool that day to have fun in the sun: to swim, sunbathe (back then it was a far more acceptable practice), and relax. I remember toddling around with my sister, and faceless people larger than me--not necessarily strangers, but people not specifically important to the memory. I remember being in the pool with my Dad, and being tossed in the air, scooted around in the water, and jumping to him. I remember feeling perfectly content and safe. Especially feeling safe and comfortable. I remember the sun being bright and clear, not a cloud in the sky. And I remember clearly that I didn't just fall into the pool; that I decided to step in. And I even remember being aware of the fact that Dad was not in the water for me to jump to. I remember that the water was a fun place to be. I remember the sensation of sinking through the water, and being surprised that the water did not catch me.
The next thing I remember is seeing Dad's watch; a beautiful watch. I don't recall the band, the brand or even the color of anything but the watch face: a white analog watch face--the kind that needed daily winding. Seeing the watch meant that Daddy was there, that there was no reason to resist being lifted out of the water, out of the pool, carried to the towels we had laid out, and covered with one of them. I was not at all afraid. I then remembered Mom saying, "You went in the pool with that watch on?"
That's where the memory ends. When I hear a question about first memories, this is what flashes through my mind, and my heart. And when I get to the end of the clip, tears sting my eyes every time. There was a time when the tears were free-flowing because of the questions they brought. Today, and for quite a few years now, the tears are less painful, more reassuring.
A watch face. A memory.
Love.
In 1972, I was three years old, and a hurricane caused flooding in Elmira, NY, where my father worked. His office was unusable, and the Holiday Inn in Horseheads became home base until the clean-up was completed. Long after I began recalling the day, I learned these details, which is what made me realize it was a memory, and not simply a strange dream. I could never figure out why we would be at the Holiday Inn....
So many times growing up, I heard stories about Agnes from teachers, preachers, parents, strangers. Agnes was a turning point in the collective conscience of the region, and even here in Camp Hill, PA, I sometimes hear mention of the storm and it's aftermath, although my connections here are a younger crowd, so the memories are more shared history than personal observations. I learned this morning from a case study of Agnes that Elmira and Wilkes-Barre, PA, sustained the worst urban flooding associated with the storm. Again, this explains so much....
Agnes occurred early in the hurricane season, and the flooding in late June meant that Dad's office was closed for most of the summer. Along with use of guest rooms for office space, the Holiday Inn allowed use of the hotel facilities, which for us meant use of the pool. I clearly remember that the pool was crowded--certainly more crowded than I have seen a hotel pool in my grown up life. In my memory, as a three-year-old, I see more people than I am used to.
We went to the pool that day to have fun in the sun: to swim, sunbathe (back then it was a far more acceptable practice), and relax. I remember toddling around with my sister, and faceless people larger than me--not necessarily strangers, but people not specifically important to the memory. I remember being in the pool with my Dad, and being tossed in the air, scooted around in the water, and jumping to him. I remember feeling perfectly content and safe. Especially feeling safe and comfortable. I remember the sun being bright and clear, not a cloud in the sky. And I remember clearly that I didn't just fall into the pool; that I decided to step in. And I even remember being aware of the fact that Dad was not in the water for me to jump to. I remember that the water was a fun place to be. I remember the sensation of sinking through the water, and being surprised that the water did not catch me.
The next thing I remember is seeing Dad's watch; a beautiful watch. I don't recall the band, the brand or even the color of anything but the watch face: a white analog watch face--the kind that needed daily winding. Seeing the watch meant that Daddy was there, that there was no reason to resist being lifted out of the water, out of the pool, carried to the towels we had laid out, and covered with one of them. I was not at all afraid. I then remembered Mom saying, "You went in the pool with that watch on?"
That's where the memory ends. When I hear a question about first memories, this is what flashes through my mind, and my heart. And when I get to the end of the clip, tears sting my eyes every time. There was a time when the tears were free-flowing because of the questions they brought. Today, and for quite a few years now, the tears are less painful, more reassuring.
A watch face. A memory.
Love.
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