I know there are some around me who will claim I’ve gone totally off the deep end. Not true. Okay, okay, I have my doolalley days but for the most part I’m mostly, kinda, sorta, possibly all there. Or somewhere nearby.
I do enjoy my exercise routine in the deep end of the community pool at the Marshall Center. Despite Carolyn’s claims that I am just “mucking about in the water ogling the lady lifeguards,” there is serious intent to “build up my core.” Whatever that may mean. Ogling? C'mon. Really? Ogling a definite no. Appreciating. An innocent yes.
Earlier, I wrote about
the Deep End Divas who circle in the middle of the area like baby sharks
chumming for minnows and talk about all manner of important topics like their
hair, their nails and their bitch of a daughter-in-law. Occasionally, I hear
them giggle and even laugh out loud and I’m tempted to paddle close to overhear
what’s so damn funny. (Satan, keep thee behind me)
Today, as I was mucking about ogling the lifeguards
(oops, I mean building up my core) I saw a young snorkel thrasher, semi-intent
on swimming some unrealistic number of laps from my end to the far end and
back. Before long, the open area in the middle of the lane I was M . . .king about in was occupied by a not unattractive young woman, also
swimming laps. (albeit in a much more relaxed fashion)
Now, I should admit
that “young” is a rather liquid term in my codger vocabulary. It basically
means anyone without grey hair and washboard wrinkly skin. Anyone who thinks "the sixties" is the temperature range between "the fifties" and "the seventies." The two principals
of this anecdote were probably mid to late 30’s. Or possibly 40’s. Or even
early 50’s. I’ve gotten very bad at guestimating age.
To make a long story
short, (too late, I’m thinking) they stopped and talked at one end of the pool,
smiling, gesturing and laughing. It was evident they’d just met. Soon, they
were paddling back and forth alongside each other, the length of the lane and
back.
I felt like I’d just
watched the opening “cute meet” episode of a Rom Com. Or the beginning of "The Love Boat." Funny, sticky sweet and predictable.
Next thing you know they’d be living together, buying an espresso machine and
talking about how many kids they wanted to have. Or maybe they’d just hook up.
Who knows?
People watching is an
added bonus when building your core. An observation about lap swimmers. There
are two basic kinds. Gliders, who stroke silently and powerfully for extended
periods of time and use a narrow alley of water and Thrashers, who yank their
arms and legs out of the water and after throwing them to the side, slap them
back down on the surface. Or onto another swimmer, whichever is closest. Their
philosophy is “Hey, I’m swimmin’ here! Get outa my way!!!” One of those
attractive lady lifeguards will one day have to referee a fistfight.
One
other note on a totally unrelated topic. (A distasteful dripping from my leaky brain pan.)
The information age is a wonderful thing. Except when the information is
something you really didn’t want or need to know. Like the latest thing the
drooling eedjit in the White House has said or done for example.
I’ve
become addicted to googling anything that triggers my
curiosity. For example; after cooking up a batch of my favorite New Mexican
recipe for a red chile pork and hominy stew called posole, I began wondering
what it’s roots were. So, I did what I always and searched online.
Its
beginnings were with the Incas who revered the food as having spiritual
significance. Traditionally, after one of their periodic human sacrifices,
they’d whip up a batch to consecrate the ritual and celebrate the life of the
late sacrificee. (If you’re squeamish you may want to skip the next part). The
meat they used was not pork, as in my recipe. They used (ooh, ick) whatever was
close at hand. Waste not, want not.
Well,
that’s about it for now. Time to crawl out of the water and go muck-about on
the official curmudgeon recliner. With luck, maybe a lifeguard will pass by.
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