As I approached my teen years, the allure of the pool wore off. Maybe because only little kids and tweens went. Maybe we just got busy. When we could drive, a new world opened. The Shenango Dam appealed as no life guards, no rules. We packed lunches and stayed all evening. In May when it was hot, before any pools or beaches officially opened, we'd head to a beach after school. The trees hanging over the water gave it an exotic feel.
So for a long time, I abandoned the community pool. I tried some after high school graduation to swim there, but again, the shine faded. I felt alone sitting on my towel the only one over fifteen, even the life guards were young, not the cool ones like Bud and Georgianna when I was a kid looking up to them, literally sometimes.
I tried to recapture the pool experience with my girls one year. Katie was six, Mary Ellen, a baby. Mom now lived closer to the pool in an apartment on Main Street. I drove the kids there. The pool, of course, seemed much smaller. The diving boards were gone. Kids just jumped off the sides in the deep end. The three of us remained in the shallow end, as I carried Mary Ellen the whole time. I felt safe as a mom in the smaller pool as Katie swam around.
Mary Ellen, slathered in sunblock, wearing a light cotton hat, tanned beautifully. She looked like a toasted marshmallow. She had that chubby baby fat, thunder thighs. The ten to eleven year old girls crowded around us. They loved the baby. All wanted to hold her, but I refused.
I didn't get much swimming myself, but I kicked my legs out, did squats. I ran in the water holding the sixteen pound baby. I kept up with Katie.
The kids still loved the pool, but I felt they were cheated. It now closed at five, and I mean closed, locked up tight. The swimmers had to be out of the water well before five and out the door. They did have some night swims. But it didn't seem like the lazy days when I was a kid. We had fun, though. I loved getting to know my friends' children, or nieces.
We were blessed with some really hot summers that encouraged swimming. Tomorrow, I'll post about the Buhl Farm pool.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
More Swimming Tales- No Kissing This Time
As I thought about what I posted last evening, I kept thinking how we spent five hours at that pool every day. It really was a large part of summer life. No wonder I was a skinny kid. Walking to the pool and back almost every day, swimming most of the afternoon. What an exercise program!
I loved swimming since I first saw Sarah Grundy's pool or Pymatuning. I even loved Hogback Creek. I craved the water. The project for the community pool took a few years to raise the money. Sarah put herself into it, she so believed in swimming. Her pool was always open, as long as an adult could watch the kids. She declared she couldn't live with herself if someone drowned in her pool.
The West Middlesex- Lackawana Community Pool opened summer of 1968, as I was seven. My brother, then, escorted me to the pool every day. He kept an eye on me. One time as I was laying out, he walked by and warned me I was getting red, to get out of the sun.
His friends picked on me. Joey States always had to dunk me a few times. The three foot section held most of the pool. Four and five foot finished the shallow end. At six foot, all these numbers painted in bold black, a rope separated the shallow from the deep. At the deepest it was ten feet. This was for the divers. A lower board perched on the right side and the high dive ruled on the left.
Even though Sarah had taught me to swim, I was still signed up for lessons at the pool. On the cool June mornings the water was cold. This was not enjoyable, but I guess I endured. I really appreciated Sarah. I remember the first time I dove off their board. It was seven feet deep at their pool's deepest. Sarah waited in the water with outstretched arms, her bathing cap covered head smiling at me. The best part of her lessons was at the end, we dove for coins at the bottom. I loved diving for any object, but we got to keep whatever change we collected.
When I was eight, I was allowed with the Powell girls to walk to the pool. The worst part was crossing busy Route 18. But we stood at the light(the only light in West Middlesex) then scurried to the other side with the light.
With breaks, we gazed at the vending machines, counted our money and picked a snack. Or at the desk, other snacks were for sale, I think even ice cream sandwiches and such. After we made our selection, we sat either on the bench in the building or outside staring at the ball field. Another thing we loved to do was take warm showers.
When I got home in the evening, supper was ready to be set on the table. Often I took a shower at home, to wash the chlorine out of my hair. Then the evening, we either played outside till the street lights came on or watched TV.
The pool was one of the best things about summer. I met my friends there. We played all day. The parents who raised all the funds lived with satisfaction and pride.
I loved swimming since I first saw Sarah Grundy's pool or Pymatuning. I even loved Hogback Creek. I craved the water. The project for the community pool took a few years to raise the money. Sarah put herself into it, she so believed in swimming. Her pool was always open, as long as an adult could watch the kids. She declared she couldn't live with herself if someone drowned in her pool.
The West Middlesex- Lackawana Community Pool opened summer of 1968, as I was seven. My brother, then, escorted me to the pool every day. He kept an eye on me. One time as I was laying out, he walked by and warned me I was getting red, to get out of the sun.
His friends picked on me. Joey States always had to dunk me a few times. The three foot section held most of the pool. Four and five foot finished the shallow end. At six foot, all these numbers painted in bold black, a rope separated the shallow from the deep. At the deepest it was ten feet. This was for the divers. A lower board perched on the right side and the high dive ruled on the left.
Even though Sarah had taught me to swim, I was still signed up for lessons at the pool. On the cool June mornings the water was cold. This was not enjoyable, but I guess I endured. I really appreciated Sarah. I remember the first time I dove off their board. It was seven feet deep at their pool's deepest. Sarah waited in the water with outstretched arms, her bathing cap covered head smiling at me. The best part of her lessons was at the end, we dove for coins at the bottom. I loved diving for any object, but we got to keep whatever change we collected.
When I was eight, I was allowed with the Powell girls to walk to the pool. The worst part was crossing busy Route 18. But we stood at the light(the only light in West Middlesex) then scurried to the other side with the light.
With breaks, we gazed at the vending machines, counted our money and picked a snack. Or at the desk, other snacks were for sale, I think even ice cream sandwiches and such. After we made our selection, we sat either on the bench in the building or outside staring at the ball field. Another thing we loved to do was take warm showers.
When I got home in the evening, supper was ready to be set on the table. Often I took a shower at home, to wash the chlorine out of my hair. Then the evening, we either played outside till the street lights came on or watched TV.
The pool was one of the best things about summer. I met my friends there. We played all day. The parents who raised all the funds lived with satisfaction and pride.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Swimming Days
The last day of school, I got home before ten in the morning. I probably watched some TV and Mom fed me lunch. One o'clock the pool opened. Excitement filled me.
Sunblock had not been invented yet. The key was to get burned, then you tanned the rest of the summer. That first night, I was always sick with a blistering burn, smeared with Noxzema, wearing a tank shirt to bed. The next day I wore a T-shirt over my suit, we were allowed only if we had a sunburn. The life guards also watched our backs, warning us if we were getting too much sun. We did use sun tan lotion. Sometimes, we splurged buying cocoanut butter that smelled so good it seemed you could eat it.
One o'clock, kids lined up, most of us with our tags for membership pinned to our suits. The first day, they were bright with the color of the year- red, blue or green with white and a number on it. Some paid whenever they came to the pool, but most of us wore the badge of summer fun. By the end of summer, the color faded if a kid came a lot.
The big overhead door clanged opened. Cheers escaped from the crowd. We filed into the metal building, getting a basket for our clothes, heading to the changing rooms. Most just wore a T-shirt over the suit, so a simple T-shirt and shoes or flip flops went into the wire basket. In the dressing room, a shower was required. Believe me, the life guards make sure our heads were wet.
As I got older, by now as after sixth grade, they knew I had passed the swimming test. I headed for the high dive. We spent the first twenty minutes diving, cannon balling, doing the banana or just crazy jumps, making them up. I practiced so much that the next summer when I was in Florida at my sister's condo, a man thought I dove for competition. Or he could have just thought that was a way to make conversation with a shapely girl. I'll write about Florida later.
Sherry, her sisters and the other Chestnut Street, Haywood Street girls joined this ritual. Sherry and I swam for about two hours. We built up an appetite, so she and I would walk back to her house. We made huge hoagies and chocolate milkshakes. We mixed the shakes in a silver mixing bowl with an electric mixer. We ate, talked and goofed around for about an hour, then returned to the pool to finish up the day session. The pool closed at six.
During the five hours, lifeguards called breaks. The kids could sit on the edge with their feet in the water while the two or three adults did laps. One kid, usually a boy, would "fall off." The whistle blew and everyone laughed. A sheepish grin, shrug of the shoulder, but a look like "I still got in the water" covered the kid's face.
Two evenings the pool opened from seven to nine, usually Tuesdays and Thursdays. I envied Friday nights, teen swim, from eight to ten. At the end of the summer, even though we were twelve, Georgianna, the head life guard, allowed us to join this magical night. We loved it because swimming in the dark with the lights under the water proved mysterious. The teen guys we eyed and dreamed about.
We walked home on these summer evenings under the shaded street lights in a big group. After that last teen swim, the group strolled along Route 18 on the depressed sidewalk, more dirt than concrete. The boy visiting his uncle and the new aunt put his arm around me. He was sixteen, from "Pittsburgh," which really meant he was from a small town outside of Pittsburgh. We also necked later that evening on his uncle's picnic table.
Word of this, because girls love to talk, got back to my parents. A worker at the Dairy Queen overheard the conversation. I was grounded for a week, by that time the boy had returned home for the summer. I didn't see him again for four years.
My dad showed himself understanding. Mom said I had a zit on my lip from kissing "that boy from Pittsburgh." I felt like I had to change my name to Mollie Mudd. I got mad at the wrong girl that I thought had blabbered.
My awakening that end of summer to a new world. Kissing boys was fun. Girls liked to talk. Parents found out and the consequences were not pleasant. There was always a joke in West Middlesex that if a kid did something wrong, someone always reported it to the parents before he got home.
Sunblock had not been invented yet. The key was to get burned, then you tanned the rest of the summer. That first night, I was always sick with a blistering burn, smeared with Noxzema, wearing a tank shirt to bed. The next day I wore a T-shirt over my suit, we were allowed only if we had a sunburn. The life guards also watched our backs, warning us if we were getting too much sun. We did use sun tan lotion. Sometimes, we splurged buying cocoanut butter that smelled so good it seemed you could eat it.
One o'clock, kids lined up, most of us with our tags for membership pinned to our suits. The first day, they were bright with the color of the year- red, blue or green with white and a number on it. Some paid whenever they came to the pool, but most of us wore the badge of summer fun. By the end of summer, the color faded if a kid came a lot.
The big overhead door clanged opened. Cheers escaped from the crowd. We filed into the metal building, getting a basket for our clothes, heading to the changing rooms. Most just wore a T-shirt over the suit, so a simple T-shirt and shoes or flip flops went into the wire basket. In the dressing room, a shower was required. Believe me, the life guards make sure our heads were wet.
As I got older, by now as after sixth grade, they knew I had passed the swimming test. I headed for the high dive. We spent the first twenty minutes diving, cannon balling, doing the banana or just crazy jumps, making them up. I practiced so much that the next summer when I was in Florida at my sister's condo, a man thought I dove for competition. Or he could have just thought that was a way to make conversation with a shapely girl. I'll write about Florida later.
Sherry, her sisters and the other Chestnut Street, Haywood Street girls joined this ritual. Sherry and I swam for about two hours. We built up an appetite, so she and I would walk back to her house. We made huge hoagies and chocolate milkshakes. We mixed the shakes in a silver mixing bowl with an electric mixer. We ate, talked and goofed around for about an hour, then returned to the pool to finish up the day session. The pool closed at six.
During the five hours, lifeguards called breaks. The kids could sit on the edge with their feet in the water while the two or three adults did laps. One kid, usually a boy, would "fall off." The whistle blew and everyone laughed. A sheepish grin, shrug of the shoulder, but a look like "I still got in the water" covered the kid's face.
Two evenings the pool opened from seven to nine, usually Tuesdays and Thursdays. I envied Friday nights, teen swim, from eight to ten. At the end of the summer, even though we were twelve, Georgianna, the head life guard, allowed us to join this magical night. We loved it because swimming in the dark with the lights under the water proved mysterious. The teen guys we eyed and dreamed about.
We walked home on these summer evenings under the shaded street lights in a big group. After that last teen swim, the group strolled along Route 18 on the depressed sidewalk, more dirt than concrete. The boy visiting his uncle and the new aunt put his arm around me. He was sixteen, from "Pittsburgh," which really meant he was from a small town outside of Pittsburgh. We also necked later that evening on his uncle's picnic table.
Word of this, because girls love to talk, got back to my parents. A worker at the Dairy Queen overheard the conversation. I was grounded for a week, by that time the boy had returned home for the summer. I didn't see him again for four years.
My dad showed himself understanding. Mom said I had a zit on my lip from kissing "that boy from Pittsburgh." I felt like I had to change my name to Mollie Mudd. I got mad at the wrong girl that I thought had blabbered.
My awakening that end of summer to a new world. Kissing boys was fun. Girls liked to talk. Parents found out and the consequences were not pleasant. There was always a joke in West Middlesex that if a kid did something wrong, someone always reported it to the parents before he got home.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Last Day of Sixth Grade- Good-bye Oakview
A warm June day in 1973, excitedly I walked to school. I was allowed to bring along my niece, Debbie, who I mistakenly made three the last time I posted about her, when she was actually four. The last day of school was brief for the handing out of report cards, dismissal within a half hour. In a manilla holder, a folded white cardboard revealed the final marks of the year. Parents did not have to sign the back of it this time. We kept this one. The final report of the year and our Oakview Elementary years. The last hard report card, from now on, they would be flimsy paper.
Debbie stole the show in Mrs. Janosko's room. We signed our names to the back of all our classmates' envelopes. Everyone wanted Debbie's signature. Being four, she wasn't used to that much writing. It started as "Debbie," then "Deb," and finally her initials, "DR"
"Doctor," everyone laughed.
Miss Doctor did a few more, then she begged, "No more."
Then the kids begged her and she grudgingly did a few more. Her little hand was tired.
9:30 the last dismissal bell rang. The classmates gathered around Debbie, letting her know how glad they were she came and that she signed their cards. I'm not sure how either of us got our heads through the door.
I said, "Good-bye," to Oakview. No more gazing down the hill. I would be in the high school in the fall. But at that moment, anticipation of swimming at the pool filled my mind.
Debbie stole the show in Mrs. Janosko's room. We signed our names to the back of all our classmates' envelopes. Everyone wanted Debbie's signature. Being four, she wasn't used to that much writing. It started as "Debbie," then "Deb," and finally her initials, "DR"
"Doctor," everyone laughed.
Miss Doctor did a few more, then she begged, "No more."
Then the kids begged her and she grudgingly did a few more. Her little hand was tired.
9:30 the last dismissal bell rang. The classmates gathered around Debbie, letting her know how glad they were she came and that she signed their cards. I'm not sure how either of us got our heads through the door.
I said, "Good-bye," to Oakview. No more gazing down the hill. I would be in the high school in the fall. But at that moment, anticipation of swimming at the pool filled my mind.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Summer Stretches Out with Promise
Glorious, peaceful Monday morning here in Western Pennsylvania. Last week of school for my daughter. Friday, she will move up to her senior year. Where does the time go? as everyone says.
I love June, as the summer stretches out before me with such promise. Every year, so much planning into summer. The Pentecostal Evangel, publishes the best summer reads next week. We think of long days, reading, playing, swimming, projects the kids can do.
Reality hits, though, and summer can be the craziest time. No hazy, lazy, crazy days of summer, it seems as an adult. I look forward to a real vacation this year, more than a week. I love reading older books, when a month or two vacation at the shore seemed to be the norm for some. Many times the families packed up with the fathers visiting on the weekends. Hmm, sounds like my life, now. Only as a mom, I have to also work outside the home, no beach vacation.
I love perusing magazines that show pictures of these beach homes, cottages. I like the simple ones, but if anyone offered me a large condo for a week, I'd be more than happy to pack up and be there. As Tina Fey says, "I want to go to there."
I love these mornings, with green so luscious against the robin egg blue. Bright sun in my eyes, birds singing and chirping, flying by. Very few human sounds, yet as it is just seven in the morning. The light has been growing since five. My soul is renewed with the sun and prayer and time alone with my Creator.
I love June, as the summer stretches out before me with such promise. Every year, so much planning into summer. The Pentecostal Evangel, publishes the best summer reads next week. We think of long days, reading, playing, swimming, projects the kids can do.
Reality hits, though, and summer can be the craziest time. No hazy, lazy, crazy days of summer, it seems as an adult. I look forward to a real vacation this year, more than a week. I love reading older books, when a month or two vacation at the shore seemed to be the norm for some. Many times the families packed up with the fathers visiting on the weekends. Hmm, sounds like my life, now. Only as a mom, I have to also work outside the home, no beach vacation.
I love perusing magazines that show pictures of these beach homes, cottages. I like the simple ones, but if anyone offered me a large condo for a week, I'd be more than happy to pack up and be there. As Tina Fey says, "I want to go to there."
I love these mornings, with green so luscious against the robin egg blue. Bright sun in my eyes, birds singing and chirping, flying by. Very few human sounds, yet as it is just seven in the morning. The light has been growing since five. My soul is renewed with the sun and prayer and time alone with my Creator.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Freedom of Religion
The large sanctuary of Notre Dame didn't overflow with people this evening, but every row boasted bodies. The Hickory High School class of 2012 participated in their baccalaureate, a voluntary exercise.
As I drove up to the church early I thought, the parking lot held few empty spaces. The evening is cool, yet sunny with puffy clouds. A choice to stay home to enjoy this weather or come to a church on a Sunday had been free.
My daughter sang with the chamber singers, but I believe this also was a voluntary choice. Yet, the group is full. Other underclassmen scattered through the wide sanctuary.
It pleases me that still a large percentage of the graduating class has donned their cap and gown when they are not forced by school to do so. They are not getting their diplomas tonight. This is clearly a religious service. It is tradition, as well, but the large audience shows that many are allowing God and Jesus in their lives.
The graduates marched into Onward Christian Soldiers, a hymn I dare say is hardly sung in any church now, due to the military tone. The students lead us in the Lord's Prayer, the pledges to the American flag, the Christian flag, and the Bible. Scripture is read from the Gospel of John. The speaker had been a youth pastor and now serves a church outside of West Middlesex. He spoke on "Whatever." The evangelist, Deborah Sanders, again sent chills and goosebumps as she sang Battle Hymn of the Republic, in her powerful voice. I can never tire of hearing this lovely woman sing. She also sang another song about flying, so appropriate for fledgling young adults. The final charge is clearly Christian and emotional.
I pray for these men and women that I have had the privilege of knowing. Long live freedom.
As I drove up to the church early I thought, the parking lot held few empty spaces. The evening is cool, yet sunny with puffy clouds. A choice to stay home to enjoy this weather or come to a church on a Sunday had been free.
My daughter sang with the chamber singers, but I believe this also was a voluntary choice. Yet, the group is full. Other underclassmen scattered through the wide sanctuary.
It pleases me that still a large percentage of the graduating class has donned their cap and gown when they are not forced by school to do so. They are not getting their diplomas tonight. This is clearly a religious service. It is tradition, as well, but the large audience shows that many are allowing God and Jesus in their lives.
The graduates marched into Onward Christian Soldiers, a hymn I dare say is hardly sung in any church now, due to the military tone. The students lead us in the Lord's Prayer, the pledges to the American flag, the Christian flag, and the Bible. Scripture is read from the Gospel of John. The speaker had been a youth pastor and now serves a church outside of West Middlesex. He spoke on "Whatever." The evangelist, Deborah Sanders, again sent chills and goosebumps as she sang Battle Hymn of the Republic, in her powerful voice. I can never tire of hearing this lovely woman sing. She also sang another song about flying, so appropriate for fledgling young adults. The final charge is clearly Christian and emotional.
I pray for these men and women that I have had the privilege of knowing. Long live freedom.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Renewed Strength
Yesterday morning, I felt my dreams revived. My goals fleshed out clearly. They bobbed on the horizon. Plans flooded into my mind. I can do this, I've been renewed.
A vivid ending for the novel I started in November with NaNoWriMo, settled in my mind as I traveled north on Route 7, the day before. I loved my ideas for Gables and Gingerbread Stories, "Main Street" has been done for two years. "Country" I started well, but wondered where it would go. The map fell in place. I need to follow it now. "Cross Roads" has been in the back of my mind for a while, waiting to enter the laptop page.
I'm actively looking for a writer's conference to attend. I was crushed this winter when vacation for St. David's Writer's Conference nearby at Grove City College was denied due to another nurse getting her request in sooner. I had planned on attending the whole session, not just one day like last year. This conference welcomed me warmly and freely. I felt so blessed to be a part of it for one day. My desire was to be part of the whole conference this year. At this point, I think a fall one will fit into work and my life. Except, I may have to miss one of the last football games with my senior year daughter as the drum major.
I'm learning more each day to accept the flow of life coming from God. I'll row, view the chart, study the course, but not be depressed by the snags in the river. I'll trust God through the rapids, and the doldrums.
Not only my writing dreams have been refreshed, but spiritual goals as well. Visions for my home Bible study women to pray for revival on prayer walks and fellowship live in my mind. I'm running with these ideas. I have renewed hope for this summer and changes.
I knew the dream had never died, but a refreshing played around in the shadows. I faintly saw the ember of life. Hope did not abandon me. Relying on God's timing is the only way to live and dream.
A vivid ending for the novel I started in November with NaNoWriMo, settled in my mind as I traveled north on Route 7, the day before. I loved my ideas for Gables and Gingerbread Stories, "Main Street" has been done for two years. "Country" I started well, but wondered where it would go. The map fell in place. I need to follow it now. "Cross Roads" has been in the back of my mind for a while, waiting to enter the laptop page.
I'm actively looking for a writer's conference to attend. I was crushed this winter when vacation for St. David's Writer's Conference nearby at Grove City College was denied due to another nurse getting her request in sooner. I had planned on attending the whole session, not just one day like last year. This conference welcomed me warmly and freely. I felt so blessed to be a part of it for one day. My desire was to be part of the whole conference this year. At this point, I think a fall one will fit into work and my life. Except, I may have to miss one of the last football games with my senior year daughter as the drum major.
I'm learning more each day to accept the flow of life coming from God. I'll row, view the chart, study the course, but not be depressed by the snags in the river. I'll trust God through the rapids, and the doldrums.
Not only my writing dreams have been refreshed, but spiritual goals as well. Visions for my home Bible study women to pray for revival on prayer walks and fellowship live in my mind. I'm running with these ideas. I have renewed hope for this summer and changes.
I knew the dream had never died, but a refreshing played around in the shadows. I faintly saw the ember of life. Hope did not abandon me. Relying on God's timing is the only way to live and dream.
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