Monster from the Deep......

I've been doing some daily swim therapy, for my back, at my nearby brother Bill's pool.  I have set my goal at 20 full laps a day....hopefully I will exercise off a few inches and even more pounds (nice).  Of  course, we have our three-year-old, Clark.  We decided that this would be a great time to introduce him to the pool; teach respect for rules around the pool; begin to teach him to swim; exercise away from the computer; and hopefully wear him down enough to take a good nap.  Irwin is wonderful to offer to "occupy" Clark while I do my laps.

This "occupancy" lasted about 5 minutes, and then, Clark wanted to tag along with GrandBan (that would be me) on my laps.  He wears his arm floaties for safety....his and mine!   As we swam, Clark kept up with me stroke by stroke (at a much reduced pace).  I gave him instructions much like the "pacer" deep in the galley of the Viking ships.  I figured that I would make it strict enough that he would be learning but would give up after a little while and go back to play with Granddaddy.  After about 8 FULL laps, Clark was picking up the pace and laughing most of the time.  He was even mimicking my chant, "Reach!  And pull!  And reach!  And, pull!  Kick!  Kick!  Kick!  Kick!  Kick!"

In my brother's pool, is a mechanical pool sweeper named Oscar.  My brother suggested that we could take Oscar out of the pool while we swam, even though it is not working while we are exercising.  Oscar keeps the edge, sides, and bottom of the pool spotless and Bill's diligence keeps the clarity of the water like crystal.....really a pleasure!  So, I just pulled the lifeless sweeper contraption, and it's 15-ft. hose, to the South edge of the water and we used the North side....never having any kind of a clash.  However, Monday, we did go to do our therapy a little earlier in the morning before it got too hot.  After about 15 minutes in the water, I thought I heard the compressor start.  So, I just kept one eye on the hose that floats along behind Oscar; one eye on my laps; and one eye on Clark.

As I approached the end of the pool to "touch and turn" for the next lap, I noticed a dark shadow between me and my pivot point.  Not wanting my feet to get tangled in the hose along with the describable fear of getting sucked up into the (6" x 14") sweeper, Oscar, I tried to reverse engines in "mid-stream."

Did I mention that I am, by NO stretch of the imagination, a proficient swimmer?  I learned to swim at the age of 6-years-old, when my grandfather pitched me out into the middle of the Brazos River.  I thrashed for it seemed like at least 15 minutes in the direction of the bank.  The commotion was similar to what happens when trollers throw fresh meat into a school of piranha (until my hysterically laughing audience of grandparents, parents, and siblings, sent my oldest brother to put my feet on the bottom of the 4-ft. deep water.)

From his peripheral vision, Irwin noticed my thrashing, coughing, and spitting.  He had to make a split-second decision to save me or Clark (who had just jumped to him from the bank of the pool.  He quickly secured Clark with his right arm, and reached in my direction with his left arm and gently but firmly, again, pushed my feet to the bottom of the pool, at only 5-ft. deep.

As I went about regaining semi-composure,  I breathlessly attempted to explain my fear of the monster.  Irwin confirmed that Oscar laid lifeless on the bottom of the pool, and the dark spot was the diving board casting a shadow in the water.

My hysterically laughing audience, this time, was my grandson who patted Irwin on the shoulder and said, "Granddaddy!  GrandBan was splashing funny!"