FROM ROOSEVELT: At the pool

The luxury of local pool membership holds strong appeal. It’s not a day at the beach, no. But then, it’s not supposed to be.

By: Linda Schuster
   My kids and I were invited to spend an afternoon at Hilltop Swim Club as guests of my neighbor who is a member there. The first noticeable difference between going to the pool and going to the beach is prep time. "What prep time?" you may be asking.
   Right. Throw together a few drinks and snacks and toss lightly into the van with plenty of sunscreen and towels. Don’t forget to bring a good book. Oh yeah, and the kids.
   Drive for the sum total of five minutes. Your biggest parking decision is based on a choice of shade or no shade. No brainer there.
   So far so good. I won’t disguise the fact that there is a short uphill hike carrying your gear. Well, yes, that’s why they call it Hilltop. After all, in the end we all know that the kids won’t appreciate anything they didn’t work toward. So the climb qualifies as a suitable ingredient.
   Once inside the gate you must sign in. Monitoring of the comings and goings of all who enter is a necessity because orderliness is conducive to peacefulness. This isn’t the mall.
   Pull up a chair, park your stuff and dive right in. If children want to swim beyond the rope marking off the shallow end of the pool they need to pass a deep-end test. This consists of swimming non-stop from end to end and back again and then treading water for one minute. They will receive a nod from the lifeguard upon graduation. Smiles ensue.
   The big deal about the deep end is, of course, the diving board and water slide. Our entourage of deep-enders, Matthew, Rachel, Jessie and Jesse, spent the larger portion of their time lining up for a jump off the board. I ask you, what could feel better on a hot August afternoon than an airborne whale of a splash into a sparkling eight-foot puddle? Apparently nothing, as they tirelessly repeated this activity with subtle variation in technique.
   Those of us over the age of 13 basked in the sun darkening our tans, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the shallow-enders, Sarah and Miss Lacey. We sipped iced tea while sucking down tasty morsels of reading material. Delicious. My greatest amount of expended effort consisted of dispensing cheese puffs from a lounge chair.
   "OK, honey, lemme jus’ finish this paragraph. Get your brother a popsicle, will you? I’ll be right with you guys."
   It’s a tough job, granted, but somebody has to take care of the youngsters. When we felt the rays peaking our body temperatures, right before the point of breaking an actual sweat, it was time to slip into the old H2O.
   To be honest, things were not perfect. I did encounter one conflict while I was there. Lacey, who is 3, was searching for her name-embroidered towel at one point. Her mom held it up and, upon recognition of her name, I mentioned that, "It starts with L. My name starts with L, too." Immediately Lacey ferociously replied, "Getcha own L!" So much for phonics lessons during down time.
   When the cheese puffs ran out, I made a run to Rossi’s to pick up dinner. We ate at the picnic tables provided by the club, cleaned up and went for ice cream.
   I think I could get used to this lifestyle. Once home I realized there was no sand decorating my van, all over the house, embedded in my scalp or crusting up my nose. Sure we had to shampoo the chlorine out of our hair, but we would have showered anyway.
   I will still get to the beach — when I get myself off my duff. Meanwhile, an easy, breezy jaunt to the pool feeds the need during these sultry, lazy days of summer.
Linda Schuster is a freelance writer living in Roosevelt, who is allowed in the deep end.