the mists of mountain view

Okay. The best swimming conditions are in full bloom. It is cold and wet. When rain hits the water in the pool, mist rises and then drifts away. Mist is rising and drifting all over the pool. The swimmers move the water, which causes mists. The rain moves the water, more mist. The drift of the mist is mystery. Almost no one swimming so the pool is relatively quiet, a kind of still. It is way cold out of the water. Pretty cold in the water. This is awesome swimming. I think all the swimmers feel like heros when they get out. Yes, it is cold rushing out of the water and into the heated locker room but it is exhilerating cold. I am in a heaven.

And there is more.

I caught a bus for part of the trip back to my apartment after my swim. I feel lazy when I take the bus but on some days, if we include my swimming in the calculation, as well as the walking I do for my transportation, I exercise several hours a day. I get tired. Sometimes I have to take care of my self and take the bus. I wish I would not feel guilty when I hop on the bus but I nearly always do. What do I expect of myself? That I should never ride, that I should only walk?

So. I rushed to catch the 12:01 #34 at the corner of Shoreline and Rengsdorff, which saves me a mile's walk. I was high from the swim, thrilled by the cold wet. It is so wonderful to be out in the rain and properly dressed. I had on a rain parka, the hood up. The parka was soaked. My bags were dripping wet. But underneath my self care of gloves, hat, scarf, layers, I was toasty. My nose is always red but with the cold, it must have been Santa Claus red. And sniffling. My nose sniffles when it is cold. I like the sniffles. Am I weird?

I kinda danced from the locker room to my bus stop. And then I had a few minutes wait.

Right at the corner, there is a storm drain. I watched water moving along the curbs from all directions, water making its way around most obstacles, the power of gravity drawing the water down down down to the drain at the corner. The drain was completely covered with leaves. The water was not running, it was moving drip by drip.

I kicked the pile of leaves away to get the water moving. What a thrill as the water gushed. I got it into my head that if I cleared enough leaves away, the backlog of water could all drain into the sewer before the bus came. I stepped down into the water, to get a better angle on all those leaves, kicking and digging with my shoes. My shoes got wet and then they got soaked. I got wetter and wetter. Colder and colder. With each of my whooshing efforts, the water moved faster and faster. I couldn't stop. It was so much fun. I got soaking wet.

When the bus came, I was sorry it had come so soon. I felt that with just a bit more work, I coulda had that storm drain running so smooth. Oh well.

When I was a little girl, I spent lots of time most summers in Mitchell, South Dakota. My cousin Joy was an only child. I accompanied her and my aunt to visit our grandmother each summer. It was actually a bit like my summer job. My job was to be Joy's playmate. Neither Joy or my aunt Margaret ever let me forget that I was there to be Joy's playmates. Joy seemed to think this meant she owned me, much like she owned her dolls and kittens. She tended to think she had a right to tell me what to do and she ordered me about like a living puppet. My aunt tended to think Joy was perfect, that I was imperfect and that Joy was always right and as the older child and the hired playmate, I was supposed to suck it all up. Sometimes, also, I was reminded that my mother had lots of kids back home and she needed me gone to save her some trouble, like I wasn't quite welcome at home, quite like I had been farmed out as a hired hand. I loved and hated these trips. I loved my grandma. I loved eating in restaurants on the trip there and back to Chicago. My aunt spent money a bit more freely than my folks. More ice cream cones. More movies. But I hated the way my cousin Joy, younger than me, was allowed to bully me.

Joy and I also had fun to. It gets very hot in South Dakota midsummer. Very hot. Like 109 degrees. It's pretty dry and much less humid than other parts of the Midwest where I have summered. Our all time favorite summer activity was went it rained, which it never did enough of. My cousin's father, my uncle Charlie, his people farmed in Indiana. I spent a lot of my summers on their Indiana farm, too. When it rained, in SoDak or Indiana, we put on our swimsuits, grabbed umbrellas and went out and played in the puddles. Water gushing at the curbside of streets gets dirty so we got plenty dirty. We had to hose ourselves down before being allowed back into the house. We loved hosing ourselves in the rain. We liked to stomp in the puddles as hard as we could, making the biggest possible splashes. Also, we like to sit down in the puddle streams and create bridges with twigs and leaves, create barriers and rivers in the street puddles.

I was reminded of these good times as I cleaned out those leaves waiting for the bus this morning. I kinda wanted to keep working, to let go of the constraint of staying clean. What difference does it make if I get wet and dirty? Why not enjoy that wet, dirty pile of leaves?

I came home and changed into dry clothes, retained my adult role.