She swam

Everyday in summer she swam laps, in the deep end, in the morning, while the pool was quite and still, around 730 or 8 am. When it wasn’t  summer, she swam in the indoor YMCA pool near our neighborhood. The summer pool was at the beach club where our family and grandparents and neighbors were members. She was a neighbor, only 2 houses down from ours, and often invited me and other kids, in for fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. We often played in the street, outside her house or explored the pond behind her house.

I saw her swim on the days my mother would drop me off with my six year old younger brother at the beach club, for his tennis lesson. I would watch the “so cute” little kids learning tennis with Mitch on the green clay court next to the pool. I knew most of the kids, from my neighborhood or my brother’s class at school or as younger siblings of friends. I sat on the three step, painted grey (like the pool deck) bleachers, alongside moms I knew, and I felt mature and comfortable with the ultimate responsibly of escorting my brother from here to day camp on the other side of the parking lot. During the lesson I would take a little walk, up the steps by the water fountain (the most refreshing cool water I have ever tasted) and across the pool deck behind the diving boards, over to the the side where I could view the beach and Long Island Sound. The wind would usually be calm and the gulls would be resting. The loudest sound was from the splashing of the water in the pool as she calmly but persistently swam her laps. The lifeguard watched her, everyday. She depended on the morning swim to maintain her ability to move each day. She had visible arthritis. Every joint was an exaggerated size. It was an all not none condition. I wondered about her pain but never heard her complain. The only times I talked to her was when she was graciously handing me the fresh baked cookie with still warm chocolate chips in her kitchen or when I was with my grandmother who was friends with her.

About seven years before this day at the pool, when I turned 6, she drove her grandson (also 6), my grandmother and me to Wildlife Safari (where you see African animals out in an open grassy area). We badly wanted to go and the trip was for our birthdays. She already had the arthritis then (but didn’t yet need a walker like she did when I watched her swim during my brother’s tennis lesson). We had a wonderful visit at Wildlife Safari, her grandson and I got to ride a camel in the children’s zoo, and we ate her chocolate chip cookies from a tin on the way home.

So when I watched her swim, during my brothers tennis lesson, I took in the elegance of her strokes, and believed it would be possible for me in my future, to swim, when I became an older person with whatever challenges. Then I walked back to watch the end of the tennis lesson, the part when the kids run around picking up all the bright yellow balls. Some of the moms, who were planning to play tennis, asked if I would escort their kids to the day camp. I said, “yes”, and lead the kids onto the big grassy lawn circle in front of the clubhouse, where I easily convinced  some somersaulting and searching for four leafed clovers, then across the gravel parking lot to day camp check in. Then, less burdened with responsibility, I headed out over to the beach and sat in a chair to read my book until my tennis lesson began.

Her name was Angelene, but I only knew her as Mrs. …..  I still remember the taste and texture of her cookies and the feeling of calm and safety in her painted sky blue kitchen.