Poolside

The x-ray of my back looks a lot worse than I expected. I mean, I guess, somewhere, deep down inside I knew it was gonna be ugly, but I just didn't want to see it.

I saw it.

It's ugly.

One disc is gone, another  is almost gone, arthritic spurs, pinched nerve, blah, blah, blah. So, the doctor makes some heinous comment about "bone rubbing against bone," and ships me off the pool to do some water walking. He feels it will start to open up the jammed spaces between the vertebrae, release the squished nerve and start to provide me with some relief from this never-ending pain.

 "You're gonna love it!" he crowed. "You'll be the youngest one in the pool!"

 I have nothing against water walking. I've done it before and it's actually helped my back quite a bit. And it doesn't hurt that, for a tiny little PNW town, we actually have an amazing aquatic center, with all the bells and whistles. Really nice.

Now, about being the youngest one in the pool, let me just say it straight out:  I usually don't like old people.

Nothing against them as a group, it's just that MOST of the ones I know aren't very nice. They whine and complain a lot, about things like--well, things like younger people. I happen to love younger people and I cringe when I hear stuff like: they don't want to work, pay taxes or show respect. I happen to know tons of younger people who do all three of those things, and do them very well, thank you very much. I also don't like to hear about how they're the ruin of the country, since, we were all young once, and, as I remember, we didn't like it when older people said that about us.

The Husband has a theory that all the mean, cranky, old people, were once all the mean, cranky, young people. This is a theory that I can get behind, because I DO have a few older people that I adore.

These are the folks that have always remained open and teachable. The people who have spiritual lives that you can only aspire to. The ones that listen to you go on and on, about your life, and then let loose with some amazing piece of wisdom that leads you straight to God. You've probably seen them, at church. They're the ones that listen to loud, over the top worship bands belt out a song and they just smile and nod. It might not be their cup of tea, but, God bless them, they get the feelings behind the music and they've got your back.

I crave the time I can get with these folks. But, mostly, I keep running up against the cranky kind.

So, when the doctor sent me to the pool, I wasn't especially excited about spending my mornings hearing people complain. When I got there, though, I really tried to keep an open mind. I went into the "warm" pool, where there were ten ladies bobbing around, sporting every possible hair shade between gray and white.

And then there was me. Number Eleven.

The first thing I noticed was that they all smiled at me and nodded hello as I got in the pool.

Good start, thinks I.

 It was a beautiful morning and the sun streamed in though the windows all around the pool, and on to the water. It wasn't long before I noticed the sparkles in the water were reflecting up to their faces. Soft faces. Pretty faces. Faces filled with lines, some thin, some not-so-thin, some a little more tired than others, but all reflecting the light. Then, I started noticing they were in little groups of two or three, talking with each other. I didn't see anyone complaining. In fact, I saw women smiling, throwing back their heads and laughing. They were having a great time.

And I saw something else.

It was the way two of them had their heads bent together in a conspiratorial kind of way; and they were smiling. Not a mean kind of grimace, but a sweet smile, like they were remembering something good. Something about this seemed so familiar to me, yet I couldn't place it.

I walked and paddled all around the pool, watching them for about 20 minutes. Every so often, one of them would look up and smile at me, or nod, or say "good morning." It was strangely quiet, even though they were all talking to each other. Instead of jabbering sounds, it was more of a constant hum.

Then, it hit me.

These women talking with each other in small groups were just like me. 

They were like me and my college girlfriends, bobbing around and talking about graduation, life, and boys, on that sunny Saturday that we took over the pool at Diane's house.

Like my friends and I, standing around in the water as brand-new moms, when we took our toddlers to the pool. Chatting with each other, but never taking our eyes off the kids,  in that way only moms do.

Like the women I talked with for hours at the pool, when our kids were older, and off swimming and squealing on their own.  We sat on those chaise lounges, day after day, every summer.  Getting our stay-at-home tans.

And, like my friends and I talk now over coffee. About kids that have finished college and kids who are still there. Kids who want to get married, and kids who have. Kids who want to move out of the house and kids who won't. 

About our excitement for them. And our fears.

As hard as I tried, I never quite heard what the women in the pool were saying. But, I can imagine.

I'll bet it was something about children. About children getting jobs and losing jobs. About marriages that were not all that they could be.  About families moving away and moving back.  And grandchildren who were growing up too fast. 

About their excitement for them. And their fears.

When I left the pool, I had a strong feeling that I had been part of some kind of dream--that I had walked in on a glimpse of my future.

 And it wasn't bad. In fact, not bad at all.