The Sandals

When I was growing up I spent many summer days at a pool in our town called the Lions Pool, simply named because it was run by our local Lions' Club. My father was a member and worked each spring at getting the pool ready for summer. It was not a fancy pool. In fact it was at it's beginnings a mud hole and a swimmer could find themselves treading water next to an occasional snake. Lucky for me they eventually paved over the area and made it a large pool that mimicked a swimming hole. It had a very shallow end that gradually got deeper. And a deep end that didn't get much deeper than maybe 5 feet. Life guards at four stations and a snack bar. Truly, as a kid it was a little piece of heaven.

I don't live in my hometown so every now and again I will take a nostalgic drive around to places I loved growing up. I took such a drive a couple months back when I had two sleeping children in the car and wanted to kill some time before taking the kids to the pediatrician. I drove down Norton Road, eyeing suspiciously the new homes that have sprouted. Noticing a Gothic looking monster complete with a turret. It made me shudder. I once rode horses with my friend Tracy through those fields. I drove on down the hill and nearly wrecked my car. There before me was the saddest sight I had seen in some time. I pulled over to the side of the road and dialed my husband. As soon as he said hello I could barely talk.

" The pool, they tore up the pool. Houses, houses." Of course being my husband and quite use to tears and having grown up in the same town, swimming in the same pool , he knew exactly what I was saying.

"The Lion's Pool? Really? It's gone?"

I shook my head and he sighed. Which is, as a side note the really great thing about marriage, your body language begins to speak over the phone.

Two weeks ago I was working at the Y, sitting in a rocking chair with an unhappy child on my lap. I looked down at my sandals and noticed they were virtually falling apart. They are old. They are savagely worn and frayed and I am sure if I were ever on "What Not to Wear" they would throw them out. I love these shoes. My mother bought these shoes for me 9 summers ago. They have melted to my feet. You can see the impression of my toes. The sides are on the verge of exploding and exposing my pinky toes.

I looked up at my friend Amy and said, "I have to get these fixed." Now Amy is just the right person to say this to. Any other friend would have said, "Dude, they are falling apart. Get a new pair." But Amy understands sentimentality and she also understands frugality, of which I am a victim of both. And she told me where I can get them repaired and handed me a tissue.

I have established that I cry easily. But you may think, why cry over a pool? Why be sad over a pair of shoes that have more than served their purpose? I don't always like change. I am not fond of progress when it swipes at my childhood. I have very vivid memories of Lion's picnics at the pool, swimming in that God awful cold water in June and then swimming through the peeling paint in August. And I remember the day my mother bought me those sandals.

So as I think about that pool and how so many may not think it is a big deal that it is gone, I have to wonder why couldn't it be repaired? Why is it that we are always in such a hurry to throw away something because it needs fixing. Sometimes taking some time and effort can give the sweetest reward. "What Not to Wear " be damned, I am keeping my sandals.

Friends

When I was a camp nurse, many years ago after I graduated from college, I had to conduct the evening vespers. Believe it or not I struggled with this. It was a church based camp but not so much that I was expected to give a sermon. Evening vespers had been mostly done by the director or assistant director and had some lesson that capped off the days activities, more or less. But since I had done more than just sit in my cabin waiting for the injured, tired and homesick, the assistant director thought I should also take part. I am not always much of a public speaker and you have to admit speaking to a group of tweens is not always that easy. It can be a tough crowd.

The night before it was my turn I was sitting in the camp kitchen with the cook , who was funny by my standards. We pretty much laughed each night while I sat having a cup of tea or coffee and he worked preparing the next days adventures in food, as he called it. I had one more friend who was the cook's assistant who was usually there as well. And we all laughed. I loved those evenings. I loved camp. This particular night it struck me how fascinating camp was. We were all from very different backgrounds. Some of us were out of college, some hadn't even gotten there yet. Some counselors were athletic and loud and some were motherly, gentle. I started thinking about all of them and why I liked each one, what they meant to me. The following night that is what my vesper was all about. It was about each person I had been working with for the past weeks and why I liked them. I then played Peter Gabriel's song. "Don't Give Up" . What can I say, sometimes I do have a flare for the dramatic. And it was a hit with all those tweens.

17 summers have past since then and I can say that I still use that vesper in my daily life. I use it to remind myself of the good people I am surrounded by. The ones who are athletic, the ones who are loud. The ones who make me laugh. The ones who inspire me to be better and the ones who inspire me to let things go. The friends I have had since I was a toddler and the ones I met just in the past year. The friends who have to come to me again after a pause in our friendship, for whatever the reason and the friends who never let our friendship pause. The friends whose expertise I call on to get me through aches and pains and child rearing. The friends who have picked up where my mother left off and the ones who live too far away to hug me in person. The friends who have been able to say I am sorry and the ones who can't quite put that into words.

In May , my husband and I attended a wedding of a very good friend and we were surrounded for the day by very good friends. At one time during the day I looked around me and realized how awesome and possibly how rare it is to remain friends for such a long time with so many people. All of them guys, by the way. Once my husband and I reconnected with him came this wonderful return of many guy friends from junior high and earlier, with whom there had been a pause. Now with them came wives and girlfriends who are now part of my camp of funny and fabulous friends, who are cherished for who they are and what they add to my life.

In August the camp will hold a reunion weekend. My husband asked if I would go. I am tempted, hoping to see some of those wonderful people I worked and lived with for a summer. The cook and his young assistant , who I know is now a father . Some of the couselors who were loud or motherly. To remember the nights sitting in a brightly lit kitchen with laughter and the warmth of summer all around me. It would be fun, although I am hoping though that I do not have to conduct vespers, my list of friends and why I love them would take too long.