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.