James M. Redwine

swimming pool

Putrid Porridge

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As this is a family newspaper I cannot recite the W.C. Fields (1880 – 1946) actual quotation about why he did not drink water. However, after spending two full days removing a winter’s worth of sludge from Peg’s above ground pool I side with W.C. My first clue as to the toxicity of the greenish, quivering mass clinging to the Walmart plastic liner was when my friend Paul Axton, who is a Department of Natural Resources officer, stopped by to retrieve the racoon trap he had loaned me. Paul smelled the acrid fumes rising from the pool and walked over to investigate.

“Jim have you notified the E.P.A. about this concoction? It may require Congressional oversight to remove this junk. If this gets into the wrong hands terrorists may be able to use it for untold mayhem.”

“No, Paul, but Peg has already ordered me to get in that knee deep filth and prepare the pool for swimming. According to Peg, as the man of JPeg Ranch, the gods have ordained it is my duty. Peg has already cleared the disposal with the Health Department and the Department of Defense. Thanks for your concern; would you like to join me?”

“Gee, I would but I told my sister, Judy, I would help her with her racoon problem. But feel free to call me any other time.”

In past years Peg has just bypassed my reluctant involvement in removing the winter’s accumulation of dead organisms, crop dust, and floating debris. However, Peg thoughtlessly fell off the ladder when she started to clean it last week and re-injured the knee she broke skiing 22 years ago. She claims it hurts and Dr. Matthew Lee took her side and ordered her on bed rest for two weeks. To make matters worse, Dr. Lee then sent her to an orthopedic surgeon who agreed.

I gently reminded her she had skied on down a huge mountain in Utah when she broke her leg and maybe she could just ignore the medical profession’s opinion and the pain. I cannot repeat her response due once again to that family newspaper thing.

Anyway, my weekend was filled with two days of shop vacs, mops, Clorox, white vinegar, long handled brooms and water hoses. It was so gay to watch globs of unidentified multi-colored crude having the consistency and smell of the contents of used diapers ooze off the plastic floor through the vacuum, into the bucket then hoisted over the pool wall into the yard. My guess is every varmint within miles will think a grand smorgasbord has been laid out for them. Of course, the grass immediately began to wither and turn yellow.

Well, Gentle Reader, I know Peg’s injury and its unfortunate consequences may concern you, but, do not worry, I’ll be alright.

Amity Pool

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Amity, a lovely word meaning harmony and good feeling. The 1975 movie JAWS! was set on a New England island named Amity where the summer tourists provided lunch for a marauding great white shark. Local Police Chief Martin Brody (Roy Scheider) tried to warn them but Mayor Larry Vaughn (Murray Hamilton) overruled him. In this article, Gentle Reader, you may think of me as the police chief and Peg as the mayor. Peg’s Wal-Mart aboveground pool will serve as our beach.

Just take a look at the photograph! That dark goo in the bottom of the pool is as scary as the shark. You will note Peg is covered from head to toe with HAZMAT protection. You may wonder why she is in the middle of the crud while I am not. Well, someone had to take the photograph and I can’t do everything.

Peg’s pool brings back memories of my “quality time” with my father. Dad liked to fish but he didn’t like to tote all his equipment to the brown, stagnant Oklahoma creek which housed various critters and a few finned and slimy bass.

Before each trip Mom would warn us of the dangers of typhoid fever as she knew Dad would take my brothers and me to the creek without anything to drink. Dad would point to the brackish creek water if the 110° Oklahoma summer drove us past Mom’s cautionary admonishments. Dad and Peg have similar make-ups.

When Peg dragged me away from my Saturday morning coffee to help clean the pool I told her about the recent E. coli outbreaks in Pennsylvania, Idaho and California. She responded that the only thing I had to fear from the pool gunk was her if I didn’t get off my couch.

How quickly she has forgotten our experience when the National Judicial College sent me to Russia to teach judges there. We could not brush our teeth, drink or even bathe in much of the water. When I reminded her of this she said, “The ten pounds you lost from the bacteria in Russia was just a start on what you need.” Unkind, very unkind.

A Rare Day

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James Russell Lowell (1818 to 1891) was the American poet best known for, “And what is as rare as a day in June.” The term “rare” is often used by poets from Lowell to Shakespeare to mean “fine”, that is, good. In Lowell’s poem The Vision of Sir Launfal, Lowell prattles on about perfect days with green grass and giddy flitting critters. He celebrates “dandelions blossoming” and “happy creatures” visiting us in droves. Apparently he was not visited by Southern Indiana’s Buffalo Gnats, giant mosquitoes and a spouse who views the appearance of June as the starting gate for indentured servitude by husbands.

I dread June each year because I know Peg is convinced Mother Nature’s sole purpose for me is to spend June battling vicious insects while doing yard work and cleaning out our nine year old above ground pool.

This past weekend while I sat in repose on our three-season porch drinking coffee Peg announced, “Jim, it is June (I knew that) and the gods ordain the pool must be opened.”

I responded, “Uh.”

Peg was already gathering gloves and Clorox and stiff brooms. I felt my entire summer oozing away in the sludge of a winter’s worth of slime that had accumulated in the pool.

About the only pleasure I received was my stifled glee when Peg raised the trash can I had placed over the pool’s pump and a Tyrannosaurus rex disguised as a mouse jumped out. That’s the highest I had ever seen Peg jump until about ten minutes later when as we pulled off the plastic pool cover a spider the size of a saucer scurried past her hand.

I looked at the dark goo in the pool and suggested either the EPA and/or NSA should be notified. It looked to me as if the release of the frightening biosphere contained in the bottom of the pool might need disinfectant that only our federal government has access to.

After two gallons of Clorox and an hour of scrubbing the cover and the pool with a stiff broom Peg mercifully announced we would have to allow the sun to cure what diseases we had been unable to eradicate. She also suggested we would be able to swim in this one-time cesspool next week. Not so fast say I.