The kids enjoyed a cool snack during break time at the pool. It’s funny–Zoë waited all summer to break out the flips, Zane is a wild man with his cannon ball jumps, Zia is swimming without her bubble, Zella is jumping in from the side and Zander is just plain crazy!
Man, I’m going to miss going to the pool. Two weeks until school starts.
So I’m standing there in the middle of the living room, on hold. Barry Manilow is intermittently interrupted with various pitches from the club restaurant about guest chef night. Later this month Chef Fred will honor the south with an authentic Cajun dinner. Andouille sausage is mentioned as is gumbo. My interest is peaked.
“Dinner is to include fried clams and etouffe, fried catfish and jambalaya.” When the club receptionist returns to the line I have all but forgotten the purpose of my call.
“Can, I help you?”
“Uhm…what’s the deal with the guest chef night?”
Thankfully, I have all-to-eager memory joggers and I am quickly brought back to task.
“Dad, what did they say?”
“Oh, right. So when does the pool open?”
“May 23rd.”
“Great. We’ll see you then.”
The kids have been asking for weeks when we would be getting back to the country club. Weeks, I say!
We have a membership at the local country club–a social membership. It entitles us to full use of the club dinning room, lounge, and pool. Basically, it’s everything you could want in a country club membership except for the golf, which works out really nice for me. (That’s sarcasm.)
Actually, I’d love to play golf but I just don’t have the time. Last year, I played a grand total of 16 holes. Not even one full round. I played in the rain. It was about 40 degrees. I was miserable!
I have no intentions of playing this year. I’ve decided that on the off chance I actually do get 4 free hours the last thing I need is to spend it getting totally frustrated and pissed off. It’s just not worth it. If I want frustration and anger I can just stay home.
No, our club membership is strictly for the pool. And it’s worth every penny.
“So what did they say?”
“May 23. Three weeks.”
And the room collectively cheered.
I couldn’t help but smile as I looked upon my children, my children who had just moments earlier begged me to turn the heat back on(It’s May. May for Christ’s sake! There’s no way in hell I’m going to turn the heat back on.), my children huddled together in the living room playing with puzzles and reading books still wearing their sweaters and winter coats yet cheering because the pool at the country club would soon be open.
Now that’s irony!
Tripping With UpTake
