Okay, unless you watch a certain popular dance show you won’t get my title. So be it. It seemed to fit. There is an ongoing conversation happening between my Mother and me. It’s all about swimming. For some reason she doesn’t think I can swim. How does this come about? you might ask. Good question. When you figure it out, please tell me.

When we first opened up the pool, Mom said to me that she was surprised I was so excited, after all I didn’t really know how to swim now, did I? I don’t? I replied, funny, I thought I could; always have! Where did you learn to swim? she asked. Mom, don’t you remember? I took lessons as a kid. I remember going and passing my tests. In fact, I think I still have a card stuck in my baby book that certifies I passed a swimming course. Well, I can’t remember you taking lessons, she tells me, and furthermore I don’t remember a public pool anywhere around where you might have taken lessons. Where else did you swim?

Well, Mom, we went every year for a while to Florida on vacation. You know, that large body of water that exists right next to Clearwater Beach, the Gulf of Mexico? Yes, she says, but you can’t really swim in the ocean very well with the waves and all. Where else did you swim? Gee Mom, let me think…well, after we moved to Florida there were lots of opportunities besides the ocean. My friend Kathy had a pool and we went swimming in it. Hmm, okay, but where else did you swim? Memom and Poppy [what we called our grandparents] had a pool, I remind her. Yes, she says, but it was too small for any kind of real swimming.

You can see where this is going. Absolutely nowhere!

Your sister can’t swim, she adds as if this will seal with certainty the fact that I cannot either. Must be the family genes. My Mom can’t swim, my sister can’t swim, therefore I should not be able to swim either. [I distinctly remember my sister taking lessons with me. If she can’t swim it’s her own fault.] Finally she says she’s going to ask my Aunt Emma where there might have been a pool in Hyde Park for me to take lessons. Great Mom, you do that.

Next time we talk on the phone she tells me that Emma remembers a seminary she thinks had a pool. Seems an unlikely place to me to take swimming lessons, but okay, maybe. Little prepubescent kids couldn’t be too much of a distraction to would-be priests and ministers. [or could they??]  I don’t remember where I took lessons, just that I did. My Mother didn’t drive when I was small, so she can’t imagine how I arrived at my lessons either. I think I remember something about taking a bus. There’s nothing for it now except to at least prove I actually did take lessons. Have to find that baby book of mine!

Last time I saw my baby book it was in the closet upstairs in the office. Mom had brought it with her on one of her yearly visits out to see us in Colorado. That seemed a convenient place to put it. However, since then we’ve moved. I haven’t seen it in any of the boxes marked “office” yet. The search begins in the basement. You need to see our basement to truly appreciate the enormity of this task! Boxes piled here and there; boxes on top of more boxes. Not only is it a challenge to find those marked “office” but we had a rather annoying guy packing us up. He would put things in any open box where he thought an item might fit, never mind where it came from. So, you never know when you open a box what you might find. A real “mixed bag” or box, I should say.

After much searching and opening of boxes, I finally found a box that was not marked at all, and lo and behold, there was my baby book! As I thumbed through all the childhood drawings with ribbons attached from having won a placement in a school contest, report cards and group class photos from Grades 1-6, glowing letters from teachers that I’m certain they just copied the same words for every student in the class, I finally found what I was looking for. A small card, 3.75 x 2.50 inches, stating that indeed “LYNN MONROE [okay, they spelled my name wrong!] has received swimming instruction at EYMARD SEMINARY POOL” [hey, Aunt Emma was right!]. On the back of the card my many swimming achievements are ticked off and certified.

Finally, proof. I rushed to the phone to call Mom. Hey, Mom, guess what? I found my swimming instruction card! Emma was right, it was the seminary pool! Well, I’ll be, Mom declares. As for me, I am just glad that we can now put this particular conversation behind us.

Weeks have passed. Yesterday while chatting with Mom on the phone she asked what I had done that morning. I swam, I said, about 12 lengths or so of the pool. You can see what’s coming, can’t you? Surely it’s inevitable. I hear a pause on the other end and brace myself for what she’s going to say next.

Well, she says, I just can’t wait to come down there and see you swim for myself. I still don’t believe you can swim!

SIGH. Oh well, I tried. I truly did.

Why isn’t anyone filling in my little survery? Come on, guys, just take a minute to tell me who is reading! I am curious to know whether you are all family and close friends that are reading my blog. Don’t be shy, I can’t tell who you are by your vote, no info shows up. Please??? Indulge me if you like reading this blog! I indulge you by continuing to write so it’s only fair!

This is the second “crop” of baby flycatchers since we’ve moved in. The parents made a lovely nest on a beam under our deck, so the babies stay warm, dry and protected from the elements. The first time I realized the babies were there I got my camera, focused [they were staring right at me], and when I clicked the shutter they all flew off! Yikes, did I do that? The parents were going crazy and the babies trying to fly out from under the deck and hitting their heads. I felt awful, but I guess they must have been ready to fly the coop.

So, once I again I attempted to get a few pics before they left without scaring the heck out of them. This time they didn’t fly off, but it sure looks as if they need to. The one baby is not even in the nest anymore and barely hanging on. Later in the day when I checked back it wasn’t there anymore, so hopefully it flew off successfully. It looks like they used some dog hair for their nest, doesn’t it? There were four initially, and from what I can tell this morning, still three remaining. Not for long though!

I’m sure you are all getting a bit tired about hearing about THE POOL. But, it plays a significant part in our everyday lives right now. At the cabin we had, for years, what we referred to as Cabin TV, which was the FIREPLACE. We had no TV there until just before we moved. We would be entertained for hours just watching the flames lick the logs until it lulled us into slumber. Now instead of a fire we have the pool. Every night I say to Rick, I don’t feel like swimming, do you? He says nawh, me either. Okay then, let’s watch a movie since we haven’t figured out “on demand” yet. We walk outside onto the deck. The night takes us in, weaves its spell. Before you know it we’re in the pool. Once in, neither one of us can seem to stop swimming. The water temperature is at its best this time of the day. The fireflies aren’t as numerous tonight and we only spot two bats. Sated and tired we’re now ready for bed and we haven’t watched the TV at all. Sweet dreams, dear friends.

The water in the pool was warm, 80 degrees. The night was mild and pleasant. Not humid, not hot. Tiny flashing pinpoints of light lit up the night. They were in the forest, in the grass. Fireflies. Ah, the magic of fireflies. A perfect evening. BE FORWARNED, EXPLICIT DETAIL TO FOLLOW. Well, maybe not too explicit since this is a family-oriented site. Okay, you’ve been warned. You knew it had to happen eventually. Tonight we just couldn’t help ourselves. We went skinny-dipping. It was glorious. The silken feel of water next to skin. Rick did about 30 lengths of the pool, I did about 24. Once immersed in water we find it hard to get out into the cool evening air. With towels wrapped around us we watch the firefly display. One skims across the grass and nearly lands on Hailey’s paws. We think she doesn’t see it since she doesn’t snap at it. Too quick for her? Lights wink in and out of the woods surrounding our yard. It is pure magic.