Swimming December 3, 2019

As I was preparing to leave UCSF, the University ran a series of talks to help prospective retirees navigate the transition financially, medically, and psychologically. It was recommended that we not make big plans immediately, but rather let our passions percolate, trusting that eventually a vision would bubble to the surface. In fact, the counselors advised, it was often a childhood activity or dream that would grab our attention and propel us forward.

And so it was with me.  I started taking art classes at College of Marin after I retired, not because I had ever taken art before, but because I hadn’t.  I wanted to see what this was all about and whether any kernels of talent or creativity lie within me.  Yet as I continued, it was my childhood fascination with architecture that was rekindled, and recently that has prompted me to reflect about the simple joys of my Boomer girlhood.

Summers growing up in Pennsylvania in the 50s and 60s were lazy, and I loved that.  I would ride my black bike along the narrow streets of our neighborhood and over the dirt paths on a nearby golf course, often by myself.  We kids would congregate in our family’s large side yard after dinner, playing Red Light or Simon Says or catching fireflies till we couldn’t see anymore. 

On rainy days, my mother would take us to the Pottstown Public Library, whose smell I can still dredge up, and we’d borrow a stack of books that would keep us going for the next three weeks.  One summer, I think I worked my way through every biography on the kids’ shelf.  How I loved to settle into a read on our front porch during late afternoon thundershowers, gently bouncing in the embrace of a soft-cushioned metal chair whose arms and legs were formed by a single sinuous ribbon of wrought iron.  Or sometimes, my sister and our friend Carol and I would build a Barbie world in our cool cinderblock basement with bits of wood scraps my father had set aside for that purpose.

But above all, there was swimming.  Our family joined the North End Swim Club when it was under development, and by 1960 it was the centerpiece of my existence for the next decade.  I wasn’t a great swimmer, but I joined the swim team anyway, because that’s just what we did!  Practice was in the morning, rain or shine, and on warm sunny days, we spent the rest of the day there, playing canasta on our towels under the spruce trees, leaping off the diving boards for a cool plunge, frolicking like a dolphin, flirting with the boys, playing tetherball, or grabbing a Fudgesicle from the snack bar for all of 7 cents.  There was rhythm, consistency, friendship, sport, and delight. 

And so finally, 50+ years later, to celebrate my new relationship with unstructured time, I joined a small swim club in Marin, to slice through clear water in a lap-lane, to soak in some sun, to listen to the still-60s music blaring over the pool speakers, to rest in a chair, to read, and to refresh.  This is summer. This feels like home.