It’s been a life of catching up on summer. And Hemingway, and sunsets, and the way the light hits the pool and turns purple before dark. A season of camping and teaching in public again, and singing—on the lawn at el Rey, and Cowgirl patio, and listening to friends play concerts.
Something scientific to the moment the body hits the water, that sound of swoosh and you’re in—can take any angst or bad day away. Without fail, that simple breaststroke back and forth as many times possible makes my world. The sound contributing to the nervous system settling, and the weightless water holding you…
So many nights spent poolside after hotel guests made difficult decisions of where to eat in our City Different. The pool now free of kids and floaties, lanes open to swim up and down rhythmically. And now, game on with side stroke, breast stroke, and Katie Ledecky kicks.
To all the dinners shared poolside—God Bless… To the suddens rains when the boys jumped in while we huddled under umbrellas in bikinis keeping dry… To the epic sunsets earned by being the last ones there… To the night we barbecued and went back in after fish and veggies.
Swim Club—I love you. You make me nostalgic for days when we valued holidays and entire months relaxing. An ode to the culture of poolside, where business turns pleasure and the only care is should you take a dip before reading on your chair.
A tableau of leisure… Can you dig it? Yes, fall—I hear your knocking.