sun in the fun

In July of last year my journal updating was sporadic. That’s because I was out of town at a photography school. This year we can blame the pool. It’s a wonderful thing, that pool, sitting out there in the middle of the backyard, the little filter pump making its trickly fountain sounds. We've been in it just about every afternoon. When the hot hot heat of hotness comes there's nothing like being 95% submerged in cool water for getting one's mind right.

With bobbing about in cool water an option now, the time squeeze increases. Yardwork gets done more haphazardly, as does meal preparation, dishwashing, and grocery shopping. Not to mention, um, writing.

We must now put science to work on a floating waterproof laptop.

Yes, I feel a tad guilty about my feeble output these days. It’s killin’ me. Summer school ends next week, and that means I won’t have uninterrupted mornings anymore. So instead of moping around and mourning the loss of writing time, it may be healthier to shift focus to fatherhood and domestic facilities management.

I’m thinking of taking August off -- from journal writing anyway. I think I need the break. Besides, slacking in August is a very French thing to do, and you know how I just adore anything French. The language is a delightfully transcendent form of controlled throat-clearing. The people put cheese and comedians on equally high pedestals. And how could I forget that my first real girlfriend went to France as an exchange student. I don’t think it was for the cultural aspect -- I think she went just to get laid, and with the reputation the French enjoy as world-class capitulators, I think she knew her odds of success were much greater than, say, in Guatemala. Although to be honest, Guatemala carries a torch for her too, as well as a bottle of crab lice ointment and a nit comb, but I digress.

August is dismal only because I can’t write much. With a new agenda of Hot Fun in the Summertime, however, I can live again the golden glow of summers gone by, seasons of surf and sand and sandwiches with sand, sand in the shoes and in the car and in the pants. Ah, there’s the rub. But it’s worth it. After all, it's important for Amy to remember that she had a happy daddy, n'est-ce pas?

With the new pool, of course, we can eliminate the sand part altogether. And the traffic and the beach parking and the cost of gasoline.

Pool good.

I made only halfway good on my earlier threat to put an alligator in the new pool by opting for the inflatable Wave Mat® instead, a purple floaty thing of such indescribable comfort that I must summon all my willpower to keep from getting burned. Oblivion comes easy in its buoyant caress, and if I’m not careful I’ll end up as a tiny pile of black cinders instead of the bronze Adonis I see squinting back at me in the bathroom mirror each morning before my now daily dip.

See? No sane man would say that. I need the break. The way things are going, I should have a final decision on August made sometime around Labor Day.

_____________________________

"Ice Cream Man" -- Tom Waits -- CLOSING TIME

today's wisdom:

"They that seldom take pleasure seldom give pleasure."

- Fulke Greville