Wind blows away last of blue plastic pool era

My little blue plastic pool is no more. Like the pool, itself, I was blown away when I discovered it had gone to a final resting place in the attic of the wind. And just when I was thinking of getting off my dead butt and going outside to retrieve it from the spot it had initially blown to, out by the far side of my long, U-shaped driveway!
In fairness to myself, it had been raining pretty hard when the pool blew away from its wintering spot out beside the giant, ugly pile of branches next to my equally ugly Dish and Hughes Net satellite dishes. While I mentally moved it several times, I was unable to levitate the pool, let alone psychically put it away.
My kids and I last used the pool last fall to move windblown debris from the yard. We had then leaned the pool to rest, upside down, next to the mother lode pile of sticks I keep hoping my nephews will use a tractor to push out into the field for burning.
I had meant to drag the little blue plastic pool to the basement, but it had snowed before I found enough daylight time and ambition simultaneously available to drag the thing down there. I then vowed to toss it down the outside cellarway steps the next time I moved wood down there. But alas, good intentions don’t make much happen.
What was so special about this little blue plastic pool that couldn’t be replaced? Well for starts, that it was purchased at Hensley’s dime store in Union City when the establishment was still open and doing a respectable business. And then there are the irreplaceable memories associated with the pool.
I bought it 10 years ago, when I first moved back to my hometown. Connor was but two years old and Kate only one. They didn’t need much of a pool back then, just something a little wider and deeper than the average mud puddles to help keep them out of them.
The first time we filled the little blue plastic pool, the waters were as frigid as the Pacific Balboa discovered. We intended to let the water warm in the sun for a couple of days, but the kids had other thoughts. They went all Rocky Balboa, attacking the water immediately, clothing and all, sputtering and shivering loudly, but happily toughing it out. They romped longer than I could. On the warmest of days, I splashed along with them, back when I had both enough time to swim and to put away the pool.
Everyone seemed to want a piece of the pool real estate. It ignited an ongoing battle between children and dogs. Our Springer Spaniel, Chappy, sought the welcome, cooling relief in the pool on the hottest of days. Our English Shepherd, Sousa, saw it as her own personal Fountain of Youth, drinking from it daily. I’m guessing that’s why she lived to be 16. The kids generally swam anytime we needed them to be doing something else.
Unlike many of the dinosaurs of my children’s early years, such as the cheesy, plastic-coated “Dinosaur Roar” storybook, the little blue plastic pool had proven worth beyond its obvious intent. No one could deny it served its purpose. And then some!
In the summer, we filled the little blue plastic swimming pool with grass clippings to dump onto the field behind the house. In the fall, we used it to haul leaves to the big, burn pile. During winter, we stacked it with wood from distant piles and dragged it over snow toward the outside cellarway. Each spring, we used the pool as a horizontal receptacle for the sticks and bark we’d picked up in the yard.
Eventually, we even used the little blue plastic pool to drag water over to where we were digging a grave for Chappy, to wet and soften the stubborn earth under my shovel. Never mind the little holes hauling and age put in the pool; have duct tape, will travel!
No wonder I am as blue as the pool over its disappearance. I can’t imagine life without it. But I’ll have to live it.


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