This is the Westmoor Pool Story

Yes, so here it is - the pool where I will be twisting, turning and moving my kundalini in about 30 minutes. (I do have that knack of writing before I am about to swim.)

This picture was taken on a slow day- Sunday, when there are not so many lessons going on. The pool is most interesting because of the clientele. I could say it is Asian, but it is more than that. There are so many dialects that happen in the locker room Tuesday and Thursday evenings, when the majority of lessons occur. I recognize some of the Chinese dialect because of the different pitches and intonations. No doubt some of these darlings are Korean, others Filipino. I keep thinking there might be Japanese, but I never recognize it during my locker room time. And after my time in Japan, I can recognize Japanese.

On Saturdays I can zero in on the Chinese because the ones not swimming are doing homework in their workbooks filled with Chinese characters. They are all beautiful little girls with jet black hair and lovely almond eyes. Sometimes a grandmother helps them change; they have a tendency toward being fish wives, so it sound. Other times moms are there, urging their girls to move. That translates in any mother's tongue. And 90% of them are wearing the pre-requisite hot pink for girls in clothing, in bathing suits, in towels, in swimming bags. Disney Princesses for the most part - I gag when I think what a commodity it has become- thank you Walmart - compared to its precious-ness (A Madame Alexander Sleeping Beauty doll for Easter one year) in my day. So it is either Disney or Dora, a few Pokeman or Spongebobs, but mostly those are for the little boys that make it into the woman's locker room with mama.

They eye me suspiciously, because I am- well - my age, with bluish veins in my legs, more flab than I care to acknowledge and a chicken neck. Fortunately, the girl who punches my card doesn't ask if I am coming for aqua aerobics anymore. But the little ones and the middle aged ones, no older than 11 I think, are scared to see what lurks underneath my bathing suit. Or am I the one who is scared? Yes, I am! But the little girls are so very modest. Learned behavior already. Even the tiniest ones are cordoned off with a towel between two lockers so no one will see their 'privates'. And now, after all of my years of "I gave birth. I don't care if anyone sees me," I am becoming modest too.

I avoid the mirror when my legs are bare. The cellulite and the veins look too much like my grandmother's legs. Damnit. They don't hurt, but they look like an old woman's. And I am so much younger than these legs look. Oy vey.

So it will have to be my 'Life is Good' attitude, a song to sing at some unexpected interval, and my boisterous laugh to lance the appearance of my sagging flesh. I am quite young for a gal my age. Onward.