Pool talk

My 20-year-old son: "I saw what you wrote online about me and my friends using the swimming pool. 'Hippie soup.' Ha-ha. Very funny."

Me: "After you guys left, the pool was like a mud wrestling pit, full of filth and cooties and vermin."

Son: "Yeah, right."

Me: "I had to give it double chlorine! Had to kill off all those youthful hormones!"

Son: "Hormones?"

Me: "You can't leave those untreated. If you do, your swimming pool might rise up during the night and come in the house and hump you."

Son: "You are so weird."

Woodstock?

I look out the patio windows and there in our relatively small in-ground pool is our oldest son, the wandering minstrel with the blond dreadlocks, and five of his equally filthy freak-flag-flying friends, swimming and splashing and having the time of their lives.

I turned to my wife and said, "Hippie soup."

Calling Dr. Poolman

Nothing says "summer" like the sting of chlorinated water in your eyes.

Swimming seems a great way to "beat the heat," which is why so many people make the mistake of putting swimming pools right in their own yards.

Pools have become commonplace in warmer climes. Fly over any Sun Belt city, and you'll be astounded by the number of pools you see in the yards below. It's as if our cities have broken out in bright blue freckles.

But those freckles are not the pristine bodies of water that they seem. Instead, they're vats of chemical soup, a mix of chlorine and pH balancer and algacide and clarifier and -- my personal favorite -- "flocculant." Oh, and some water, if there's any room left.

Who do we put in charge of such hazardous chemicals? The local fire department's "hazmat" team? The Environmental Protection Agency? No, we leave it to the homeowners. We give them little kits with test tubes and dyes and potions, and easy access to all the chemicals needed to purify their pools. (Available right in the supermarket! Near the food!) As for training, pool owners are given a hearty, "You're on your own." Then they're qualified to play Dr. Poolman the Chemist.

It's a wonder we haven't all bleached ourselves to death.

This is not what homeowners have in mind when they decide to take the plunge (har!) into pool ownership. They picture themselves blissfully floating on an air mattress, holding a drink with an umbrella in it, while grateful children paddle around, shouting hosannas about parents who know how to have "fun."

Hahaha on that. I've been a pool owner for years now (since we moved into a home that came with one already in place), and I can tell you that idyllic summer moment happens, um, never.

Yes, the pool's right outside. Yes, it looks enticing. And, OK, yeah, the children do seem to enjoy jumping into it over and over, a jillion times, until all the water has splashed out and killed the lawn. But then there are the negatives:

1) The water is co-o-o-old.

2) The children are never grateful. They don't think we're "fun" parents because we supply an oversized bathtub out back. To them, parents have one role where the pool is concerned: We are targets for "cannonballs."

3) Swimming seems like good exercise until you try it in your average residential pool. You can't swim in a pool that size. All you can do is turn around. Stroke, stroke, TURN. Stroke, stroke, TURN. You'll get dizzy before you burn any calories.

4) There's all that maintenance, including the cleaning of filters and the monitoring of electronic equipment (Water and electricity together. Shocking!) and the handling of chemicals labeled with more warnings than your standard package of bubonic plague virus.

It's so easy to make a mistake.

Not enough chemicals and cleaning, and your pool quickly turns into a green breeding ground for the Swamp Thing. Too much, and the children run round red-eyed and squawling while their hair falls out. Such alarm can make a parent spill his drink.

Let the chemistry get far enough out of balance, and the toxic stew can eat the concrete and leave a headline-grabbing sinkhole.

Then, next time you're on a plane, you can point with pride: "My house? Why, it's right there. The one with the big brown freckle."

Pool for sale

I think I’ll sell my swimming pool on eBay.

My wife’s sold a few things on eBay -- mostly books; we have many, many books -- and my first reaction was: “You can sell things on eBay? I thought eBay only existed to deliver things to our home!”

Once we got past that, I cast about for other household items we don’t use anymore, and I came up with a great idea: I’ll sell the pool.

A very nice swimming pool came with this house when we bought it. The pool has decorative rocks cemented around the edge and a functioning waterfall. I dutifully keep it all clean and chemically balanced.

Nobody uses it.

We keep meaning to go swimming, but the sun is too hot and the water’s too cold and we’ve already done our hair and one does hate to go to bed reeking of chlorine. Whimper, whine.

I’ve reached the age of 52, the Chinese Year of the White Grub, when I am much too fat and pale to go around without a shirt, even in the privacy of my fenced back yard. Last time, NASA complained that the glare interfered with satellite reception.

Our sons use friends' pool because they've got diving boards. Or they just go jump in the lake, usually with a cell phone in a pocket.

My wife’s got no time for swimming. She’s busy watering all her plants, keeping them alive in the summertime heat, moving them around the patio like wilting chess pieces.

So we don’t really need our pool this summer. I wonder how much I could get for it on eBay.

Selling it presents certain problems, the main one being that the pool’s made of concrete sunk into the ground behind our house. Don’t know if the customer would have to dig it out in pieces or airlift it or what to get it out of there.

And we’d have to replace the pool with something. That would have to be part of the deal. We can’t just leave a ragged hole there, like somebody pulled a big old tooth out of the yard!

My sons would prefer some sort of concrete bunker where they could play electrified music really loudly without being overheard by the short-sighted world, which doesn’t understand them and their music. Failing that, they’d take a selection of concrete skateboard ramps.

Maybe we could replace the pool with a huge planter, so my wife could have even more flora and weeds and bugs to keep her fussing and hopping all day.

To me, the best thing about the pool is the view. I enjoy looking out at the patio and pool from my traditional spot on the sofa under the air-conditioning vent. The “picture” is so lovely and serene, it could be a screensaver. The sight of palm trees always make me feel like I’m on vacation. A few weeds in the foreground, but never mind.

So I’d vote that we put in a low-maintenance mural of a swimming pool. A nice blue David Hockney painting. I could still have my California view, I could turn a buck on the deal and some lucky eBay shopper gets the swimming pool of his dreams.

Extra shipping charges apply.

Laboring over the perfect party

Ah, Labor Day weekend. Summer's last hurrah. For many Americans, that means it's time to party.

Cookouts to mark the passing of summer have become an annual ritual. We gather around open fires and drink native beverages and tell the stories of our people. Then, as night falls, we stumble into the pool and nearly drown and 911 is called, and the tribe has a new story to recount next year.

If you're planning a party for Labor Day weekend, it's not too late to make it the social event of the season. You can turn your home into a showplace for socializing, a place where your guests will feel welcome and well-fed and entertained.

The key is proper preparation. You want your party to appear fun and effortless, and that means working your butt off ahead of time. Make lists. Stockpile food and ice. Clear away clutter and make sure your house is spotless.

No one will notice -- they'll be too busy falling drunkenly into the pool -- but you'll feel better about yourself and your home and that will make you a better host, one who's relaxed and ready for any eventuality.

But where to begin? Social events are delicate creatures that must be nourished with the right mix of people, food, drink and chlorine. Here are some suggestions:

TIPS FOR HOSTING SUCCESSFUL PARTIES

--You can never have too much ice.

--The same goes for beer.

--Prepare just the right amount of food. You want to have enough so that nobody goes away hungry, but you also don't want them to stay all night. And you don't want a lot of stuff left over. Leftovers can be deadly, particularly potato salad.

--Your tasty dishes can be arranged elegantly on platters and the whole table can be decorated with fresh flowers and aromatic candles. If you take this Martha Stewart approach, you will find that your guests fall into three categories: 1) Those who appreciate how much effort you put into the food and who wouldn't dream of messing up the arrangement by actually eating any of it. 2) Those who recognize how much effort went into it and who hate you for it. 3) Those (mostly guys) who don't notice the effort and wade into the food up to their elbows.

--Go get more ice.

--Spend the days before the party making your house clean and tidy. When you're finished, your home will be sparkling and inviting. Unfortunately, you will be too exhausted to enjoy your own party. And your guests will wreck the place, so you can start all over again.

--More beer.

--If your party is outdoors, make sure there's enough shade available. This may require renting a canopy or large tent. Nothing like the aroma of mildewing canvas to give the proper "air" to a gathering.

--Lively conversation is the key to a successful party. Plan ahead so you'll have spontaneous, non-controversial topics that will keep conversation flowing and drunken fistfights to a minimum. Topics to avoid: Politics, religion, divorce, Microsoft, how much effort went into the food, your guests' sexual habits.

--Did we mention ice?

--Should drunken fistfights erupt, the competent host acts as referee, calming angry guests and getting everyone fresh drinks. If they insist on brawling, the host might try shocking them out of their aggressive mode by pushing them into the pool. Refreshingly cold water can be a welcome distraction when things get out of hand. If that doesn't work, the host should dial 911 from his cellular phone while sprinting away to safety.

--One final tip: Guests like to feel they're helping to make the party a success, so give them things to do. For example, should you run out of ice, send a guest to a convenience store for more. This will help the guest feel like part of the effort. In fact, you might find errands for all your guests. Once they're gone, you'll have your clean house and all that food to yourself.

And that's the way to finish off a summer.

Watch this, Daddy

A perceptive reporter I know once did an article on stay-at-home dads and came away with this observation: All the men had tanned feet.

I was welcomed into their ranks recently when a houseguest arrived and said, before she’d even come indoors, “Look! Even your toes are tan!”

For the first time in maybe a decade, I have a suntan, and it’s because I’m a stay-at-home parent. In the past, I’ve spent all my free time working and writing, and you can’t get a tan from the glow of a computer monitor.

But this summer was a first: My two sons stayed home with me -- no day camp, no preschool -- and I quickly discovered the swimming pool was the best place to spend long, hot summer afternoons.

Swimming is a way to channel the boundless energy of children. It wears them out for bedtime. It gives them a chance to practice their negligible social skills on other kids. And, since I’m doing most of my work in the pre-dawn hours while they’re still sleeping, it gives me a chance to rest and soak up some rays.

Tanning doesn’t come easy to people of Anglo-Germanic origin. We’re melanin-challenged, our natural skin tone a shade I call Moby Dick white.

Both my sons are blue-eyed blonds. So we slather on the sunscreen -- SPF 600, I think it is -- for protection from the blistering New Mexico sun. In the tiniest of increments, we’ve changed to a life-like color. Not bronze, exactly, but darker than the zombies in “Night of the Living Dead.”

We go to the Elks Club pool every other day, taking the day off in between to let sun-hot skin cool. On weekdays, I’m often the only representative of the species Big, Hairy Dad on the premises.

Sometimes I catch the moms eyeing me suspiciously, probably wondering why I’m not at a real job during office hours. Those of us who work at home know office hours are whenever you can get them -- early in the morning, late at night, whenever the kids are asleep or otherwise occupied. Three hours at the pool in the afternoon is just an extended coffee break.

My personality changes at the swimming pool. A normally modest sort who wouldn’t think of jiggling around shirtless while, say, mowing the lawn, I strip down to my trunks and beach myself on the nearest lounge chair without a thought to whether anyone’s watching.

I hide my usual gregariousness behind sunglasses and a fat book. I’m usually vain about my hair, but I don’t even care as it dries into an arrangement that would make a porcupine proud.

Even my name changes. I become “Watchthisdaddy.” My sons started the Summer of Swimming tentatively, paddling around, getting their sea legs. By midsummer, they were doing cannonballs off the diving board and initiating splash fights and leaping into the deep end without hesitation.

Aquatic daredevils to the end, as long as they have “Watchthisdaddy” as an audience.

It’s not just my kids, either. “Watch this!” is part of the everyday cacaphony of the swimming pool, a steady background noise of squeals and shouts and splashes. Sometimes, as I’m dropping off to sleep at night, I can still hear “Marco! Polo! Marco! Polo!” ringing in my ears.

We come home from the pool reeking of sunscreen and Eau de Chlorine, hang damp towels and swimsuits on the coat rack, and repair immediately to the kitchen.

What is it about swimming that makes you voracious? It can’t be simply the burning of calories through exercise. Often, I don’t swim enough to even breathe hard. But by the time I get home, I’m ready to gobble my way through the fridge like the shark in “Jaws.”

It shows, of course. I’ve put on weight during this summer of having the boys home with me. “Watchthisdaddy” isn’t going to be left out of the snack bar raids and the post-dip ice cream breaks.

I try not to think about how I look in my swim trunks, though the phrase “Thar he blows!” echoes in my head. I avoid mirrors like a vampire. And I tell myself: It’s just more to tan.