Summer Journal

It's Memorial Day, and here I sit on a lounge chair at Windwood Pool. My skin is pale white--not the smooth alabaster white of a Botticelli painting, but more along the lines of pasty white. Elmer's paste, that is. My appearance, however, is not totally without merit, as I am clad in my new faux tankini from L.L. Bean. I like this bathing suit because it looks like a flirty two-piece, with sleak black bottoms and a fusia-red-pink-white riot of flowers on top. Very cute. But appearances deceive, in this case to my favor. My ensemble is actually a sensible one-piece, the top and bottom being sewn together so it holds any muffintop-like tendencies at bay. You can even lift the top from my belly, like a real tankini, but all you'll be treated to is flesh-colored fabric. Genius!

Jon, Noah and Phil were in the hot tub a minute ago, but Noah and Phil just got busted by the lifeguard for flouting the 18-year and older rule. Phil was quick to comply with the cute blonde teenage girl's request that he vacate pronto. But Noah. "How do you know I'm not 18?" he queried, all innocence. To which she replied, "Noah, I know you're not 18." So she knows him. A shy smile. He stayed in and she abandoned her effort for the more urgent call of the lifeguard chair.

Josh is the only one in the pool. It's 75 degrees out today but the pool is a ludicrously cold 58 for godsake. Still, he's making a valient effort, walking back and forth, back and forth, wet from his little butt on down. Not so much as a drop above the waist.

And me? Well, the sky is clouding up, it's getting a little breezy, and there is no freaking way I'm putting so much as a toe in that water until it hits 65 and/or the mercury hits 80.

I do have a purpose here though. And that is, if I write nothing else, I will write in this, my summer journal 2008, each and every day until Labor Day. Wish me luck, and a good tan!