THE THRILL OF BREAST STROKING

Image

Down deep I realize my title sounds murky, but it was my favorite form of movement across the sparkling pool.  Yes, I swam like a hopped-up frog as a kid, and have medals stashed away somewhere as proof.  I take after my dear, dead dad, who not only swam like a dolphin but learned to dive like a dove as a little peep.  His legendary Jack-Knife always made my heart flip, sometimes backwards.  But sadly, Pops had a massive STROKE before he’d reached the bank, and was forced to remain poolside.

So current-ly I’ve been watching the Olympic events in London from here in Vienna.  I’s a kick to wave at the studs from my “Lazy Girl” recliner.  My body, wet with perspiration, flutters like a fish outta water as I pull hard for the losers.

I have less than shallow feelings for Michael Phelps and after his flailing start in the water was thrilled to see him perform swimmingly until the end.  My heart sunk when he promised he is now backing out but I’d be treading in dangerous waters if I tried to make him jump back into the race.   I trust he will not grow board/go overbored and shrivel up once he is high and dry.  I plea—

“Please, Michael, don’t go to pot!”

But let’s discuss me.  Last week I was in Idaho, but you know that because you follow my blog.  My older brother Biff, always an undependable hero, stopped by my mother’s house with a school of his OLD juvenile delinquent buddies.  They swore they’d come to visit my meddling mom, but deep down I had a sinking feeling they wanted to give me a hard time about going under/skipping town.  One of my least favorite derelicts is called “Skip” and he jumped right up when I entered the room.

“Hey Nanner!  How the heck are you?”  He inquired without waiting for my reply.  “I can’t look at you without remembering how FAST you were as a kid.  In the water, I mean.”

At witch point, Mom, drowning her sorrows in bitterscotch pudding, interrupted—

“Yes, Nanner, people used to say YOU could have been in the Olympics, but didn’t want it badly enough.”

“Write” I thought as I resumed breathing deeply and goggling Michael Phelps on the internet.

Advertisements


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s