Wooden Crate Coffee Table - Day 2

8/15/12

I don't know about you, but, when I go to the hardware store, I like to drive around with lumber in my car for at least a day before I unload it.  I like the smell of wood, and...um...

No.  I'm totally lying.  I don't like to do this.  I'm just lazy about unloading, so, sometimes, I do.  That's what I did when I bought the supplies for my latest project, anyway.  I think I took out the lumber that evening, but I left the crates in the car until well into the next day.  When I did take them out, I decided to lay them out on a tarp on my porch, so I could get an idea of what I was dealing with, and how it would look when I got it put together.  I think it's gonna be awesome.

Now, Shane asked me how much this project is costing me, so I tried to sort of estimate, having not bothered to keep my receipts.

The crates were about $12 apiece at Michaels (I should have waited for a coupon!  I was too excited), so that's $48.

Now, in the tutorial I posted yesterday, I think she says she used 1x2x6 for the support underneath the table, but, when I looked at it at the hardware store, I thought it looked a little flimsy for us.  We are a rough and tumble bunch.  I went with 1x4x6, which was (as I recall) $5.81 per plank.  I also bought 3, instead of the 2 called for in the tutorial, because I had decided to build the undercarriage (undercarriage??  That's probably the wrong word.  You know.  The part underneath the crates that holds it all together and supports it.) differently.  More about that next time.  That's $17.43.

Then, I got 4 casters at $2.95 each ($11.80), and two small boxes of screws at $1.99 a pop ($3.98).

So.  Let me do some math here....

I think that comes to $81.21.

Unless I did the math wrong.  You can check my numbers if you'd like.  (Math is NOT my forte.)

Not an especially cheap project, but I don't think that's a terrible price for a custom table.  I probably could have shopped around for better deals, used coupons, etc., but I'm okay with this splurge.  It's going to be a very special table.

Brief synopsis:

On Day 2, I unloaded my car, set my crates together to see how they might look as a table, and did some math.

Wooden Crate Coffee Table - Day 1

8/14/12:

I figured out what I am going to do while the kids are at school all day.  Ignore the mess in my car, and focus on the wooden crates and lumber.  ooooooooohhhhhh, pretty!

Also ignore the larger pieces of lumber.  They're for a different project.  More on that later.  

I will be attempting to build THIS.  Or something like it, anyway.  I am not necessarily going for the "antique" or "wine crate" look.  I will be using a different finish and (with the help of my lovely daughters), adding details to personalize it for out family)  Trust me, it will be cool...I think.  Assuming it turns out vaguely like I hope it will.  Wish me luck!  I will probably need it!

Out with the old...

School starts the day after tomorrow here in Sunny (103℉) So-Cal (for LAUSD schools, anyway).  Accordingly, we have been hard at work cleaning, pitching, sorting, organizing and generally preparing for the new year.

It's astounding to me how many great piles of paper five people can manage to accumulate.  My girls are all avid writers, artists, musicians and readers.  Our tiny little 3 bed/1 bath home looks like a landfill frequented by very messy, somewhat obsessive compulsive art collectors and musicians.  I cannot believe how many pieces of paper my children consume over the course of a year.  By consume, I mean "use up," not eat, of course.

Last year, we got off on the wrong foot.  Maybe we can blame that on my foot!  Okay, it was actually my knee that was the problem.  In general.  I'm not sure if the knee problem had anything to do with the gigantic papery mess problem, or if the two conditions coexist, but are not necessarily symbiotic in nature.  Frankly, I am not going to waste a lot of time trying to figure it out, so the world may never know.  What I do know is this: we had a great big, huge, overwhelming, disorganized, unmanageable mess, and I could not bear the thought of heading into another year of piles and piles of paperwork when I hadn't yet cleared out the previous year's piles.

Going through the mountains of paper turned out to be a treat, in some ways.  First, there was the great satisfaction of tossing out all the old tests and homework, and discovering tons of available space for this year's influx.  Then, there was the fun of sorting through and looking at all of the children's art, reading their stories.  I keep that stuff.  I probably keep more than I should, but I just can't let it go. It's like, if I do, a little piece of my daughters' childhood will be swept away to oblivion.  What I am doing is setting aside the old work, filing and storing it, to make room for the new.  That is going to make a huge difference.  After just a couple of days, we have found the at we have so much space with which to work, that we really should be able to find room for everything and develop a workable system.  For instance, by boxing up some of the old picture books and putting them out in the garage, we have cleared an entire shelf for the kids' textbooks.

The only caveat is that, now that we have all of this space, we need to figure out how to use it.  That's not so much a caveat as it is exactly the result I was hoping for, but it does bear some thought and planning on our part.  Shane and I batted around ideas about why the system we tried last year failed so miserably, and, ultimately, decided to change the way our home is arranged ~ change the way we use our space ~ to more accurately reflect the way we actually live.

That seems like a no-brainer, doesn't it?  What if I tell you that we turned our dining room into a library/sitting room, moved the kids' computer armoire to the front of the living room, took down two shelves, stacked the four cubbies the kids were using for their schoolwork in a single towering spire, and are in the process of deciding which books to store in the garage, and which to leave on the shelves?  What if I tell you the cooking, craft, art and comic books all made the cut and will be staying in the house, while my teaching resources are neatly and safely stashed in a rubbermaid tub on an easily accessible shelf in the garage?  What if I remind you that we didn't replace our dining room with another dining room elsewhere?  That last part is weird, huh?

But, see...we don't have room for a dining room.  I mean, what is a dining room, anyway?  You're basically taking a huge amount of floor space for one big table and a bunch of chairs.  The slap in the face, here, is that the dining table invariably becomes yet another place to pile stacks of paper, mail, half finished projects of one sort and another, mandolins, guitars, trumpets, bongos, guitar strings, ukeleles, coloured pencils, paints, canvasses, sketch books, yarn, clay and books...  Book, books, books, books and more books!  Pretty much anything other than dinner finds its way to our dinner table on a daily basis.  Then, when it's time to eat, there's no room at  the table.  Shane is usually at work, I am running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to get kids to one place and another while cooking, cleaning, preparing for my own work, balancing the books, etc., that I can't even think about eating.  So the kids eat at the bar or the coffee table, and Shane and I eat later, when he gets home.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

Of course, we do like to eat together as a family sometimes, and we didn't want to completely lose that option, so, a while back, we decided to invest in a pretty little wooden table with two good sized leaves that fold down, making it a cute little side table with drawers, most of the time, and a dining table large enough for the five of us (we can even squeeze in a guest or two, if we try).  It seems to be a good compromise, suits our lifestyle, and gives us most of a room (or, at least, a substantial little end of a room) to work with.  We have been using our new table for some time, now, and I have to say, we have been eating together as a family, but sort of around the living room ~ some at the bar, some at the coffee table ~ instead of around what used to be the dining room.  We still visit, chat, laugh, share the ketchup...  It's still a family meal together.  The venue's just a little different.

After trying this plan for some weeks, we decided that it really does suit our family, and, by reclaiming that space which was once dominated by a large dinner table, we have gained so much.  Today, Shane rearranged the furniture for me.  I was going to say he helped me rearrange the furniture, but it was really much more like he just did it.  He worked so hard.  I helped empty shelves, and I am now in the process of reorganizing and shelving all of the books, but he moved all of the furniture, pretty much on his own (I helped a little, but I am not allowed to lift much).  We put the computer armoir by the front window, with the cubbies right next to it.  Then, we moved the large bookshelf from the hallway to the dining area, placing it against the wall to one side of the kitchen doorway and forming a sort of wrap around bookshelf with the other lagre bookshelf and a tall narrow shelf to span the corner between them.  Next, we put the small bookshelf (the one that holds things like Nancy Drew, the Chronicles of Narnia, Laura Ingalls Wilder's books and the Harry Potter series) on the other side of the kitchen door.  The purple armchair is in one corner, right next to my cute little yellow table, which is currently being used as a stand for my new record player.  I think I will throw the floor cushions over by the small bookshelf.

Of course, there are books and other odds and ends strewn about the room and an unfinished project spread out over the half-open table but, when it is finished, we will have a cute, cozy little library/sitting room, with a table that can be opened when we want to have a more formal meal together.  By the way, I am so excited about that project.  It's also for our new room.  We're all working on it together, and I just can't wait to share when it's done.

So it is settled.  Perhaps it is a tad bohemian for some people's taste, but I like it.  Our family has always been on the quirky side, and a cozy little place to read, draw, write or daydream is far more important to us than sitting around a dining table every night.  I feel like the house is coming together in a way that works for us.  We have our bar, our little library/sitting room/art & craft area, and lots of uncluttered space.  Finally.  We're in our fourth year here, I believe, and we're continuing to look at houses because we know this one is too small for our family.  So, you know, it's a good thing we are starting to make some progress.

Walk it out

Got up before the kids, put on my sweats and sneakers and went for a long walk.

*sigh*

It was not at all like going for a run.  And now my ankle hurts.  Damnit.

However, I hear walking, biking and swimming are the way to go for me, so I'll keep working on it.  Perhaps, in time, it will grow on me.

I enjoy swimming, but it is not very convenient, since I have three kids and don't own a pool.  Swimming involves a trip to the Y, which shouldn't be so hard, but it seems like every single time I plan to do it, something comes up.  I keep saying I will take the kids with me, so they can swim, too.  We haven't made it to the pool together even once this Summer.  I guess I have to try harder in that department.

Biking is good, and it is easy to take a kid or two along, but, this morning, I didn't want to wake everyone with the noisy garage door, so I opted for a walk.  In my running shoes.

Maybe that was the problem,  Maybe, if I didn't get ready for my walk thinking, "Damn, I can't run anymore," I would feel better about it.  I don't know.  But I do know that my running shoes are comfy and good for my feet ~ and I spent a pretty penny on them, so I ought to use them for something.  Just gonna have to get over myself and move on, I guess.

It's hard.  Who would've thought it would be so hard?  I just started running again a couple of years ago.  It's not like I was a lifelong runner.  I mean, I had run throughout my life, starting in high school, but there was a very long hiatus after the kids were born.  It just...I like it.  It made me feel like me again.  And now... Well, it may sound silly, but I feel a little lost without it.  Unfocussed.

I really have nothing to grouse about.  I spent much of the past year walking with a cane and anticipating knee surgery.  Now, I have found that I do not, in fact need surgery.  With lots of hard work, I have gone from walking with a cane and/or brace and not being able to take a flight up steps to being able to do pretty much everything I used to do.

Pretty much.  Or so I'm told.

I can't turn cartwheels or move furniture.  I have to be careful not to get to close to the mosh pit when at go to shows.  Even cooler (read: totally NOT cool) ~ I have to wear my brace, if I want to dance...and I can't stomp or jump, which is hard to remember when you're at a show and the music is loud and people all around you are jumping and stomping and dancing any old way they want.  Oh, and I can't run.

There's a lot I can do:  I can walk, ride a bike or swim.  I can dance, carefully, with my brace on, as long as I don't twist at the knee.  Recently, I was able to sit cross-legged on the floor for the first time in over a year.  And I can...um...knit...and make jam.  Not exactly the active lifestyle I was used to.

And that's just it.  When my doctor told me that I could do everything I used to, except run, jump, turn cartwheels, move furniture, lift heavy things...what he didn't understand was that THOSE WERE ALL THE THINGS I DO.

The hardest thing about my walk this morning was that it was slow.  I just don't like to move slow.  I wasn't built for slow.  I have no patience, I get easily bored, I tend to be jumpy...  A slow stroll is not my speed.  However, I am not up to speed walking, so slow stroll it is.  I can't help wondering what's wrong with me.  I ought to enjoy the fresh air, the sounds of nature, the nods and smiles form my neighbours.  Instead, I feel trapped.  I want to go, go, go!  I want to run, to hear the rhythmic tet-tet-tet of rubber soles on the street, to sweat, to feel the wind in my face and just fly!  I was never very fast ~ really, there wasn't a lot of flying ~ but there is just nothing like running.  Walking, especially, is nothing like running.

I remember how much I used to love walking when Justice was a baby.  She'd ride in her little stroller, and I would take long walks.  They were meditative, centering.  I've tried to approach walking from that angle again, and it just isn't working.  I think it's because, now, I feel like my whole life has slowed to a meditative pace.  I suppose that could be seen as positive, but I don't think I was ready to go there yet.  It's disconcerting.  I used to need that break from the hustle and bustle, whereas now all I want is a little hustle.

Nevertheless, I will keep trying.  I'll keep walking, and biking, and trying to get to the Y to swim (it will be easier when kids start school next week, I'm sure).  The fact is I have to keep moving, if I want to keep moving, if you know what I mean.  I think I might take up new hobby or two ~ something to engage my mind more, so I feel busier.  I'll take my iPod next time I walk.  Maybe that will help.

In the end, I have always felt like things pretty much always are the way they are supposed to be.  Life is just a matter of figuring out how to live and thrive and be happy when things change, which they do ` constantly.  I'll manage.  What I'm going through right now is just like getting a cramp when you're running.  I'll walk it out, and then I'll be able to get on with my life without running.  Eventually.

Making Lemonade...er...uh...rock candy

What do you do when life hands you lemons?  Why, you make lemonade!  

That being the case: what do you do when life hands you an emergency light on your dashboard that turns out to mean that there is a nail in one of your tires causing a slow leak, which needs to be removed (and you tire patched), when what you had planned to do that day was drive to Zuma Beach with your friends?  You make rock candy.

At least, that's what we do.

I think.

To be honest, this hasn't come up much.  Really just the once so far.

Let me walk you through it our day:

This morning, Kaia and I got up and headed straight out to the orthodontist's office for her monthly check-up/adjustment.  The plan was to have her appointment, grab a baguette on the way home, pick up her sisters, our swimsuits, sunblock, towels, hats, boogie boards, snacks, etc., meet up with our friends, Priya, Maya and Nadia and caravan over to spend a day at Zuma Beach.  Unfortunately, on the way to the orthodontist, a light I had never seen before lit up on my dashboard.  As soon as we were situated at the office, I took out my manual and looked it up.

After a brief investigation, I dicovered the answer.  The mystery light was my tire pressure light.  According to the manual, if it illuminates and remains lit, it could indicate a slow leak or a flat tire.  Since we had already checked in ~ and since trying to get an appointment at the orthodontist's office is like pulling teeth (pardon the pun) ~ I decided to stay until Kaia was done, then check my tires.  In the meantime, I called the service department at my Mazda dealership* and asked if I could stop by and have them check it out, since I was right down the street.  They agreed.

Kaia's appointment went quickly, once she was in (they finally took her back about 40 minutes after her appointment time), and we headed off to the dealership.  The car was taken in right away, but Danny told me there would probably be about a 1-hour wait.  I called Priya, and we decided it would be best, at this point, to postpone our beach trip until tomorrow.  That's okay.  I think I'll have it more together by tomorrow, anyway.  Kaia, however, was very disappointed.  

Because there would be a long, boring wait  (and because coffee ~ or, in Kaia's case, chocolate milk ~ makes everything better), we decided to walk across the street to the Starbucks inside the Jaguar dealership.  I guess that says a lot about Jaguar dealerships vs. Mazda dealerships.  At the Mazda dealership, they have a pot of coffee and some little plastic pots of creamer.  At the Jaguar dealership, they have a Starbucks.

As soon as we had placed our order, Danny from the service department called to inform me that the problem was, in fact, a nail in my left rear tire that would need to be removed.  The tire would have to be patched, and, since I was overdue for scheduled maintenance, they could just go ahead and do it all. Sure, what the heck, I said.  I mean, at this point, why not, right?

For the next hour, Kaia and I sat in the waiting room, watching the Olympics, leafing through Audubon magazine and chatting with a 72-year old woman who told us all about how, when she was in 4th grade, she missed the entire school year because she was in the hospital with Rheumatic Fever.  She told Kaia all about how she was quarantined and had to attend a special school inside the hospital.  As the children got better, they were allowed to do more around the hospital (like go to the playroom), but when she first got there, she had to stay and have her classes in her hospital bed.  Doctors told her that she would probably not live past her twenties.  Then, they told her that she could only have three children.  She had four.  I told her that, at 72, with four children, I guess she showed them.

Too soon, it seemed, the car was ready.  We picked out a cute little turtle to adorn our rearview mirror, paid our bill and headed home.

Although she enjoyed her milk, her visit, the Olympics and the magazine, it just wasn't a trip to the beach with her best friend.  Kaia knew we would go tomorrow, but...well, you remember what it was like when you were a kid and you were all geared up to do something fun and exciting, and then the rug got pulled right out from under you.  No fun :(  She was very sad.

So, we decided to make some fun of our own.  I had been promising to make rock candy with the kids. I've never made it before, but I thought it might be the perfect combination of sugary candy and science to satisfy my girls.  I found this some time ago, and have been planning to do it for months, but we never seemed to have time.  Today, as it happened, we suddenly had nothing but time.

Each girl made her own solution, flavouring it with a drop or two of extract and colouring it with food colouring.  It is sitting on the counter right now, and, hopefully, it is beginning to form crystals.  Justice tried adding coconut flavouring, which we later realized contains oil, and her mixture kind of seized up, so she gave up on the rock candy and put tiny portions of the stuff onto waxed paper to cool, making "green coconut globs" instead.  Luckily, the other girls made enough that there will be some rock candy for Justice.  

I love that she didn't let it get her down when hes didn't work.  After all, that's what scientific experimentation is all about.  Science or not, that's really what I want them to take away from this experience.  I think it is vitally important to be able to look on the bright side, roll with the punches, not let little set backs and disappointments throw you for a loop.  To learn from mistakes, and to make their own happiness is probably the most important thing I can teach my kids.

But that stuff about super saturated solutions is pretty awesome, too.  In this case, it's even yummy.  And, in about a week, as Kaia said, "I'm going to eat science."


*It's not really my Mazda dealership.  I don't own it or anything.  It just happens to be the dealership at which I bought my car, so I feel sort of personally involved with it.

"Kid Gloves"

Not long ago, someone said to my daughter, "Sheesh!  Why do you always have to act like everyone's out to get you?  The world is NOT against you."  I'll admit it, I've said similar things.  But, you know, I got to thinking about that remark, and I realized something important.  If you really want to know why my daughter "acts like everyone is out to get her," I'll tell you.

It's because, for years, they were.  

Okay.  Not everyone.  Unfortunately, however, when you are being bullied, and other kids are jumping on the bandwagon with the bully instead of defending you, it can feel like the whole world is against you.  When you ask for help from adults in authority, and they accuse you of "overreacting" or being "whiny," it starts to feel like no one is on your side.  When your parents are the only ones you can be sure are in your corner, you might even start to feel like, "Yeah.  They have to be.  They're my parents. They probably don't like me, either."  I know, because I went through it, too.

I remember too well the vicious cycle of being bullied, getting hurt, crying in front of all the other kids and then getting teased for being a "crybaby" or "too sensitive."  I challenge you, even as an adult, to stand in front of a room full of people who are making fun of you for crying when you are genuinely upset AND NOT CRY.  It's really hard.  

"Too Sensitive."  That's one I've heard for most of my life.  What does that mean, anyway?  What makes a person "too sensitive?"  Is it when a person doesn't like being called names, made a laughingstock, being hurt (physically and/or emotionally)?  Is that too sensitive?  I don't think so.  I really don't think it is too much to expect kindness and decency from people.  I firmly believe that, when my daughter tells someone that something they say or do hurts her, it is not "too sensitive" of her to be upset if they keep doing it, anyway.  Nobody likes being treated unkindly.  

I don't buy in to the whole "Sticks and stones..." nonsense, either.  Words hurt.  Sometimes, words hurt more than any stick or stone ever could.  Hit me with a stick, and you've wounded my flesh.  It'll heal.  Probably won't even leave a scar.  Hit me with cruel words, and you have wounded my soul.  Souls heal, too, but I think they're more fragile.  It takes special care and gentle handling for them to heal.  And time.  Lots and lots of time.

Yes, I know people tease sometimes.  Over the years, I have learned not to take things too personally. But, see, that's the difference:  I have had YEARS since I was bullied to learn not to take things personally.  I have had years ~ decades, even ~ to try to understand that, just because something a person is doing upsets me, that doesn't mean they are trying to upset me.  My daughter hasn't.  She's working on it, and she'll get there, but it is going to take more time.  After all, it took years of bullying to get her to where she is now.

Frankly, I hope she doesn't get there by developing too tough a shell.  I think there is great value in her sensitive nature.  I want her to learn to be sensitive, but not to allow herself to be so hurt.  I think the world needs more sensitive souls who live passionately and feel deeply.  I just hope the world begins to see that as an asset while she is still young.  

So, do me a favour: the next time someone tells you that something you've said or done has hurt him/her, just say, "I'm sorry.  I didn't know.  I won't do that again."  And then don't.  I'm going try hard to do the same.  It's not like the world will suffer from too much kindness.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

Inspired by my cousin, Alice, I finally got off my ass and went to the Y to swim laps today.  I have been saying I would do this for...sheesh...YEARS, I think.  However, since I started PT (that's Physical Therapy) for the ankle and the knee a few weeks ago, I have actually meant it.  Which is not quite as effective as actually doing a thing, but I think is closer than just saying it, if you follow me.

Anyway, it seems it was a few weeks ago that Alice posted a blog entry about her recent experience going the pool to swim laps.  I will try to find the link (if she says it's okay) and share it.  Well, after reading her blog about swimming, I thought, "I can do that."  So, I bought a new swim cap and a new swimsuit and...totally didn't do anything.

Well, that might not be entirely accurate.  I did a lot of things.  I worked, I went to physical therapy, I saw my acupuncturist, I watched my daughter perform with her orchestra, I served as P.A. on my other  daughter's film, I did some sewing with yet another daughter, I drove all three daughters to all of their various lessons, practices and other engagements, I had lunch with a girlfriend... I even went for walks, a bike ride or two, did my exercises every day (ish)... I just didn't swim.

So, last night, I promised myself I would head to the Y after I dropped kids at school and swim a few laps.  It seemed simple enough.  I announced my plan on Facebook, and asked my friends to hold me to it, so I would have to do it or risk losing face.

Then, #2 daughter remembered at 7 o'clock-ish that she had a major assignment due for dance class the next day.  So, I ran out and bought her a binder while she got to work.  Boy, oh, boy, did she work!  That kid constructed an entire dance term dictionary with illustrations for each entry and an section at the back about famous choreographers in one night.  Sorta.  She was up until Stupid O'clock finishing it.  Which means that I was also up until Stupid O'clock ~ 'though I will admit I dozed off once or twice.

As you might have guessed, I really didn't feel like going swimming after dropping off kids this morning.  I felt like going to bed.  To be perfectly honest, I didn't feel like dropping off kids this morning, but ~ whattaya gonna do?  Right?

Now, I thought I would be all packed up and ready, so I could drop kids and go straight to the Y.  Ha.  Instead, I raced home after dropping off kids, gathered all of my stuff, realized I could only find one flip flop, pinned up my hair, put on my suit, pulled on some sweats, stuffed a towel and my Y card in a bag (it was a Camp Rock bag, as provided by my husband, because I am just that cool) and headed up the road.

By the time I shed the sweats, showered, and entered the pool area, it was almost 8:25.  Now, lap swimming only lasts until 8:55 today, so I thought, Okay.  30 minutes.  I ought to be able to knock out 30 minutes of lap swimming, right?  I'll admit, I was even a little bit disappointed.  Like: shoot, if I had been here earlier, I could have gotten in more swimming.  

I am so, so silly.

Thanks to Alice's wonderful account of her first lap-swimming experience, I knew how to get in to the pool, at least.  That was helpful.  I decided it would be a good idea, however, to make sure I was getting in to the appropriate lane.  I approached the lifeguard on duty.

"Hello," I said, "I've never been here before.  Does it matter which lane I use?"

"It doesn't really matter," she replied, "but, generally, the farther to the right you go the slower the lanes are."

"Ah.  Okay."  I watched the other swimmers for a moment.  They all seemed to me to be going at a pretty good clip, so I asked, "Is there a remedial lane?"

She chuckled, and suggested I swim in the general area of the pool, to the right of the lanes.  She said there really was a lane there, but they just didn't have it marked today, because one of their lane markers was broken.  I didn't really believe that was true, but I thought it was kind of her to say so.

Armed with a plan of attack, I went over to hang my bag and towel.  I noticed that nobody else had their bags and towels hung on the set of hooks I had chosen, so I thought they must be the wrong ones, and moved them to another set.  Then, I noticed that there was no place near those hooks to leave my shoes where they would be out of the way, so I changed my mind and put all of my stuff on a bench, sliding the shoes underneath.  Because it totally matters where you leave your stuff.

I went back to the Remedial Lane and sat on the edge of the pool.  For some reason, I had decided it would be a good idea to enter the pool at the deep end.  It was closest to the lifeguard, which seemed like a good idea, and, by the time I got worn out from swimming, I might be in an area of the pool in which I could touch the ground.  I lowered myself into the water and took off for the other end.  So far, so good.

Covering the distance from one end of the pool to the other was not as hard as I thought it might be, so, my confidence bolstered, I turned around at the other end, paused for moment to catch my breath, and headed back.  By the time I got back to the deep end, I thought my lungs might collapse.  The funny thing is, I expected this to be hard on my legs, but they were feeling great.  My lungs, on the other hand, were pissed.  I struggled and sputtered my way to the wall and clung on for dear life.  The lifeguard didn't seem the least bit worried, so I figured I must be doing better than I thought.  Then, I looked back at the other lap swimmers.  No.  No, I was definitely NOT doing better than I thought.  But, hey, I was doing, and that's what really mattered.

I took a few more moments to catch my breath this time before heading back to the shallow end.  Then, a took a few more moments to catch my breath.  Whew!  What a workout!  What time is it?  


I glanced at the clock.

Holy crap.  Are you kidding me?  It's got to be closer to 8:55 than that!


Nope.  It wasn't.

So, seeing that I still had most of my 30 minutes ahead of me, I devised a strategy that might allow me to both swim my laps and survive.  I decided I would use a kickboard to go up and back twice, then I would go up and back twice without it...and so forth and so on.  In the end, I did 2 trips up and back without the board, then 2 trips with it, then two without, then two with.  And then ~ thank God! ~ it was 8:55.

I did it.  I won't say it was easy ~ especially when the lady in the zebra print swim cap decided to join me in my lane but kept swimming on her back directly into me...or on her front directly into me.  Really, she just kept swimming directly into me.  I think she swims with her eyes shut.  I changed lanes. ~ but I did it.

I'll do it again, too.  I'm willing to bet it will keep getting easier.

Besides, I need some excuse to wear my cute new swim cap.