Pool Day
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Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone,
in which
nothing much happens.
You feel good,
and then you fall asleep.
I'm Catherine Nikolai.
I create everything you hear on Nothing Much Happens.
Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.
We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to Footprint Project.
Their work is to provide cleaner energy.
for communities in crisis.
You can learn more about them in our show notes.
Hey, did you know we recently made an episode of our daytime podcast, Stories from the Village of Nothing Much,
that featured listeners' voices?
They played parts like Marmalade's Mom,
Crumb's Dad, the Cool Aunt, and her nephew.
Wish you could have played along?
Well, give us a follow over on Instagram.
We have more community projects in the works, and we want to include you.
And as always, please consider becoming a premium subscriber.
A dime a day,
so many benefits.
Everything's in our notes, at nothingmuchhappens.com.
Okay.
So here's how this works.
And we know it works after nearly 200 million downloads.
We've figured out how to do this.
Just by listening to the story I have for you,
you'll shift your brain activity away from the constantly spiraling default mode
and into the sleep accessible task positive mode.
You don't need to understand
any of that for it to work.
Just relax and listen.
I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little slower the second time through.
If you wake again in the night, don't hesitate to turn another story on.
It'll help you go right back to sleep.
Our story tonight is called Pool Day.
And it's a story about a cool dip in the water on a hot summer day.
It's also about the tiled walls of the changing rooms, broad open umbrellas and rows of lounge chairs, a book by your side, droplets on your skin, and the heavy sleep that swallows you up after a day in the sun and water.
It's time.
The day is done,
and you have done all that you needed to.
You are right now
just where you are supposed to be.
So let go.
It's okay.
Let go.
I'll take the next watch.
Draw a deep breath in through your nose
and sigh from your mouth.
Nice.
Again, breathe in.
Let it out with sound.
Good.
Pool Day
It was the place to be to day
on a hot, late summer day
One with with a cloudless sky and almost too much sun.
The village pool
was calling my name.
I walked up the path to the gate,
my beach bag slung over my shoulders,
and my flip-flops slapping against the concrete.
I could hear a few voices calling out Marco
and Polo
the riffling sound of umbrella fabric in the breeze
And the almost audible hum of heat in the atmosphere.
The gate creaked a bit as I lifted the latch and walked through
and I fumbled in my bag for my sun hat,
clapping it onto my head and sighing with the relief of shade over my eyes
and the sweet sight of the village pool
with plenty of open lounge chairs
and shady spots to stretch out in.
I've been coming here since I was in water wings.
In fact,
I'd taken swim classes in the shallow end,
and learned just enough about diving to avoid belly flops on the board.
It was a large rectangular pool,
with faded painted lines on the concrete surround.
a tall lifeguard's chair,
a snack bar and changing rooms,
that all added up to one of my favorite places
to spend a summer day.
I strolled down the side of the pool,
watching a few people on floats
and inner tubes,
enjoying enjoying the sun and cool water.
I've always been tickled by the fact that
when we are out in the sun
at the beach
or by the pool,
we recognize
that we are going to need to lie down.
Even folks who struggle to relax and rest
will almost always surrender to the urge to be horizontal
when under the sun and near the water.
And I
was not a person who struggled to relax.
I rather hoped we could extend the custom to more places.
Loungers at the lanes,
trundle beds at the train station,
cots at the cafe.
I hoped it would be the wave of the future.
Speaking of waves,
a swimmer breaststroking through a lane at the far end of the pool
was hardly making any,
and I was impressed.
While I could certainly swim a few laps,
tread water when needed,
and sometimes float stretched out on my back.
I didn't have good form,
didn't even know what it was and wasn't.
The swimmer flipped in the water as he came to the wall,
pushed off and started another lap.
I thought it must be a meditative kind of movement,
the rhythm that would build
as he worked back and forth across the pool,
creating
a calm inner space.
The lounge chairs were set out in rows,
with plenty of umbrellas scattered among them.
And I settled my bag onto one in a quiet, empty section.
The umbrella nearby was still closed,
and I took a few moments to crank it open
and tilt it until my chair was well shaded.
My bag held a paperback,
a mystery that I'd found in the little library on my corner the week before.
I'd fallen asleep reading it in bed,
and planned to do exactly the same thing
on this lounge chair.
But first, I needed a couple of towels.
I stashed my flip flops under the chair and headed toward the cabana.
It was a squat, square building with changing rooms on either side
and a towel desk in the front.
The changing rooms were surprisingly beautiful,
and I remembered being amazed by them when I was a child.
They had high windows,
and let aquacolored light in.
And along the walls and floors were tile mosaics,
showing fish and mermaids,
and fountains overflowing with sparkling water.
Although I already had my swimsuit on under my sundress,
I still poked my head in
just to admire the tiles
and listen to the way the voices from outside
echoed against the walls.
I grabbed two giant towels from the booth and made my way back around the pool.
The cement under my feet was hotter than I expected.
But I sort of enjoyed the way it tingled against my soles.
The idea of a swim was sounding better by the minute.
I dropped my towels off on my chair
and slipped out of my dress,
hanging it from a spoke of the umbrella.
My steps grew more hurried on the hot walkways
as I made my way back to the pool,
and I heard a voice in my head
that had been well planted from childhood say,
No running by the pool.
I chuckled and went carefully.
The pool had a sun shelf
with a series of wide steps leading in at one corner,
and several ladders here and there.
I decided on the stairs,
and that first step in was heavenly.
The water was cool and refreshing, and suddenly I wanted to be surrounded by it.
Step by step,
I plunged forward until I was up to my shoulders.
The way the coolness
spread through my whole body.
From my first swim as a kid to this one,
and every dip in between.
It never got old.
It always felt so good.
I sighed,
happy and grateful
for this resource I knew not every community had.
I dove under and pulled myself through the water,
broke the surface,
and flipped onto my back,
kicking my feet
and taking lazy backstrokes.
I remembered staying in the water
so long when I was young that my fingers turned pruny,
my hair turned green at the tips,
and when I'd finally been pried out for the night,
I could feel a bit of water in my chest with every deep breath.
For now,
I'd had enough.
I was refreshed and ready for my lounge chair.
I swam to the ladder
and reached up,
feeling the warm aluminum under my hands.
I pulled myself up
and climbed out onto the pool deck.
There is a scent,
pool water on concrete,
and it bloomed under me as I walked.
At my chair, I stopped to apply a bit more sunscreen
and arrange my towels,
one long under my body,
and one rolled to support my head,
and settle down in the shade.
Ah, what a feeling
That pleasant fatigue from the heat,
the coolness of the droplets
still on my skin,
the scent of my sunscreen,
and the sound of the water
lapping at the pool's edge.
I set my book at my side,
let my damp palm rest on the cover,
and closed my eyes.
I knew
I was about
to fall asleep.
I could feel it coming like a ball rolling downhill,
picking up momentum,
about to carry me off.
I had a fleeting thought
of going to the snack bar when I woke up,
sliding open the door
on their big ice cream cooler,
and leaning in to find a red twin popsicle.
later
right now
I would just drift away
Pool Day
It was the place to be today
on a hot late summer day
one with a cloudless sky
and almost too much sun.
The village pool
was calling my name.
I walked up the path to the gate,
my beach bag slung over my shoulder,
and my flip-flops slapping against the concrete.
I could hear a few voices
calling out Marco
and Polo,
the riffling sound of umbrella fabric in the breeze,
and the almost audible hum of heat in the atmosphere.
The gate creaked a bit
As I lifted the latch and walked through
And I fumbled in my bag for my sun hat,
Clapping it on to my head,
And sighing with the relief of shade over my eyes
and the sweet sight of the village pool
with plenty of open lounge chairs
and shady spots to stretch out in.
I've been coming here since I was in water wings.
In fact,
I'd taken swim classes in the shallow end
and learned just enough about diving
to avoid belly flops on the board.
It was a large rectangular pool
with faded painted lines
on the concrete surround,
a tall lifeguard's chair,
a snack bar,
and changing rooms
that added up to one of my favorite places
to spend a summer day.
I strolled down the side of the pool,
watching a few people on floats
and inner tubes,
enjoying the sun and cool water,
and began my hunt
for the perfect spot.
I've always been tickled
by the fact that
when we are out in the sun
at the beach
or by the pool,
we all recognize that
we are going to need to lie down.
Even folks who struggle to relax and rest
will almost always surrender
to the urge to be horizontal
when under the sun
and near the water.
and I was not a person who struggled to relax.
I rather hoped
we could extend the custom
to more places,
loungers at the lanes,
trundle beds at the train station,
cots at the cafe.
I hoped it would be the wave of the future.
Speaking of waves,
a swimmer breaststroking through a lane
at the far end of the pool
was hardly making any,
and I was impressed
While I could certainly swim a few laps,
tread water when needed,
and sometimes float stretched out on my back.
I didn't have good form,
didn't even know
what it was and wasn't.
The swimmer flipped in the water
as he came to the wall,
pushed off, and started another lap.
I thought it must be a meditative
kind of movement
the rhythm that would build up
as you worked
back and forth across the pool,
creating
a calm inner space.
The lounge chairs were set out in rows
with plenty of umbrellas
scattered among them,
and I settled my bag onto one
in a quiet, empty section.
The umbrella nearby was still closed,
and it took a few moments to crank it open
and tilt it
until my chair was well shaded.
My bag held a paper bag,
a mystery that
I'd found in the little library on my corner the week before.
I'd fallen asleep reading it in bed
and planned to do exactly the same thing
on this lounge chair.
But first, I needed a couple of towels.
I stashed my flip-flops under the chair and headed toward the cabana.
It was a squat, square building,
with changing rooms on either side,
and a towel desk in the front.
The changing rooms were surprisingly beautiful,
and I remembered being amazed by them when I was a child.
They had high windows
that let aquacolored light in,
and along the walls and floors
were tile mosaics
showing fish
and mermaids
and fountains overflowing with sparkling water.
Although I already had my swimsuit on under my sundress,
I still poked my head in
just to admire the tiles
and listen to the way the voices from outside
echoed against the walls.
I grabbed two giant towels from the booth
and made my way back around the pool.
The cement under my feet was hotter than I expected,
but I sort of enjoyed the way
it tingled against my souls.
The idea of a swim
was sounding better by the minute.
I dropped my towels off
on my chair
and slipped out of my dress,
hanging it from a spoke of the umbrella.
my steps grew more hurried on the hot walkways,
and I heard a voice in my head
that had been planted from childhood
saying,
No running by the pool.
I chuckled and went carefully.
The pool had a sun shelf,
with a series of wide steps
leading in at one corner,
and several ladders here and there.
I decided on the stairs
and that first step in
was heavenly.
The water was cool and refreshing,
and suddenly I wanted to be surrounded by it.
Step by step,
I plunged forward
until I was up to my shoulders.
The way the coolness
spread through my body
from my first swim as a kid
to this one
and every dip in between
it never got old.
It always felt so good.
I sighed,
happy and grateful
for this resource I knew not every community had.
I dove under
and pulled myself through the water,
broke the surface
and flipped onto my back,
kicking my feet and taking lazy backstrokes.
I thought of the times
when I was young
that I'd stayed in the water so long
that my fingers turned pruny,
my hair turned green at the tips,
and when I'd finally been pried out for the night
I could feel a bit of water rattling in my chest with every breath.
For now, I'd had enough.
I was refreshed
and ready for my lounge chair.
I swam to a ladder
and reached up,
feeling the warm aluminum under my hands.
I pulled myself up,
climbed out onto the pool deck.
There's a scent,
so familiar, pool water on concrete,
and it bloomed under me as I walked.
At my chair I stopped to apply
a bit more sunscreen
and arrange my towels.
One long under my body,
and one rolled to support my head
and settled down in the shade.
What a feeling
that pleasant fatigue from the heat
The coolness of the droplets still on my skin
The scent of my sunscreen
And the sound of the water
lapping at the pool's edge
I set my book at my side,
let my damp palm rest on the cover,
and closed my eyes.
I knew
I was about
to fall asleep.
I could feel it coming
like a ball rolling downhill,
picking up momentum,
about to carry me off.
I had a fleeting thought
of going to the snack bar when I woke up,
sliding open the door on their big ice cream cooler,
and leaning in to find a red twin popsicle
later,
right now
I would just
drift
away
sweet dreams.