Walk slowly around, trying not to stir the sediments
I was patient, but the miracle of the self-cleaning pool was not manifest.
The kids are older; they’ve learned the difference between work and “look how much fun it can be to vacuum the pool”. Although my hopes are shattered, I’ve had a very zen evening. The pool is cleaner (a relative term), I’m cooler from the evaporation of water from my torso, and my blood pressure is probably lower (that zen thing).
Actually, I’d like to go back to school and audit a course in fluid dynamics. I want to know why the blobs of dark sediment form where they do. Why does the pattern resemble a healthy Holstein-Friesian fur? And how does that pool vacuum thing function – there’s no vacuum involved, just a side effect of our pump and filter? Why does the black stuff come out green when I perform the ritual backwash? On second thought, maybe that’s too much information.
The slow, thoughtful walk around the pool reminded me of my first pool cleaning session. The one where we had gone in, under cover of dark, found the water to be very cold, were captured by the enemy (pool owners) with their impressively agressive Alsatian dog and then faced the ignonomy of explaining our actions to our parents, in the company of the local constable. We weren’t charged (whew!), but we were required to spend the next sunny afternoon by the pool. Not in, by. With cleaning utensils and a resolve to go and sin no more, avoiding the near occasions of sin.
It was the only pool in the whole neighbourhood: what else could we do but perform a swim test?
