The Good Old Summertime

It is profoundly satisfying to walk my children up the long Newark St. hill to the Cleveland Park Club and swim with them in the same pool where I learned to swim 30 years ago. Not much has changed about the place. The pre-teens still play rover in the deep end. We walk down the same wooden beam stairs to the sand area. Things are "nicer" in the same way and gradient that the entire neighborhood is "nicer." That is, renovated and more expensive. But still simple. A rare quality, it seems. Jasper is having the time of his life, and not only because Pepe lets him watch as much tv and eat as many popsicles as he likes. He especially enjoys playing with Maggie, our four-year-old neighbor. I have great fun watching them play imaginary games all day. Maggie declares she is a fairy and threatens to sprinkle him with magic dust. Jasper shoots her with his invisible webs. She sprinkles. He shoots. They both squeal and run. For hours. Josie has loved her time in the pool. Today she mastered clapping, little fists finally opening up like primroses. She also started to scooch backwards, shocking herself that mobility is actually an option. She screams in frustration when that elusive cup gets further and further away. It's good to see her get a little fired up at last.