How the Mighty Have Fallen — Redux!

It’s that time of year again… the time when my family responsibilities are downgraded to chief leaf catcher in the backyard pool.  Yesterday, I banged my knee trying to fish out a clump of stubborn maple leaves from the deep end, while simultaneously rescuing a drowning frog.  (Happy to report the frog is alive and well; my knee, however, is stiffer than the tin man’s joints in the Wizard of Oz after they left him out in a rain storm.)  Anyway, amid the excitement of my heroic lifeguarding feats and the pain of the aftermath, I remembered this post from last year about my pool follies… my daughter said it’s one of her favorites, so here goes… “How The Might Have Fallen Redux.”  Happy Labor Day Weekend one and all!!  George

Early Autumn 2012

This once omnipotent family leader has recently been relegated to a bit player in his own kingdom.  I’m one step away from being left off in the stands of our local football field with a six-pack of smoothies and a note pinned to me, “His name is George, leave him at the nearest VA facility.”

This intrepid competitor will not go easily…  I recently proved my mettle, interceding in the design and decoration of a new den, replacing our screened in porch with a winterized knotty pine, tongue in groove look and a wide board oak floor of differing lengths fastened with old fashioned iron nails. Two beams and an open ceiling with a large sky light will leave plenty of room for a large Christmas tree.

Dorothy and my kids huddled with the builder, “accidentally” forgetting to invite me to the project kick-off meeting. (Though somehow they had no problem later remembering to present me with the bill.)  Together, they agreed upon the scope and timeline for the project, the type of heating and insulation, the size and shape of the windows and skylight, the location of the electric and cable TV outlets, the type of wood paneling, as well as the patina and color of the stain.  Even my eldest grandson got a piece of the action, casting his vote on where to locate my grandfather’s antique brass ship lanterns, which now hang proudly on the wall abutting our kitchen.

And what about me?  The grand patriarch of the family and resident eminence grise?

I was put in charge of one decision they all assured me was hugely important.  I had my doubts, but they were awfully convincing.  I got to choose which side of the pine paneling would face out, the one with the wainscoting look or the smooth side.

I was too imperious. The short-term high contributed to my eventual fall from grace.  After hours of consultation and consternation, I called them all into the room.  Standing behind my mother’s antique blue wing chair as though it was the podium on Oscar night, I cleared my throat.  “I have made my decision…”  You could practically hear the proverbial drum roll rat-a-tat-tat in the background.  “We will go with the flat, smooth side of the paneling.”

I looked into the crowd, fully expecting rounds of awe and applause at my sage guidance and firm decisiveness.

My son was checking his Blackberry for emails.  My daughter was filing her nails.  My wife had turned her back to me completely and was busy measuring the new windows for drapes.  Only my grandson was paying attention.  “Any questions?” I asked him.  “Yeah,” he replied.  “Can I go watch TV now?”

I retreated to plot my next move, escaping to my sanctuary, the family pool.  Following generations before me, swimming always helps me find my balance.  Plus, when you are underwater, no one can yell at you for having the TV up too loud or having coffee cake crumbs dribbled across your sweater.

Imagine my surprise two days later when I stepped into the den to discover that the entire room had been paneled in the beaded wainscoting look I had firmly rejected.  Once again, I had been ignored and overruled.  Just as I was about to explode, Dorothy pointed out that they had actually done one of the four walls the way I wanted, then she proceeded to say that, by the way, they would probably build in floor-to-ceiling book shelves there, the group was still deciding.

Outraged at having my entreaties once again go unheard let alone be acted on, I dramatically exited the house, slamming the screen door behind me and hopped (ok, at my age, more like wobbled into the pool).  I was speed walking back and forth in the shallow end of the pool when all of a sudden my strapping son appeared by the fence, staring down at me.

“Say, Dad, I know you feel a little left out on this whole home renovation.  But not to worry.  We have another, extremely critical project for you.  One of vital importance not just to you, but to the entire family, the two Labradors and everyone on the block.”

I have to admit, I was intrigued.  Finally, a job to sink my teeth into.  One that reflected my decades of experience and proper place in the pecking order.

“Son,” I said.  “Bring it on.”

“Ok, Dad, Here’s the deal,” he leaned across the fence and solemnly lowered his voice. “It’s very important at this time of year to keep as many leaves as possible from sinking to the bottom of the pool.  No one, not the dogs or the neighbors or anyone else wants to swim in a pool that’s dirty on the bottom.  Your job is stay in the pool for as long as you can every day for the next week and fish the leaves out.  We’ll take care of everything else with the new room and the builders.  Are you up for this mission?”

Hmmm. Not what I had expected.  I had hoped that we would strategize together on all the home improvement tasks at hand.  Instead of which he tossed me an oversized pea green styrofoam noodle and handed me the pool skimmer, a long handled aluminum scooper, much like a crab-net with a taut porous, fine mesh, ideal for skimming floating debris.

As the week unfolded, I sat astride my pea green noodle like an infantryman riding his stallion into battle, brandishing the pool skimmer and patrolling the length and breadth of the pool for leaves on the surface, sinking or fluttering in the air.  Like a lacrosse defenseman with a long handle stick, I quickly, deftly adapted – no leaf was safe.  Mine was a lonely task, but someone had to do it.  If this were to be my mission, isolated, alone, blue-lipped and waterlogged, I would do it with élan and glory.

Sometimes my three younger grandchildren would venture towards the pool fence, curling their adorable little fingers around the chickenwire.  “Poppy,” they’d say, “You missed a couple down by the deep end.”  “Watch this!” I’d reply, zooming to the other end of the pool.”  Swish.  Swish.  Chuck.  I’d skim the surface of the water, retrieve the leaves and shoot them over the side of the pool.

Whether scooping leaves from the surface or cornering them at a depth, I racked up a score!  Occasionally, even plucking them out of the air like the all-star I was fast becoming, I settled into my mission with a quiet confidence.

Meanwhile, the other family members ticked through the various decisions and tasks involved in finishing the renovation.  The builder’s van zoomed in and out of the driveway.  A rental truck pulled up and strange men unloaded furniture that had long ago been placed in storage.  Empty cardboard boxes for a new TV and iPod speakers littered the back porch.  (Did we even own iPod?  What exactly is iPod ?)  Buzz saws grrrrred.  Vacuums groaned.  New track lighting blinked on and off.  All the while, I bobbed up and down on my noodle, hunting down leaves and the occasional infidel frog trying to invade the “homeland” or should I say “homepool.”

“Need any help?” I would offer occasionally – my voice, weakened by the constant exposure, wafted over the fence to my various family members, busily darting in and out, carrying boxes and tools.

“No worries, Dad, we got it,” they’d reply.

Over the course of the entire week, I patrolled the length of our pool countless times.  I pulled muscles I didn’t know I even had anymore.  My hair turned green from chlorine.

On the brighter side, I did get to hone my skills astride my pea green noodle, wielding my lance with the net on the end like a weapon, and I lost three pounds.  Should leaf chasing become an Olympic event, look for me at the trials!!  By the way, somehow, without the benefit of my superior input, the new room is finished and looks great!  Best of all, my favorite chair sits right next to “my wall.”  The King’s throne in the newest corner of his fiefdom.  Who knows, if I get lucky, I might even be allowed to sit in it!