The Pool Boy's Socks

I envision how our backyard pool will look when I finish work on it:

No, this is not our pool and I don’t know who the bathing beauty is, but this picture from the net epitomizes the finished pool in my mind.

Unfortunately, I have a ways to go yet.

Still shoveling dirt.

Friday, my daughter Eve came over to help me work. She sawed a sheet of plywood and built a platform for the pump and filtration system. (Eve acquired building skills by volunteering to build houses for Habitant For Humanity when she was a teenager). She helped mow. She vacuumed my neighbor’s pool (one of my usual Friday duties). She squeezed air bubbles from under our pool liner.

And to start the day, Eve put my socks on my feet.

Yes, my arthritis hurt so bad today that I couldn’t pull on my own socks!

And here I keep the mental image of myself as a macho guy -- faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap off tall buildings in a single bound, defender of truth, justice, and the American way of life….

No, wait a minuet. That’s Superman.

I was never able to do any of that stuff … But I’ve never before needed my daughter to help me put my socks on either.

As Eve helped me, naturally my thoughts turned to my favorite church service; the church we sometimes attend practices foot washing each year on the Thursday before Easter. That is by far the happiest occasion in the church year. Inevitably some guy tickles his wife’s feet. A playful slap follows. Kids giggle as daddy washes their feet. Somebody always tips a basin over. Laughter reigns in the sanctuary … Just as Jesus said it should:

“Ye call me Master and Lord: and ye say well; for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Master have washed your feet; ye also ought to wash one another’s feet… If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them”.

Anyhow, Eve put my socks on me and worked with me all day. Here’s a photo she took of the tools we used. I keep them lined up in order so I don’t end up burying my own shovel:

Once Ginny & I saw this movie about a pool boy named Hershel. He knocked on the doors of suburban homes to be greeted by bikini-clad young lovelies anxious to have their pools cleaned among other things. The mere sight of the pool boy inspired these women into amorous fits. Deep in my fundamentalist Christian heart, I’ve always envied Hershel. What a neat way to make a living. Pay isn’t much, but Hershel did enjoy certain fringe benefits.

Now that I’ve been working as an official pool boy for the past few weeks, I wonder it the sight of me in my pool getup would similarly inspire the bikini girls???

Here’s a photo of me in my pool boy outfit:

No, black socks with shorts are not a geriatric fashion statement; I’ve wallowed in so much dirt all week that these are the last clean pair I own. Notice the chic clothespins clipped to my shirt for easy access while adjusting the liner. Do I look like a lopsided porcupine? And, incidentally, Donald’s old shirt that I’m wearing carries the physic’s formula W=FxD, Work equals force times distance -- which I think is a scientist’s way of saying, “Avoid being forced to work by keeping yoru distance".

Don't I look cool?

Eat your heart out, Hershel!

Cowart, your pool boy replacement, is on the prowl.

Ginny’s office, which I think involved about a hundred people, has finally moved. Now all they have to do is find their desks, computers and chairs in the chaos. Gin says a lot of trash meant to be thrown out at the old building, got moved to the new building. Happens every move. She’s glad that part of the job is over.

For our usual Friday Night Date, we dinned in a romantic private alcove at Jimmy’s Fried Chicken where we lingered and chatted and got re-acquainted. Then, because it is a soft summer evening with drifting clouds, wafting breezes, and a rising moon, we spent our intimate time together at Home Depot getting more fixtures for that pool!

One final thought about socks:

In First Century Jerusalem men didn’t wear socks with their open-toed sandals and the camels, horses and donkeys plying the streets were not equipped with emissions control devices.

Jesus did not wash the disciples’ feet just to institute a quaint religious ceremony.

He washed their feet because their feet were dirty.

What a Savior! He is absolutely terrific!