Kiddie Pool

Being as I am, a great big scardy-cat around water, it is interesting to find that I have made peace with the wet stuff.  This was not some great big revelation on my part, nor was it a deliberate attempt to subdue my phobia.  This recent detente has come about from the application of plastic and air.  In other words, an inflatable swimming pool.

An inflatable pool is everything that an in-ground pool is not.   It does not have a deep end.  It does not have a pool filter.  It does not stay refreshingly cool in 100+ degree temperatures.  It is not deep enough to swim in if you are an average adult sized human. If you invite your friends over to an inflatable pool party when you are an adult they will not think it is cool or hip. An inflatable pool does not ooze ambiance, nor does it remind you of a tropical oasis.   Although there are many different models and some of them are quite large, ours is not.   In fact, our inflatable pool looks almost as if some incredibly large insect decided to start building a bubble nest on our lawn but then got distracted.

However, what is great about an inflatable pool is that it is nothing like an in-ground pool.  It not only does not have a deep end, but it holds a reasonable amount of water, so you don't have to go broke filling it nor do you have to feel any guilt about having one during the worst drought in 100 years.  It does not have a filter, but it does not need one because when you are finished using it for the day you just empty the water out (which can be used to water the garden since there are no chemicals) and you can refill it with fresh water the next time you want to set it up.  You also don't have to keep it in one place and in fact by moving it from place to place you won't even kill the grass.  Although some are relatively small, a moderate sized inflatable pool can hold two adults with ease.  Our pool in fact not only has enough room for two adults, but also has enough room for a Border Collie and Westie as well.  The best thing about our inflatable pool is that it cost us just $25.

Our biggest trouble with our pool is training our dogs on pool etiquette.  We have a two pool system.  This means we have a hard sided plastic kiddie pool that we got for our Border Collie set up just outside the larger pool.  The rules are that you must enter and exit the big pool via the plastic pool.  This is very necessary because we want the delay the inevitable 'pool becoming a muddy pond' for as long as possible.  Now our Westie follows the rules, but he pretty much has to because the sides of the inflatable pool are too tall for him to comfortably climb without assistance.

The Border Collie on the other hand can easily clear the pool edge - and from a distance of about 15 feet away when she is running.  It takes every bit of 'dominant dog' posturing by me and my husband to get her to comply with the wading pool entry system.  Once she is in the pool she has several favorite things she likes to do.  One of these is to bite the water and stick her face underwater while blowing bubbles out of her nose.  This really revs her up which often means she will come over and attempt to nibble on your ears or even your neck.  When she stands up, the pool at its full depth will only just reach her belly, so she likes to sit down to let the water get on her back.  If the water hose is still running she likes to chase and bite the water stream as well.   All of this takes place within about sixty seconds because she will then leap out of the pool and run over to a garden bed to hunt lizards.  We are not sure just exactly what sort of primeval thing is being played out, but once she is out of the pool she is instantaneously transformed into obsessed lizard huntress.  This often means we are transformed into frantic lizard guardians.  So, it is true that a swimming pool can help you burn calories.

The Westie on the other hand is an enchanting pool partner.  Once you help him into the pool he takes on this beatific look as if in some sort of transcendental zen like state.  The water is usually deep enough that it almost covers his back.  This causes this little back legs to occasionally float.  He does not swim, but slowly walks around making little uff-uff grunting noises.  He will come to life if we squirt the water hose in the pool and will madly attack it, leaping like some sort of slow motion Westie/Manatee creature.  Sometimes though he prefers to do pool sitting which is where he climbs on top of whatever part of me or my husband he can reach.  This is annoying because of his dagger like assortment of nails, or as I like to call them, his tools.  After a few minutes he is usually done and wants out where upon he then likes to roll in dirt and hay.  This turns him into the abominable dirt dog and makes us have to hose him off before we can allow reentry into the pool.

Definitely a two thumbs and two dew claws up winner in our books.  So, bring it on Mega-summer, we are all keeping cool in our unattractive but perfectly functional inflatable pool. 

Colorado - Episode 2

Every year as it starts to get despicably hot, like unfortunately it is right now, my mind begins to dwell on my family's summer get away from our coastal heat and humidity - Colorado.  Every year we went it was a different adventure and every year it seemed somehow we came away with a greater knowledge and appreciation of ourselves, our family and low humidity, moderate temperature living.

Now this is not to say that these adventures did not also come with their own ordeals.  We often met the unexpected, ran out of essentials or just ran into bad luck.  Somehow, the knowledge we gained from one misadventure never seemed to help us to avoid another situation.  It was as if each time we went there was some great fateful roll of the dice and we would be coping with a new type event.

Take for example the time my father, my sister and I were out camping.  We were definitely into roughing it in that we would go for a week, camping in a tent with sleeping bags and only rudimentary sanitary facilities.  Getting to stay at a camp site with a 'hole in the ground' toilet was a luxury.  I must mention that my sister and I were still of an age that going for a week without a bath was nothing but a welcome relief.  By the end of the trip we would be smelling of camp fire smoke, fish bait and damp sleeping bags, but we loved it.

On this one trip we were at the end of a several day outing that had our camp supplies running a bit low.  The next day we would be moving our campsite, so we would be stocking up again at one of the stores that was currently miles away from where we were.  It looked to be a meager meal since that day we had not caught any fish. Our provisions were down to a single can of chicken soup, a box of Bisquick and a couple of pieces of bread.  As my father was getting ready to heat up the can of soup over our cook stove, I happened to notice the Bisquick package had a recipe for dumplings.  Dumplings for me were these heavenly things my great grandmother had made for me along with a fresh helping of homemade chicken soup.  They were like little soft sided biscuits floating in a savory broth.  I pointed out the recipe to my father, more of as an aside than actually thinking we could make them. 

Cooking at 7500 feet of elevation is not an easy proposition.  Water will look like it is hot when it is barely even warm.  There are whole cookbooks devoted to correct ways to cook at high altitude.  We had no such a book and even if we had I doubt we would have paid it much attention.  My father thought for some reason that I knew how to go about making dumplings.  Eating dumplings was as close as I had ever come, but I liked it that he thought I had a great idea.  So we mixed up this jam jar full of Bisquick and water.  He kept asking me if he had mixed it correctly and I, savoring the attention kept saying 'yes'.  My sister was keeping to herself in the background, either uninterested in our experiment or perhaps just too weak with hunger to comment.

Everything was going great with the soup in the pan steaming, which it unfortunately would do when barely tepid.  I was re-reading the Bisquick box which said to put spoonfuls of the batter into boiling water.  The soup looked to be boiling so I told my father to put the batter in.  I failed to explain the exact way he was to do this so he just dumped the entire jar of batter in at once and began stirring the mixture vigorously.  Apparently he and I shared a lack of cooking expertise. 

I was a little stunned by his method, but I didn't say anything.  After all, the deed had been done and my saying the batter should have been spooned in and not stirred wasn't going to change a thing.  The pot that had once contained a meager but perfectly functional chicken soup, now contained a maelstrom of thick white goo.  The bits of chicken and carrots just made it look like some sort of raw dough trash.  We all took a look at it and decided that we really were not as hungry as we thought we were. There is nothing like the promise of something absolutely awful to staunch even the strongest appetite.  I think I ended up eating a piece of bread for dinner that night.

We survived and the next morning we broke camp and high tailed it to the closest store.  I thought we had gotten off relatively easy, none of us having to suffer through actually eating the culinary disaster.  Little did I know that this would be the start of a lifelong legend.

To this day when we are trying to decide where we might want to go to eat, or if the subject of camping comes up my father will look over at me, wink, and say, "Hey, I know, I think we have some Bisquick..."