Tag Archives: Water

Pool

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With the hurricane and rain coming in buckets in the South, this is sure a pathetic use of the word “water,” but I have always loved this photo. It was in a swimming pool in Lahaina, Maui.

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That’s my dad behind me, but I probably didn’t have to tell you that.

How do you get in the water, you ask. For the pool at home, I have a nifty piece of equipment. Don’t ask me to explain the physics, but it uses water pressure to lower a chair into the pool. All you do is simply attach a hose to the mechanical chair, and the seat turns and lowers. All I can say, there are people in the world much smarter than I!

Drought-Schmought

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As you know, I live in Southern California. And as you probably know, we have had the driest couple years on record. I think I can count the rainy days we had this past this winter on both hands. Actually that might be a tad generous.

But I’m so sick of hearing about how badly we need rain! Everyone acts like it’s something we did. You can’t drive down the street without seeing banners attached to streetlights nagging us to be “Water Wise.” We are encouraged to buy things like low-flow toilets and washing machines that use less water. Governor Jerry Brown made restrictions like how often you can water your lawn. We are encouraged to rip our yards out and go with a “desert landscape.” We haven’t (and won’t), but our next-door neighbors have stopped watering all together. Personally I just think they’re lazy, but shouldn’t we get twice the water allotment since they’re using none?

It’s hard to take the drought seriously when city sprinklers are on on a rainy day, which often happens. Make up your mind: save or don’t.

…even in the rain.

Image courtesy voiceofsandiego.org

Girly Goy

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My nine-year-old Corgi, Margaret Elizabeth (such a feminine name for such an unfeminine dog!), exudes tomboy. She is a boy with female parts. A goy or a birl. I look out the French doors of my room and she could either be rolling around on the grass in the backyard, as though she is having a grand mal seizure, or chasing one of the many lizards that live back there.

On my 31st birthday last July, I wanted to take her to the Huntington Beach dog beach. I could see it now: she was going to have a blast splashing and playing in the waves with the other dogs! Her inner boy could come out!

At least, that’s how I imagined it.

What dog wouldn't love spending a day here?

What dog wouldn’t love spending a day here?

Here’s what happened:

Arriving there:

Erin: Maggie, you’re going to have fun, I love the beach!

Maggie: I hope so, just not sure about this stuff under my feet. I don’t really like it.

Erin: It’s called sand. It’s hard at first, but you’ll have so much fun you’ll forget about it.

 

Answer: my dog.

Answer: my dog.

Claiming our spot:

(Watching the other dogs playing in the water. There were Labs, Beagles, and mutts. No Corgi. Yet.)

Erin: Let’s go down by the water.

Maggie: What’s water?

Erin: It’s like what you drink, but at the beach you play in it. Look at how much fun those dogs are having!

 

Maggie having no part of it.

Maggie having no part of it.

 

Without even getting a paw wet, my goy had had enough. We spent another hour at the beach, occasionally one of my family members taking her back to the water, with no success. She was braver more comfortable on the blanket.

 

What. A. Day.

What. A. Day.

 

 

When we finally left—none too soon for Maggie—my dog rested the whole way home and a lot of the next day. She was exhausted. FROM WHAT, I still wonder.

Maybe next time we’ll try the mountains. Or the desert. Or even the backyard. Just not the beach.