This Very Night

Hello all. Sorry for the long gap between posts. I could claim to be swamped with work or family issues or the usual stuff, and I am, but in real life I haven't left the house in nine months except to get groceries or see doctors and, very occasionally, to go to the actual office to do actual office things. So I have no excuse, really. Before I go off on the riff of the moment, though, I would like to say that the North Texas Food Bank is really hurting right now, trying to provide, as they are, for a lot of folks who have lost their jobs during the pandemic, not to mention the many, many folks who are going to lose unemployment benefits at the end of the month no matter what Congress does. One in 5 Texans is food insecure, meaning, not sure where his or her next meal is coming from, and a lot of those folks are children. So if you're doing any Christmas giving this year, please consider donating to NTFB. Okay, end of commercial. 

 Caution: This is a recap. If you've been hanging around these parts long enough, you know that my favorite band is Big Country. That's the Scottish band that had the one big hit in 1983, won the Best New Artist Grammy (or was at least nominated for it; I forget which) and then seemed to vanish like smoke (resurging briefly to record "The One I Love" in, I think, 1993, when I was frequently driving across the desert at night to see my new girlfriend and it always seemed to be on the radio). Only they didn't disappear, of course; they just fell victim to the vagaries of the Copyright Act of 1985 and some bad management decisions and never really made it back across the ocean again. But, they continued as a band in Europe and the rest of the world and put out eight brilliant albums over twelve years before their lead singer, Stuart Adamson, died tragically in Hawaii. 

 So Big Country was without a singer. In 2011, almost ten years after Stuart's death, Big Country's 30th anniversary came up and fans were demanding some kind of gathering to celebrate (this was in the U.K., though people I knew from the U.S. actually did fly over there to attend it). In order to have an actual band for the occasion, the surviving members of Big Country called up Mike Peters, the lead singer of the band The Alarm (biggest hit: Probably "Rain in the Summertime") and asked him to fill in. There's this funny story, which is probably totally bogus, that Mike was halfway up a mountain in Wales at the time and accepted the job on his cell phone while hanging from a carabiner. 

Anyway, the show went unbelievably well, everybody loved it and Big Country asked Mike to stay on full time. Which he did, and Big Country ended up recording The Journey, its first studio album since 1994, in 2013. The band did a tour of Europe and the United States, including three shows in Texas that I, Jen, went on the road to see (taking along a reluctant Joan, who doesn't do concerts). Yes, I followed a band around Texas. No, I'm not considering a future career as a Dead Head. It was actually really hard work. But the shows were brilliant, Mike Peters is awesome, and no matter what happens in the future or what else he ends up doing, I will always think of him as The Guy Who Brought Big Country Back From The Dead. Which, you gotta admit, is a pretty nifty epitaph if you need one.

After that, Mike Peters returned to The Alarm, which is fine, because they're my second-favorite band. And tonight, THIS VERY NIGHT, The Alarm is hosting a Christmas Gathering, to be simulcast all over the world at the same time (I'm not sure how they do this but I think it has to do with GPS satellites and a wad of duct tape). If you have never experienced The Alarm, they're like Bob Dylan meets The Clash with a little bit of Billy Idol. Definitely a lot of fun live, and you can get a ticket here. It's a virtual ticket. You can stream it on the device of your choice. 

 I should add, I normally play D&D on Saturday nights. So I've told my gang that a group of minstrels is going to show up and take over for a couple of hours while our characters get some much-needed rest in the shadow of the pyramid. The pyramid? Yeah, see, there's this pyramid, and we're exploring it, 

and--never mind. D&D never makes any sense unless you're actually there. 

So I hope you can make it, if you are interested. If not, cheers and carry on and I'll see you next post.

A Post About Kittens

Stock photo. I don't know any of them.

 Because why not? Everybody loves kittens.  Even non-cat people (and I've heard there are some of you out there) like kittens. In the middle of the free-for-all that has become our national media, I figure everybody could use a kitten or two or three around now.  So forget about who's going to be President and let's just talk about kittens for a while here. 

In our case, kittens just show up, but maybe you'll get one from an animal shelter or a neighbor or a cat rescue outfit.  However you end up with a kitten, kittens are a gift.  Spend all the time with them that you can.  The unbearably cute and cuddly phase doesn't last long and you will want to play with them as much as you can--at least until they fall over asleep, which they sometimes will do.  Then you can catch a nap with them. 

Freddie in his natural habitat

A kitten story:  This is Freddie. He was a foster kitten, rescued from the back yard of somebody who plainly didn't want kittens and wasn't taking very good care of them, or of their mom. My neighbor basically stole him.  We were going to keep him until a kitten rescue outfit could find him a home - not always easy to do mid-kitten season, when there are thousands of kittens that need homes.  Spay and neuter your pets, folks.  Please.

Home office working conditions intolerable.

Freddie loved to be on a person.  At night he would get under the blanket with me (the other cats were jealous, so Freddie was confined to a room at night, and I got the honor).  During the day, he wanted to be sitting on Joan's chest except for when he was running around, playing and eating.  We couldn't keep him in his designated room.  He was small enough to fit under the door, and as soon as he figured this out, he was all over the house.  The other cats watched him zoom by sort of the way you'd watch a tennis match. 

Unfortunately we only had Freddie for a short time.  He got sick and died very suddenly, for reasons unknown. The vet couldn't even tell us.  That's one problem with kittens.  They look fierce but they are very fragile.  Something like 8% of kittens are stillborn and 9% die before eight weeks. (That's a study of purebreds, which of course are treated with kid gloves and get the best medical care available, so the actual death rate is probably much higher.)  Freddie was spoiled rotten for the last several days of his short life, though.  I think he was pretty happy.  

Another kitten story:  Joan's Mom really liked cats, but couldn't have one because she was allergic.  She knitted cat mats, thick little woven rugs, for cats in animal shelters.  One of the shelters she frequently knitted for had an open house, and we took her to meet some of the cats and see where her mats ended up.  During the tour, we went into the kitten room.  There were probably 20 kittens in there, and they had never seen a wheelchair before.  They thought this was the best new toy ever.  Mrs. Condell was suddenly besieged with 20 curious kittens climbing all over her, checking out the spokes of the wheels, attacking the straps that hung down the back, and just in general having a great time.  I think it took us about 20 minutes to get back out of the kitten room because we'd take off two kittens and four more would pile on.  One of those moments that I wish I had on video.  They didn't have video cell phones back in those Dark Age days, though.  

Anyway, this is something I learned recently.  Kittens, as it turns out, like to be cuddled for a very good reason.  When they are small (and believe me, they start out very small), they have trouble regulating their body temperature, ie, they get chilled easily.  This is why kittens ball together in a group when they sleep; sharing body heat keeps everybody warm.  You've probably noticed, if you've been around kittens, that they generally don't protest when you pick them up and hold them.  Of course not.  They're leaching off your body heat, the little vampires.  Kittens can also get very sick if they get chilled, so staying warm is a survival instinct. Did you think that little guy was just crazy about you and that's why he let you hold him?  Maybe.  Or maybe you're just warm-blooded.  Either way, feel honored.  

So what happens, you may wonder, as a kitten gets older and starts turning into a cat?  Well, once they're over about two pounds, the problem of keeping themselves warm becomes less of a problem.  They still probably like to be cuddled, but they'll get squirmy at this point and want to be put down so they can go chase a bug, or climb the curtains, or ruin your stockings, or do those other things that kittens do.   

Around 7-8 months, kittens morph into kittenagers.  This is when you start seeing "aloof behavior" in cats.  And you should expect to.  After all, they're teens.  They're figuring out that they're independent beings, they're testing the rules, they're wanting to get into fights with other cats to see how tough they are, and once in a while they will want to borrow the car.  (Don't lend it to them without checking with your insurance company.)  And like all teenagers everywhere, they will not want to be cuddled very often.  Their body heat is fine, thank you, and by the way you suck, and can you drive me and Heather to the mall?  

This, like everything else about growing up, is a phase.  Around 1 1/2 to 2 years, cats finish their growth, fill out a little bit and settle into adulthood.  Regardless of what relationship you've had with your cat up until now, you will probably start a new one around this time.  This is when you find out who your cat really is.  The "aloof behavior" may continue but it will probably at least fade; cats know who their people are by now, and they're probably pretty attached to you. They will show up and ask to be petted. They will get into a routine with you, expecting to be played with and fed and settle down for naps with you at specific times (and specific days - cats figure out weekends pretty quickly).  Grayson the Cat in particular couldn't stand to be picked up until about six months ago, when he started not to mind so much, and he's still not a lap cat, but after basically not speaking to me the first year we had him (we adopted him mid-kittenager) to wanting to lie down on me when I go to bed or settle in to the couch with a good book.  

Now here's the down side of cat development.  Guess when cats are most likely to be surrendered for adoption?  Between the ages of 7-8 months and 2 years.  (Most common reason:  "I had to move, and the new place won't accept pets.") Right when they've stopped being nice kittens and started acting like teenagers.  I find this tragic.  I think if more people knew about the growth and development of cats, fewer people would be moving into these new anti-pet apartments and more people would be willing to wait out kittenager-hood. 

Giving up a cat for adoption is terribly traumatic for a cat and it takes them a long time to bond with a new family.  (We've had Grayson for two years and he's just come around to deciding we're Mom.) Please don't do this.  If you have a problem with cat behavior, talk to your veterinarian; very often it's a simple thing that can be fixed.  If it's just aloofness, wait it out.  It will pass.  

So, if you are about to adopt a kitten or a young cat, please plan for some aloofness as the cat enters adolescence.  And if you know somebody who's about to adopt a cat, please tell them about kittenager-hood and aloofness.  Cats need permanent, forever homes.  In a perfect world, a person would pick up a kitten (or two or three) and have them until they died of old age. 

By the way, if you like kittens but don't have one for whatever reason, your local animal shelter could probably use some volunteers.  I'm just sayin'. 

The Eyes Have it

Well: I  am happy to report that Joan and I had A Talk about my finding an indoor pool.  SMU's pool operations office continues not to answer the phone, which is not a good sign; and the Baylor pool is open, but they're only letting in their own members, and the membership is pricey; so that's kind of out for right now too.  However, we decided that the lackluster pool at the gym is probably fine if it's not crowded.  (Not that I'm complaining about the pool at the gym; I was swimming in a lake full of fishpoop, fergodsake, so I can handle a pool at a gym, though honestly, they could clean it more often.)  I made my way over there yesterday and got a lane to myself.  The lane is probably about seven feet wide and 25 yards long, which seemed like appropriate social distance.  I wore a mask on the way in and on the way out, and I didn't shower or use any of the other facilities.  So I think I'm okay, COVID-wise.  In the meantime, I somehow sprained my stupid knee, so I probably won't get back over there today, but maybe tomorrow during church time.  This is Texas; if you want a facility to yourself, go during church time. 

(And just incidentally, my Buddhist meditation group meets on Wednesday nights, so it's not like I'm not going to any religious gatherings at all, and by the way, it wouldn't be any of your business if I weren't, so there. Nyah.)

Another thing:  I am OUT OF SHAPE.  Yes, I know round is a shape.  I used to swim 1600-2000 meters (that's a mile to a mile and a quarter) as a matter of course, and yesterday I didn't even make it through 1200.  Well, the time I've had in the pool has been pretty limited, and though I'm sure I swam farther than that at the lake, it's impossible to measure, really.  I'm going to have to build back up to a full 1600 before my swim team starts up again, if it ever does.  I've been doing a lot more walking on the treadmill than I have swimming, which I guess builds up different muscles.  (And altogether now, let's hear it for the treadmill; when we first bought it I was wondering if we'd lost our minds, and then came the lockdown.  Really, really glad we had a treadmill during the lockdown and since.) 

 

So now for the big announcement:  I'm having cataract surgery in October.

Yes, I'm really 78 years old.  I just look really young.  😬 And I'm thrilled to bits about being treated for this, but it's either get treated or possibly not be able to drive at night anymore, and since we're down one driver to begin with, what're ya gonna do?  As it is, I have to round up a support person (who can drive) to accompany me on this crazy errand, plus come up with a rather alarming amount of money for the stuff my insurance doesn't cover (and as always, there's something).  Now, cataract surgery is No Big Deal anymore, they do it all the time and they hardly ever make misteaks make mystiques  do things wrong. Still, it's a little unsettling to have somebody carve into your eyeball, yank your lens out and replace it with a fake one.  The upside is, of course, that I won't need glasses anymore.  The downside is that I will still need glasses anyway, because they're only doing one eye; the other eye isn't due for years. 

Also, there are add-ons.  I guess there's always a luxury component to surgery?  I can get a spiffy lens called a PanOptic for an additional $4,000.00, which will correct my distance and close up vision until the end of recorded time.  (Though one article I read suggested that younger persons, which I guess means me, shouldn't opt for the PanOptic lens because it can lose focus over time.  Geez, for $4,000.00 shouldn't you expect quality eyeball part replacements?) Or, I can opt for the cheaper Toric lens for a mere $2,450.00 extra, which will cure my distance vision; I'll still need glasses for close vision.  Or I can opt to have a laser surgeon do the job, rather than a boring old human, for $1,000.00 extra. And whether I opt for any of the add-ons or not, I am going to need new glasses, because my vision will have changed; so add another $300-$500 to that price tag.  

Anyway, that's in October.  Then I need to get my hearing checked.  The way you know you need to get your hearing checked is that your wife tells you to get your hearing checked.  Amirite?  In all seriousness, I need to get my hearing checked; since everybody started wearing masks I find myself unable to tell what they're saying about half the time.  My sibling has been diagnosed with something that involves thinning of the bones of the ear, and has hearing aids now.  It's genetic, so it could be that.  Or it could be Central Auditory Process Disorder, which they told me I had when I was 26, getting lots worse over time.  That sounds like exactly the sort of thing they would lump in any hearing loss that they can't explain.  And of course nothing could be further from the truth, except what they said was, "Your hearing loss is all over the register and we can't explain that, so we think it's Central Auditory Process Disorder." Anyway, Google it.  It can't really be helped with hearing aids but maybe I've acquired something else over time that can.  

I gotta say, turning 50 has been expensive. And not just because my comfort has become worth more money, though that's true, too.  I wonder how much the COVID vaccine will cost, when it finally comes out, and how long it'll last, and whether or not insurance will cover it.  Maybe there'll be add-ons for that, too.  Maybe for an extra $1600 you can get one that was actually tested on humans.  

Winter Cometh, And That Right Early

I'm feeding a stray cat on the back porch (because of course I am).  She's a small cat with black and grey stripes and I think she may actually have a home, but she must not be getting her share of the kibble because when she comes over, she's always hungry.  I am constitutionally incapable of turning down a hungry cat, so she's getting the same food as my two, which is to say, The Good Stuff.   I call her Little Cat, because, well, she's not very big.  (And I'm not very creative about cat names.  The last stray I was feeding on the porch was called Orange Guy.) 

Grayson the Cat, who is a big boy, has been fascinated by Little Cat since she started showing up.  We open our back door in the morning, when it's cool, and there's a big security screen door between Grayson and Little Cat.  Still, he watches her very carefully when she's on the porch.  

Well, the other day, Grayson somehow managed to sneak out of the house while I was taking food out to Little Cat.  I'm still not sure how he did it.  He got away with it, though, because there's another gray cat in the neighborhood that looks shockingly like him.  So when I saw a gray cat outside with Little Cat, I thought, "Oh, it must be that grey guy."  I even watched the grey guy chase Little Cat around the yard.  It wasn't until later, when Grayson couldn't be found anywhere in the house, that I realized the grey cat outside might have been our grey guy.

So I went out back looking for Grayson.  I called, I shook a container full of treats.  I shone a flashlight around (it wasn't dark yet but it was getting that way).  I looked out front.  I looked around on the side.  And then I went back out back, where, after a few minutes, I heard somebody meowing.  I went further out and saw Grayson.

He was stuck between two fences.

At some point our neighbors, who thought this would be easier, I guess, put in another fence just outside of our fence.  So there are two fences running down our property line.  They can't be more than about six inches apart, but Grayson - who is just about six inches wide - was in between them.  The space was so narrow he couldn't even turn around, and apparently he couldn't go any further forward, either.  I went over to the fence and rather quickly figured out that if he climbed up the chain-link side, he'd be grabbable.  So I held some treats over his head to encourage him to climb.  

(Wouldn't this make a great Buddhist story?  A man gets stuck in a cave, can't go backward or forward, but suddenly realizes he can climb out if he looks a direction he never looked before?  Which just goes to show something or other?  I think it would make a great Buddhist story.)

So anyway, Grayson climbed up the fence until he was grabbable, and then I grabbed him and took him back into the house.  Mind you, I still wasn't sure I had the right grey cat.  They really do look a lot alike.  But when Artemis, our other cat, didn't immediately dive at him and try to kill him, I figured I must have the right cat.  Artemis is more territorial than Grayson, if that's possible.  And Grayson, who'd just had who knows what adventures, just stretched out on the coffee table and looked at us.  Not perturbed at all.  Also not perturbed at all was Little Cat, who showed back up the next morning for breakfast like nothing had happened.  And who knows?  Maybe nothing did.

Proof of cat.

Well, a cold front came through town, and temperatures dropped into the 70s.  Which is great when it's been in the 100s, but not so great if you've been doing all your swimming outdoors.  Which I have.  I've been swimming in a friend's pool during the week and going to Mallard Park at Lavon Lake on the weekends.  I got into the water at Mallard Park yesterday and it was noticeably colder.  Last time I got into a body of water and it was noticeably colder, it was the Pacific Ocean and the water temperature

had dropped from 70 to 55 overnight.  This wasn't that cold, but still, colder.  It's an ominous warning that winter is coming and that those of us who swim need to find a place inside, and as soon as possible.

Mallard Park. 

  

I am on a swim team, which has access to several great indoor pools around town, but we've been shut down since March.  My gym, which has reopened since Gov. Abbott (and Lou Costello) says that the coronavirus epidemic is over and everything is just peachy keen fine, has a pool, but I'm not sure how safe it is.  You know what I mean--lots of people in a small space, panting for breath, air circulating relentlessly--just because you can do it doesn't mean you should.  

By far the best choice would be the SMU pool.  I don't know if you've ever seen it, but the new indoor pool is the shining jewel in the crown of Dallas area indoor pools.  This pool is fifty meters long by fifty yards wide, there's a diving tower so you know the roof has to be thirty or forty feet above the pool, and, anyway, it's this huge indoor space.  Probably a lot safer than my gym pool.  The problem is, I don't know if it's open to people like me (nonstudent nonathletes), or even at all.  There's conflicting information on the Web and I haven't been able to get a human being on the phone. 

I mean, yes, we do have a treadmill, and yes, I make copious use of it, but it's still a treadmill and not a pool.  And swimming is one of the things that keeps me sane.  I know that sounds like an exaggeration but I promise it isn't.   

(It occurs to me I could take a class at SMU.  That might get me in the door.  Hm, so all I'll need is $2,355 per credit hour.  I'd pay it if I had it, though.)

So anyway, y'all, pray for hot temperatures in North Texas.  Or that I find a pool that's reasonably safe. Quick.  Thanks.  Cheers!

Swim Swim Swim

I don't know about y'all, but for me, the worst thing about this frick'n pandemic has been the sudden and complete shutting off of access to swimming pools.  It's not our swim team's fault; most of the pools around town have just shut down, and their owners don't seem to know when they'll open again.  So my team, which had something like 50 practices a week in The Time Before, has zero now.  And frankly, even if they opened up tomorrow I don't know if I'd go.  I'm just thinking a bunch of people, 3-4 to a lane sometimes, swimming hard, panting for breath -- and Covid-19 is of course spread through the air.  So probably not a good idea.  

The team is still charging membership fees, though they dropped them from $85 a month to--a dollar.  If they don't charge us something, the names get kicked out the of the system and they would have to re-enter everybody.  I'm totally fine with paying a dollar for the duration.  Heck, I'd be okay with the regular fee, too, if I knew that we were still being charged rent for the pool lanes and such.  But I don't think that's the case.

I'm used to going to the pool roughly 3-4 times a week (or up to 6 times a week in July, which is Swim for Distance Month).  To go from that to zero has been rough.  And yes, we do have a treadmill, and yes, most days I've been on it for about 30 minutes, but It Ain't The Same, Folks.  For one thing, it doesn't involve water.  For another, all the people I used to see aren't there.  For a third thing,  there's no Jacuzzi.  And yes, we could buy one, but if I had that kind of money, I'd get all the trees cut back around my house, and replace the ceiling fan in Joan's room with a better one, and if there was any money left, I'd maybe get a new refrigerator.  It's the only appliance we haven't replaced at least once.  

Seriously, I miss swimming.  Luckily, a friend of mine in OA has been generously offering her backyard pool in the early morning.  So I drive over there about 7 a.m. (which is quite luxurious compared to the 5:30 start time my swim team likes) and swim for about 45 minutes.  Like most backyard pools, it's not very big; about 7 strokes each direction. But it sure is nice to have access to a pool.  I can still go fast and get a decent workout.  I just have to make a lot of turns.  So thank you so much, Anonymous Friend.  You may have kept me from going bananas.  

Around the end of May, when it looked like this problem of closed pools would be continuing for a while, it occurred to me that I could get a new sunsuit (my old one has long since disintegrated) and swim in the local lakes, too.  So I ordered said sunsuit.  It finally got here about two weeks ago.  Covid-19 has affected mail order Muslim swimwear retailers, too.  And considering the thing is made in India and then shipped, I can't really complain.  I mean, these things take time.

But anyway.  I wriggled into my sunsuit and took off last Saturday to Lake Ray Hubbard, which is the closest lake.  It turned into this big adventure.  I made a wrong turn, and then another and another.  GPS kept trying to steer me south of the I-30 and I kept trying to go north, where all the public parks are.  After about a half hour of driving around, I ended up at a public park in Garland.  And then I had a total attack of what felt like stage fright.  There were other people there.  What if they laughed at me? What if they threw rocks at me because they thought I was a Muslim?  I mean, these things aren't likely to happen, but  they could.  It took me about ten minutes to get out of the car.  

But, no rock throwing ensued.  The other people who were there looked like a family group, and they were in the middle of a Big Discussion when I walked up.  So there was this moment of very awkward silence.  Then the guy in charge (there's always a guy in charge in groups like this) looked over at me and said, "Hey."  And I said, "Hey."  And that was that.  They went back to their Big Discussion and I got in the water.

And the second I was in the water I forgot all about the other people.  I forgot all about everything, really, except the fact that there was a sandbar about 200 yards offshore (I'm a terrible judge of distance; it might have been 500 yards or it might have been ten feet) with a dead tree stuck in it to mark it for boaters.  I swam out to the sandbar and around it.  A boat went by and generated a big wake and for a second there it was kind of like being back in San Diego and swimming out past the breakers.  I swam back to shore.  Then I turned around and did it again.  Then I did it a third time, and that was enough.  

The next day, I got on the Interwebz and looked up the park where I'd ended up.  I discovered that not only was I in Rowlett and not Garland, like I thought, but that swimming at public parks is illegal in Rowlett.  So all that time I was feloniously swimming around.  Well, probably misdemeanorly swimming around.  I checked out the laws in Garland and Dallas, as well, and there's basically no place you can swim legally in Lake Ray Hubbard (though there are plenty of places where people swim illegally, including that park in Rowlett.)  And it'd be pretty embarrassing to get cited for illegal swimming because I'm a for God's sake paralegal, and I'm supposed to know these things.  So I had to find another lake.

Just north of Lake Ray Hubbard is Lake Lavon; in fact, I think they're connected, though I don't know how.  Not only is swimming allowed at Lake Lavon, it's encouraged.  There are a number of public parks with swimming beaches.  I found one called Collin Park, which looked to be the closest to the house, and took off this morning. (It's still not very close; it's in Collin County and it took me about 40 minutes, give or take, to get there.  But I got there.)  There's a huge swimming area with a big floating barrier around it to keep out the boats.   Here's a pic, shot from inside my car.

Again, there were people around, but not many.  It was early.  I went down to the water and swam out inside the floating barrier, across and over to the other side and back.  Then I did it again.  Then I did it a third time, and then my brain tried to kill me.  "Let's do it again!" "Uh, no, Brain, I think we're about done." "Come on, come on, let's do it again!"  "Brain, we still gotta hike back to the car, and it's all uphill."  "One more time!  One more time!"  "Brain..."

Anyway, I swam to the middle of the barrier in a compromise, and then swam in.  Sure enough, the hike back to the car just about did me in.  When I finally got there I had to lean against the trunk and pant for a while.  But it was glorious.  I felt so much better.  I still do.  

The thing about open water swimming is, you don't have to stop or turn.  You can just go in a straight line for as long as you want, or as long as it's safe, anyway.  It's just swim swim swim until you're done, or until you get tired, or whatever.  If you had an escort boat, you could, theoretically, swim all the way across. (I did not have an escort boat.  I did, however, have a bright orange swim cap, which makes me more visible to boats.)  And that's the kind of swimming I like best.  I'm always the first one in the pool when SMU configures its big new pool to 50 meter lanes.  If I were younger and more reckless, I'd be thinking about doing some 4 or 6 mile swims across like Lake Michigan or something.  Or going with the swim team on their annual trek to Hawaii, where there's a relay swim from Lanai to Maui (10 miles, and don't mind the sharks).  Or maybe the Flowers Sea Swim on Grand Cayman, which is only a mile (a bit closer to my speed and talent).   

Actually, the Flowers Sea Swim doesn't sound bad.  Maybe next year.  If my swim team is able to get back into the pool.  And if we get a vaccine for Covid-19.  Meantime, see you at the lake! At least until it gets too cold out.