The pool closed last night. It is the official change of the season. The mild summer lacked the squishy moist heat that we usually endure, and had the curious effect of never allowing the water to truly warm up much above 80 degrees all season. That had the practical effect of leaving us practically chilled when we emerged from the water through the hottest season of the year.

They tell us that the old-school pool has “issues.”

It was completed with the building in 1964, so in the great maintenance scheme of things it is an even half century old this year. Leo the Building Engineer tells us there are problems deep under the deep end- corroded pipes on the edge of failure. Major contraction is going to be required to get at them. That is going to require intrusive intervention, not dissimilar to what was required at the Pentagon when they took the interior down to stark concrete.

It is going to be a tough season of broken cement and digging and new pours, so this closing will not have the bittersweet devolution of most years. The flowers will be allowed to die, as they always are. Excess water will be pumped out, of course, spreading the chlorinated flow across the west side of the parking lot and down into the storm drains.

The pool furniture will be collected and stored down in the Life Guard’s room in the basement. After that, I don’t have a good feel for what will happen going forward.

Will all the water be pumped out? We don’t have the risk of the concrete walls of the pool popping up out of the ground, as some renters did to a pal’s in-ground aquatic center in Florida. The routine maintenance became a burden, and they emptied the thing, no knowing it was the weight of the water that kept in in place. Oops!

So I don’t know how vast the scope of this project is going to be, or how intrusive to my personal space it is going to be.

We were talking about it last night, waiting for the Last Leap into the water.

“Suppose they replace it with one of those modern wimp pools that is only about three feet deep?” asked Jiggs.

The Doc is still mad that they took the diving board away a few years ago. “It is always something about liability and insurance,” she said with a frown.

“That’s why we don’t have a roof garden.,” I said. “I have seen the drawings. The roof is designed to support one, and the view is unbelievable. You can see from the Masonic Temple in Alexandria all the was up to District Heights.”

“I have never been up there. Why can’t we go out and look?”
“Insurance. Apparently someone threw themselves off the roof in the 1960s.”

“What is the difference between throwing yourself off the roof and jumping off an 8th floor balcony?”

I shrugged and took a pull from my drink. “I think it amounts to the same thing. But speaking of leaps, I think it is about time for one.”

President Joe and Jiggs and I got up from Joe’s patio table, grabbed our towels, and marched out to formally end the summer.

Jiggs did a cannonball into the deep end as Joe and I synchronized our jumps to de-conflict the impact. The water was warmer than the air, crisp and refreshing. Milla and Margaret took photos to document the event, and I dawdled enough to ensure that I was the last one out.

“Well,” said Joe, toweling off vigorously. “I guess that’s it.”

“Yeah, I just hope there is a pool deep enough to jump into next year,” said Jiggs.

“Time will tell,” I said. “I will be keeping an eye on it.”

Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
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