Swiming with Jackson

The broad and deep neuronal meshwork that holds those I love, and those loved by those I love, is tangled.  I cared for my grandson, Jackson, last week, and my grand-dog, Sammy, this week.  Some short circuit in the deep connections made me call each by the other’s name.  They are different species but the same sex.

Wednesday was the hottest, muggiest day of the summer, and Friday, the second muggiest.  Jackson came to my Hazel Street house and we went to swim at the Meade Park Water Park, a place full of fine, fancy water features and a fine assortment of people.  We paid a modest fee for a water-filled day.  Jackson’s and my favorite activities there are the “Lazy River” and a huge and swift waterslide.  Trees shade reclining chairs around the periphery of the park; umbrellas shade tables and chairs.

The Lazy River, an industrious river really, is a long ellipse of a water channel with strong jets that whoosh the swimmer around and around.  A cove, shaded by an umbrella and with concrete benches, is a watery resting place for weary children, parents, and grandparents in the endless round.  Two ladders descend into the river and a gentle inclined plane from a larger pool gives a gradual entry into it.

Two foot-high jets of water shoot up from the very shallow walk-in end of the larger pool.  A small painted cement pirate ship water slide is at this walk in end.  The large pool is three feet high at its deepest.  The smallest children and their caretakers hang out here.  Several small water slides sprawl out from a central tower area.  A child’s few turns of a big red wheel by this construction spews water jets at unwary passersby, often babysitters, parents or grandparents.  A huge bucket mounted high above the slides rests on a pivot; it slowly fills with water.  After five minutes the bucket reaches the tipping point and splashes its water, diverted by metal umbrellas on the pool underneath.  A nearby bright blue space mushroom also dumps water, in gentle showers onto everyone near it.

A company of alert young life guards oversees the water features.  The giant water slide empties sliders into a deep pool reserved for them.  A life guard at the top lets people down the slide after the pool is clear of each last slider.  Jackson waited as I zoomed down the slide in my black granny-skirted bathing suit.  As soon as I was out of the water, he zoomed down.  He loved it, but decided to wear his swim goggles for the next sortie.  We divided the rest of our time between the water slide and the Lazy River.  I just watched Jackson slide after my one trip down.  I was the only adult who slid down that day.

One pool is segregated for serious swimmers.  Jackson didn’t go in that pool, too many more enticing activities beckoned.  The other activity he didn’t do was cross a pond hand over hand on a net – it looked like too much work for a very hot day.

I was delighted by the activities and more delighted by the wide variety of people who came to this wonder.  People came from Charlottesville and surrounding counties.  Grandparents, mothers, and fathers came.  Children and adolescents came.  People with beautiful and ordinary tattoos came.  An older man had a WW II vintage glamor girl tattoo on his arm.  There were beautiful people and plain people.  Babies and toddlers came.  The scene though crowded was peaceful.  Water has that effect on people.

Jackson went home tanned.  I went home burned.  we both went home happy and tired.