Noodling

We call it noodling. No, it’s nothing risqué, nothing you must shoo the kids away from, or anything that can’t be talked about in mixed company. It’s simply a form of what we think of as exercise—moving around the pool with a noodle. (Now my spell check has no problem with the word noodle but draws a red line under noodling.)

A noodle is what little kids use in the pool. It’s a long thin Styrofoam tube that floats, thus keep you afloat. There are three, sometimes four of us noodling. The four of our combined ages totals almost 300 years. Youth is a distant memory along with bikinis and two-piece suits.

We meet at our small community pool, which is tucked away by itself, about a mile away from the clubhouse and the large pool. In this smaller pool  we are often the only swimmers and  sometimes, the only people there. There may be one or two people sitting around the pool reading, but no attention is paid to us noodlers.

Lately though, we have had to deal with interloping ducks—a mother and two  ducklings—who swim happily around like they, rather than us, are paying the monthly association fees.  Mama duck gives us a hard time. As we shoo her to get out, she scolds with hissing quacks. The baby’s swim frantically after her and when she finally jumps out, they panic realizing they can’t manage the leap from water to pool edge. The other day, one of the babies did a big hop out but flopped on its back, his two little feet jiggled frantically in the air until he/she managed to right him/herself. We placed a lounge chair in the pool for them to climb up and out on.  Sometimes it works, sometimes they play dumb and swim around it. Last week they left us a small package on the bottom of the pool that kept us noodling far from it.

So, here we are noodling around, moving arms, legs, feet, hands and jaw muscles. Yes, we talk continuously about nothing. Take Friday’s noodle session. We did a lot of food talking beginning with dessert and ending with drinks. Jean gave us a wonderful recipe for a chocolate cake, but since we weren’t equipped with underwater pens and paper and our memories aren’t that reliable, a phone call will have to do. Then we thought wouldn’t it be fun to bring along piña coladas and pretend we're in the Caribbean under a palm tree with a tropic breeze blowing. Are they made with vodka?” Yolie asked. “No, I think rum,” I said. “But what else do you need to put in them?” It all got complicated and Jean suggested we go to the store and buy the mix.

We were startled out of mid noodle the other day when a long, skinny tailed rat ran across the wall not twenty feet away from us as we talk about food, cakes, books and piña coladas. Now we're on constant rat alert. 

Finally we got down to the weather and the heat spell roasting the rest of the country. We tried not to feel guilty as cool breezes blew off the ocean giving us goosebumps and making our plunge into the hot Jacuzzi so inviting.

With my noodle exercising, not only am I getting a good tan and feeling healthier, but the hour sessions are like therapy. For one hour I am assured of someone’s undivided attention. Can anything be healthier? 

And, no, we haven’t brought the piña coladas yet - but the summer’s not over.