Pool Day (Encore)

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“To bed time stories, for everyone, in which nothing much happens, you feel good, and then,”

you fall asleep, I'm Katherine Nikolai, I write and read all the stories you hear on nothing much happens, audio engineering is by Bob Woodersheim. We are bringing you an on-core episode tonight, meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past. It could have been recorded with different equipment and a different location, and since

I'm a person and not a computer, I sometimes sound just slightly different, but the stories

are always soothing and family friendly, and our wishes for you are always deep-brast and

sweet dreams. Okay, so here's how this works, and we know it works after nearly 200 million downloads.

“We've figured out how to do this, just by listening to the story I have for you, you'll”

shift your brain activity away from the constantly spiraling default mode, and into the sleep accessible task-positive mode. You don't need to understand any of that for it to work, just relax and listen, I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake again in the night, don't hesitate to turn another story on, it'll help

you go right back to sleep. Our story tonight is called "Pool Day", and it's a story about a cool dip in the water on a hot summer day. It's also about the tiled walls of the changing rooms, broad open umbrellas, and rows

“of lounge chairs, a book by your side, droplets on your skin, and the heavy sleep that”

swallows you up after a day in the sun and water.

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The day is done, and you have done all that you needed to. You are right now just where you are supposed to be. So let go. It's okay. Let go.

I'll take the next watch. Take a deep breath in through your nose. Let it out your mouth. Nice. One more.

Breathe in. And out. Cool day.

On a hot late summer day.

“One with a cloudless sky and almost too much sun.”

The village pool was calling my name. I walked up the path to the gate. My beach bag slung over my shoulders. And my flip flops slapping against the concrete.

I could hear a few voices calling out Marco and Olo.

The rifling sound of umbrella fabric in the breeze.

“And the almost audible hum of heat in the atmosphere.”

The gate creaked a bit as I lifted the latch and walked through. And I fumbled in my bag for my sun hat, clapping it onto my head, and sign with the relief of shade over my eyes. In the sweet sight of the village pool with plenty of open lounge chairs and shady spots to stretch out in.

I've been coming here since I was in water wings.

“In fact, I'd take in swim classes in the shallow end and learn just enough about diving.”

To avoid belly flaps on the board. It was a large rectangular pool with faded painted lines on the concrete surround. A tall lifeguard's chair, a snack bar, and changing rooms that all added up to one of my favorite places, to spend a summer day. My stroll down the side of the pool, watching a few people on floats, and intertubes, enjoying

the sun and cool water.

I've always been tickled by the fact that when we are out in the sun at the beach or by

the pool, when you recognize that we are going to need to lie down, even folks who struggle to relax and rest, will almost always surrender to the urge to be horizontal when under the sun and near the water, and I was not a person who struggled to relax. I rather hoped we could extend the custom to more places, lounges at the lanes, trundled beds at the train station, cotts at the cafe.

I hoped it would be the wave of the future, speaking of waves, a swimmer, rest stroking through a lane at the far end of the pool, was hardly making any, when I was impressed. While I could certainly swim a few laps, tread water when needed, and sometimes float stretched out on my back, I didn't have good form, even know what it was and wasn't.

The swimmer flipped in the water as he came to the wall, pushed off and started another lap, with all it must be a meditative kind of movement, the rhythm that would build, as you worked back and forth across the pool, creating a comb in her space.

When I settled to my bag onto one in a quiet empty section, the umbrella nearby was still

“closed, when I took a few moments to crank it open, until it, until my chair was well shaded.”

My bag held a paper bag, a mystery that I'd found in the little library on my corner the week before. I'd fallen asleep, reading it in bed, and planned to do exactly the same thing on this lounge chair.

But first, I needed a couple of towels, my stashed, my flip-flops under the chair, and had

“it toward the cabana. It was a squat, square building, with changing rooms on either side,”

and a towel desk in the front. The changing rooms were surprisingly beautiful, and I remembered being amazed by them when I was a child. They had high windows, and let aquacolored light in, and along the walls and floors were tile mosaics, showing fish and mermaids, and fountains overflowing with sparkling water. Although I already had my swim suit on under

“my sun dress, I still poked my head in, just to admire the tiles, and listen to the”

way the voices from outside echoed against the walls. My grabbed two giant towels from the booth, and made my way back around the pool. The cement under my feet was hotter than I expected, but I sort of enjoyed the way it tingled against my souls. The idea of a swim was sounding better by the minute. I dropped my towels off on my chair, and slipped out of my dress, hanging it from a spoke of the umbrella. My steps grew more hurried on the hot

walkways. As I made my way back to the pool, and I heard a voice in my head that had been well planted from childhood, say, "No running by the pool." I chuckled, and went carefully. The pool had a sun shelf, with a series of wide steps leading in at one corner, and several

ladders here and there. My decided on the stairs, and that first step in was heavenly.

The water was cool and refreshing, and suddenly I wanted to be surrounded by it. Step by step, I plunged forward until I was up to my shoulders. The way the coolness spread through my whole body. From my first swim as a kid, to this one, and every dip in between,

it never got old. It always felt so good. I sighed, happy and grateful for this resource,

the surface, and flipped onto my back, kicking my feet, and taking lazy back strokes.

“I remember staying in the water so long when I was young, that my fingers turned pruning.”

My hair turned green at the tips, and when I'd finally been pride out for the night,

I could feel a bit of water, and my chest with every deep breath. For now, my dad enough. I was refreshed and ready for my lounge chair. I swam to the ladder, and reached up, feeling the warm aluminum under my hands.

“I pulled myself up, and climbed out onto the pool deck. There is a scent,”

pool water, on concrete, and it bloomed under me as I walked. At my chair, I stopped to apply a bit more

sunscreen, and arranged my towels, one long under my body, and one rolled to support my head, and settled down in the shade. What a feeling that pleasant fatigue from the heat, the coolness of the droplets, still on my skin, the scent of my sunscreen,

“and the sound of the water, lapping at the pool's edge,”

I set my book at my side, but my damp palm rest on the cover, and closed my eyes.

My new, I was about to fall asleep. I could feel it coming, like a ball rolling downhill, picking up momentum about to carry me off. I had a fleeting thought of going to the snack bar when I woke up, sliding open the door, from their big ice cream cooler, and leaning in, defying the red twin popsicle. Later, right now, I would just drift away, pool day. It was the place to be today. On a hot late summer day,

one with a cloudless sky, and almost too much sun. The village pool was calling my name, and I walked up the path to the gate. My beach bag slung over my shoulder, and my flip flops slapping against the concrete. I could hear a few voices, calling out Marco and Polo, the rifling sound of umbrella fabric in the breeze, and the almost audible hum of heat in the atmosphere.

The gate creaked a bit, as I lifted the latch and walked through, and I fumbled in my bag

and the sweet sight of the village pool, with plenty of open lounge chairs,

“and shady spots to stretch out in. I've been coming here since I was in water wings.”

In fact, I'd taken swim classes in the shallow end, and learned just enough about diving to avoid belly flops on the board. It was a large rectangular pool

with faded painted lines on the concrete surround. A tall lifeguard's chair, a snack bar,

and changing rooms that added up to one of my favorite places to spend a summer day,

“I strawled down the side of the pool, watching a few people on floats,”

and into tubes, enjoying the sun and cool water, and began my hunt for the perfect spot.

I've always been tickled by the fact that when we are out in the sun,

at the beach, or by the pool, we all recognize that we are going to need to lie down. Even folks who struggle to relax and rest will almost always surrender to the urge to be horizontal

“when under the sun and near the water, and I was not a person who struggled to relax.”

I rather hoped we could extend the custom to more places, loungers at the lanes, trundle beds at the train station, caught at the cafe. I hoped it would be the wave of the future. Speaking of waves, a swimmer breath stroking through a lane, at the far end of the pool was hardly making any,

and I was impressed. While I could certainly swim a few laps, tried water when needed, and sometimes float stretched out on my back. I didn't have good form, didn't even know what it was and wasn't. The swimmer flipped in the water as he came to the wall,

pushed off and started another lap. I thought it must be a meditative kind of movement. The rhythm that would build up as you worked back and forth across the pool, creating a calm inner space. The lounge chairs were set out in rows, with plenty of umbrellas scattered among them.

The umbrella nearby was still closed,

“and it took a few moments to crank it open, until it”

until my chair was well shaded. My bag held a paper bag, a mystery that I'd found in a little library on my corner the week before. I'd fallen asleep, breathing it in bed, and planned to do exactly the same thing on this lounge chair.

But first, I needed a couple of towels.

“I stashed my flipflops under the chair and headed toward the cabana.”

It was a squat square building, with changing rooms on either side, and a towel desk in the front. The changing rooms were surprisingly beautiful, and I remembered being amazed by them when I was a child. They had high windows that let aquacolored light in,

and along the walls and floors were tile mosaics,

“showing fish and mermaids and fountains overflowing with sparkling water.”

Although I already had my swimsuit on, under my sun dress, I still poked my head in just to admire the tiles, and listened to the way the voices from outside, echoed against the walls. My grabbed two giant towels from the booth and made my way back around the pool. The cement under my feet was hotter than I expected,

but I sort of enjoyed the way it tingled against my souls, the idea of a swim was sounding better by the minute. My dropped my towels off on my chair and slipped out of my dress, hanging it from a spoke of the umbrella. My steps grow more hurried on the hot walkways,

and I heard a voice in my head that had been planted from childhood, saying no running by the pool. I chuckled and went carefully. The pool had a sun shelf, with a series of wide steps leading in at one corner,

and several ladders here and there.

I decided on the stairs and that first step in

was heavenly. The water was cool and refreshing, and suddenly I wanted to be surrounded by it. Step by step, I plunged forward until I was up to my shoulders.

from my first swim as a kid to this one,

“an every dip in between, it never got old,”

but always felt so good. I sighed, happy and grateful for this resource. I knew not every community had. My dove under, I pulled myself through the water, broke the surface and flipped onto my back,

kicking my feet and taking lazy backstrokes.

I thought of the times when I was young, that I'd stayed in the water so long that my fingers turned pruney. My hair turned green at the tips,

“and when I'd finally been pride out for the night,”

I could feel a bit of water rattling in my chest with every breath. For now, I'd had enough.

I was refreshed and ready for my lounge chair.

I swam to a ladder and reached up, feeling the warm aluminum under my hands. I pulled myself up, climbed out onto the pool deck. There's a scent, so familiar, pool water on concrete, and it bloomed under me as I walked.

“At my chair, I stopped to apply a bit more sunscreen”

and arrange my towels. One long under my body, and one rolled to support my head, and settled down in the shade. What a feeling.

That pleasant fatigue from the heat, the coolness of the droplets still on my skin. The scent of my sunscreen and the sound of the water, blabbing at the pool's edge. I set my book at my side,

let my damp poem rest on the cover, and close my eyes. My new, I was about to fall asleep. I could feel it coming. Like a ball rolling downhill,

picking up momentum about to carry me off. I had a fleeting thought of going to the snack bar when I woke up, sliding open the door on their big ice cream cooler, and leaning in to find a red twin popsicle.

Later, right now, I would just drift away. Sweet dreams.