we always had a couple, hoarded around the outside of the pool, barracading us against the unassuming canine or grandparent, keeping the intruders out and the fish in.
they were always made up of some sort of metal piping and white strips of rubbery plastic, burning our un-toweled backsides, warranting no sympathy from the "i told you so" looks of our kitchen aid mother.
so what if lounge chairs didn't float? it only took a couple of hurricanes for us to realize that sitting on a chair under the water was much more exhilarating than holding your breath above.
which is exactly what she was doing when i walked in to the sanctuary yesterday. her stretcher was padded, albeit with a meager foam pad and blankets, but underneath the cushion were the same plastic strips and metal piping.
her lifeguard was a gentleman who appeared to be in his early eighties: one pair of bottle cap glasses, two aids for hearing, a smattering of liver-spots on his hands.
i watched as he quietly propped her willowy frame up against the back of the chair. i smiled when i saw that her velcroed shoes still kept time with the music, that she only nodded off a few times during the sermon.
but mostly i caught his head...tilted just a little bit further to the left than normal, caught the frames of his spectacles focused only on his one, tiny swimmer.
and some thing the pastor said about a big lake and a very small fishing boat and no luck all night.
keeping the intruders out and his fish in.