Questions to be Resolved, and More

When did it become so hard to blow up a beach ball, or a baby pool? Or deflate them, for that matter. When did the science of inflation/deflation go 21st century?

I bought Gilda an inflatable beach ball. She believes resting her feet on it would make long airline flights more tolerable. Trouble was, neither of us could blow up the beach ball. I replaced the “defective” ball with another.

Finley (and parents) came down for the weekend, so I bought an inflatable kiddie pool. Though small, it was not the type you’d blow up without mechanical help. The instructions cautioned against using a motorized pump, but the hand pump I first used proved useless. Cautiously, I inflated the pool with an electric pump. It held firm. After Finley went home Sunday morning, I unplugged the valve to let the air out. Nothing happened. Hours later the pool was as rigid as before. Only by twisting the valve and pressing down on the pool would it deflate. You really have to be a mechanical engineer these days...


Where Did All The Lint Go? It’s several weeks since we installed our new front-loading washing machine and dryer. No complaints. Indeed, we’re raving about them. But we do wonder, how come each wash produces less lint than before? Same clothes, same towels. Yet neither the washer nor dryer extracts any quantifiable measure of lint compared to our discarded machines.

The laundry is coming out cleaner. We’re using less water. Less energy. It’s not a complaint, but I really would like to know what’s the deal with the disappearing lint?


Why Didn’t I Think Of This Before? I spent almost four hours swimming in a pool Saturday. Now, I do not know how to swim. Thus any extended period in water, especially water deeper than five feet, would be highly unusual. But heat will make you do strange things, so there I was doing the backstroke in Benny and Bella’s pool.

I can’t claim sudden aquatic powers. Rather, I took advantage of Benny’s idea to wear a flotation device, in this case, a life preserver vest. Sure, I looked rather dorky (I’m grateful now I don’t include pictures with this blog). But the alternative of sweating on dry land or restricting myself to the shallow end of the pool was easily trumped by buoyancy and the confidence I wouldn’t drown. I’ve almost drowned three times, so trust me, feeling secure in the water is more preferable.

I have my own life vest from the time I took a water aerobics class with Marty several years ago. All I have to do is remember to bring it with me next time one of our pool-friendly friends invites us over. I’ve also got to remember to leave my ego at home that day.


Garden Update: Grass is sprouting where Gilda and I dug, raked and seeded a week ago. Haven’t seen the woodchuck recently, but the mailman did tell me Friday about another neighborhood sighting of a coyote.


Sunday Reading: Two articles in yesterday’s NY Times attracted my attention. The first showed New Yorkers tooling around aboard big three-wheeled tricycles (check out the video with this link as well: http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/07/17/spokes-hauling-cargo-no-car-necessary/?scp=5&sq=sean%20patrick%20farrell&st=cse).

Before I learned to ride a two-wheeler at age 40 (ok, so I grew up not knowing how to swim or ride a bike. Wannamakesumtin’ of it?), I had a tricycle, the type seniors pedal in retirement communities. Who knew I was decades ahead of the curve, which, by the way, you have to negotiate carefully on a trike lest you tip over.

You also need more than a little oomph power to make those babies move. Central to their success, and appeal, is a flat terrain, as in Florida, Arizona and most of New York City. Or you need to attach a low horsepower motor.

The second article, “A Long Jump to Manhood,” captured the excitement of Bronx teenagers jumping 30 feet or higher off cliffs into the Hudson River (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/18/nyregion/18ritual.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=matt%20afon&st=cse).

A fairly innocent story about growing up and the rites of passage in the city, except that Gilda’s orthopedic spine practice had two recent patients who went cliff-diving with less than optimal results. A 21-year-old man broke four vertebrae being a daredevil in New Zealand; a 20-year-old woman required surgery after diving off a cliff in Malta.

As one of the Bronx jumpers said, “There’s no safety net here. It’s your own decision. You’re taking your own risk.” One parent acknowledged the risk but didn’t forbid her son from participating. I guess she has a different set of parenting values, or fears, than I have.