Guilty-as-Charged

Anyone reading this blog knows Yrs Trly is doing aquatic balance-training in the Canandaigua YMCA’s swimming-pool. You also know my beloved wife of 44&1/2 years died over six years ago.
I am a graduate of the Hilda Q. Walton School of Sexual Relations. Hilda was my Sunday-School superintendent and next-door neighbor growing up. Together with my Bible-thumping parents she convinced me at an early age all pants-wearers, including me, were despicable scum.
I was maybe five or six. My parents also convinced me I was rebellious and stupid. I couldn’t worship my father as worthy of the right hand of Jesus.
Various encounters occurred since my wife died, all of which would have Faire Hilda and my parents spinning in their graves. 14,000 rpm; enough to power the entirety of south FL.
Such encounters could be avoided while my wife was alive. She liked me, so I could avoid females.
Now that my wife is gone I find females are attracted to me — some anyway. “What, pray tell, does she ever see in him? All men are disgusting.”
My biggest balance problem seems to be standing on one foot. I have trouble standing on both feet. My quad strength seems to have disappeared — quads being the muscles in front of your thighs. I’m almost 75.
They pull your leg forward walking, stepping down or climbing, and lifting out of or descending into a chair. Although in the YMCA’s swimming-pool we are walking against water resistance.
Developing quad strength seems to only offset part of my problem, although it may help.
The YMCA’s pool has two lifeguards on duty. One is sometimes *****; I don’t know her last name. She’s attractive for age 62. Up-close-and-personal I see the crow’s-feet, but on her lifeguard-stand she looks 40-ish.
Months ago she said hello to me in passing, so I decided I should have enough nerve to say hello back. There were others before her, but I’m Faire Hilda’s legacy.
Ten years ago I would have walked away scared — my wife liked me. I turned instead toward *****’s lifeguard-stand.
“Did you say hello to me a while ago?”
“Yes I did.”
“I’m late, but hello back.”
Boy am I glad I did that, an act of incredible derring-do for a Hilda Walton graduate. I’ve mucked up plenty since, but she seems to wanna keep talking. She lives with her mother, or both parents perhaps. She’s also happily married as far as I know.
But yada-yada-yada anyway, despite my being no good at it. My wife liked me, so I could avoid talking to females the whole time we were married.
***** convinced her mother to try our aquatic balance training. ***** would help her mother by participating in our class.
A while ago ***** told me she was from Wellsville (NY), 20-30 miles south of my college.
“Okay, correctly pronounce ‘S-c-i-o,’” I said.
“Sy-oh,” she said. (It’s not “Ski-oh.”)
“Now, ‘C-a-n-e-a-d-e-a.’” She got it. ***** was clearly Wellsville.
When I found it was *****’s mother, I asked her mother the same questions.
“I heard the news mispronounce it as ‘Ski-oh,’” she declared.
“And I once heard them say ‘Nun-duh,’” I said. (“Nunda” is correctly pronounced “None-DAY.”)
“Know where Short Tract is?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said. “That pancake house is in Short Tract.”
(Neither of us knew the name of that pancake house.)
“Anyone who knows where Short Tract is, is worth talking to,” I said. “I bet Gov. Cuomo never heard of Short Tract.”
***** joined our class to help her mother, but seemed to be laughing more at my bumbling ineptitude — which I liked. “You’re totally out-of-character,” I said to ***** as we passed. To me she’s a lifeguard.
We formed a large circle with participants numbered “one” and “two;” I was a “one” and ***** a “two.” We “ones” marched clockwise dosey-doeing the counter-clockwise marching “twos,” shaking hands while passing.
Here comes *****! She grabbed my hand, and gave me a gigantic yank.
“WOW,” I thought. She’s playing with me.
Beyond that staying on my feet during a big yank in that pool is only something I wish I could do.
Guilty-as-Charged! She was playing with me, and I liked it.
By now Faire Hilda and my parents were up to 25,000 rpm, enough to power FL south of Orlando.
Another big yank.
I cornered ***** after class. “You can do that all you want! I really like it. Let’s do it again!” Another big yank.
We did it at least three more times.
“I wish we could do this a lot,” I said. “This is better than my dog pulling me through the park. If I got so I could keep my feet during a big yank in this pool, I might eventually be able to do that big step no hands into that kiddie-pool, or sit down onto a bench no hands without dropping into the seat.
More importantly I’m awful glad I got up the nerve to return *****’s hello. All the nattering-nabobs-of-negativism are weeping and wailing and gnashing their teeth.

• “My college” is Houghton College in western New York, from where I graduated with a BA in 1966. I’ve never regretted it, although I graduated a Ne’er-do-Well, without their blessing. Houghton is an evangelical liberal-arts college.
• A single ***** yank would not be as beneficial as someone towing me around that pool = continuous yanking.