Bloody Toes.

When I was four my Daddy decided to build a pool in our backyard. Now when I say 'build' I don't mean he called up a pool company. He called a guy with one of those digger machines and he dug a great big whole and squared it off. Then he called a guy to come concrete and plaster it and he helped. The he called a guy to come lay concrete all around the pool. Then my Dad took real bricks and lined the pool. He stuck the hose in and in about a week, it was full.

No one had fences back then, much less wooden ones. Dad didn't want any child drowning in our pool, so he put a 8 foot chain link fence around the pool with barbed wire sticking out from the top. (yes, I said barbed wire) It was certainly safe now, but it had the ambiance of a federal prison.

So...my Dad bought some cream colored metal strips and wove them through the entire fence. He took some fast growing vine and wrapped it around the barbed and then he planted sugarcane in front of the fence.

So much better. Now it looked like a federal prison in Thailand.

Anyway, I guess I spent the better part of my summers of childhood in that pool. I love the water. I love to swim. But even with our rough summer barefeet bottoms, we couldn't escape the roughness and heat of the concrete and the brick. My toes especially would bleed like mad. I never noticed or cared until I was inside and Mom was putting bandaids on them.

Where am I going with this?

Five years ago we moved and I finally got the pool I had been waiting to get for years. We did call up a pool company and they built a lovely pool we designed ourselves. I put a nice patio around the pool called "cool deck" because it is soft and doesn't get hot. I built a nice "tanning bed" on the edge of the shallow end. We planted palm trees and all sorts of tropical flowers. It is my own little backyard paradise.....and I have to PUSH my kids out the door. With TV, computer, video games and such they find it hard to wander outside. So everyday I insist they go and push them out the door.

What a difference a generation makes. They sigh and roll their eyes when I tell them how lucky and blessed they are. I don't have stories of walking to school for 10 miles in the snow, but I have my bloody toes.

The southern equivalent , I suppose...;-)