Let There Be Swimming

Let There Be Swimming

Early spring, 2020. I was not thinking of swimming. I was thinking of turning 74, its offerings and its inevitable diminishments. 

For the occasion, I gave myself the luxury of a not-too-luxurious studio on the Paseo, specifically, at the Plunge. It was once a swanky swimming pool. Now funky, it seemed perfect.

 I didn’t have a creative plan or a project other than wading around in the words I’d been writing for twenty years. A private retrospective.  I was looking to see if there might be a hidden school of fish I hadn't noticed; maybe a tributary to take me forward.

While I smelled coffee and fresh donuts every morning from below at Holey Rollers,or  listened to bookish chatter wafting up from the downstairs Literati Books. I wrote six pieces. Each began: “Now that I am 74…”. I was facing the moment, belly flopping into the new year. I didn’t want to write a book necessarily, but I wanted to find a current current for myself. By way of poetry, of course. 

I had an open house that Friday night, March 6. Friends came and went on their way to Picasso’s or Paseo Grill, or Sauced. Street music was free. Laughter splashed up like birthday Champaign. It was, for many of us, our last big party night. As far as I know, no one got sick from kissing and sharing sips of Merlot. We hugged like we had a million more to share, anytime. 

It was ending days, and it was early days. All of Paseo went quiet, though Picasso’s offered carry out and continued piping dance music into the air. I was allowed to keep my studio, carefully entering through the back door, climbing up to my spare solitude. I moved my desk in front of the balcony. Suddenly it was just me and the Oklahoma skies, a show of tulips down below, and sometimes the sound of a skateboarder bumpity-bumping down the empty street.

This week I received a proof of the book, yes, the book, I built. This is the work I began when I was left alone at The Plunge, and finished, finally, at home. Let There Be Swimming, as it came to be titled, often seemed like dog paddling, or being caught in a useless game of Marco Polo. Now, it feels inevitable, the way it feels when you learn to swim. You didn’t know how to do it, but now you do.

This book didn’t care my age or creaky knees. It didn’t take pandemic for an answer. I think it made itself of water, pooling here and there, going at its own speed, defying time. It has some shallows, some eddies. If it has anything contagious in it, let it be good for something.

If you have read my work before, you know I look for ritual, I dive into the stories of girls in trouble, the run-aways, and the ones who hide or make their hiddenness essential. I try to move forward with the backstroke. I let history have her say, freestyle, fictionalized.

Now that I’ve hit 74, and am one of the vulnerable, I’ll wear a mast without complaint. But, I will not let a lock down keep me out of the swim of things. Let there be books, and coffee, and art in our times of trouble; things to share.

Please notice the cover art is that of Marissa Raglin. I commissioned her to create the cover. I will post more later about Marissa's work and our collaboration (mraglinart.com). She works her magic with the utmost skill and insight. 

Let There Be Swimming will be available in August from Lulu.com or locally. Contact me for details.