PL
Life Under Pines
Pool Envy By Sundi McLaughlin
T
he dog days of summer are upon us. The earth is absolutely scorched this time of year and many of us are in a desperate search for relief. The easiest and quickest balm to the spirit is a pool, thus the summer search begins: maybe it’s a friend or a second cousin thrice removed, an old co-worker you haven’t talked to in a while … whatever the case, now is the time to reach out, shower them in gifts and compliments, and cajole them into a Saturday pool invite! Basically it is bribery, but these are desperate times, my friends. This year, however, my summer goal is a little more extreme. I am in search of the most elusive of all summer treasures: the friend who owns a beach house! These mythical creatures who own palatial estates on the surf and never seem to find the time to visit their
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own slice of paradise due to (what I imagine) their long hours counting gold bars … alas dear friends I dream of the day when one of these fictional best friends calls me up and implores me to drop everything and spend some time at their ocean chalet. Although it is a burden, I gamely rise to the occasion and spend my days waking up, rolling out of bed like the giant beached whale I am and rolling straight into the surf. Don’t misunderstand me, I am not trying to freeload. I am happy to do my part. Need a good scrub on your jewel-encrusted pool? Maybe a pressure wash on your lion statues out front? Maybe your old estate has a ghost or an old mystery that needs to be removed/ solved—look no further! This daring idea began at my shop where one lucky customer after the next would come in to pick up a little
gift to thank their friends who’ve let them borrow their beach house for a week, a month, a summer! First of all, a week at the beach deserves more than a candle. It is a candle, a pair of pajamas, a piece of jewelry, a vow to avenge their betrayed loved ones, and an original piece of art of their beautiful home by the sea with you giddily frolicking in the background … but I digress. Buying my own seaside villa is a bit outside of my reality—we could at least have had a pool put in last summer, but my Man wanted a pond instead. So now I am the caretaker to five koi fish: Michael Phelps (fast as lightning), two Shubunkins, one called Gilly Idol and another called Whitey Bulger who is all white (obviously). Finally, we have two beautiful goldfish called Gloria Jane, after my lovely Grandma, and the other one, I am embarrassed to admit,