Christmas in Vermont 2008

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Swimming through a snowstorm

Time to clock out of the job, as lodging reservationist at Okemo Mountain. At 5:30 p.m. I expect it to be dark, but am a little surprised at the large falling snowflakes caught in the glow of the parking lot lamp posts. I am tired, my neck and shoulders stiff from sitting in a cubicle talking on the phone all day. It is Sunday night, I know the house will be dark, cold and empty after the 30 minute drive through this cold white stuff. The family planned to go to Vespers at church tonight. There's no one home to light the wood stoves.

In the quiet of the deserted parking lot, the world softened by the piling snow, I am certain as if long planned that tonight I will go for a swim at the resort's heated pool. I dismiss any thought of slippery roads home.

I drive five minutes to the Spring House Aquatic and Fitness Center. The wind is blowing the large flakes into my headlights, visibility is poor, the road is lined with a white accumulation.

I almost feel my way through the dimly lit parking lot to the aquatic center; there is only one car parked there. I grab my gym bag, and playfully kick up the untouched snow at my feet.

I change into my swimsuit, bracing for the cold walk to the heated pool. But the air is pleasant, not chilling. I step into the water; its warmth quickly swallows me up. With long leisurely strokes I begin to do laps. The warmth is delicious; I feel the tension slowly slip away, as my face slips in and out of the water with each stroke, arms reaching, legs scissoring. After a few laps I stop at the end of the pool, and glance towards the windows. Contrasting amniotic warmth I see the snow in the pools of light driven horizontal by the wind. It is disorienting. A distant thought says I should be concerned about the drive to come, but it has no weight and quickly passes.

After about six laps I begin to bore, when I notice a water slide. It is perhaps five feet high, with a turn and a half. I am curious what it feels like. I climb the steps and find a broad gentle stream of water falling from a slit at the top, down the gray length of the slide. I sit and give myself over to gravity. All of a sudden I whip through a turn and am thrust with surprising force into the pool! A yelp escapes, I hit the water and before plunge down four feet almost to the bottom. That was fun! I have to try it again.

I walk in the opposite direction from the entrance, and find a hot tub. In my placid state of mind it doesn't occur to me to look for a timer to set the jacuzzi jets. I follow the circular ramp up to the top, find the steps and sink deep into the hot water. I stretch out my limbs and wait for my core temperature to rise.

Eventually I leave the pool area and head for the locker room. I strip off the wet suit, and feeling perhaps like Eve in Eden I walk with poise between the locker, toilet and shower as I assemble my toiletries and change of clothes. Once in the shower, hot water gushing down on my head, I forget my usual Army shower habits--water on, get wet; water off, soap; water on, rinse and leave. I heap shampoo on my head and exult in the luxurious bubblous lather. What feels like twenty minutes later, I emerge with pink steaming skin and a towel wrapped around my head.

At last I am content to once again enter the black and white world of dark night and blowing snow. It takes a while to clear my car windows enough to drive. Nevermind, the cold can't penetrate the warm glow I feel from head to toe.

The road isn't that bad, I take it slow and easy. The plows and sanders have preceded me. Halfway along the drive I pass through what is called the 'Proctorsville Gulf', where the weather abruptly changes. Gradually the snow disappears, and by the time I reach Chester the roads are dry. I still puzzle at what a land-locked gulf is.

Life is good. I don't understand how it got that way, but I accept it with deep gratitude. Perhaps next year the tough times will return. Knowing that is ever a possibility, I cherish all the more the goodness and richness that fills and surrounds me right now. Thank you, ever merciful God.