Summer Morning at the Massari

Watching people walk around the park. Sun is shining and people are doing their thing. Groundskeeper is making his rounds. Driving the green cart, trash can in back. A man in a striped dress shirt and gray sweats finishes his first lap. Soccer moms in tights and baseball cap is completing their third lap around the Domenic Massari. One has a ponytail in back, green hat. Dark glasses, she has a serious look. 

Another triad of Hispanic ladies are dressed much the same. Their colors are the rainbow. Very vibrant. Very understated. Hearing the Spanglish in the conversation. A lady with water weights in hand has a white tennis visor passes them. Think she is Jamaican.

Its quiet. So quiet, I can hear my own thoughts. Quiet, except for the winds blowing against the trees. It’s a rustling sound. Reminds me of Pebble Beach. The oceans crashing. A steady pace. Rhythmic song calming the souls. Its swaying, dancing slowly like an old lover remembering good times. Negative ions in the air whisked away, returning back to the see. Good energy is replaced, balance is restored.

When one needs to recharge, this one sits in the sand. Thinking of good times of the past. Imagining better ones ahead. Staying there smelling the salty sea, having the white ocean spray across the face. Cool Zuma breeze gets heated by the summer sun. One is reminded that time just moves on. It slows at times so as one can live a lifetime in a moment. It speeds up when time is scarce and we need ever so more from her. 

Right now all I do is soak my feet in Epsom salt in one of those foot bath basin. A sad alternative, but it will do in the desert of the Antelope Valley. Joshua trees and tumbleweeds canvas the land across the street. Its a temporary fix until one can get back beach side and properly re-tune.This park is safe haven, an oasis of ocean sounds and people walking. Negative ions dissipate in the rustling of the wind against the trees. Like rocks crashing against each other at Pebble.

Try to go to the beach at least once a month to get right. At the beach there is ample amount of  energy stirring; the desert is more stingy with its droplets of life. 

Closest semblance to the beach is the home pool. Its an underwater heaven where one can skim the top as one races from end to end. My own personal theater of the dancing underwater lights. Sun heated, no murky beach sand water. No kelp or no seaweed. Just a pristine clean Blue Heaven. 

Been swimming more at home. Something about the bubbles. It just hovers like hot air balloons. Suspended in the liquid medium being pushed by current. All the hopes and good dreams float skyward to get the Big Smile's attention. 

Sometimes a leaf is found floating in the pool. It just hangs there waiting for a force to move it this way and that. Like the leaves from the trees of the Massari. Watching the leaves dance in the pool suspended. In a moment she moves left then right. Kick ball and chain. Pas de Bouray. Salsa. Tango. Waltz.  A pose here. Hitting its mark. So free flowing.

A family of five goes by. Father, mother, daughter, grand mom, and baby. Another senior couple goes by. One carries a water bottle. Both are wearing sun hats. Spanish is the language here. No Thai, no Tagolog, no Manchurian. Spanish here a the Massari. One of the romance languages Spanish is one of the romance languages. Fast and staccato. Other times sing-songy and fluid.

A soccer ball flies by my view. It’s a man practicing. An older man, maybe in his late thirties. Guess he trying to reclaim his youth. Maybe he’s readying for his upcoming parks and rec match. 

FIFA world 2010 is upon us at the Massari. Headphones on, he charges the field. Perhaps re-living the past. Perhaps practicing for the future. There is a joy to his playing. No one around, just him and the ball. He’s not chasing as I would do. He’s guiding her here and there. He jabs left. He goes right. He dances around the ball as he wipes the sweat of his face.  He visualizes an imagined foe. He jukes confidently as he wonders how to play this game scenario out. His smile is contagious.

Grounds keeper is mowing the lawn now. Driving the yellow vehicle up and down the field. He wears a sun hat on this warming day. Its only eight in the morning now. Most of the morning walks are going home. One was parked near a SUV and Honda. Had good shade. However, the sun is rising higher. Three hours up already. No more shade on this midweek day. Morning walkers left and my SUV shade has gone.

Soccer man gathers his bag and slows his pace. No running and jumping as before, but readying to go. No, my mistake. He wants to play more. Just catching a blow and downing a Gatorade. Its getting hotter as the seconds pass. Joys of living in arid lands. The yellow mower is on the other side of the park now. Parking lot is emptier. The lady with water weights in her hand passes me by for the second time. Triad is almost back again, gossiping about this that and the other.

Car alarm sounds off as two high school girls in black shorts exit their Aerostar. One has a soccer ball in hand, the other a blackberry. As they hurry off to the other side of the field, Doyer fans go by. One has a makeshift walking stick. These sunhats, thinking about wearing one makes me feel cooler. I should get one. The sun shines brightly on my face as I realize its almost time to go.

An older man gives me a nod of acknowledgment as he finishes up his workout. He was stretching at the lamp post. Pushing with dear might, as his arms pressed firmly against the pole. One leg back, the other bent forward. Calf stretch. He needs to keep his knees soft. Both knees wrapped in black sleeves to keep his patella in place. Wore one when my meniscus tore. 

Age and wear and tear of an active lifestyle must have taken its toll. Got to keep those knees. An martial artist instructor said, “Can’t walk. Can’t run. They’ll have no fun.“ Did that once. Will never do it again. Not something for children to know at an immature age.

Parks is getting busier again. Dog walkers are here. It’s a parade of Chihuahuas and Yorkies go by. Another lady has two golden haired shepherds. These ones aren't trained like the others. These one bark and struggle against their owner's will. They fight and jump and down in excitement as people walk by. 

Scenes of the dog whisperer come to mind. “Shhhh and Shhhh and Shhhh," I think to my head. Get control. Let the dogs know you are the leader of the pack. Good owners need to be trained too.

Time for me to go. Sun is getting higher in the sky and find myself wanting to enter the Blue Nirvana, my water world. Got to train myself. Fifty laps here. Diet log and meal plan there. People at the park have inspired me. Time to recharge, time to see the lights dance of the swimming pool floor.