Surely You Jest
Last night I dreamed I gave up swimming for Lent. Now, before someone pauses in admiration of my saintliness, let me hasten to explain that I cannot swim. This dream of mine, therefore, caused a bit of entertainment over morning toast and clementines when I related it to the Songwriter, who wryly commented, ”Wow, what a sacrifice for you”. He is well-versed in irony. My parents tried to interest me in swimming with lessons which I truly dreaded like medicine. The sensation of being under water consistently failed to charm me, and no number of ear plugs or nose clips could ever elevate the experience to an enjoyable level. Needless to say, I did not excel in those lessons. However, as I suspected at the time, much like high school frog dissection, I have never once found swimming to be a necessary skill in my adult life. Decorators are not usually required to work in bathing suits and if they are, they should probably re-evaluate the project.
The only sport I have ever participated in willingly was riding. I did love that with a passion, but seriously suspect it had much more to do with the requisite close relationship with a horse than with my actual enjoyment of any sort of activity that could perhaps have been deemed athletic. No to softball, no to tennis, no gymnastics and no track. Football? Please. Bowling? In rental shoes? Golf? Surely you jest. Watch any of these things on television? What?..... Why? To tell the truth, I just never got the point of competitive sports. The only two sporting events I am ever even aware of during the year are The Kentucky Derby and The Iditirod. (To be honest, I did drive a dog sled team in Alaska once. In a frigid January, no less. And actually, I was quite good at that, but that is another story entirely.) I do walk and run and bike and hike, but that’s about it. Fortunately for me, The Songwriter and I share in this disinterest of the wide, wide world of sports, which makes for quite a happy little life. To best illustrate this, some years back, The Songwriter had one of his songs performed during the halftime show at the Super Bowl. True to form, we were totally unaware of the game and were actually returning home on a flight from Disney World, of all places, while it was played. When we arrived home, our phone was ringing like mad with friends from all over the country calling with congratulations. We had missed the whole thing.
So, all this is to say that, regardless of my dream, I do not think swearing off swimming will actually accomplish much for my soul during this season of Lent.
Why do I think it’s going to have to be chocolate?
Last night I dreamed I gave up swimming for Lent. Now, before someone pauses in admiration of my saintliness, let me hasten to explain that I cannot swim. This dream of mine, therefore, caused a bit of entertainment over morning toast and clementines when I related it to the Songwriter, who wryly commented, ”Wow, what a sacrifice for you”. He is well-versed in irony. My parents tried to interest me in swimming with lessons which I truly dreaded like medicine. The sensation of being under water consistently failed to charm me, and no number of ear plugs or nose clips could ever elevate the experience to an enjoyable level. Needless to say, I did not excel in those lessons. However, as I suspected at the time, much like high school frog dissection, I have never once found swimming to be a necessary skill in my adult life. Decorators are not usually required to work in bathing suits and if they are, they should probably re-evaluate the project.
The only sport I have ever participated in willingly was riding. I did love that with a passion, but seriously suspect it had much more to do with the requisite close relationship with a horse than with my actual enjoyment of any sort of activity that could perhaps have been deemed athletic. No to softball, no to tennis, no gymnastics and no track. Football? Please. Bowling? In rental shoes? Golf? Surely you jest. Watch any of these things on television? What?..... Why? To tell the truth, I just never got the point of competitive sports. The only two sporting events I am ever even aware of during the year are The Kentucky Derby and The Iditirod. (To be honest, I did drive a dog sled team in Alaska once. In a frigid January, no less. And actually, I was quite good at that, but that is another story entirely.) I do walk and run and bike and hike, but that’s about it. Fortunately for me, The Songwriter and I share in this disinterest of the wide, wide world of sports, which makes for quite a happy little life. To best illustrate this, some years back, The Songwriter had one of his songs performed during the halftime show at the Super Bowl. True to form, we were totally unaware of the game and were actually returning home on a flight from Disney World, of all places, while it was played. When we arrived home, our phone was ringing like mad with friends from all over the country calling with congratulations. We had missed the whole thing.
So, all this is to say that, regardless of my dream, I do not think swearing off swimming will actually accomplish much for my soul during this season of Lent.
Why do I think it’s going to have to be chocolate?
