Memories of Being a Poor Man's Pool Boy

I thank my lucky stars that I no longer own a pool. That's because, in reality, the pool owns you.

During an open house not long ago at my former South Florida home, I discovered I had plenty to learn about maintaining a sparkling swimming pool. "It looks a little green, doesn't it?" asked one friend among scores who attended the celebration two months after we moved in.

"It's the reflection from the trees," I quickly shot back, not knowing one iota about pools. Frankly, if I had known better, I would have been embarrassed.

I learned the hard way the key to clear water was coping with rain. And if it's summer in Miami, you can count on the rain to fall, usually around 4 p.m.

The vicious cycle, at first, got the best of me: Rain dilutes stabilizer, ineffective stabilizer allows chlorine to weaken, lack of chlorine opens the door to algae - and that dreaded monster turns your pool green. I learned terms I hadn't heard since high school chemistry class like alkalinity.

I hope you don't mind the technical analysis. My youngest granddaughter, Chloe, put it best: "Grandpa, I can't see my feet."

Frankly, it took me longer than I imagined to get the hang of maintaining consistently clear water. Several years later, however, it was balanced perfectly, as they say in the pool trade.

The experience proved costly. I often joked that having a pool was like having pets (we had two dogs), but the animals were better. Even though we had to keep feeding Windy and Ricco, at least we could take them on vacation.

At first, I asked advice from friends and family, but they knew less than I did. Most had pool men. As far as I was concerned, a yardman was my limit. I believed I was going to save some money by being my own pool boy.

Then I was forced to turn to neighborhood pool stores. The most helpful, ironically, was named Pinch-A-Penny. While I received valuable assistance, I thought the establishment should have been called Pay-A-Lot.

Learning the ropes wasn't fun. I had to keep notes. I had to haul the multi-gallon chlorine jugs back and forth. I had to buy numerous products such as chlorine tables, which bobbed around the pool in a floater; one resembling an alligator head scared Chloe for several weeks.

I also had to vacuum the pool floor and sides. I did it by hand for several years, pushing the sweeper to remove leaves, dead algae and odds and ends. Then I purchased an automatic vacuum cleaner. It was great until the parts starting breaking and it got hung up on the ladder when my wife and I were away all day.

Once I had to call a pool specialist because some friends visiting one evening said they were shocked - not by its appearance. There was a short in the pool light.

At last, one day I felt like a winner, when Denise, the oldest granddaughter, said: "Grandpa, I can see my feet."

Then their parents bought a home with a pool. We were left alone. My wife and I started dipping less and less. I'd occasionally throw in one of our dogs just for company.

After only two years of a perfect pool, we sold the house and moved closer to our granddaughters.

Our new South Florida home had three community pools. Chloe and Denise would sometimes go swimming while Anita would watch from the shade of an umbrella.

Then we moved to Greater San Antonio. Now when the granddaughters visit, they swim in the homeowners' association pool. That's when I can find the gate code.