Thoughts on Chlorine, Mirrors, & the Art of Traveling Light

I absolutely love the smell of chlorine.  That sounds sick, seeing as it's a potentially harmful chemical, if ingested in large quantities.  It also really smarts when you get it in your eyeballs; trust me, I work at a pool.

And that's the exact reason I love the smell of chlorine.  It's not exactly a crisp and clean smell, though you do know the water must be safe, if you get that scent early in the morning.  It burns your nostrils and wakes up your brain.  It makes your eyes sting and water, when you forget your goggles.  And God help the poor soul who actually swallows a mouthful or two of chlorinated pool water - moreso because no one really knows what kids are doing in the water, not because of the chlorine.  It's almost sweet, not sour, and hangs in the air and on your clothes long after you've climbed out of the pool.

One of my favorite things to do in the dead of winter is to dig out one of my village-issued swim instructor T-shirts and summon up the sights and sounds of a summer that exists only in my memory.  Watching the older kids paddle through laps through my aviator shades, the world tinted brown or blue or gray.  The bridge is in the distance, across the bay, promising the beach later in the day, maybe, and boats sometimes pass too close to the bulkhead for the lifeguard's comfort.

And it's not even the memories that makes me love the smell.  It's the smell itself, so singular and indescribable.

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