score

Finishing up my swim this morning, I looked up to see a cheery smile next to me in the lane. An elegant older lady, in a vintage swim cap, asked if she could share the lane.

“Of course,” I said, “but I’m finished anyway, so no need.” I added my compliments on her pink flowery cap, and then bid her a good swim. Once out of the water, I was toweling off when a distinguished gentleman caught my eye and waved. With a broad grin that brought to mind the grandfatherly king in The Princess Bride, he pointed to the woman who was now in the midst of a graceful breaststroke. “That’s my wife!” I smiled widely back at him, and then he turned around to carry on with his unique brand of water aerobics.

I couldn’t help but picture a heavenly basketball court. PaCharley is shooting hoops. GramBea is trucking it around the perimeter, busy with both her walk and, likely, conversation with a walking buddy. PaCharley catches my eye. “That’s my wife,” he says, with a broad smile. He turns back to  the hoop and swishes a three-pointer.