Chemical Warfare - June, 2008

As some of you know, I moved to a new home last year, one with a pool and spa. All the better to enjoy my retirement, I thought.

My friends without pools relished the idea of lounging on the deck, soaking up the sun and taking a dip in the sparkling water.

My friends with pools had two words for me: “Money pit.”

OK, I was pretty sure that when the water turned green last fall before the pool was closed it probably wouldn’t look pristine blue on opening day. But I wasn’t expecting the Jersey shore in my backyard. I was horrified to see what looked like a brown river in the pool, along with clumps of pine needles (funny how you don’t notice the trees when you first see the pool, until they start falling into the pool, that is). No problem, said Rick the pool guy. And then he described the steps necessary in what amounts to chemical warfare.

You know how when you don’t understand something and someone else is an expert and they start rattling off the 23-step procedure you have to follow, and it sounds so easy – to them? My head was spinning. First there were the four five-gallon drums of chlorine I would have to buy. Unlike Clorox, this stuff in a five-gallon container weighs about 50 pounds. I wondered aloud how I would get the jugs to the backyard, assuming that I could even get them into the car. “Do you have a hand truck?” Rick wanted to know. I bit my lip, thinking, “Look at me. I am a 57-year old Jewish woman. Why on earth would you even think I owned a hand truck?”

Then there is the issue of opening the drums. I wrestled with one last year, but alas, my carpal tunneled hands are weak, and I lost that battle. The good news is that the pool place will sell me a special wrench to open the drums, after my new hand truck and I get them to the pool.

Then Rick wanted to know whether I had a backwash hose, since I would have to go through that process, too. “Have one?” I replied, “I don’t even know what that is.” Rick added that to the running list of supplies I would need, along with a special connector to attach it to the filter. “Slow down,” I pleaded, running inside for a pad to write down the procedure. Every step started with “you just,” and ended with my wondering and worrying about how I could possibly do this, and what the rich folks do to tend to their pools. After all, I signed up for a weekly service, but apparently that doesn’t start until I get the pool ready for service. Sounds to me like cleaning the house before the cleaning lady comes (guilty, your honor).

To add insult to injury, Rick started rattling off mathematical equations for the chemical treatments. Hold on, I said. “No one told me there would be math,” I protested.

Then there was the question of the spa, which he filled with water and then shocked. Apparently shocking the pool and spa is more complicated than my showing up in a bathing suit, which, I assure you, is plenty shocking. This process consists of adding chemicals to the water, not giving it outrageous news. The next step is to drain it and replace the water. “Do you have a submersible pump?” Rick inquired. See answer above to “Do you have a hand truck?” Now that the handyman, Don (another of my ever-growing staff), removed the steps surrounding the spa, which the previous owners installed without thinking about gaining access to the pumps and moving parts of the thing, we could simply attach a hose to the drain and let gravity do its thing – for about six hours, that is. I made a mental note: Put submersible pump on the shopping list. (And I hope those of you who can’t think of gifts for my birthday and the holidays are paying attention.)

I am reminded of my youth, when I would walk home on the path that runs parallel to Peters’ Brook in Somerville. The water could look muddy and filled with rocks, which we often used to cross the brook. Even that body of water didn’t look as revolting as my pool on Opening Day.

Fast forward: After eight – count ‘em, eight – five-gallon containers of chlorine, after regular visits to vacuum and add chemicals by Steve, the pool guy (and there goes my fantasy about a pool boy; you’d have to see Steve to understand), after buying more chemicals than you can imagine, after fishing countless decomposed leaves out of the water with the skimmer, the pool is again blue, clear and ready for use. Just a mere three weeks, $1000+, a bunch of chemicals, equipment and a staff led me to this point. So far I have been in the pool once and in the hot tub three times. If you divide the cost by the number of times the pool and spa have been used so far, we are at about $250 a dip. Pool party, anyone?