Swimmers alert!

For all you swimmers out there...this is an interesting retrospective written by my son John as he returned to the sport of water polo...and the reactions this waterlogged family had to that return, after 20 years.

Date: Fri, 23 Jan 2009 17:30:20 +0000
From: bagus@comcast.net
To: casa@tibet.org; haigs@pghsweb.net
Subject: [Casa] one score
One Score Years and 60 pounds ago, this body climbed out of the pool in East Lansing as a second time bronze medalist in Big 10 polo and hung up Its little funny cap with ear protectors for cleats and a flying disc.

20 years is definitely time enough to forget where the hell you are
supposed to be and who the hell you are supposed to cover. That left me playing D in the hole on the first play.

Tentatively, when the ball came in I climbed up his back reached over
his shoulder and knocked the dude's arm til the ball came loose. Is that
ok? I wondered? What are the rules again?

Whistle blows, ball goes out and comes back in, so I go up again but
there's some help out there and we end up getting the ball away from him and we swim the other way.

For twenty years, I've jumped in oceans and lakes and the occasional
pool and thought about how to tread water and then I'd whip out a few
quick strokes. My how impressive I was to be able to quick start like
that. My how I've forgotten that in a real game, after a few quick
strokes, come about 20 more and then a stop and a turn and then 30 more the other way and then 30 more the other way. We scored that first point and I called for a sub.

After my first stunning D stand, I had had no idea what happened to the
ball. I had no idea when to turn around and go the other way. I go all
the way to the net and find everyone going the other direction and I'm
way out of it. I stay out on top corner, but my defender goes the other
way even tho we still have the ball. But sure enough, turn over, deep
pass, and she gets an easy one on one goal. I didn't come close to
getting involved in a play for the next 20 minutes. Then I finally got
the ball on the wing. Threw it into the hole with the defensive wing
poaching in. It got there but just barely. The hole man says 'you gotta
go somewhere else with that'. Then I get the ball again out top and have to be told, 'walk it in' as no one is covering me. I walk it in and try
to lob one over the hole guy to a spot between him and the goalie. He
however is being held and can't move and the goalie picks it up for an
easy turnover.

I go back on D and try to follow someone but get admonished by the real hole d players, "get outta here" find someone on top. I drift into my
slackluster 10 feet off ultimate frisbee style D and the ball gets to my
guy and he has an open shot to the open hole guy. Goal! Whoops.

We get the ball and I'm out on the wing again and the guy on top
drives. He drifts out and squaks, "Rotate, dude". Huh? Oh, ok, yeah
rotate. End up on top.

Ah yes, so that's right, you have to drive in this game. I give it a
shot next time I'm at point and the hole guy actually throws the ball at
me as I drift out and my arm comes up late and it goes over my head and dude on D gets by me in a second for a turn over. Hmm. These guys and gals are all really really fast and I'd be surprised if I would be
number 15 on this team of 18 back on my prime.

If this was a team. It's just pickup polo. Never quite played it that
way before. So I swim to the side and call for a sub.

Next fit of exhaustion finds me behind my defender as she gets into the
play, but it happens... we get the turn over. I'm already past half pool
and start plodding exhaustedly towards the goal. Sure enough, someone makes a 30 yard pass to a spot 15 feet in front of me. I find a small reserve and get the ball between my arms and swim another 10 yards and pull up on the left side of the goal, which the goalie has covered solidly. I wave the ball around and reali ze I will have to take my lefty shot across the goal to the right side. Plenty of time. Bam. My first goal in 20 years!

Cough cough, "sub!!!!"

My body definitely feels less abused than a day of pickup ultimate, so
I guess I'll go again until spring league starts.



Eternally Grateful for Swimming
And the life lessons are rife! After watching 22 HEATS! of a relay
meet last night, I have spent some time thinking about what water sports have meant to this family.

First of all, acceptance. Andy was delighted to find a sport that he
liked and that liked him. It seemed that followed for all of our guys.

Second of all, humility. There's always a gunner out there who's
better, bigger and smarter than you are, but you can still be on the
same team and succeed.

Thirdly, try it! You might like it. Don't be afraid of new stuff. I
guess Tom is the example for that one. He's proven that you can do
almost anything if you aren't too afraid to try.

Fourthly, introspection...Yeah, You! Spending hours in a pool
practicing lends one to either zone out or try to fix the earth's woe's
as you paddle along. I'm glad you have all become such caring, good
guys. DanS recently joined the board of Hope House, a transitional
living facility for families in crisis.

And as for me...patience is it's own reward! It's worth it to watch a
gazillion kids that you don't know swim their hearts out in a me iet
just to see your own Tim do well in the 100 free. Chlorination, you
bet! (And I guess I should have remembered about not wearing a sweater to a swim meet! It gets HOT and WET!) But I loved every minute of that swim meet last night.
Thanks, Tim - for letting an old lady get back in the swim, figuratively!
Thanks. John. for the interesting perspective on a 20 year hiatus from
aquatic competition. I think we all enjoyed hearing of your re-entry
into the pool. Keep it up.
xo mom

Andrew Haig andyhaig@umich.edu
Mom is right. After sitting through another steamy, chlorinated swim
practice last night I realize that we do indeed owe a lot to swimming.
There are other, more....well more personal benefits from our aquatic
heritage:

Fifth of all, hypoxia. There is nothing quite like the numbing feeling
of your intelligence fading away during a 25 no breather

Sixth of all, blowing donuts. I cannot tell you how much my career has
been advanced by the ability to lie on the grid at the bottom of the
pool, plug my nose, and shout 'Poop! as explosively as possible. The
resultant ring-shaped bubble has indeed helped me influence friends and
forestall my enemies. (Tim? You done it yet? )

Seventh of all, engorgement. We shall never lose the sense of duty to
gorge ourselves with 3 McDonald's shakes and 1 1/2 full sized pizzas for
lunch, 'just in case' practice might happen and the piano might drop on
our heads after 7,000 yd. Even now. 'So you gonna finish that cherry
cheesecake, Vice-Minister Chou?'

Eighth, woollen caps. In moderate temperature as well as frigid. The
nice social worker at the free clinic told me it's OK to empty the jar
of nickels I have hidden under my bed, but I don't think I'll ever get
rid of the rest of my Post-Walters-Stress-Disorder. At work, I'm still
drafting behind the other guy. I promised him I'd lead at the end of
the practice when he's tired.

Ninth...An irrational need, whenever we come to a body of fresh water,
to calculate our ability to cross it. Regardless of lamprey's, power
boats, or hepatitis A. Without a rescue boat, and for god's sake, no
wet suit! Lake Champlain was OK last summer until the thunderstorm
hit.

I'll stop here in order to allow other swimmers to wax on their delight
and humility and et cetera.

Gentlemen? Ladies?
Andrew J. Haig, M.D.
Professor
Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation
The University of Michigan

From: gizard@gmail.com On Behalf Of Dan Haig
Sent: Saturday, January 24, 2009 8:40 AM
Subject: Subject: RE: [Casa] one score
10. The out of body experience once you get past 5000 yards
11. Making me listen to my own stupid brain for so long that even it
gets bored and shuts itself off, when the fun really begins.
12. Prodigious lung capacity.
13. Prolonged exposure to frigid waters and heavy exertion renders one
immune to the usual boredom that creeps in after 10 minutes of taking
a shower, enabling the 30-40 minute showers otherwise unattainable by
mortals.
14. Introduces one to bizarre characters of dubious sanity.
.d

Tom Haig tomhaig@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: [Casa] one score
Did you see any polo from Beijing? Those guys were absolutely
huge - size of linebackers, belly and all. I remember the Polo team on the cover of SI before the Atlanta games. They were all a bunch of in-shape pretty boys. Not no more. These guys look more like Bagus and Ox than Brad Pitt. It's a mean, mean game. Tom Haig

Haig/Johnson Communications bhaig@wi.rr.com
Subject: RE: [Casa] one score
The lung capacity thing was certainly made clear last night! Tim and
friends had another improv night, and one of the scenes involved two people yakking about something while a third put his head in a bucket of water for as long as he could (when he finally came up for air, the skit topic changed to whatever he made up that he was doing - eg, just got spurted by a whale, just came in from a hurricane, etc). Needless to say, the two had to REALLY vamp while Tim was underwater!

BH

Fences…
There’s been a lot written about fences over the years. Robert Frost wrote, “Good fences make good neighbors.” The weathered grey fence between the two houses, a big red Landwehr house and a big brown Haig house, could tell a story in itself.

Margo and Jerry broke the ice with their new neighbors, Carolyn and Jim over a tall pitcher of martinis on a hot September afternoon. But before the fence even appeared, there was an expanse of mud broken by tall weeds, and there were small potholes that turned into mini lakes after a spring rain. Two mothers made friends over that expanse of ‘back yard’, when Carolyn saved Margo’s baby John from a mucky experience as she called out a warning from her brand new back porch!

The wooden fence was carefully built one foot inside the Landwehr lot line. Hans will come occasionally, look for Fig Newtons in our cookie jar, and remind us that he ‘owns’ that one foot! Nevertheless, the gate is always unlocked to us, and friendship has poured out from the beautiful Landwehr gardens to the welcoming backyard field of the Haig house.

At one time, Jim looked in wonder as Margo attempted gardening. “No,” he said, “You don’t
RE-PLANT the radishes to thin them!” and shaking his head, suggested that the Haigs leave the gardening to the Landwehrs!

Margo and Carolyn were among the first members of the Clovernook Bridge Club. (Carolyn has the rather unique rules and will produce them if you ask!) In addition, we have some great recipes that we share. Missing ingredients borrowed at the last minute often passed over the back fence.

Jim and Jerry worked together in the Clovernook Association as we settled into our new neighborhood. And then, softballs and baseballs flew over the fence. Jim coached Softball and Jerry coached Little League.

A gathering of animals ran back and forth between the houses, and Carolyn’s beloved cats tried to stay out of the way! A big litter of puppies in the Landwehr kitchen brought all Haigs to visit. John was just tall enough, along with Karl, to brush big Thor aside and play with the roly-poly puppies. We both had our share of hamsters and guinea pigs and birds, and a duck was even added to the menagerie at one time!

Timing, officiating, working the scoreboard, managing the swim kitchen…our lives were chlorinated together! Swimming became such a big part of all of our lives that Tom Haig suggested to Hans Landwehr that we build a two lane swimming pool with a diving well diagonally across the Haig yard to the Landwehrs…so that we could have Hans swimming laps and Tom diving at the same time!

Many a fiery ‘tree stumpings’ were held at the juncture of the yards, right inside the fence. We
co-hosted lots of late night parties there. And oh, the swim parties…and the band parties…we did have fun! Today, you’ll more likely find the four of us meeting for pizza at Calderone’s to share news and memories of music, graduations, weddings, some sorrows and losses, lots of pride in our children’s accomplishments and best of all, a life long friendship.

And as always, the fence makes good neighbors.

Thanks for the memories, Carolyn and Jim…Grow old with us – the best is yet to come!

Here's Tim...celebrating Homecoming with the Rufus King German Club! How about those lederhosen?

Change

CHANGE
Tiny golden leaves from the locust tree
have fallen to the ground
spreading their sunshine all over the driveway.
No more the soft sweet smell of a summer’s night…
no more the blinding sun of a summer’s day.
Yellow pumpkins plump stolidly upon the doorstep,
waiting for goblins to appear.
Gone is the stifling summer heat,
away with the smell of sweet marguerite at my back door.
Those sun filled green grasslands
that supported joyous play are quiet now…
the children all gone to more important callings.
Grey clouds blot the skyand rain spatters indiscriminately on the asphalt.
The wind scatters leaves and dried flower petals
into the sleepy gardens.
It’s damp.
It’s chilly.
The season has made a smart about-face turn
and fall is here.
‘08

Oh wow, you guys! Kelly and her friend Bobby are shown on the way to Homecoming. They both looked so nice...I guess everybody is growing up!

The Slide Begins

September 7, 2008 marked the beginning of a slide down a very slippery slope for me. It began with the death of the only person in the whole wide world who still called me “Margaret” every time he saw me. “That’s the name you were baptized with and I see no reason to change it,” he would say.

My cousin Tom…my dependable surrogate older brother as I grew up, has left us. We’ve lost other members of this Enright clan, this great Irish family of my mother’s. However, it was usually a tearing, sudden surprise of a removal -two uncles and one of the cousins in their forties. Or perhaps one of “the folks from West Bend” would die, those who were ancient great uncles and aunts at least to our young perceptions. But now…now it’s one of US!

How lucky we were that Uncle Muv bought the cottage on Cedar Lake. That big old rambling white clapboard cottage could sleep 21 we’d proudly proclaim. In a very organized rotation all of my cousins and aunts and uncles would descend on the cottage Sundays during the summer, ready to spend their week or two of vacation in the carefree world that bordered a green Wisconsin Lake. So, Bill and Tom, Pat, Mary Ann and Kay, Susan, Mary Beth and Abby (Dan came later!), Carol, John and Barbara Mary and their moms would take their turn keeping my mom and me company over the hot languid weeks. Oftentimes, our dads made the commute from Milwaukee, arriving on Friday night and ready to fish a little, do some chores, cut the grass (mowing the west 40, as my uncle Harold used to say!) and just relax with our families. The big screened porch that ran the length of the cottage formed a dining room on the side. We could watch the regattas on Sunday afternoon as we ate dinner. White wicker furniture with yellow pillows reflected the sunshine on the front porch, facing the lake. I remember how excited we were that we would be left with ‘the older kids’ to watch all of us younger ones as the grownups departed for Minnesota to see Uncle Muv marry Aunt Mary. We worried about Bill going into the Army. We fell off rafts, took unauthorized sailboat rides from our neighbors (the Tews family), walked down to the frog pond with “Aunt Carol,” my mom, every night, and whispered secrets to each other as we slept on the screened-in porches that formed two wings of the upstairs. It seemed Tom was always there.

When I was quite small, I remember Aunt Marie and Uncle Harold driving up to our flat on 58th street and inviting us to go along for a Sunday afternoon ride in the country. Grandma Vosburg (Marie’s mother) was often with us. Tom and I would be crammed into the car and would ride hilariously through the Wisconsin countryside, with my dad and Harold trading jokes and jibes at one another. “Fischer! You’ve gotten us stuck in a corn field AGAIN!” Harold would joyously point out. And we’d all laugh, and Grandma Vosberg would offer peanuts in the shell as a treat in the car. Tom was always there.

I would sit in the front parlor on 17th street and vicariously listen to Tom’s friends escapades. I was the little cousin in the background. “I’m going to join the convent,” I announced one night disgustedly, as I recounted my disastrous attempt at finding partners at the local CYO dances. “Oh for Pete’s sake,” said Tom, “I’ll get you a date with Doug Haig’s little brother Jerry.” “I’m not going out with any of your goofy friends,” I stubbornly proclaimed. Tom was always ready to help me.

Tom’s father was one of the early casualties of the Enright family. Dead in his forties of a heart attack, friends and relatives rallied around Marie, Bill, and Tom. Included in this group were Doug and Jerry Haig. I met my husband at Tom’s father’s funeral.

Jerry was in the Navy when I planned my wedding. Tom and Marie made Friday night Fishfries a tradition as they helped my mom, dad, and me with details such as who would serve the Mass and where the reception would be held. Tom was always there..

When the wedding day came and went, Jerry threw my garter to the waiting crowd of bachelors…and guess who reluctantly caught it! Of course, Tom was always there.
After berating Jerry for what I perceived to be his constant last minute arrival at events, we drove into St. Jude’s parking lot for Tom and Marian’s wedding, only to find that my folks were later than we were! I thought Tom looked mighty handsome in that tux.

As the years passed, we shared family and fun. Tom and Marian were our Tom’s godparents. We spent a hilarious and hard working weekend moving Brigid and our Barb into the dorms at UW-Eau Claire. My mother died that weekend. We were in Ashland, having gone onward to take Susie to Northland College. The funeral director, a good friend, assured me that Tom had taken care of all the immediate details. He called his Brigid and she ran over to find our Barb and insisted that she would accompany Barb home on the bus for the funeral. Brigid gave up her first days in college to be with us. We’ll never forget her for that. And Tom was there, in the background, making sure all went well.

It’s a slippery slope when you realize that all ‘the West Bend folks” are gone now. Tom pointed that out as we enjoyed a St Patrick’s Day party at his son Bern’s house a couple of years ago. We cousins were sitting in the living room, visiting, when Tom boomed out “Oh for God’s sake, take a look at us! WE are the aunts and uncles now!” A silence followed that observation. We ARE the older generation. The loss of one of these close cousins is a tentative step down that slope. Within hours, the five of us who live in Milwaukee had made contact with one another. Close in childhood, we are so lucky to be able to console each other in our older days. Tom is still with us, at least in that wonderful Irish spirit – and I think he’s gone to join that Irish clan in heaven, rejoicing that ‘the cousins’ are still close. Tom will always be in my heart and memory.

I read an excerpt from a book that I pick up off and on, called "Simple Abundance." It's a 'day' book, with writings for every day of the year. My cousin Mary Ann gave it to me a long time ago, and I really treasure it because I don't have to read it all the time, but when I do, it seems to hit the spot. Today it reminded me that writing is a tough avocation. You say to yourself, "Self, you can't write anything today, because there's nothing to write." Simple, eh? Well that's a cop-out. If I am going to write (and this blog was intended for me to scribble every once in a while) I'll have to get more disciplined about it. Maybe it's ok to just jot down a few thoughts every once in a while.
Today's thought concerns one of my sons-in-law. Today is Dan's 50th birthday. I've known Dan since he was a gangly, tow-headed freshman in high school, coming home off and on with my oldest son Andy. They met each other when Andy joined the swim team at the local high school.
Suddenly, in my daughter Barb's sophomore year in college, Dan discovered that Andy's pit-tailed, perky cheerleading siste had turned into someone he wanted to get to know a bit better. The end of the fairy story is that Dan and Barb were married, combining two families that had been friends for many years. I must admit that as time elapsed, familiarity sometimes was the breeder of contempt, as they say...and Dan and I disagreed on a fair number of things over the years and still aren't afraid to tell each other that we're not on the same track. But as the years went on ( and I got older and wiser) I couldn't help but see the perserverance, the dedication, and the genuine goodness streaming out of Dan. In addition, he has always been fun! Just a bit quirky...he will greet you with his 'pirate voice' more often than not...he covers his concern and goodwill with an interesting sense of duty to the environment and the historic neighborhood in which he and Barb have raised Patrick and Tim. Buy a building for his appraisal business? Sure, and then rent out parts of it to a wonderful children's book store and give a neighbor/friend a boost, renting space for her art gallery. When he realized that not many people would visit his appraisal office, Dan started the Guerilla Art Gallery in his front windows, hanging and displaying 'outside' artists who might not find the wherewithal to show their works. He loves Halloween...dresses up every year and helped organize the Washington Heights Halloween night out. One year, he left Jerry and me at home to give out small plasic prizes to the kids. We ran through the 2000 that he provided!!! After Jerry's bike accident, Wisconsin snow was piling up on our driveway. Late one afternoon, there was Dan, shoveling away. He'd driven the several miles to our house after work just to be sure we were able to navigate our front walk. We met him through swimming, but he's really quite a talented thespian. He spends hour upon hour practicing for and helping with the St. Sebastian Cabaret. So...I guess this is my love song to Dan. Happy Birthday, Dan. 50 years seems but a moment!