My husband and I put in a pool about seven years ago, when our youngest kids went off to college. It was a not-so-veiled scheme to lure them back home to visit each summer; and it worked for the most part. It didn’t hurt that we kept adding fun floaties every season so they could loll around in the water while listening to a favorite playlist and sipping something cool and refreshing. That said, our pool truly is an oasis—our little backyard refuge where we have fun just bobbing up and down on our oversized noodles, not a care in the world, balmy water lapping at our chins.
Despite how decidedly wonderful this pool is, I’m quite sure our kids have no idea what horrible caretakers we are. To date, our ineptitude knows no bounds. The folks at Fagnano’s Pools know the score. Without a doubt, no two stupider people have set foot in their establishment seeking guidance and/or a small team of marriage counselors. We never remember anything they’ve taught us so they have to walk us through the opening every year. Thankfully, they are more than accommodating and incredibly patient, even though it’s plain to see by every metric we are fools and we have no business owning anything that requires regular maintenance. Every spring we turn to the gurus at Fagnano’s for specific instruction on opening our pool. Of course, they remove the winter cover, install the ladders and get the filter running, et al. But when it comes to adding chemicals and salt, we’re utterly clueless. Fortunately, they provide us with a detailed list of what to add and when—and also when it’s safe to begin heating the water. No one wants algae running amok.
That is not to say, our pool experience has been uneventful. Perish the thought. There was the time we somehow sucked the mesh “skimmer sock” through the pipes, under the pool, all the way to the filter on the other side. And because the gods were smiling upon us, the sock didn’t get wedged in the pipes UNDER THE POOL. And thankfully the pieces of my husband’s dissolving swimsuit didn’t get sucked into the skimmer. What’s more, within the first couple of seasons we tore the solar cover and just stopped using it. Besides, there are big, hairy spiders in the cavity that houses the cover and I am not a fan of reaching in there.
Another spring, our water was the color of a pond (actually, less inviting than a pond) because great hordes of spongy moth caterpillars were perched in a huge oak tree above the water, pooing indiscriminately. What we didn’t know was that the disgusting particles were so fine, they couldn’t be removed the way we normally cleaned the pool. This necessitated vacuuming by hand so as not to stir up the poo that had settled to the bottom, and because we’re so dependent on the robotic vacuum that does the job automatically, our neighbor, Jay, had to show us how to do it because he’s forgotten more than we know. To say that this task was laborious is an understatement. That’s code for WE DIDN’T SWIM UNTIL MID-JULY. Although we hated to do it, we removed the oak tree and haven’t experienced that sort of fresh hell since then.
Aside from the spongy moth fiasco, last summer we noticed that the pool wasn’t holding its heat for about two or three weeks even though it was ungodly hot outside and the nights weren’t all that cool. Naturally, we called Fagnano’s to save us from ourselves. They took one look at our equipment and informed us that THE HEATER WAS OFF, apparently. My husband and I were dumbfounded as to how that happened. Like I said, no two stupider people own a pool.
Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably floating on a purple noodle). Visit me there at
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Copyright 2026 Melinda L. Wentzel
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