Death of a Schwartzman

Obituary: Steve ‘Tubby’ Softub (Schwartzman T-260)

It is with heavy heart that I announce the passing of our dear friend Steve.

Steve had been a close friend of mine for over twenty years and had calmed me through the rough waters of life and brought me great joy. He was always there waiting for me and could be called upon on snowy winter mornings or a late night vigil where we would salute the starry nights with a glass of pinot noir or a hearty whiskey to help me on a relaxing send-off to my day.

The Early Days

Steve came to our home in the early aughts, arriving on the roof of our car held only by bungee straps and our arms curling out the open windows to grab his base on each side. He was a diminutive 78 lbs, 66 inches in diameter and left nary a dent on the top of our aging Cressida. His hydramate at a svelte 36 lbs was languishing in the trunk.

After unloading his torso and wiping a few bugs off his front we rolled him into position on our newly-created back deck. He had a magnificent view of the cliff face that towered above the back of our house. Oh, to have such a charmed life. He had surely drawn the long straw and his mates back at the factory would be green (taupe, charcoal, or sand) with envy. I, being at the peak of my musculature at that time, hoisted his working parts onto my shoulder and climbed the hill into the backyard to complete Steve’s frame.

After attaching the three protruding pipes with gear clamps and attaching his umbilical cord we were ready to add the 260 gallons of water that would give Steve his purpose. The volume set to full blast, we plunged the hose into his interior and both of us stood near his rim with visions of dreamy mornings, coffee in hand, having our vitals boiled in 104C liquid. Actually, that was my vision. Carol’s vision was of loosening the knots in her muscles and having a few minutes peace to herself, as that was the real reason that her parents had sprung for the cash to add Steve to our lives.

Nonetheless,  I’m the one telling the story and Carol plays but a minor role and my needs take precedent.

The Middle Years

So, from ’04 to ’13 Steve regaled us with his light and his jets perched on the mountainside. At our location on 37th St. we enjoyed unfettered privacy and I was free to live a clothing-optional spa experience. Because of that it also narrowed down the amount of companions that were available to share Steve with. There was Carol of course, but soon she became jealous of our relationship and shunned Steve in favor of a good book and a merlot in a comfy chair.

We didn’t have any out of town guests that would share my enthusiasm of anatomy el fresco and my friends and family locally would find the thought abhorrent, so it was exclusively a solitary pursuit… except for Ted.

For those that aren’t acquainted with Ted he had early potential but decided to cast aside his Economics degree in favor of being a vagabond furniture purveyor which brought him into our proximity several times a year. Although claiming to be Mensa, the organization has no record of his existence; still he does talk up a good history rant and is an ardent traveler so we tolerate his long-winded stories (you think I’m bad, Ted is me on steroids).

Ted also knows his way around a liquor cabinet, so he was put near the top of the list automatically.

At first blush it would not sound appealing to share an undraped experience with a friend but Ted almost never looks below the bottom of his glass, and even after the dozens of times that we shared Steve together I couldn’t tell you if he’s Jewish or not, so get those thoughts out of your head.

But one particular extended experience had us move from the friendly confines of our living room to the watery bliss outdoors just after midnight. It was to be a marathon session of 4 1/2 hours with arms gesticulating wildly while we sorted out who was the best Risk player, or was Napoleon actually 5’4″, do you need 4 eggs to make a French omelette?, etc. Then with the yard strewn with empty bottles I made my way inside to towel off and head for bed while Ted was face down in the water making motorboat sounds.

As far as Steve’s light is concerned, unless you’re on a prom date or looking for a submerged phone, I don’t see why it would ever be turned on.

The Twilight Years

In late ’13 we moved to our current house where Steve was positioned facing our remarkable view of the Kootenay River valley, which still afforded me an unabashed aquatic experience as we had our second backyard that enjoyed unlimited privacy.

He was starting to show his age and developed wrinkles on his bottom (as we all do). He also became a bionic version of his early self. First he developed a steady leak in his lid (as we all do), so he had a replacement (wrong color unfortunately). Then he required a lung transplant (pump), then a heart transplant (motherboard), and when he recently developed colon issues (softening and leaking of his pipes) the writing was on the wall and on Sept.4/25 he was laid to rest in the warehouse of Sunset Custom Blinds and Spas. He had offered his organs for transplant but upon further review it was determined that he had been the oldest surviving Softub in known memory (104 in spa years) and there was nothing left to save albeit 21 years of memories.

His Legacy

Steve led a blessed life but did see his share of a-holes, but there was also many clothed encounters with our children and our grandkids. One that stands out was when the dimmest of the grandkids was standing on his rim with trunks and swim goggles on, arms overhead with palms pressed together like a Mexican cliff-diver, ready to slam headfirst into 25 inches of water in search of their mystery rock (a barbecue briquet). The other two were patiently waiting their turn should he/she be ambulanced to the E.R. without grasping the simulated chunk of lava.

I looked up just in time and rushed over and brushed past him/her and grabbed the gin and tonic that had carelessly been left teetering on Steve’s rim, disaster averted. No children were hurt in the telling of this story.

Another common site was of the female cohort of our family all seated squashing Steve’s rim with legs dangling in the cold water that we kept in him in the summer months. A vodka soda, a Chablis, and Carol’s trademark Carmenere taking up their right hands and left hands idly making circles in the cool liquid; all the while dissecting the days highlights and planning for tomorrow’s adventures.

Shared by others but revered by me, Steve finally met his Maker (actually, a regional distributor) and was laid to rest (cut up with a chainsaw and tossed in a dumpster).

Gone but not forgotten, his replacement was hoisted into the back of a borrowed pickup and carted home. Apparently the statute of limitations had run out as far as parental expenditures for needy daughters goes and we were left to liquidate some of our children’s inheritance for the purchase.

Following the same procedure as with Steve’s inauguration the new and improved version was placed on a bed of sand tucked next to our covered deck. We decided that a slightly smaller version was all that was necessary for my naturist romps so we chose the Softub T-180 in taupe and christened him Stefan.

Stefan has some big water shoes to fill and I’m sure there will be many stories to follow of our times together. So, let’s hoist a glass to the memory of the best (only) outdoor water containment apparatus that we ever had. Cheers to Steve!