I had hoped to write something on the last day of 35; or, even the first of 36, but nothing came. That is how it goes. In this part of the universe, I am about an hour into the second day of my 36th year, and I can’t sleep. I did not jump into this year with a springboard. In fact, I’ll admit to a fear of the water this go around. What if the water is too cold, the current too strong? What if I have forgotten how to swim? That’s how this started, a man swam between the buoys while I sat on the beach, watching him. I didn’t join him, didn’t even get close to where the water lapped against the sand. Non-swimmers and the exhausted are at risk for drowning. I was exhausted that day, but the past year was to recover and to remember that I know how to swim. At least, I know the basics. My father taught me. Long before the red bathing suited lessons in 3rd grade, he taught me how to swim in a run-off ditch behind our trailer in Reno, NV. He threw me in and stayed on the bank, yelling, “Keep your head above water. Kick your feet.” I was six years old and thought I would drown in a river.