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.