It came to my mind the other day that I not only love to be in water, I love to water. Plants, trees, flowers, animals. Anything really! Give me a 3/4-full trough on the ranch and I will top it off. I can’t abide a nearly full water vessel that begs to be filled to the tippy-top and then some. Flowers and trees must get their daily dose of the wet stuff. I talk to them, my hose in hand. (“Did you get enough to drink? No? Oh, there’s plenty here! Hang on, I can do better than that!”)
My dogs must have access to water all over the property, whether for bathing or drinking, it’s everywhere. I’m a water nut, obsessive, particular in its placement and order. But then water is such a very primal and fundamental thing. I was born near water; I spent most of my early life in the water of one kind or another. Whether it was swimming in the North Sea near our cottage on the East Coast of England, basking in the Mediterranean when we went away on holiday to Greece, or being part of the swimming team throughout my schooling and then wishing winter could be over so we’d do it all over again. Water was and is the bomb.
And now I am older and can’t ride horses anymore, never could run very well and find the gym the most boring place on the planet (except for the odd set of muscles on view that can be a bit riveting). In order to keep the blood circulating and the body moving, I find myself drawn even more towards the water, where I can exercise without stress or pain. It’s an ageless occupation. I used to be a fair tennis player — I doubt that is up my alley anymore, but perhaps I should give pickleball a go — slower, easier perhaps. Definitely softer on the old limbs!
After my surgeries of late, more than anything I missed, I could not wait to get back into the water. I could be seen tending to my scar lines and coaxing them to “just finish up and heal already, would you?” I have liquid places to go, water to find, happy places to position myself in, for my sake and others. As often as possible, you can find me in the Soledad pool early of a morning with a bunch of ladies I call The Mermaids. We are supposed to be doing water aerobics with paddles and noodles and following along to Stacey or one of the YouTube babes who teach the television class when we are in the water, but mostly we are all doing our own thing and maybe the lips on the faces are moving faster than the water paddles. But however much I am able to work the body in the space of an hour or so, I emerge from the chlorinated depths with an enormous feeling of peace and wellbeing. My muscles are hot and tight; my humor is good; I am ready for whatever the day brings me. I also sleep well at night — something I’ve noticed does not happen if I do not find my zen in some water.
My baby sister was a mermaid too. She loved to swim in the Mediterranean near her home in Turkey, she lived to crawl stroke across the bay, often with her husband right next to her. I can still see her in my mind, coming up for air in her rhythmic stroke, her legs thundering up and down. When she could no longer swim, she would noodle and she noodled right up until the end of her life. When I am in the water, especially when the sun is glinting on the water, providing an explosively watery sunray, I am with her again and we are in the water. Primal, isn’t it. I semi-close my eyes and we could be anywhere together, side-by-side in the water with the insistent glisten of light and sky creating our watery landscape. Our other sister loves water too and feels close to our baby sister there as well. We all grew up next to the water, and our mother was a super swimmer — all pieces of a rather snug jigsaw I’d say.
I taught my daughter and granddaughter to swim; it’s a rite of passage in my house. You must be comfortable and confident in water; it’s an essential part of life.
Everywhere I travel, I endeavor to stay at a hotel with a pool or by a sea that is swimmable! My body craves the way it feels in water and, out of water, well it’s just not a pretty sight. “Are you going to the pool?” husband will broach cautiously, when it has been a day or so since he saw me pack up my aerobics stuff for an early start. That is my cue to go and find myself in a body of water which, to me, is life itself.
The mermaids at the local pool have some years on them and I include myself in that description — some are over 80 and still loving bouncing around, pain free, in the water. I’ve seen many a person show up to the pool on a walker or stick, edge their way down into the water and proceed to be as free as a bird. No pain, no limitations. Water is such a gift and so all-inclusive! When I myself was riddled with arthritis, I could hobble my way into the pool and breathe a sigh of relief. The pain stopped there. Such a blessing.
I think every child should be taught how to swim — in my day it was part of the school curriculum like reading and writing. Imagine how much confidence the art of swimming would give a young child. But then we were also indulged in art classes and theater. That was a whole different world, and I think there are some things of yore that need to be re-examined in education, like a person’s relationship with the water.
I shall be in the water for the rest of my life — I don’t know much, but I do know that. If I find I can no longer maneuver myself into the water, there are magical machines that will help me and I will take advantage of them.
If you are struggling to find your happy place because of pain or simply because you are a pain, give the water a chance. No one critiques your skills, everyone is free to do or not do, according to how they feel and we all leave there feeling better than when we went in. How bad can it be?
Now the Soledad Pool has been renovated and re-opened, there are some great opportunities for swimming lessons, swim club, water aerobics and more. We are lucky to have such a beautiful pool in our small town, and we need to appreciate it. Come and join “The Mermaids” … (no age limit). You will be glad you did.
