As a Cancerian, water attracts me more than wind, lightning, fire, dunes of sand ... most anything natural really.
If I go somewhere new, and there is any kind of water (sea, lake, pond, even an interesting looking creek), I gravitate towards it like iron filings to magnets. I am one of those people who can stare at water for hours, watching it change colour under sunshine or cloud, form patterns with the wind, witness its moods, listen to its many sounds.
Growing up I had lots of books about water, water creatures, objects that floated on or were submerged in water - whales, fish, ships, submarines to name a few - and I delighted in being in water, even the freezing cold waters of Puget Sound at a rocky beach near our house in Seahurst, Washington state. In an earlier post I wrote about Dad and his boats, how I liked to jump off them as a child, or fall off on occasion. I couldn't help myself. I wanted to be in water, feel it, even if I had all my clothes on.
I have never been scared of water. Sailing with Dad in my teenage years could be pretty hair-raising when we encountered squalls and heavy seas, almost an entire side and railing of the sail boat disappearing under a churning blue-green deepness of white whipped up water that surged into the cockpit in which we braced ourselves, standing almost vertical, the boat heaving and bucking like a wild animal we were trying to ride.
I have so many memories of water that spring to mind, far too many for a five minute write, but I can tell you about one that I remember.
When I was little, Mom taught me to swim by taking me out with her into what must have been a local pool, and holding me on her lap, cradling me while I floated, and then holding my hands outstretched so I could kick.
She loved water as much as I do (she was also a Cancerian) and even as Parkinson's disease slowly began to steal away her mobility, she loved our little beach here, and we took her there often during the summer, dressed in her bathing gear of floppy hat, sunglasses, bright rash shirt and board shorts.
When we got to the beach, I'd walk her down into the water. I'd back in, holding her hands, until we were about waist deep, then we both went 'One two three whoo!' and under, into the delicious chill.
I'd support her head and shoulders so she could stretch out her legs and float. When she got tired, I'd sit her on my lap and, buoyant in the water, I'd kind of crab-walk her around in the little waves until she got cold and it was time to go home.
The one difference here would be the post-swim refreshments. After my swimming lesson in the pool, I suspect I would've been given a hot drink of some kind.
For Mom and I, after our beach visit, I'd often grab a couple of glasses, slice up the lemon, and haul out the tonic and Bombay Sapphire gin. Mom used to call us 'The Two Commodores' as we sat in the summer sunshine on the deck with a view of the sea and the boats, sipping away on our G and Ts.
Fabulous.