Island Girl

I cast out my new lure in the slight breeze over the rocky shore and across the smooth surface of the ocean saying a little prayer.  Not much of one, just that I would be grateful to actually keep it instead of losing it to the seaweed and the rocks below.  And if it became a lucky lure, good for multiple strikes, that would be great too. 

I am a lucky woman to live on the west coast of Vancouver Island, Canada, and every time I come out to this beach—not a five minute drive from where I live—I give gratitude to the powers that be.  The beach, the ocean and her moods, and both the animals and people who live here are a constant inspiration. 

Today I was in for a treat.  I heard him singing before I could see him, the breeze carrying his voice over the water.  He was on the other side of one of the rocky fingers jutting out along the shore.  But there could be no mistaking the low husky voice and those chants in a native dialogue that seemed to fill me with an unexpected comfort when I heard them.  I figured he must be an elder or perhaps a medicine man from the reserve community that was close by, and these chants he sang were for the ocean and her children.  As if to answer in greeting, an Eagle stutter whistled from the pines behind me.   

He rounded the bend and his familiar yellow Kayak came into view, still a ways down the beach and complete with the little Terrier figurehead. 

I never saw the man without the dog, or the dog without the man.  They were inseparable and seemed to have a symbiotic relationship so in tune they were together.  At times the dog would jump off of the Kayak and then swim along the boat, or swim for shore and then run along the beach while his master paddled along.  Then when he was tired he would either swim back to the Kayak or signal with a bark for his master to come and pick him up.   

It was peaceful to watch the two interacting without words, while I cast out my line and felt the little fish bite while I waited for bigger prey.  Often times seal and otter are out here to enjoy the waves.  Or the resident blue heron comes to fish with me while the sun sets in the west, giving purple hues to the snowcapped mountains in the east.

I went to live in Calgary, Alberta for a couple years, and found that I had this deep heartsick longing for the coastal waters and the mild climates, I had to move back.  I shake my head at it now, wondering why I had ever thought I could be a Cowgirl.  When it should have been so clear all along that to the depths of my bones, I am an Island girl, and only with the scent of the ocean am I truly home.

The Laced Up Confessionals Part Seven

So the other day’s topic of discussion was Fartlek speed bursts.  The first time I heard the term “Fartlek” in a clinic I almost burst out laughing, (sounds like Fart Lick) and all I could think about was some poor guy with this last name going through life. 

In reality though Fartlek is a Swedish term that means “speed play”, it is a form of interval speed training for runners. 

When Fartlek training a runner will run hard for bursts of 30 seconds to a minute and then double the amount of cool down time at an easy pace.  This is repeated for a set of ten and can vary in length due to the runners needs.  You can use them on all different types of terrain or in hill training.  If a runner incorporates these into their weekly regimen they are sure to see a reduction in their race times.

Other ways of increasing speed are shortening your strides and quickening them up. When I want to do this I imagine that I am on hot asphalt in bare feet, and that always gets me moving at a quicker pace. 

Tempo runs are another great way to get some new speed out of routine runs.  These are interval runs like the Fartleks, but they are for longer periods of time, and not as fast.  Instead of running at top speed, you would just bring it up a notch or two, and hold them for longer periods of two to three minutes then recover and repeat.

You won’t achieve great speed by only training for strength.  Speed is not determined by just how strong your muscles are but also by how they react.  What you fuel up with, how you cross-train and if you have skipped any workouts will become a factor as well.  Jump rope, skipping skills and box jumping are good drills to work on, if your knees can bear it try running up steps, or running steeper grade hills.

The best way to bring your endurance up is to be consistent, be patient, build up slowly and above all listen to your body.  Don’t try to do too much too fast, that is only a recipe for future injury or the best way to become dissatisfied with your performance and perhaps with running in general.  Increase one of your runs to a longer run then the other two for the week, so you have an easy day, one a little longer and perhaps with some hill training, then a slower longer run for the third in the week.  Try mixing them up and listening to how your body feels and responds to the runs, if you are getting side stitches you are going too fast and your body is not able to respond or recuperate fast enough.  LISTEN to what it is saying slow down a bit and see if you can run through it, stretch away from the stitch to lengthen your diaphragm, if this doesn’t work after a couple moments take a minute to walk it out before starting your pace again. 

Stay strong, healthy but most of all have fun, it is the best way to keep your soles on the blacktop.

Marshland

This Marsh is a favorite area for me for photos and nature walks. There are many different species of birds and frogs to look for and many different types of fauna to identify as well.

I love bullrushes when they stir in the wind. They have such a wonderful sound to them. The birds punctuate this with their shill calls to one another. The warm winds and sun brought the earth's perfume up from the moist soil.

I really enjoy the trees around the marsh, most are tall old grandfathers looking over the waterways and giving shade when needed, others are dead and gone but still reach out of the soil like skeleton fingers.

Apple Blossoms were everywhere to the delight of the local honey bees, their pastel pinks were a wonderful compliment to the blue skies behind.

I love sunlight on the petals of flowers. It reminds me of candle light on satin, and you can really see the smoothness of their impermenant nature.

This is where most of the frogs find residence, although today proves to be too warm for them to come out of their hiding spots for their photo debut.

This is one of the old trees that have given up their reign to the new younger trees, but the birds still find respite in the dark grey branches.

I love the contrast of the bright sun coming through the viens of the tree branches and trunks. I find myself mezmerized by what is above me as well as on the ground and about me.

The pathways weave in and out of the bush and trees, and it is a wonderful feeling to walk along them and listen to the birds as they flitter and flutter here and there thoughout the bushes all around you. It is like they are having a great game of hide and seek with you as you walk through the dappled sunshine.

I am not sure what kind of tree this is and I am not sure what kind of blossom this is but I could not resist the urge to take a photo of the fragile petals reaching for the sun.

This is one of the dragonflies that were landing on me all through the walk today, I wasn't wearing perfume, so I am not sure why the attention, but I was happy to get this shot.

Jets, Fairies and Egg-salad Sandwiches

They were special times when we would pack up the yellow station wagon and go for the hour and a half trip up Island to my Grandma’s.  My brother and I would watch the landscape rush by with egg salad sandwiches in our thoughts.  Grandma made the best egg salad, served in huge Buns Master Kaisers, with pickles and Old Dutch potato chips on the side.  A glass of cold grape Kool-Aid in Tupperware cups to wash it all down. 

We would watch her prepare these as the adults caught up on the latest family news, our mouths salivating.   She had a glass cutting board with game birds on it, built into the countertop.  I can still remember the sound of the serrated knife she always used as she cut through the buns and hit the beveled top of the glass.  It was music to our ears.  Just like the constant sound of the jets taking off at the air base down the road.

I was always drawn to her living room, which was done in a Spanish motif.  Everything was in red and black, the woodstove in the corner, the furniture, the carpet; she even had a beautiful Spanish doll with black hair and vibrant blue eyes. 

After lunch we were allowed to play outside or find something else to do while the adults continued to visit.  I would watch the constant march of the big black Carpenter ants while my brother went out onto the long asphalt driveway beside the barn shaped house and raced his Hot Wheels.  I remember him crying when one of his favorite cars had veered off to the side, and did a huge jump into the bushes.  Our searches turned up nothing; it was lost to the Salal.   I wondered if the forest fairies would come and find it and play with it when we were gone.  Grandma’s house just seemed magical, the way it was back from the road, and surrounded by forest, it was a likely place for fairy to play. 

I remember constant smiles, and my grandparents ready mirth shining in their brilliant blue eyes, and Grandma taking her false teeth out in the downstairs bathroom and then making us laugh with her toothless funny faces. 

Grandma always had the best and most interesting things in her house, like the “If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie.” sign in the downstairs bathroom.  In the upstairs bathroom there was lilac colored shag carpet, the only place I ever remember with carpet in the bathroom.  The books of shelves in the family room had a whole range of topics, ghosts, UFO’s and other strange things, and her six children would tease her about her constant purchases of the tabloids.  They also had cast heads of men on the walls, in all different kinds of professions, a sailor, a captain, a baker, just to name a few.  I was enthralled with these and could look at them for hours.  They seemed so life-like and full of detail.  Upstairs in the bedrooms there were slats of pine on the walls and the sloping ceilings, and when we stayed over, like the time the road washed out from a mudslide, and I couldn’t sleep, I would count the dark brown knots in the wood. 

I remember watching Grandma knitting when commercials came on TV, her old dog Brandy, and snowball her white cat with green eyes. 

I remember at night when it was time to leave, my dad, brother and I had to wait in the car for Mum and her long good-byes.  We would sit and listen to the singing bats and the peals of her laughter.  Then my brother and I, on the long drive home, would fall asleep in the back seat, dreaming of egg salad sandwiches, jets, and fairy.

Hallelujah Hot Water!

It started when my hot water tank went.  I guess I shouldn’t call it mine though because I rent an old character house built in 1932 that has a wonderful big yard and a glorious view of the Pacific Ocean.  So when I began noticing that my showers were becoming shorter and shorter, I knew that this was just a little glitch that the universe had sent me to teach me patience and to appreciate being born in an era that spoiled me. 

So I called the agency that is the go between for myself and the owners and talked to “My Guy”.  My guy is a young lad who is part of the family that owns the property management business that looks after this house, and somehow he always seems to remind me of a blonde Don Johnson from that old TV show Miami Vice.   My guy shows up at my door well dressed and professional for inspections and when things go wrong or need to be seen to. 

I love this whole set up.  I love the fact that there is this middle man between the owners and me.  I never have to track anyone down, or wait for things to get done like I have experienced with other landlords in the past.  In the past four years the dryer, fridge and now the hot water tank have had to be replaced, and no matter what needed to be done my guy always had it fixed for me within hours or a day when parts needed to be ordered.

The hot water tank was no exception.  I called in and within hours he had a plumber here with a brand new tank.  I was ecstatic both with my new tank that was only supposed to take another three hours to heat, and with my guy for getting another job done so fast.

But lo and behold, when I got back from that nights run and hop into the shower I get three minutes of hot water before it goes flesh numbingly cold and I am screaming, doing the blind wet squirrel dance because I have soap in my eyes and I can’t find the taps.

To top it off, I can also now hear running water, even though I have turned off the taps and there is no other water running in the bathroom.  Once I take care of the remaining shampoo situation, I make another call to my guy.  However it is now the weekend and my guy is not in the office until Monday.  Ok, no problem, I am a big girl, I can manage.  This is just a little bump in the road when we look at the big picture.

The good news is that I can still wash clothes with cold water, I do that anyway, and one of the heating elements works so at least I am getting some hot water.  I just have to use my hot water wisely and time things, a little differently.  I began to wash dishes after filling the tub so that when I was boiling water for the tub I could use the time wisely and not drive myself crazy watching the water come to a boil.  I found that four big pasta pots was about right to get things done, but I was beginning to feel like a pasta noodle myself or like a boiled egg, I hoped that getting the tank fixed wouldn’t take much longer. 

Then all of a sudden, surprise, the phone rings and it is my guy.  Even though it is the weekend he is calling me to make sure that everything is on the up and up.  I tell him all about what has transpired and he gets on the phone to find out what can be done.  About thirty minutes later I get a call back, it is a different plumber asking for a time to come by to look at the tank.  He is one of the stores maintenance warranty guys.

When he shows up, I am looking up, I mean way up.  This guy has to be about six four and I was thinking to myself how does this guy get into nooks and crannies if need be?  He stayed for about ten minutes, and then told me that one of the heating elements had to be ordered and changed.  So we made arrangements for Monday.

Monday is now here and the plumber has come and gone again.  Lucky me, he showed up twenty minutes early, and only took about 45 minutes to do the job; my son, in his glory as he watched the young man work.  Suddenly all his home schooling work was out the window, I didn’t mind too much as long as he stayed out of the man’s way.

Good news, the running water noise in the bathroom has mysteriously vamoosed; I guess it must have been air in the pipes.  After my run tonight, I hope that there will not be a second squirrel incident and I will just have a deeper appreciation for being spoiled by appliances that work.

The Laced Up Confessionals Part Five

Monday started off like so many others in the past 3 months, fat drops of rain racing each other to annihilation upon the face of the earth.  Some hitting so hard that it made it look like it was raining skywards.  Warm mugs of coffee couldn’t chase away the yawns that percolated through my day, nor could they cure a chill that had me donning layer after layer of cotton and wishing I had fur. 

I picked up the local paper only to be informed that we had now crossed over into days of water restrictions.  I smirked at the irony of it all.  Wondering why such a concept would be needed in the rainy season of rainforest country.

Run time came closer and the rain refused to release its squeeze on the big pouty clouds.  I envisioned some of the drops making sure others were on their way down before making their own kamikaze dive through the cold air. 

On the drive through town I wondered how many would show.  I knew I would not be alone in my efforts because it was a clinic night which meant a talk on a certain subject or a guest speaker, and these seemed to draw a larger crowd no matter what the weather.

Tonight’s topic was Safety.  What to wear to be seen by traffic, which places were better to run then others and why.  What to do when running alone, and lots of advice to run in pairs or packs,  especially around one of our most picturesque lakes which also doubles as the running Mecca of the city.  The instructors warned us that the resident male flasher was still at work.  Although this man had been caught and charged several times for his outdoorsy breeches of etiquette, he continues to return to the same place as before, business as usual.  Apparently not much more can be done about this man and his mental illness until he ups the level of his actions.  This of course upset most of the runners in the clinic, but I’ve known about this guy for a year and a half and have yet to see his antics.  I am not a regular of the lake though and perhaps this is why.

Still, we as runners have to know that there is risk out there.  There are cars, bikes, skateboarders, roller-bladers, dogs, doggie doo-doo, and people to dodge and there are the elements and injuries to be dealt with. 

Even so, steps can be taken to reduce conflicts where they arise, making enjoyable and worthwhile.

So lace up, and join the throng of walkers and runners in your area.  Whether for fitness or the social aspects of the activity, you will be so glad you did!

The Laced Up Confessionals Part Four

On Monday, our running clinic had a guest speaker; a physiotherapist and chiropractor who works for a sports clinic.  This is the same clinic I went to last year, (but not the same doctor) for my hip problems. 

I think they are amazing people that work there because they are athletes which means they understand about training schedules and they will try to keep you out on the trail running rather than on the couch putting your feet up whenever possible.  To a runner this is great news, because any time on the couch means loss of muscle mass and lost time out there training for upcoming runs, which in turn can mean slower race times and missed races all together.

The doctor I saw last year was one of the few who went to Vancouver to help out with the athletes that came for the Olympics.  So I knew I was in great hands.  The doctor who worked on me was young and good looking and there was a joke amongst the women in the group that we should call him “Abe the babe”, seeing as he wanted to be called by his first name rather than his position title.

So back to Monday night.  This guy, like the previous doctor before him, was young and good looking as well and he was a long distance runner having a number of Marathons under his belt.  He started out telling us about the benefits of icing after a run and how the worst thing you can do is immerse yourself in a hot bath afterwards because it causes inflammation of any injuries and will cause more pain then wanted.  Ice, he said, is an athlete’s best friend.  Then it was on to information about stretching, the pros and cons and when they should be performed.  There is controversy in the running world about whether they should be done at all.  But the good looking doctor boys think that is a good thing to do IF you do it after a run and not before.  This they say is because the muscles are like rubber bands and you want to stretch a warm muscle not snap a cold one.  He went on to demonstrate some stretches and pre-run moves to warm up before we head out.  He had some great ones for shin splints that I found useful

When his half an hour was up our coach took over and we all bundled up and headed out into the parking lot to try out his new moves.  (I never knew that some men have such grace while skipping, and then there were others who nearly killed themselves in the attempt!)   I am sure we looked hilarious out there flinging our legs this way and that and then to and fro to get our glutes tight.  Then with most of us laughing at our attempts to reproduce the doctor’s orders, we headed out for the run start.

I found my running partner and noticed that she was limping a bit.  I asked her what was wrong and she told me that when she did one of the moves she felt some sharp pains going from above her buttock down the back of her leg.  I immediately thought that it sounded like a sciatica problem, I asked her if she still wanted to continue and like a trooper she replied yes, thinking that it might make it settle down with use.  I told her that we should take it easy and not to push things and that if it got worse along the way we could walk it instead of run, and by the end she seemed better.  So we parted ways, re-enforcing our plans to meet up for Wednesday at 6pm.

So Wednesday comes along and I am having one of those low energy days, it is cloudy and rainy outside and at 2:30pm I am thinking it would be a really great idea to take a nap, especially if I have to go for a run later.  So I cuddle up and I am off to dreamland lickety split.  I wake up two hours later with a doze induced hangover. 

I am snug beneath the blankets and thinking about how it’s a run night and I had better get my rear in gear if I am going to get to my pre-arranged run meeting with my run partner.  I am cursing the fact that I didn’t get her phone number to cancel, then I think it is a really good idea that I don’t have her number so I can’t cancel our run date.  But never the less my brain and body are fighting against my will.  In loud shrill voices they are crying out to me to stop the insanity that I should do anything but lace up and meet up with my running partner in the cold wind.  I should just roll over and continue my hibernating journey.  I should just give in to all the pleasure that the warm bed provides.

Eventually it is the thought of my promise to be there that finally rouses me from under the comforter, because I have given my word and if a woman doesn’t have her word, then ultimately what does she have?

So I get out of the warm cocoon I am so fond of, change into hot pink microfiber, lace up my shoes, don my reflective gear, hat and keys and I am on my way. 

As I am driving through town with the grey skies and rain coming down I am thinking –no praying—that she shows up for the run, on days like this it is much better to have someone to share in the misery.

I get to the store where the clinics are held and I see that there are not many runners tonight.  There is also no sign of my running partner, but I am still early and being so I am also still hopeful that she will show.  I browse the shop for the latest shoes and electrolyte jelly beans and then I spy her coming in through the front door.  But there is a catch, she is limping.  Turns out that stretching session really did her in and for the past two days she has been in some serious pain so she said that should would forgo the run tonight and only came down to let me know of her situation.  I was floored that she would come all the way across town to do so.  Not many people would have.  Her likability went up tenfold.

I thanked her and told her that I thought she should go and see “Abe the Babe” right away.  I said that if she told him how much pain she was in I was sure he would see her right away, and might even stay late for her, it is just the way he is.  I told her I couldn’t promise that the process wouldn’t be painful, because it probably would be, but I also said that the process would help her out in the long run, (Pardon the pun) and that the sciatica problem she has had trouble with all her life might even disappear.  She promised she would give him a call and wished me luck on my run.

I headed out with the others in the rain and greyness, wishing I had taken my MP3 player to combat the howling wind. 

**Footnote**

~Why do all fitness Guru’s think it is a good idea to make new runners run past fast food and local restaurants?  On my way out and back I have to go past Dairy Queen and smell their burgers!  I want to know why an ice cream giant such as themselves have not come up with a fat free frozen yogurt blizzard.   Someone is definitely slow on the uptake!

The Laced Up Confessionals Part Three

Excuses.  When it’s time to lace up I have a million of them looking up at me like eager dogs; tails wagging and tongues lolling.  Each of them competing loudly in my head telling me why I should listen to them and not that “wimpy” lone will power.

What is a runner to do?  Some runners go to sleep in their running attire and then run as soon as they wake.  Attempting to trick the dozy dogs into submission.  I am not that disciplined.  I fight back with thoughts of how good I will feel once the run is over, then there are skinny denim promises and other progressive treats when I hit my goals.  I post these on the fridge, the back of my bedroom door, the bathroom mirror and anywhere else I am likely to see them and get a positive charge from them.  Running affirmations if you will.

Is this self-brain washing?  Damn straight!  Anyone who has undertaken such a mammoth task knows that every little tidbit you can use to fight against your body and mind wrestling with you to stop this ridiculous and foolish journey knows it is worth it.  Your mind, your body will be doing everything in its power to push back.  It will try to goad you into arguments about how bad the weather is, why you should stay in the nice warm house cuddled in your housecoat.  It will inflame joints, fire up sore muscles.  If you don’t pay attention, it will face a little friction with glee and give you blistered feet for your troubles.  Anything to make you slowdown, stop, or better yet give up on it all together.  

In the beginning I know I need help.  I am a human after all and what are we humans good at?  I mean really good at?  Laziness.  I would love to listen to my mind and just curl up in front of my laptop and read my friends latest postings, rather then gear up and face the horizontal rain!  I would like to tell you that I am some stoic runner who never misses a beat when the scheduled run shows itself and I have a smile on my face while doing it.  That is just not the case.  I grunt, I growl and I talk to my demons, mostly to tell them to shut up.  Why?  Because these first few weeks are the most important; they make or break a person.

I know this; I have been through this before.  I learnt as I went along my first couple of clinics.  I know my strengths and weaknesses.  I know I have to be signed into a clinic, that if I am held accountable for something I am more likely to do it.  If I know my running partner is waiting for me and will be disappointed by my not showing I am more likely to get out there.  I am more responsible to a complete stranger then to myself.  Why?  Because I have given my word, because I have traded tender for the experience, and because I know all those other people are putting themselves in the same amount of pain that I am.  If they can do it, I can do it.  There is strength in numbers, just like there is strength in my writing about the experience.  It just re-enforces my commitment.  So thanks for reading, because your comments are just one more thing helping me lace up and get out there on the asphalt. 

The Laced Up Confessionals: Monday April 4th, 2011~~Part Two

As I was driving to the place where I would meet my new running group I had a lot going through my mind.  I remembered back to my first running clinic ever and the fears I encountered on the same drive I was making now.  Would I know anyone there?  Would I be tossed in with a crowd of muscle bound endorphin junkies all decked out in the latest running threads?   Would I be the most out of shape person there?  But most of all my biggest fear was being the slowest person in the group. 

Now, as I drive on to my third trip around these clinics, I know that it doesn’t matter if I know anyone or not, running is a sport done mostly alone.  Oh sure you can run with a group, or one or two others who are going the same pace as you, but that will, that determination to go back, and to keep going back despite the pain, that is yours to claim alone. 

Not all of these determined souls running alongside me will be decked out in the latest apparel, but let it be known that all runners are endorphin junkies, and if they tell you different, they are either lying to themselves or to you.  There has to be a kickback, otherwise we wouldn’t do it.  Believe me, the warmth of my rocking chair and the excuses screaming in my head, are enough to make me turn this car around ever more so now because I, and my body, know what lies before us in the near future.

This time I won’t be running blind. 

I know what shin splints feel like; I know the torture of having a physiotherapist push the heel of his hand into the core of your muscle to loosen the seized up ligaments and joints, just so you can lay on your hips in bed without mind numbing pain.  I have firsthand knowledge of what it is like to run in horizontal icy rain, the wind so fierce that it feels as though it is sandpaper stripping your skin.  I know what it is like to slog in the rain through puddles that reach around your laces or on brilliant white snowy nights when it seems like it’s just you, your running partner, and the glittering gems that fall from the sky, against the rest of the world.  And you can’t help but smile and laugh at the experience of it all, because these are one of the only times when you are here and now and truly alive.  You are not past nor future, but present in breath, body and mind.  It is in times like these, with eyes wide open, that I find the ah-ha moments of discovery come and sit with me a while.  At times I enjoy what they have to say, but there are others where I wish I had not looked so deeply into myself, because the smudges show through.  Those areas where I need more work.

All in all we started out with twenty-nine runners this time, but I know that number will whittle down to half the numbers by the end of the clinic.  Those lucky determined ones will experience the rush of what it is like to be runners, and hopefully stick with it.  I am happy to report that I quickly bonded with two women in my group and one of them is a copywriter.  Wonders never cease…

Bathing Beauty

A man of wisdom delights in water.

~Confucius

There are those who say that you don’t choose a cat but the cat chooses you. It doesn’t matter, since Miss Bess is here and that is what matters. I picked her out of a litter -- or she picked me. She was the runt, tiny with a splotchy coat of black, white, brown and orange marking her as a calico. Her skinny body showed her ribs, since the other kittens wouldn’t let her feed regularly from her mother. I knew I had to have her. I named her Miss Bess since nothing else seemed to fit.

She grew into her paws and became a beauty. I laughed at her antics and her curiosity. She was forever getting into things. Once I found her playing with my costume jewelry. She was a tangle of gold bangles around her neck, and pearl necklaces decorated her body in loops of purple and blue. Rhinestone combs had gotten twisted in her fur and hung at strange angles. She looked at me hopelessly from the clutter as if to beg for forgiveness, asking to be relived of her excess indulgence. I delighted in making her toys and brought others home for her. She never tired of feathers and little mice filled with catnip, although wicker balls were her favorite. As the days passed we grew to know each other’s idiosyncrasies and became very fond of each other. I thought I had learned all I could about her, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

One night when I was drawing a bath I forgot to close the door. Miss Bess, never one for privacy, nosed her way past the door and into the bathroom. Upon seeing me in the tub she jumped onto the toilet and then onto the counter to have a better view of what I was doing. I like bubbles and they mesmerized her. With nose quivering and head bobbing, she moved closer to get a better look. After jumping from the counter to the floor, she bounded up again this time onto the tub’s edge. She peered at the bubbles and brought her nose closer to sniff their scent. I laughed when her nose hit and the bubbles popped. My chuckles set the water in motion and she stared at the ripples. She pawed one only to find that her paw made them too. She slapped the water, following the rings with her eyes. Only when they quieted did she regard her paw and the moisture there, licking it until the water was gone. She began to pace the edge of the tub with the grace that all cats posses. As she was meowing her reaction I watched her become more agitated and I couldn’t understand why she was getting upset.

And then it happened. Suddenly she jumped into the bath, her whole body launched through the air, and after a tremendous splash she was with me in the tub. Luckily she had landed near the faucet end of the bath. If I hadn’t been so concerned about her, I would have been in fits of giggles since Miss Bess is a cat who displays her emotion in her eyes and on her face. What I saw was a mixture of complete shock and sheer joy. She swam around the tub, droplets of water hanging off her whiskers. She looked like she was having the time of her life. I was perplexed to say the least, since I had never known nor heard of a feline who liked water. We stayed in the tub, and I let her enjoy the water for another thirty minutes.

I decided to get out of the tub since the water gotten cold and my hands were wrinkled. I dried off, dressed, and ran a comb though my hair, and I thought that at some point she would have jumped out, but she just puttered about the tub basking in her newfound toy. Finally I pulled the drain, thinking the sound of the water escaping would draw her out but it didn’t. I tried to pull her out but she skittered to escape my grasp. I grabbed a towel and waited for all of the water to drain before trying again. Reluctantly she agreed to the rubbing of her fur to get most of the water out. Though she was clearly perturbed to be separated from her newfound love, I coaxed her with promises of more baths. I kissed the top of her head and let her go on her way. She was not dry but I knew that she would lick her fur into a better condition than the towel could do. I cleaned up the spilled water from the bath and put the towel in the laundry.

I found her in my bedroom lying on my pillow, a huge wet ring underneath her. Clearly I was not getting to sleep anytime soon, since at night Miss Bess would not sleep anywhere but above my head. I decided to use a hair dryer to dry her off faster, and hoped that the sound would not scare her. I started with a low setting at first but I didn’t need to worry. Miss Bess loved the warm air and being brushed. Soon she was dry and we were both asleep. Later that same month I found out that Miss Bess liked showers too. I thought she would get soap in her eyes and the droplets would annoy her, but they didn’t. She just closed her eyes, drew in her whiskers and let the warm water rush over her. She would stay there all day if I let her. When it is time to get out and I shut off the water she scowls at me. Fortunately if I give her a treat she forgives me for taking her out.

I have often wondered why Miss Bess, with her love of water, did not once tackle the toilet. I am very glad she didn’t!

When guests come to visit us I always explain about Miss Bess and her love of the water. I tell them that the best way to make sure they are not bothered by her is to check the bathroom first, as she has been known to hide in the wastebasket, and then close the door tight. Of course this will not protect them from her loud wailing outside the door when she hears the sounds of the shower or bath and complains about being left out. She will ignore whoever has shut her out of the bathroom for the rest of the day.

I don’t know who picked whom, but I do know I would not be the same had Miss Bess not come into my life. I love her quirky character and her moods and I wonder what other discoveries we will make along the way.