water – Life In A Word

Brick Wall Waterfall

If you were to spend an entire year in Rome, you could visit five churches every day and still miss out on some of the more than 1,600 within the city limits. You could also visit five piazzas (public squares) and never see all 2,000. If monuments are your thing, Rome has so many that instead of an actual count they simply say “more than any other city in the world”. And then we have Rome’s fountains. You could dip your hand in five a day and never see them all in a year. So here’s a better idea. Just spend a few hours at the Trevi and assume all of the others are second best.

I wouldn’t decree “best fountain in all of Rome” if I hadn’t been there and seen it for myself. I spent a college year in the Eternal City studying architecture, and you can’t help noticing the other elements of the city while you’re at it. Like fountains on every street corner. The Trevi Fountain was walking distance from the hotel/dorm we Americans lived in, so you can bet I stood before the Trevi’s gushing waterfalls many a day. Even a few nights.

Most people assume “Trevi” is an Italian word. It’s actually two words mashed into one. Tre = three, vie = ways. The Trevi is located at the intersection of three streets. It’s also the terminus for an aqueduct from ancient times. Water is picked up from a source outside of the city, carried over fourteen miles through the aqueduct, and deposited “with a splash” at the Trevi, to be further dispersed to the city underground.

Here’s a little more trivia on the Trevi. It was designed and built in the 1700s, on the back wall of a palace. It’s primary material is travertine stone (pricey!) quarried from nearby Tivoli. Besides the columns, arches, and niches along the wall, you have quite the trove of imagery going on over the water, with mythological creatures like tritons and hippocamps. I have no idea who the sculpted figures gazing down from either side are, but the big guy front and center is Oceanus, a pre-Olympian god.

If you’re a top-five tourist attraction in Rome, you must be pretty darned attractive for a city with countless places to visit. Maybe it’s the coin thing. Why do tourists stand with their backs to the fountain and toss three coins over their shoulder into the water (right hand, left shoulder)? Because legend says they’ll return to Rome some day if they do. “Legend” is really just Hollywood, from the movie Three Coins in the Fountain. But if you really know your Trevi trivia, you say the tossed coins follow the ancient tradition of honoring the gods of the waters, granting you safe passage home.

I’ve talked about the Trevi before, in Too Many Roads Lead to Rome. The fountain has become so popular you now need a ticket and a specific time to stand in front of it. But what I haven’t done before is build the Trevi. Last spring, the “architects” at LEGO immortalized the fountain in a 731-piece model, which I will construct over the next several blog posts. I haven’t put my hands on a piece of LEGO since Notre-Dame du Paris last January (which still beckons me to add its lighting kit). I might be a little rusty at this. The fountain might leak a little. But I’m up for a dip in this brick wall waterfall if you are.

Author’s Note: The title of this post was inspired by the strange-but-sweet Dickie Roberts: Former Child Star. The movie included a little ditty my thirty-one year old daughter can still recite to this day: “Brick wall, waterfall, Dickie thinks he got it all but he don’t, and I do, so BOOM with that attitude. Peace punch, Cap’n Crunch, I’ve got something you can’t touch. Bang-bang choo-choo train, wind me up I do my thing. No Reese’s Pieces, 7-Up, you mess with me, I’ll mess you up.”

Some content sourced from the TripAdvisor.com article, “Everything you need to know about the Trevi Fountain coins”; IMDB, “the Internet Movie Database”; and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Liquid Dreams

On the few occasions I buy water at a convenience store, I don’t think twice about downing the bottle I just paid two dollars for. Maybe you pay more or maybe you pay less, but I’m guessing the price doesn’t make you hesitate either. Even so, you could’ve gotten the same sixteen ounces for free out of your kitchen tap. That kind of thinking danced in my head last week when I reviewed a contractor’s bid for a new swimming pool in our backyard. I mean, it’s basically a divot filled with water. How much could it possibly cost?

Like fancy cars and country clubs, I’ve just been reminded a pool earns the label of “luxury item”. It’s a something you may want but definitely a something you don’t need. The cost is just one of the reasons people flock to public pools instead of having one of their own. But even public pools aren’t free. Maintenance. Insurance. Labor (lifeguards). The water itself. The list goes on and on; the same costs you’d have with your own pool. Okay, maybe not the lifeguards (unless my wife has visions of Baywatch studs in our backyard) but add it all up and pools are expensive with a capital E.

The contractor was more than happy to stop by our house last week for a look. He loved the proposed location: flat, unobstructed, and right behind the back porch. Then we debated the dimensions. My wife wanted a lap lane for exercise, but just how long should a lap lane be? Forty feet? Fifty feet? Something to host the next Olympic Games? Eventually we settled on fifty. Then we added a “sun shelf” at one end for the grandchildren and a small patio at the other for an umbrella table and chairs.

Here’s where I got annoyed and suspicious (take your pick). The whole time we’re talking, the pool contractor is doing nothing else besides talking. He’s not sketching, he’s not measuring or taking notes, and he has no examples of what we’re looking for. He’s just talking and nodding his head. He did manage to find time to tell us how he likes to take his boat to the Bahamas several times a year (!) And before I could wrap my head around that he shook my hand with a hearty “Okay Dave! I’ll get you a quote by next week!”.

Well, “next week” is this week and I’m staring at a single page with a single number. $89,750 without any bells or whistles. Go ahead and gasp the way I did, as if you’re underwater in your new pool and can’t breathe (heh). A few of you – those who already have pools – are nodding your heads and saying, “Yep, sounds about right, Dave.” But now all I’m thinking about is how I’m helping this guy make his mortgage payments on his boat. The quote is suspiciously vague as well; not even broken down into labor and materials. My pool does come with a net and brush, a session of “pool school”, and an underwater light (“whoo-hoo”). I also get a credit for “no diving board”, even though it doesn’t say for how much.

This experience reminds me of our last house, and a contractor who gave us a bid on a very large all-seasons deck. We talked briefly while he stood on our lawn, gazing over to where the deck would go. Then he held up his hands as if framing a painting. After a few moments of silence he turned to us and simply said, “$200,000”. Seriously? Not only can you instantly estimate the cost of our new deck, but the number comes out to exactly $200k? So I asked this guy for a more detailed quote and he said, “Yeah, no. I am an artist (he pronounced it “ar-teest“). People pay good money for my work”. Yeah, not these people pal.

Our community has a small pool, sized to somewhere between soaking and short laps. Really short laps. My wife will take two or three strokes before having to think about her flip move to head the other way. She’ll burn more calories switching directions than she will the swimming itself. But hey, at least we won’t have to worry about the maintenance and insurance (or the mortgage payments on someone else’s boat). For now at least, our pool will remain a liquid dream.

Overblown Air

When you travel to Colorado, you should pack a few things you might not think to bring. A reusable water bottle will be your constant companion since it’s high and dry in the Centennial State. Lip balm will be your pocket pal. Your wardrobe should be designed in layers since Colorado’s weather is so unpredictable. And finally, for the lack of air in the Rockies, don’t forget to bring a can or two of oxygen.

Canned oxygen? For the longest time I thought this was the biggest scam on earth. There was a time you could find “oxygen bars” at Colorado ski resorts – high altitude establishments where you’d pull up a stool and choose from a menu of “airs” to augment your oxygen intake. Watching those suckers – heh – with their mouths attached to transparent hoses had me picturing a guy on the other side of the wall furiously working the plungers of bicycle pumps. But forget oxygen bars. Now you can take a hit from your very own can instead.

Boost , a popular brand of canned oxygen, has been around for a while since its humble beginnings through Shark Tank. In Colorado you’ll find Boost products in every market, drug store, gas station, and airport concession. Boost is advertised as “95% Pure Supplemental Oxygen in lightweight, portable, and affordable canisters for health, recovery, natural energy, and athletic performance”. That’s an impressive string of words to describe nothing but canned air.

First-timers will react to Boost with a well-defined smirk. Gag gift for the relatives back home? Stocking-stuffer? After all, you’re paying $10 for a can of… well, nothing. Yes, Boost comes in flavored varieties like lavender or eucalyptus menthol but in the end, it’s just air. And watching someone take a hit of Boost is just like the goofball in your kitchen who tips the can of whipped cream directly into his mouth. Even the sound of escaping compressed air is the same. Just no whipped cream.

Naturally this is the point where I admit I’m a canned-air convert. Never thought I’d see the day I’d actually need a “boost”. But last January as I was moving belongings out of our Colorado house, I came to a breathtaking realization: I was no longer acclimated to the thin air of the Rocky Mountains. Climbing a set of stairs had me huffing and puffing. Lifting a box made my heart go pitter-patter. For some reason I’d thought to add a can of Boost into my suitcase, so what do you know? Compressed air to the rescue. Every now and then I’d blast the can into my mouth and darned if it didn’t clear my head and help me breathe. I was no whipped-cream junkie but rather a bold astronaut, seeking the occasional hiss of his supplemental oxygen.

For all its success, the legitimacy of a product like Boost is sullied by similar products having no health benefits whatsoever. On your next trip to Italy, head up to Lake Como in the far north for a look at the pristine waters and nearby snow-covered Alps. While you’re there you can purchase a can of “Lake Como Air” for $11. Lake Como Air claims no value other than “something original, provocative, and fun”, or “… a tangible memory you carry in your heart”. Really? I have lots of tangible memories from Italy and they didn’t cost me a dime.

On your next trip to Israel (which best not be anytime soon), head over to the Dead Sea for a look at the biggest, saltiest resource of natural minerals in the world. You can float in the Dead Sea without even treading water. And no surprise, you can “purchase” the Dead Sea in small containers. The so-called manufacturer claims its consumption “contributes measurably to feeling better and to looking wonderful and healthy”. Huh. Not sure about you but I like to think I feel better and look healthy just by drinking from the tap at my kitchen sink.

The list goes on and on. Holy dirt from New Mexico. Healing waters from right here in western South Carolina. Rocks from outer space. I mean, seriously, when are we going to stop paying for natural elements we can help ourselves to just by stepping outside our front doors? Yeah, probably never. That train left the station for good the day someone decided to bottle water. Now we have canned air as well… and it’s a good thing. Turns out, I’ll never take another trip to Colorado without a little Boost in my suitcase.

Some content sourced from the CNN Travel article, “Cans of ‘fresh air’ from Lake Como on sale to tourists in Italy”.

Beyond Quenching

Last week on Thanksgiving, I drank the following beverages in a start-to-finish order I may or may not recall correctly: water, coffee, more water, eggnog, water again, wine, and just before bed, a final gulp of water. Eggnog aside (and wine only occasionally) it was a typical day of liquid consumption. But on the list of reasons why I drink anything at all, I find it interesting “quenching thirst” settles to the bottom of the pool. Closer to the surface are the more interesting intentions. Collectively you might refer to these habits as my daily fluid dynamics (DFDs).

When I wake up, the first thing I do (make that the second thing I do, after walking the dog) is to down a glass of water; a full sixteen ounces. I used to knock back just enough to chase my daily vitamins but then I read how you should drink water first thing in the morning, because technically you’ve been dehydrating for the last eight hours. So I started filling ‘er up to the top of the glass, a two-cup habit I’ve maintained for a long time now. Let’s list that habit as DFD #1: To help swallow things (like vitamins).

My top-o’-the-mornin’ water stands in the way of the one drink that truly matters in life: coffee (or tea for the rest of you). My daily dose of caffeine is always the same: twelve ounces of the rich and robust stuff, with just a splash of cream to take the edge off. Coffee takes me from foggy to functioning in a matter of sips. Post-coffee Dave is alert and ready to conquer the day. Call it a chemical dependency? Hardly. I can skip my “daily grind” here or there and be none the worse for wear. But morning brew is undeniably one of life’s simple pleasures. DFD #2: To deliver a morning wake-me-up.

Let’s make a brief rest stop on our tour of daily fluid dynamics… literally. My morning coffee comes with one utterly inconvenient side effect: the recurring “call of nature”. Something about caffeine seeks to clear out every available drop of moisture from my body, until I might as well be dust. It’s like one of those juice presses, only press down uncomfortably on the fruit every, oh, twenty minutes. If I could down an entire liter of cold brew, not only would I be bouncing off the walls but I’d also lose at least ten pounds in water weight over the next hour. Maybe I’ve discovered America’s next diet craze.

Okay, we’re back from our visit to the “powder room”. I’m chugging water several more times during the day (indeed, high/dry Colorado made my faithful companion a water bottle, wherever I go). But is all this water because I’m thirsty or because I can’t get the old saw out of my head, the one that recommends “eight to ten cups a day”? A similar water saw says to consume half your body weight in ounces, but let’s be real: I never get to that number (nor do I believe in one-rule-applies-to-all). Yet getting enough H2O still rattles around in my brain. So, DFD #3: To hydrate the body.

Eggnog done right (meaning it’s often done wrong) is my favorite drink of the holiday season. Conveniently, the creamy concoction also serves as a throat-soother when you’re sick. It’s cold, with a thicker-than-milk consistency that settles on your throat for a fair amount of time. Reminds me of the old Pepto-Bismol jingle (“the pink stuff”), how it “coats, soothes”. Eggnog might be as effective as a cough drop and it tastes a whole lot better. DFD #4: To ease a sore throat or cough.

Wine makes my fluids list regularly, and it would even if I had no argument for a DFD. But I do. Like today’s college “pre-game” drinking (or tomorrow’s holiday party you’re dreading), sips of wine dull the senses, warm the insides, and melt away stress. Loose lips are a common side effect, but wine in moderation typically makes the conversation flow. Plus, the right vintage simply tastes great, time and again. DFD #5 then: To act as a “social lubricant”.

Last (and least), water is not only my top o’ the mornin’ but also my close o’ the evenin’ drink. After the toothpaste, the floss, and the oral rinse, the water goes in and comes right back out. Swishing, gargling, rinsing, and spitting – it’s all an effort to restore order beyond the lips, so you head to bed without the breath of the dead. The only more effective approach would be a fire hose on full blast. So, DFD #6: To cleanse the mouth.

Maybe you’re a little more introspective about your consumption of beverages now (and you’re welcome). Like I said, quenching thirst is somewhere near the bottom of the pool. So the next time you’re taking a sip, and someone notices you being particularly thoughtful about it, just tell them you’d like to explain a little something called daily fluid dynamics.

Oh, For Heaven’s Sake!

A “utility” is defined as a public service, “… a system to provide water or electricity… a cell tower network, or the like”. On dictionary.com, utility is also labeled as an “elementary level” word, meaning a grade school child should be able to understand its meaning. Ah, now we’re getting somewhere, because elementary is the perfect way to describe the customer service I’ve received while setting up the utilities in my new house.

Power. Water. Gas. Internet. I’d call these utilities the four cornerstones of a functioning modern house, wouldn’t you? Without them you’re just looking at your walls (if you can see them in the dark) wishing you could take a hot shower and check your email. So why is it so difficult to get the utilities going again when you move, especially when they’re already up and running in the first place?

Power was almost an open and shut-it-off case for me. I called the supplier to transfer the electricity into my name, which seemed a straightforward process until they sent their technician to the house. Here we have the classic case of the right hand not talking to the left. The technician proceeded to turn the power off. How my neighbor – the former owner – had the presence of mind to stop him in his tracks is beyond me (I owe her something from my kitchen now). She saved me a week or two of “the lights are off and somebody’s home”.

Water comes from a well where I live. The best example of good customer service may be no customer service because if you have a well, you don’t have to call anyone at all. Assuming your well pump is working (and you have power) you simply turn the lever and out comes the water. But then you realize the water is cold, which is why you need…

Gas – or propane in my case – requires a call to customer service because they won’t let it flow without a safety inspection of the system. I get it (now) since I have a 500-gallon tank under my house. This is good news and bad news. The good news: I’m “energy independent” of a piped network, so as long as my tank has propane I have heat (and a stove to cook on, and a fireplace to enjoy). The bad news: I get charged for the 500 gallons in one shot instead of paying by the month. Whoa. My household budget went off the rails with that bill. And just how big is a 500-gallon tank of propane anyway? I’m not sure I want to know.

Is my propane tank the size of a giant peach?

If not for internet, I’d say I’d fared pretty well with setting up my utilities but bless their hearts AT&T makes a big-screen adventure out of the simplest request. Your phone call takes you to a menu of prompts, then to another menu, then to another menu, until the recorded voice seems to capitulate by finally transferring you to someone who can actually talk (but not think). The someone who comes on the line is clearly not from your neighborhood (or even your country). The someone says, “Yes, hello, and how is your day today, Mr. David?” Mr. David? No one calls me that ever. The someone then follows a scripted line of conversation by launching into a series of sales pitches to try to get you to bundle with a bunch of stuff you don’t need. The someone sighs when you repeatedly decline, and finally says something like, “I’ll now be transferring you to another representative who can help you with that”.

I have to pause, no, stop my AT&T rant for three reasons now. One, my frustrations will continue for twice as many words as I have space for today. Two, it’ll drive me to drink just revisiting the experience. Three, if AT&T reads this post they may be tempted to turn off my internet. Very long story short, I lost track of the number of someones I talked to, failed AT&T’s screening process three times because of poor credit history (wrong), an incorrect social security number (wrong again), and a street address where AT&T doesn’t provide service (is three times the charm?)

Go figure, the only way I finally succeeded with my internet setup was to request the service through AT&T’s website. The tech showed up as scheduled, set up the service, and now I’m able to type my blog posts again. Small miracles.

Because of the newish ways we now communicate with one another (most of them electronic) getting good help or prompt help or even the right help is more of a challenge than ever. When I share these adventures with family or friends I always hear my late mother remarking, “Oh, for heaven’s sake”. Maybe she would’ve been better saying, “Heaven help us”, because customer service for utilities down here on earth just isn’t cutting it.

Loony Binge

I know very little about Oscar Wilde, except he was a 19th-century Irish playwright famous for “The Picture of Dorian Gray”. Wilde lived to be just 46, producing his best works in the last ten years of his life. He was often quoted, lacing words of wisdom with pretty good wit. Here’s one of Wilde’s best: “Everything in moderation, including moderation”.

Perhaps you caught this story from last week’s headlines: “Man Dies from Eating More Than A Bag of Licorice a Day”. (I mean, who wouldn’t catch a story like that, right?) It seems a Massachusetts construction worker with a daily candy habit switched from red to black licorice, and a few weeks later he went into cardiac arrest.

After futile attempts to revive our candy man, medics discovered he was experiencing ventricular fibrillation, meaning the lower chambers of his heart stopped pumping blood. So he died. From licorice. You’ve heard of death by chocolate, but seriously, death by candy?

The New England Journal of Medicine says black licorice contains glycyrrhizic acid, which in ample amounts tanks the body’s potassium levels. Low potassium levels contribute to heart arrhythmia (and heart arrhythmia is never a good thing). Can’t say I’ve heard of glycyrrhizic acid until now (bet you haven’t either) but it doesn’t matter. All I took from this story was: black licorice = death. That’s disturbing because I love black licorice.

Check out my previous post connoisseur for a “taste” of my licorice obsession.

Whips, twists, nibs, wheels, shoelaces – licorice comes in all shapes and sizes.

Not gonna lie; the moment I read this not-so-dandy candy story I pulled open my desk drawer (left side, second one down) and grabbed the bag of black licorice sitting innocently in front. Then I reviewed the ingredients very slowly and very carefully. “Corn syrup, sugar, modified potato starch, caramel color, carnauba wax…” (and several other ingredients I really shouldn’t be eating). But nowhere did I find “licorice root extract”, the bearer of that nasty acid. Whew.

Let’s be honest – the real message here isn’t “don’t eat black licorice”. Rather, it’s Oscar Wilde and his “everything in moderation”. Our poor construction worker, according to family members, consumed “one to two large bags of black licorice every day for three weeks”. If it wasn’t the glycyrrhizic acid, something else in the candy would’ve done him in. Or maybe the gallons of water he drank to wash it all down.

Yep, that’s a real thing too (water intoxication). Drink too much and you can succumb to an “imbalance of electrolytes” and die. Then again, 99% of us avoid stupid dares or sustained exercise where you lose track of how much water you take in. But then there’s the other 1%. Stay away from those people.

Nine of ten of you don’t like black licorice (easy guess) so you’re not breathing a sigh of relief alongside me. But you may not be innocent of other binge-worthy foods. Take your pick: popcorn, potato chips, nuts, trail mix, or peanut butter (especially those little PB-filled pretzel-bite thingies – oooooo). “You can’t eat just one”, am I right? You probably can’t even put the container down. And don’t get me started on Chinese food, where I seem to get hungrier the more I eat of it.

The good news is, you’re not heading for potassium deficiencies or cardiac arrest with these binge foods, but it’s fair to say they contribute to the downward spiral of unhealthy eating. One day you wake up and find yourself sprawled atop a mountain of junk food asking, “how did I get here?”

Since we’re talking about killer (or diet-killing) foods, let me throw another one out there: coconuts. Yes, you think coconut oil, milk, and extract are all the healthy rage these days, and you’d be… right. But I’m talking about tropical islands and swaying palm trees. There lies (er, hangs) the reason coconuts are called “the killer fruit”.

Urban legend perhaps, but they say falling coconuts kill several people every year. At least ten cases have been documented since the early 2000s. In Queensland, Australia they remove coconut palms from their beaches for this reason. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Coconuts kill.

Then there’s death by chocolate. (Chocolate kills too, you ask?) Okay, so maybe I’m referring to a sinful dessert instead, minimally described as “chocolate with chocolate on top of chocolate”. The American pub “Bennigan’s” offers the undisputed king of Death by Chocolate: a chocolate crumb-crusted chocolate cake, paired with two scoops of (chocolate) ice cream, topped with two Twix bars and covered with chocolate sauce, accompanied by a side dish of heated chocolate topping. Woof. Maybe chocolate kills after all.

Here’s one more ingredient in my desk drawer licorice: anise oil. Anise gives you the same flavor as licorice root extract but without the occasionally fatal side effects. Maybe it’s a cheaper or easier-to-come-by substitute? Unfortunately, anise oil can cause pulmonary edema (also never a good thing). Maybe I need to reevaluate my licorice habit after all.

I’ll leave you with another Oscar Wilde quote: “Life is too important to be taken seriously”. With all due respect to our Massachusetts licorice-aholic, I couldn’t agree more. So I will continue to eat black licorice, and I will continue to enjoy black licorice. In moderation, of course.

Some content sourced from the 10/13/2014 ShortList article, “20 Pieces of Wisdom From Oscar Wilde, the 9/25/2020 Ars Technica article, “Rare case of black licorice poisoning kills man in Massachusetts”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Merry-Go-Round Mayhem

In the midway of the wonderful San Diego Zoo Safari Park in California, you’ll find a colorful attraction called the “Conservation Carousel”. Unlike traditional carousels teaming with horses, the Safari Park merry-go-round boasts giraffes, rhinos, zebras, cheetahs, and other “rare and endangered creatures”, just waiting to be taken for a spin. It’s a full-on circle of animals. It’s like riding a zodiac.

Speaking of the zodiac, what’s your sign? I’m an Aquarius (born in late January), which makes me water-bearer to the gods. As much as I don’t subscribe to horoscopic astrology – a visual representation of the heavens to interpret the inherent meaning of life – I can’t deny water’s played a significant role in my world. I spent childhood summers in the Pacific Ocean and the backyard pool. I lazed away hours in Northern California’s Lake Tahoe, swimming and water-skiing. I enjoy a lively display of water, whether Niagara’s Horseshoe Falls or the fountains of Vegas’s Bellagio Hotel. A gentle rain is nature’s therapy.

But then there’s the hell-or-high-water side of things. Literally since our wedding night (when my bride and I awoke to dripping from the bed-and-breakfast room above us), the two of us have endured all manner of water problems. A fully flooded basement. A backed-up septic system. Drinking water with a PH so out-of-whack we had to install a conditioner and a neutralizer. Our well water quit pumping one time – for days – when a squirrel chewed through the electrical connection. It’s like those gods have nothing better to do up there than play games with their little water-bearer down here on Earth. If it were up to me I’d spin the zodiac wheel and land on another space instead.

Turns out my wish may have already been granted. According to the Wall Street Journal, the earth maintains a wobble in its orbit around the sun, caused by gravitational pull on its not-so-perfectly-round midsection. That wobble (called “precession”) – projected over the last several thousand years – shifted the alignment of the Earth with the zodiac constellations as the Sun passes through them. Long story short, everything astrological advances one month on the calendar. In other words, you rams out there (Aries) are actually fishes (Pisces). You maidens (Virgo) are now lions (Leo). And us water-bearers (Aquarius) – mercifully – are now mountain goats (Capricorn).

With more passing of time, the earth’s Weeble-wobble will redefine basic astronomy as we know it today. Take Polaris, the “North Star” at the end of the Little Dipper, and the starting point to locate the more distant constellations. A few thousand years from now, Polaris will give up its position to Vega, another bright star. All because our planet is a little fat in the middle.

With talk of a “changed world” after a curbed pandemic, I think it’s high time for me and you to adopt our newfound zodiac signs. Goodbye Aquarius. Hello Capricorn. To preview my new persona, I looked at today’s horoscope in the local paper: A conversation with a female acquaintance will be important to you today. This is a good time to share your hopes and dreams for the future with someone to get his or her feedback. Bless my lucky stars – I’m to check with my wife before moving one position on the astrological merry-go-round. Seriously? What does she know, holding court from under the sign of Cancer? Whoops – make that under the sign of Gemini instead. Either way, she can finally refer to me as, “you old goat, you”.

Some content sourced from the 2/21/20 Wall Street Journal article, “You’re a Scorpio? Why the Earth’s Wobble Means Your Zodiac Sign Isn’t What You Think”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Thirst (for) Knowledge

Water.

Two parts hydrogen compounded with one part oxygen. Transparent, odorless, and tasteless, yet we can’t survive more than a few days without it. If not for oceans, lakes, ponds; rivers, streams, and creeks; and a whole lot of underground aquifers, we humans would be in a heap of trouble. With due respect to Harry Potter, water is the elixir of life.

It’s fair to say most of us don’t drink enough water for optimal health. The long-held belief that eight glasses a day is sufficient has been replaced by the following formula: your body weight in pounds, divided by two, expressed in ounces. For most of us that means even more than eight glasses. Gulp.

Somewhere along the way of several years of working out, I developed the habit of drinking small amounts of water during exercise, instead of chugging just before or just after. On the treadmill for instance, I take a slug every time I complete a kilometer. In the cycle class I drink every time the instructor says to pick up the bottle. In a road race I never pass up the tables of water cups. No question; the body works better with a regular intake of water. Or at least a splash to the face.

Whenever I know I’m not drinking enough water I recall two vivid memories where I reached full-on dehydration status. The first occurred as a child, when I was driving in the desert with my family. I let the day go by way too long without taking a drink, and before I knew it my throat was so parched I could barely speak. The heat of the day surely made it worse. I pleaded to my grandparents to stop at a gas station (or anywhere with a halfway sanitary drinking fountain), which we eventually did, and I’m sure I took in a quart or more to quench my thirst. Here’s a little irony: my desert dehydration is a fond memory because I can still hear my grandfather’s distinctive voice, saying, “need to wet your whistle, do ya?” That was over forty years ago.

My second “parchment” occurred just short of the summit of Pikes Peak here in Colorado Springs – the first time I climbed it. Pikes Peak is the highest mountain in the southern Front Range of the Rockies, at just over 14,000 feet. Using the popular Barr trail it’ll take you five or six hours to get to the top. Despite recommendations to carry a lot of water I only brought one 12-oz. bottle in my pack, which I refilled at a campsite halfway up the mountain. I was getting by okay until the very last mile, when I ran out of water and my body literally began to shut down. The combination of the effects of dehydration and altitude was devastating. I could only walk a hundred yards at a pop, taking a seat on the rocks each time to recover for several minutes. Mercifully I was close enough to the summit that I finished the hike, but not before realizing I’d been woefully unprepared. In extreme circumstances the body demands a lot of water. Certainly more than half your body weight in ounces.

If an elixir is defined as “a magical or medicinal potion”, then water qualifies in my book, and especially here in the high altitude of the Rocky Mountains. It took a few years for me to gain a little thirst knowledge, but now my water bottle is my constant companion. On that note, I think I need a drink!

naive

Someone once described me as “wet behind the ears”. At the time I didn’t realize I was being called naive. I thought it really was about the water. You know, do a better job toweling off after the shower. Use the hair dryer longer.

18- naive

Now that I’m older and supposedly wiser, I still believe it’s about the water. For an opening argument consider my astrological sign. I’m an Aquarius – the so-called water-bearer. Aquarians are more nobly representative of “the Gods nourishing the earth with life-giving energies”. Not from my experience. We January/February birthdays are all about the wet stuff.

I should have seen this coming, really. Twenty-eight years ago, in the San Francisco B&B where my wife and I spent our wedding night, we awoke the following morning to a steady drip onto the middle of our bed from the ceiling above. What a fitting prelude to the years that followed.

The ball really got rolling (correction: the river really started running) with the handful of houses we’ve purchased over the years. Our first place – a townhouse – was built on landfill. That landfill began sinking years before we bought the place. There weren’t water problems to speak of, but the bulk of our monthly homeowner’s dues paid for fixes to the leaking underground plumbing (not to mention the lawsuit that came with it).

Our second house – a modest old lady from the 1940’s – endured the 1989 San Francisco earthquake. There wasn’t much damage, except the water heater fell over in the garage, and for awhile we had a nice little stream from our driveway to the street.

It gets better. In fact, our third house was the piece de resistance of our liquid adventures. This place was somehow built without a french drain; essential for transporting water away from the building foundation. In the spring of that first year therefore, the melting snow turned our basement into a scene from Titanic. You’ve heard the term “floating ceiling”? This was “floating floor”; carpet, furniture, and all.

The house we live in now – on several acres of land – includes a retention pond that is part of a network of neighborhood creeks and reservoirs designed to move water safely through the region. But we had no idea the previous owners dug out our pond much deeper than its engineered specs. So the first really good spring rain not only overflowed the pond, but broke the dam to the creek that moved through downstream properties. The result: a custom-made flash flood. Our neighbors received so much surface water they should have gone into the rice paddy business.

In my research on astrological signs, I came across the website beliefnet.com, which hosts a ten-question quiz to determine which element – air, earth, fire water – best describes a person. On a 0-100 scale, a “water person” is between 21 and 50. Does it surprise you my answers rated me a 41? Then again, I’m not sure how much credence I can give to a quiz where “water people” are described as “go with the flow”, “bubbly”, “enjoy meditation especially in steam baths”, have eyes that are “deep and liquid”, are “prone to tears”, are “inconsistent as the tides”, and possess a wonderful sensitivity that can “go overboard”. Somewhere the water gods are laughing at me.

You think I’d learn. Every summer we spend our vacations at the seashore. Last month we took a cruise. Most hours of the day my companion is a glass of water. For heaven’s sake, do you SEE the banner photo I chose for my blog? It’s as if I’m taunting those gods of Aquarius. But I think this is more of a fate thing. And I’m not naive about this anymore either. I’ll bet you a case of Dasani it won’t be long before something new rains on my parade.