Some of my best thinking is done in the shower.  There's just something about the peace and the warmth and the flowing water that conveys my thoughts along unfettered, as if they were paper boats in a stream.

The trouble is, once I get out of the shower, my thoughts stay in and I am left aware only that I had enjoyed just moments ago an episode of cogency.

It occurs to me, too, that if my arms were not as strong as they are, I might well find myself trapped and helpless.  In the bathtub, for instance.  Were self-extraction left to my legs, I'd be sitting in cold water until someone came along to pull me out.

My dog, Smokey, finds these unfortunate circumstances amusing.  He makes it his mission each morning to knock me off my feet while I'm on my way down the hallway to the kitchen, then stands back and watches me crawl, having succeeded in bringing me down to his level.