What could I do at home? Climb down a ladder into my water storage tank? The water would be over my head or too high to walk in. One day I looked at my apricot-colored trash can for storage, and in a sudden insight could imagine it filled with water. Taking it empty to my shower room, I used the hand-held sprayer, added salt, and stepped in. After that I walked every morning. Thinking of my grandchildren at swim team practice, I added a freestyle stroke with my arms, keeping my head upright for body alignment. Then six-sided breathing for my lungs. Next, on the white wall tiles, I taped a laminated, magazine photo of an ocean beyond a deck with an empty wooden bench facing out to sea. Each time I turned my head for a breath, I now looked at the ocean. Finally I added pelicans, big, awkwardly-shaped sea birds I used to watch from a Florida beach flying singly in a line rippling north. Still stroking and walking, I imagined flying with them, wing tips brushing my skin. My realization is, “Creativity exists without boundaries. When we cannot have what we want, what can we imagine? What can we do?”