My love for a hot evening bath did not begin with me, nor – I am happy to report – does the legacy end. My mother was a school teacher and every night after school, she would take her bone-tired self to the hall bathroom, fill the tub and “wash off the day.” During her bath time, we knew better than to knock on the door. When she came out revived, she was more than happy to take on motherly duties, but until then – forget it.
Recently, on the hunt for a new apartment, my daughter directed her dad and me to the Website for a possible rental. As we perused floor plans they marked, Roger noticed one apartment had a stand-up shower and no bath tub. Deal breaker. Elise winds down at the end of the day in the way she was brought up; she takes a good novel and fills the bath with water as hot as she can stand and allows the cares of her day to melt into the bubbles.
When Elise was a teenager, we lived in a house where the hot water tank was probably not adequate for the size of residence. As the evenings would progress, and one of us would make an oh-so-subtle move toward our respective bathrooms, the other would drop whatever she was doing and sprint to get first dibs on limited hot water. I have so say that sometimes regrettable words were uttered to the winner of the daily quest.
I did not see the house we bought last summer in person until the day we closed. Miles separated Roger and me, and the Internet provided plenty of pictures to give him my stamp of approval. The master bath is a product of renovation and originally served as a small bedroom. The renovation has a bath tub placed up a tiled stair (very dangerous when wet) and in a corner with large windows on both walls overlooking a huge oak tree in the woods.
Every evening, I climb up the slippery stair and down into a bath tub that would fit a small family – together. When giving a tour for a friend recently, she asked if I ever use such a large tub. Are you kidding? This dream bath corner has a place for books, candles, and numerous beauty products that get moved when I clean around them. I slide in, hit the hot faucet and forget any cares that might have bothered me just a few minutes prior.
Have you ever noticed that conflict from a novel heightens when your muscles are soaking in soapy water? It is true. When reading inspirational literature, the text jumps out and grabs my heart as steam curls up the pages. Even metaphors and literary devises seem more alive and creative with water stains melding the words together.
I have bathed in tiny apartment bathrooms; hall baths after slimy toddlers were dried and put in bed, wooden outdoor tubs in Asia, and more. The luxury of the surroundings helps, but it is the feeling I get from submerging just to the neck in hot water without interruption causes me to close my eyes, forget the surroundings, and allow relaxation to consume me.
After all, appreciating a hot bath at the end of a good or lousy day is how I was raised. I cannot help but enjoy.
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