I don’t always take a long, hot bath on Sunday mornings. Mostly I do that in the winter, after a morning’s work, before the afternoon’s football game. But whenever I, a shower taker, take a bath, it’s kind of a special occasion.
I’m rarely warm enough in the winter, but I am when I’m in the bath. My tub is deep, my bathroom beautiful, and I use a nice smelling bath oil that helps soften my skin that often dries out during the winter.
The bath gives me enough aromatic comfort to spend time thinking about what I just wrote and what I’ll write tomorrow. I can review my schedule or calendar in peace and in solitude, mulling without distraction. I can spend time giving thanks for my amazing life and find perspective in the silly things I worry over during the course of my busy life. The bath is a time to rest, to reflect, to pamper, to be nice to myself.
I know there are many religious, spiritual, communal and cultural rituals with regards to water, and immersion, and bathing and all of that. I’m sure there is a reason, as when I get out, and get dressed, I feel renewed in a way that only a long, hot soak can provide. I’m refreshed and ready for another stint at the computer or to pick up the knitting and turn on the game.
A Sunday Morning Soak: Worthwhile in every respect.