It has become clear that my love for bathing is being tested - just as all great passions in history have been tested before. But I won't let these trials, though they come at me one after another, alter my enthusiasm for the soak. My faith is pure!
The first hiccup happened a few days after Katie came over. Having spent the night shivering near the space heater in minus 10 degree weather, I nearly twisted my ankle sprinting to the bath in the morning. Once there, I had quite a shock. The water was brown, sputtering and full of debris! I trailed the halls on each floor, explaining the emergency to every member of the work crew and receiving various answers that usually ended with "call the city?" Finally someone took pity on me and we figured out the pipes had just frozen during the night, and the brown was rust that would ease up after the water ran for 15 minutes or so. Oh joy. After a thorough scrubbing, I tried my bath again. But when I dipped a toe into the bubbling water, I almost cried. It was lukewarm - icy even. I ran to the boiler to confirm - it was the dreaded L06.
(L06 happens when the boiler thinks its overheating and shuts off the hot water. I sometimes dream about L06, and have been known to mumble - "no, not L06" in my sleep.)
The next day's bath went much better - for me. I can't say the same for Jack Blue though. I ran him a lovely oatmeal bath after mine, but he came back with a puzzled expression on his face and dry hair. Apparently his bath had been stolen! That's right - bath thieving has started. Everyone, watch your back. Watch your bath? Groan? ("People who make puns are like wanton boys that put coppers on the railroad tracks. They amuse themselves and other children, but their little trick may upset a freight train of conversation for the sake of a battered witticism." - Oliver Wendell Holmes).
Moving on. Dramatic as they were, these little tribulations are truly nothing - lover's spats that only deepen my feelings for the bath. Last week, however, I received a real challenge. The doctor says I need to stop taking baths for a while. Its been a low time for me since I received that awful news. Of course I have still slipped into a quick bath here and there since (I mean, lets be reasonable), but its been hard not to be able to bathe with all the frequency and abandon of yesteryear. What is worse is that this week, of all weeks, is my last week with the beloved bathtub at the Inn, at least for a while. On Tuesday I'm going West to see what living in the mountains is like. And its true, no bathtub there yet - just a yurt in progress and some clear blue skies. Not a lot of water up there either. But don't worry, we have a plan. A good plan. This too shall pass, and, God as my witness, I will bathe again.
In the meantime, I'm using this as an opportunity to find that feeling of the bath outside of the tub. Its there in the coriander lime water that my father masterfully prepares and leaves for me some mornings when I visit, in the quiet and sudden warmth of a snow fall when I'm taking a long walk through the golden chilly light by the creek, and of course, in the hour stolen yesterday, ensconsed in warm soft sheets reading my new book on chemical poisoning in America. Chris said that the art of bathing could be about anything, and I'm beginning to think he is right. Every day brings these special moments to bathe in, if only I am willing to sink deep and let them surround me like the hot waters of the soak.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
The Bath is Catching On!
I mean, look, I don't think I'm the only one who loves to bathe. But I am delighted to report that I think my obsession with bathing is starting to yield a real community result. Last night before bed, I got a text from my friend over at the Department of Justice indicating that I'd be proud to know he had just emerged from a lovely bath in our nation's capital. Now Katie is over to take her own bath in our now famous bathtub. In case you don't know, Katie's bathing skills are legendary. She even planned her entire wedding in a couple of relaxing dips over some glasses of champagne. I was sadly out of town during this phase of planning, but I think that was back when she would bathe beside her glorious vase of grand ostrich feathers. Man were those ostrich feathers something! It goes without saying that I consider a visit to our bathtub from such a bathing connoisseur an honor. And of course, Katie had already concocted a foolproof bathing plan while putting her active baby down for a nap this afternoon. The basics seem to be rosewater (no bubbles, no salts, just pure), with green tea and a nice dark Lagunitas beer to drink and a crossword puzzle for entertainment. The tea was brewed in a glass rather than a mug - this particularly impressed me. Somehow so much more bath appropriate I think?
I myself am just freshly out of today's bath. It was good good - Cherry Blossom french bubbles, scalding hot water, and an English Garden magazine. Sadly, the Gerbera daisies from two weeks ago were finally on their last legs, but they went out in a noble finish next to the rose petals saved from
Thursday's bath.
I myself am just freshly out of today's bath. It was good good - Cherry Blossom french bubbles, scalding hot water, and an English Garden magazine. Sadly, the Gerbera daisies from two weeks ago were finally on their last legs, but they went out in a noble finish next to the rose petals saved from
Thursday's bath.
I should note that while I enjoyed the aesthetics of the Gerberas, they are a bit tricky because their small petals disperse in the water a bit messily, and they don't add much in the way of spa softening benefits or scent. Still, I'm very glad I added them, because they helped me feel I was in one of the English Gardens I was reading about in English Garden magazine.
Fantasizing about fields of snow drops and daffodils while fielding happy Saturday calls and texts, I spent a very pleasant hour in the water. I would have spent significantly more time there (still hadn't even cracked open my new "Mother Earth's Guide to Country Skills" or the ditzy gossip magazines that I'd bought this afternoon). But my bathtub had gotten cold, and because we are at the top of an uninsulated, unheated shell of a building, the water has to run cold for so long that warming it up with some hot top-off (as I usually do in the long bath) is out of the question. I briefly considered draining and refilling completely for bath number two, but reluctantly vetoed the idea as too self-indulgent, even for me. Well its a good thing that I did exercise that self control! There are, after all, others who want to bathe. As we speak, Avi is playing some fun Saturday evening music and nicely waiting for his turn to go into the water. Ok, bye bye, I'm off to cook some of the root vegetables Katie brought me from the farm. See you in the bath lines friends.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Midnight Bath
Shhhhhh - its my second bath of the day... a secret, velvety midnight bath...
Ran out of bubble bath, so sacrificed my favorite rose from Jack Blue for the occassion. Discovery: skin gets oh so soft with rose petal bath, but that is a secret only to be shared with true bathing initiates. Now you know...Especially effective to brush some petal across your cheeks, and lay them on your eyelids as you take in the dark and the delicious hush of the wee hours.
Noreaster is not letting up, flu is not letting up. Its 13 degrees. Someone had to do something. This second dip was not a choice, it was a need. For the frostbite. Talk to you tomorrow.
Ran out of bubble bath, so sacrificed my favorite rose from Jack Blue for the occassion. Discovery: skin gets oh so soft with rose petal bath, but that is a secret only to be shared with true bathing initiates. Now you know...Especially effective to brush some petal across your cheeks, and lay them on your eyelids as you take in the dark and the delicious hush of the wee hours.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Blizzards, Babies and Baptism
Despite my constant complaining about the cold lately, I don't think it really sunk in that it is winter until just now, when I noticed the big icicles hanging off the roof outside my window. Its a blizzard today - a NorEaster. The work crew still showed up like clockwork bright and early. I was already in the bath. Today's bath was wonderful - long long long just like I used to take them. I've been sick these past few days, but a few hours in the heat has made me feel almost new again.
It also felt like old times because I found some of my Scientific Americans to add to the bath shelf. This is an extremely important addition to the bath time library. Even more crucial, I think, than the much favored Paris Review. Stepping away from poetry and culture, today I lent most of my focus to babies and Fracking.
Did you know that until recently, experts believed babies were dumb egomaniacs that could only understand the present moment and themselves existed? Well, it turns out that now experts have discovered that babies not only smart, but also are keenly aware of and continually conducting experiments on their environments. Apparently, a series of fancy tests reveal these little love bundles are extraordinary statisticians (better at recognizing patterns and adapting to new ones than adults). These tests show all kinds of fascinating things - more than I can go into or remember in my little blog. But my favorite piece of information was that babies believe that every plant and animal and maybe even object has its own essence, regardless of how much the object/person/animal is changed. The article did not explain this, but I am anxious to see that study. I'll admit I suspect its true...
The reason that experts used to believe babies were dumb seems to have rested entirely on a baby's lack of ability to communicate. Once scientists started looking at actions as well as language of babies, thats when all these big discoveries occurred. It is shocking to me that this approach was not thought of earlier. It reminds me of how my science books in college all said that animals aren't able to think or remember and only live in the moment on instincts. Usually the text books (and professors) also said animals don't understand language, and this is another evidence of their limited brain. Anyone who has ever spent much time around an animal, and isn't lying to themselves in an attempt to justify eating meat, will be able to attest that this is all hogwash. First of all, animals do communicate and many have sophisticated language systems. Some can even speak our language and most can learn to understand a lot of it (which is a lot more than can be said of us - has a human ever learned another species' language?) Second, it is clear to me that most animals do have long memories and just as rich an emotional life as we do. They remember the building that they had a bad vet experience five years ago, they show appreciation for loving acts, and they also scheme and think constantly. You should have seen the look on my cat's face when he was trying to get around a rule he knew he wasn't supposed to break. There are also amazing stories of animals problem solving and saving people in complex situations.
Ah well. Maybe someday we'll have news about the discovery that animals are smart and aware too. As the baby article pointed out, adult human brains tend to get stuck fairly easily, and once an expectation is established about a pattern, it is often quite difficult for adults to recognize, acknowledge or explain any deviation/new pattern.
I'm not sure how, but I think this limitation is related to the extremely insane idea of Fracking. I'm no expert, but so far the evidence I've read and even the testimonials from industry and the EPA members in their pocket seem to indicate Fracking has extreme risks. The sheer amount of horribly dangerous chemicals that will be pumped into the ground and then held in these "containment ponds" right near our precious drinking watersheds just cannot be safe. This seems obvious. But the Frackers say it will be ok, because the chemicals will mostly be under rock, and they will make good liners for the toxic containment ponds once the chemical water comes out. Well, even the experts agree neither of those precautions are foolproof and there is still a strong chance our drinking water will be contaminated. There is also substantial likelihood (apparently) that the chemicals will come up at the top end and get into our drinking water because of the pressure and the unsealed shapes of the concrete hoses (something like that). Eeks. What a nightmare. The worst part of all is that the justification seems to be that Fracking can get us enough natural gas to last...hopefully...40 years??? Are they kidding? We have alternative sources of energy that are not that dangerous and can last much much longer than that, why would we possibly instead pursue this option which just buys us a tiny bit of time and may cost us our most precious natural resource?
Focusing so much on Fracking began to make me feel ill again so I pulled out an old trick from my much laughed at "spiritual bathing" book. Baptism. Thats right. Almost every religion has a version of it. Little known is the long history of self-baptism in most traditions - even Christianity. I like to do self-baptisms from time to time for a variety of reasons. Today, it was a no frills get healthy one. I rested my feet against the edge of the bath, held my nose and sunk deep down to the bottom, resting my whole back, body and head on the porcelain base. I let all thoughts go, and just rested there for as long as I could. Thanks to all the old opera training and all the yoga breathwork, this was a long time. The longer the better, I think, with these baptisms but even a quick dunk helps. When I emerged, I felt new again, reborn and healthy. One more dip for good measure and then I looked at the snow and just felt joy.
Well, wish me luck keeping up with the new me. But if I slip into sickness or stress again, no problem - just a little plunge ought to set me right in no time. You too can try it out - any old bathtub will do, just try to stay down as long as you can. And breathe deeply when you reemerge, opening your eyes and noticing the world around you as if you were a baby.
It also felt like old times because I found some of my Scientific Americans to add to the bath shelf. This is an extremely important addition to the bath time library. Even more crucial, I think, than the much favored Paris Review. Stepping away from poetry and culture, today I lent most of my focus to babies and Fracking.
Did you know that until recently, experts believed babies were dumb egomaniacs that could only understand the present moment and themselves existed? Well, it turns out that now experts have discovered that babies not only smart, but also are keenly aware of and continually conducting experiments on their environments. Apparently, a series of fancy tests reveal these little love bundles are extraordinary statisticians (better at recognizing patterns and adapting to new ones than adults). These tests show all kinds of fascinating things - more than I can go into or remember in my little blog. But my favorite piece of information was that babies believe that every plant and animal and maybe even object has its own essence, regardless of how much the object/person/animal is changed. The article did not explain this, but I am anxious to see that study. I'll admit I suspect its true...
The reason that experts used to believe babies were dumb seems to have rested entirely on a baby's lack of ability to communicate. Once scientists started looking at actions as well as language of babies, thats when all these big discoveries occurred. It is shocking to me that this approach was not thought of earlier. It reminds me of how my science books in college all said that animals aren't able to think or remember and only live in the moment on instincts. Usually the text books (and professors) also said animals don't understand language, and this is another evidence of their limited brain. Anyone who has ever spent much time around an animal, and isn't lying to themselves in an attempt to justify eating meat, will be able to attest that this is all hogwash. First of all, animals do communicate and many have sophisticated language systems. Some can even speak our language and most can learn to understand a lot of it (which is a lot more than can be said of us - has a human ever learned another species' language?) Second, it is clear to me that most animals do have long memories and just as rich an emotional life as we do. They remember the building that they had a bad vet experience five years ago, they show appreciation for loving acts, and they also scheme and think constantly. You should have seen the look on my cat's face when he was trying to get around a rule he knew he wasn't supposed to break. There are also amazing stories of animals problem solving and saving people in complex situations.
Ah well. Maybe someday we'll have news about the discovery that animals are smart and aware too. As the baby article pointed out, adult human brains tend to get stuck fairly easily, and once an expectation is established about a pattern, it is often quite difficult for adults to recognize, acknowledge or explain any deviation/new pattern.
I'm not sure how, but I think this limitation is related to the extremely insane idea of Fracking. I'm no expert, but so far the evidence I've read and even the testimonials from industry and the EPA members in their pocket seem to indicate Fracking has extreme risks. The sheer amount of horribly dangerous chemicals that will be pumped into the ground and then held in these "containment ponds" right near our precious drinking watersheds just cannot be safe. This seems obvious. But the Frackers say it will be ok, because the chemicals will mostly be under rock, and they will make good liners for the toxic containment ponds once the chemical water comes out. Well, even the experts agree neither of those precautions are foolproof and there is still a strong chance our drinking water will be contaminated. There is also substantial likelihood (apparently) that the chemicals will come up at the top end and get into our drinking water because of the pressure and the unsealed shapes of the concrete hoses (something like that). Eeks. What a nightmare. The worst part of all is that the justification seems to be that Fracking can get us enough natural gas to last...hopefully...40 years??? Are they kidding? We have alternative sources of energy that are not that dangerous and can last much much longer than that, why would we possibly instead pursue this option which just buys us a tiny bit of time and may cost us our most precious natural resource?
Focusing so much on Fracking began to make me feel ill again so I pulled out an old trick from my much laughed at "spiritual bathing" book. Baptism. Thats right. Almost every religion has a version of it. Little known is the long history of self-baptism in most traditions - even Christianity. I like to do self-baptisms from time to time for a variety of reasons. Today, it was a no frills get healthy one. I rested my feet against the edge of the bath, held my nose and sunk deep down to the bottom, resting my whole back, body and head on the porcelain base. I let all thoughts go, and just rested there for as long as I could. Thanks to all the old opera training and all the yoga breathwork, this was a long time. The longer the better, I think, with these baptisms but even a quick dunk helps. When I emerged, I felt new again, reborn and healthy. One more dip for good measure and then I looked at the snow and just felt joy.
Well, wish me luck keeping up with the new me. But if I slip into sickness or stress again, no problem - just a little plunge ought to set me right in no time. You too can try it out - any old bathtub will do, just try to stay down as long as you can. And breathe deeply when you reemerge, opening your eyes and noticing the world around you as if you were a baby.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Workin' Day Bath
Today's bath required wine. Luckily I had a super good Meritage on hand from the event at the Damiani Vineyard yesterday. When did Finger Lakes wines become so awesome? If you haven't tried them lately, I'd really recommend revisiting, especially Damiani's. The tasting room itself is a little budget - looks more like a ranch house from the outside than a winery, but the wine is extra fancy good. Inside is much nicer anyway - blown glass chandeliers made by a french chocolatier who moved into our little redneck of the woods and a stunning view of Seneca Lake. The liquor distillery and tasting room next door is cool too. Micro-distilleries just became legal in the last few years around here. Its new and exciting. I liked the currant brandy the most.
But back to the bath. I'd spent the day in back-to-back meetings, no time for a bath or even for a proper toothbrushing. I was feeling a bit harried about the work that I'd done and the work I knew I had left and I had a strong desire to warm up and brush up on personal hygiene before subjecting myself to any more. After my last afternoon meeting, I raced back to the Inn, ready to sink into the hot water before typing up projects the rest of the evening. Unfortunately, half of my clients, especially the ones I tried to set up midweek not early week appointments with, happened to be over (either working on the construction or stopping by or milling about). I made some efforts at civility, but finally I couldn't take it anymore and paraded my bathrobe before the watching eyes and deposited it by the tub and ran the water at its loudest and hottest. No one said anything, but there were some raised eyebrows and some glances at the watches. Its a little awkward living in the same place that everyone works and congregates in, especially when bathing in the afternoon on a Monday.
Pouring my glass of wine into a coffee mug to avoid revealing a second scandalous afternoon indulgence, I snuck back through the living room. This time, after ungracefully extricating myself from another hour of being roped into providing free legal services, I locked myself in and listened to Van Morrison while I waited for the Aura Cacia Tranquility bubbles to rise to the top of the porcelain tub. And rise they did! In the enthusiasm of that initial rebellion, I must have poured too much bubble bath in. The bubbles stood a good two feet higher than the water and provided quite a lot of entertainment for the first half of my bath.
Despite the bubbles, relaxation was not immediate. Violating the fundamental core of my moral and spiritual beliefs, I was still feeling guilty about bathing right then, and the sound of all the working made it worse. How to relax and not give in to the sad and dangerous American obsession with productivity?
Sometimes, when there is a frenzy, the way is to relax into it, not to fight it. So I turned off the music and just focused on the sounds of the drills and crew below and breathed. It became cozy. Then I drank my wine and picked up where I left off in the Paris Review. Today's piece was excerpts from interviews in the '70's with Saul Steinberg. There were some of his drawings too. I loved it. He talked about life after the war among intellectuals - drawing Sartre, maybe meeting Camus in a hotel lobby. But especially, I loved his drawings. He saw plots so visually. Plots are my focus too, so I liked liked all of his sketches (especially the landscapes with the stamps and the one of him on a bicycle with a butterfly the year Nabokov died). I wish I saw plots so visually - for me they are much more in words and acts. Am trying out a new visual exercise though that I learned from Zia's brother. He's kind of her twin (I'll explain maybe some other time). The exercise trains your mind to start paying much more attention to surroundings. I think it might help. Will write more about it later. Maybe a good bath time activity?
Well, now bath is over and life is back to right. I'm relaxing in my waffle-weave bathrobe, taking a little break under the new crisp sheets and gearing up to start working into the night. Maybe a candle is required to make it feel mysterious and just so? Its pitch black outside now. PITCH black. And Avi is drilling things that will make the heat come back on.
But back to the bath. I'd spent the day in back-to-back meetings, no time for a bath or even for a proper toothbrushing. I was feeling a bit harried about the work that I'd done and the work I knew I had left and I had a strong desire to warm up and brush up on personal hygiene before subjecting myself to any more. After my last afternoon meeting, I raced back to the Inn, ready to sink into the hot water before typing up projects the rest of the evening. Unfortunately, half of my clients, especially the ones I tried to set up midweek not early week appointments with, happened to be over (either working on the construction or stopping by or milling about). I made some efforts at civility, but finally I couldn't take it anymore and paraded my bathrobe before the watching eyes and deposited it by the tub and ran the water at its loudest and hottest. No one said anything, but there were some raised eyebrows and some glances at the watches. Its a little awkward living in the same place that everyone works and congregates in, especially when bathing in the afternoon on a Monday.
Pouring my glass of wine into a coffee mug to avoid revealing a second scandalous afternoon indulgence, I snuck back through the living room. This time, after ungracefully extricating myself from another hour of being roped into providing free legal services, I locked myself in and listened to Van Morrison while I waited for the Aura Cacia Tranquility bubbles to rise to the top of the porcelain tub. And rise they did! In the enthusiasm of that initial rebellion, I must have poured too much bubble bath in. The bubbles stood a good two feet higher than the water and provided quite a lot of entertainment for the first half of my bath.
Despite the bubbles, relaxation was not immediate. Violating the fundamental core of my moral and spiritual beliefs, I was still feeling guilty about bathing right then, and the sound of all the working made it worse. How to relax and not give in to the sad and dangerous American obsession with productivity?
Sometimes, when there is a frenzy, the way is to relax into it, not to fight it. So I turned off the music and just focused on the sounds of the drills and crew below and breathed. It became cozy. Then I drank my wine and picked up where I left off in the Paris Review. Today's piece was excerpts from interviews in the '70's with Saul Steinberg. There were some of his drawings too. I loved it. He talked about life after the war among intellectuals - drawing Sartre, maybe meeting Camus in a hotel lobby. But especially, I loved his drawings. He saw plots so visually. Plots are my focus too, so I liked liked all of his sketches (especially the landscapes with the stamps and the one of him on a bicycle with a butterfly the year Nabokov died). I wish I saw plots so visually - for me they are much more in words and acts. Am trying out a new visual exercise though that I learned from Zia's brother. He's kind of her twin (I'll explain maybe some other time). The exercise trains your mind to start paying much more attention to surroundings. I think it might help. Will write more about it later. Maybe a good bath time activity?
Well, now bath is over and life is back to right. I'm relaxing in my waffle-weave bathrobe, taking a little break under the new crisp sheets and gearing up to start working into the night. Maybe a candle is required to make it feel mysterious and just so? Its pitch black outside now. PITCH black. And Avi is drilling things that will make the heat come back on.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Make Haste for the Wine, Swine and Dine!
The wind chimes outside my window usually wake me up early, especially when its blustery and cold like today. Their tinkling woke me around 6 this morning, and I slowly opened an eye up to see the chimes dancing and the snow falling behind the lilies that Jack brought me on his last visit.
I like to wake up early but stay in bed for hours when I can. Today, before heading to the daily bath, I took full advantage of lazy Sunday. There were phone calls and fantasy's about joining my friends at the Sundance Film Festival, and tofu scramble from the big jolly potluck brunch yesterday. And then, the bath.
Today's bath was a shorter affair than I'd typically like. Katie is making various borscht shots and other gourmet farm share samples for a slow food wine and food pairing at the Damiani Winery on Seneca Lake. Its almost starting but my roommate and I would both like to bathe before hopping in the truck to head up to wine country. Graciously, he let me go first.
Short or no, the bath was rejuvenating - simple, but still maybe my favorite this week. Leonard Cohen wafted in from the living room speakers. I swished out the last of my L'Occitane rose bubble bath (a perfect bath gel, in my humble opinion). Then I added half a packet of Aura Cacia's milk and oat salts. The resulting basin of water was nice and hot and cloudy, with delicate rose bubbles and lots of steam rising out of the milky water and curling off of a leg or an arm that gets held up here and there. The window at the base of the clawfoot tub fogged, but the ivy flying around in the wind and the snow flakes pouring sideways could still be spied from the steamy room.
For reading it was another poem in The Paris Review. The Paris Review is a new discovery. It's particularly nice in the bath, because its fun to have a short poem or short story to read, and then just revel and think as the bath water melts the heart and relaxes the limbs. Thats my current idea anyway. Historically, I've tended to read novels in the bath, or sometimes, when necessary, legal briefs and other work related material.
But these days its the Paris Review. Today's poem was about a Jujitsu instructor who leaves the Dojo and has only one student, a guy with a thick black Steven Segal style pony tale. It wasn't going so well for the instructor, or the student really. Nice poem - funny and in a different style than most I've read. Sort of informal like a blog poem. Maybe amateur? I think so, but good anyway.
The beverage choice (its very important during bathing to have a hydrating beverage or two on hand) was orange sparkling water - naturally ice cold from sitting in a case on the floor of the kitchen. Unfortunately the heating in some of these rooms has not been on since the work crew disconnected it last week while framing out rooms for the hotel. This house is going to be a hotel soon. My friend is opening it and we live in an apartment at the teetering top of the gutted drafty beautiful white mansion. Its covered in Ivy. There used to be a flag out front. Now there is a yellow sugar shack that is closed for the winter. Home sweet home, at least for a few more weeks...boy will I miss this bathtub when I'm gone.
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