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| Bath Time |
Gee, it seems all I did today was cook and take a bath!
I say this to myself with some
frustration as the day winds to a close, and the lament is literally true
sometimes, especially in the wintertime, camping in the woods. On the coldest days it does, indeed,
require all of my energy to stay warm, fed, and clean.
Get the pot, fill with water, heat the water on the stove...
Nothing else gets
accomplished. No stories are
written, no editors contacted, no resumes polished, no research or e-mails. Nada. By the time I awake and warm the tent and get a bite to eat
it is the afternoon, and not because I awoke late.
Find the soap, warm the towel, set the tub inside...
I've always loved camping —
the way time slows to a dribble like cold honey crawls from a jar; the way
it really does take all day to cook and take a bath, to do those basic
self-care things often done in a flurry during the rush of an ordinary
work week.
Get the water, let it cool, seal up all the drafts...
The slowing down of things gives me time
to think; I call it mull-time. And
mull-time is my favorite pastime. Mull-time
is fuel and fodder for all those other things I haven't yet accomplished: the
writings, resumes, etc., etc.
Here is where I figure them out.
Here is where they are born so often, or rejuvenated, and here is where
they rest, feed from underground springs far below the frozen tundra where it
seems nothing else is going on but washing dishes, cooking food...
Lather, rinse, dry...
And if the caring for myself is
all that gets accomplished, is all that seems to get accomplished — isn't
that the most important thing? Isn't
that the most invigorating thing to do, the greatest privilege that we have — to
care for this being each of us is and contains?
Pour the water by a tree, hide the soap from coons...
One day I may have the privilege
of caring for another, and someone may have the privilege of caring for me. But no one will ever know me as I know
myself. No one will ever be able
to hear every echo of my voice as I hear her. No one can be tuned quite so perfectly as I.
Set the tub down by a log, hang the towel to dry...
Camping reminds me of that. The quiet of the woods reminds me of that. That's why I'm camping. That's why I'm here.
