Neck cricks, minor irks, leg aches, tension, stress, all the little things not worth dwelling on…
These are all things I release as I sink into a bubble bath. When we were moving out of our house, one of the things that saddened me most was leaving the garden tub that I caulked myself. As odd as it may seem, I had many memories tied to it.
It was there for me as I desperately poured Epsom salt into it, hoping and praying that it would alleviate the neck pain I later found out was caused by meningitis.
It was there for me as I poured tears of frustration about life’s ambiguous path and jumbled relationships.
It was there as a I allowed myself to get lost into yet another world with one of the dozens of books I zipped through.
It was there as the idea of leaving San Antonio for good sank in.
And finally, it was there as I said a tearful/cheerful goodbye to the house we had worked so hard for and on for months.
Water archetypically represents change, and for me, that tub was a zone of change. Though for some reason, Eric and I seem to make life’s momentous decisions at Chuy’s (Yale app or not, move far or stay near, etc.), the changes really settled in during bubble baths. I was prepared to give up this space of clarity as we made plans to move to Boson. I understood that not all apartments would have room for such a thing, but still I dreamed of a claw foot tub.
Obviously we didn’t move to Boston, but water has embodied change for me in Austin both in the tub, and as I gaze out my window overlooking the glistening lake. I was ecstatic to walk into the bathroom of my new Austin apartment and see the tub. It is not a garden tub, but it is wider and longer than the average tub, and it has something my old tub didn’t: armrests. This, more than a lot of things, made the apartment home for me. You see, the garden tub was a bit too wide and too deep. I was always taking a chance by bringing books in, but with this tub, I can read comfortably with my elbows crooked to stabilize any book.
My old tub was there for a lot of things, a lot of rough things, but this tub will be (and has been) there for so many more wonderful things. I can rely on it to soothe an achy back and wearied mind as the hot water fills and the bubbles reach my chin, popping away the days burdens for once and for all.
So yes, I am sinking, and in the most delightful sense possible.
In your home, where do you go for solace?
{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }
My clawfoot tub has totally taken my bubble baths to the next level - and I agree that it’s a great place to absorb things that are happening in your life, or to glide through them with a book.
For me, my tub is a great hiding place, as is the little day bed in my craft room. It’s completely tucked away and hugged by the sloped walls in the 3/4 story second floor - and it has a very lovely giant blanket to disappear under when you need some time.
My whole apartment is a place of solace for me. It’s mine, and I need a lot of alone time, so it works for me!
Oh, I’m jealous, I wish I had a tub like that. I either retreat to the kitchen to bake or curl up in bed with a good book.
Happy new year Elizabeth!
I hope 2009 is a wonderful year for you guys!
I like my bed. I relax there, and think there.
For sure, my bed is my place of solace in my home…. but I wish I could make my bathtub sound like the place that it has become for you. You’ve inspired me to turn the hot water on tonight. :o)
hope you guys are having fun! call me when you get back!