It’s easy to forget how joyful a hot shower feels. Just getting this column means you’re probably living in the first world, and running water, electricity and heat in your household are a given. You get used to the basics.
For the most part, the only time we think about our modern conveniences is when they are taken away from us. Give us an hour-and-forty-minute blackout and we are frothing. “I’ve got to reset all the digital clocks! The ice cream is going to melt in the freezer!”
We shouldn’t get upset, but we do. We should be thankful for the 99.9999% of the time our electricity hums flawlessly, but we don’t.
So we don’t appreciate things like a daily shower. We make it part of our routine, and though we may sing at times or lounge leisurely on occasion, our tendency is to forget about the enjoyment it provides us.
This hit me recently when a cold spell dropped into town after months of typical hot, sticky summer weather. When the air outside your home is almost as hot as your shower, you tend to tend to be less enamored with the daily cleansing routine. You get in, get out, towel off, put on deodorant, get dressed, go to work.
If it’s warm enough outside, you sweat when you leave the house, so you crank the AC in your car. All this builds your mindset into one that fails to respect the hot shower. Complacency sets in. You don’t care. You expect it.
Then a cold day hits, like it did last week, unexpectedly. My wife and I watched our younger daughter Skyler run in a cross country meet. It wasn’t frosty, but it was 57 degrees (F) with a 15 MPH wind from the north, making it chillier. The meet started very early Saturday morning, so no sun was out to begin the daily warmth.
We stayed for the varsity boys and girls races. From the time we got there in total darkness until the time we left, we were outside for close to three hours. The brisk air felt good after the summer furnace. We’d both be liars though if we didn’t admit it felt good to get back into the warmth of the car afterwards.
Arriving home, our house was still very cool, as we’d slept with the windows open, embracing the breeze, for the first time in close to four months. I went upstairs, turned on the shower, let it warm up, and jumped in. Man, it felt terrific.
You forget this feeling when month after month you leave the stall and start sweating again as you start to put your clothes one. You forget how much fun it is to linger under the steady stream of hot water. You forget that you don’t need to rush out of the shower every day.
It was a perfect storm, and I stood there letting the water wash over and over me, pounding me in the face, stinging the skin. I probably looked like a lobster or ripe tomato when I got out, but a content one.
There was no lukewarm shower that day. It was a vigorous, hot one.
Most days, I save water by just wetting down, then turning off the tap to lather up, then rinsing off. It’s a speed deal designed to get me out the door, and conserve resources by not using too much water. After months, it becomes routine.
When the weather turns, you reawaken. Sometimes, all it takes is a hot shower to get you humming.
For the most part, the only time we think about our modern conveniences is when they are taken away from us. Give us an hour-and-forty-minute blackout and we are frothing. “I’ve got to reset all the digital clocks! The ice cream is going to melt in the freezer!”
We shouldn’t get upset, but we do. We should be thankful for the 99.9999% of the time our electricity hums flawlessly, but we don’t.
So we don’t appreciate things like a daily shower. We make it part of our routine, and though we may sing at times or lounge leisurely on occasion, our tendency is to forget about the enjoyment it provides us.
This hit me recently when a cold spell dropped into town after months of typical hot, sticky summer weather. When the air outside your home is almost as hot as your shower, you tend to tend to be less enamored with the daily cleansing routine. You get in, get out, towel off, put on deodorant, get dressed, go to work.
If it’s warm enough outside, you sweat when you leave the house, so you crank the AC in your car. All this builds your mindset into one that fails to respect the hot shower. Complacency sets in. You don’t care. You expect it.
Then a cold day hits, like it did last week, unexpectedly. My wife and I watched our younger daughter Skyler run in a cross country meet. It wasn’t frosty, but it was 57 degrees (F) with a 15 MPH wind from the north, making it chillier. The meet started very early Saturday morning, so no sun was out to begin the daily warmth.
We stayed for the varsity boys and girls races. From the time we got there in total darkness until the time we left, we were outside for close to three hours. The brisk air felt good after the summer furnace. We’d both be liars though if we didn’t admit it felt good to get back into the warmth of the car afterwards.
Arriving home, our house was still very cool, as we’d slept with the windows open, embracing the breeze, for the first time in close to four months. I went upstairs, turned on the shower, let it warm up, and jumped in. Man, it felt terrific.
You forget this feeling when month after month you leave the stall and start sweating again as you start to put your clothes one. You forget how much fun it is to linger under the steady stream of hot water. You forget that you don’t need to rush out of the shower every day.
It was a perfect storm, and I stood there letting the water wash over and over me, pounding me in the face, stinging the skin. I probably looked like a lobster or ripe tomato when I got out, but a content one.
There was no lukewarm shower that day. It was a vigorous, hot one.
Most days, I save water by just wetting down, then turning off the tap to lather up, then rinsing off. It’s a speed deal designed to get me out the door, and conserve resources by not using too much water. After months, it becomes routine.
When the weather turns, you reawaken. Sometimes, all it takes is a hot shower to get you humming.