As empty nesters Mary and I have both taken to showering downstairs in the old hall bathroom that Leslie and I used as kids. Because there's better water pressure there than in our shower upstairs, of course. But with Graham home for spring break and sleeping in, I am loathe to make noise in the earlyish morning so I am showering upstairs for a spell.
Another reason we shower down there is to avoid having to squeegee our shower. It used to be that we'd just squeegee the glass shower enclosure but Mary has in recent years decided that we really need to squeegee the whole danged thing so that we don't get residue buildups in the tile grouting. Sigh. It really does take a fair amount of effort to do this and frankly I'd rather pay someone every decade or so to come clean the grouting.
I am, however, married, and through the years one learns to decide which things are worth arguing about. This is not a hill worth dying on, or even spraining an ankle. So I focus instead on the movement benefits in the act of scraping the moisture off the wall: reaching for the ceiling and moving down slowly, multiple times. Squatting and turning around. Being thorough. It all very much accords with some kind of ersatz Zen practice I can conjure in my mind and thereby move through it.
No comments:
Post a Comment