Saturday night is bath night around here. I amble down to the crik where I can soak and think about stuff. Well, in the summertime, anyway. I pretty much sleep in the wintertime. Or did, before I got civilized. Whenever I say that, I always think of Chief Dan George’s line in “The Outlaw Josey Wales”: …here in the nation they call us the “civilized tribe”. They call us “civilized” because we’re easy to sneak up on. White men have been sneaking up on us for years.
Yep, that’s me — easy to sneak up on. And old age’s been sneakin’ up on me for years. It’s getting harder and harder to make that walk down to the crik. Maybe one of these days I’ll start using that shower thingy in that little room just off the bedroom. Of course, I’ll have to enlarge the doorway first. I’m not a baby bear anymore, you know.
That line of thinking brought up memories of bath time at the Bear home when I was just a cub. During my early years we lived on a farm in the country. In those days, farm folk seldom had running water in the house, which means that there was no bathroom either. For toilet facilities there was the little building out back, complete with a Sear’s catalogue and lots of spiders. For bathing, there was a number 3 galvanized wash tub on the porch in the summer, and in the kitchen in the winter. You worked on the farm during the week and on Saturday night you took a bath in preparation for Church the next day. Some things don’t change, I guess.
In case you’re wondering, the adults used a bigger wash tub. I’m afraid they don’t make a bucket big enough for me these days. And it’s not because the tubs have gotten smaller. So I’m thankful for the crik, most days. For one thing, the crik doesn’t leave circles on your butt like those tubs do. And, no, I don’t leave a ring around the crik…usually.
I guess all it takes to appreciate the present is to take a quick trip back to the past. Of course, for the proper effect you must leave your rose-tinted glasses at home…