I remember that old-fashioned “nice warm” doesn’t cost a dime. I think back to the laughter in this tub when little pink bodies floated in iridescent foamy bliss. Who could forget the toilet overflowing during slumber parties to the hilarious shrieks of oodles of kids? Year after year the room was packed with giddy teenage girls doing one another’s makeup and hair for proms. As I scrub aging bathroom fixtures with Ajax and all the playful attitude I can muster, I amuse myself by thinking of the family legacy that makes the profane profound.
Making a house a home is limited only by boundaries of
resourcefulness and imagination, the soul of a structure. Creating a “nice warm” is what you make of what you have. It is the threshold people pass to hang a hat or a heart or a hollyhock lady.