I tell you what: when California opens back up, however long from now that may be, I’m gonna head over to Piedmont Springs and hang out in a big tub of hot water for a long long time. Last year I was going every other week . . . it was the one true luxury in my life. I would submerge myself for an hour round about 6:30 pm, and flop out onto Piedmont Avenue afterwards, the sun having just set, and I would be all warm and gooey, and my hair still damp, and so on. And I would walk down to Gaylords and get a cup of coffee and flirt with the girl behind the counter, and then hop in the Datsun and rip down the street and Feel All Right for a little while. It ruled. Hah!
Though yeah: I will have this again, if nothing else. Lord knows I love being in hot water. On the short list of simple personal gestures I perform and rely on to maintain some semblance of sanity, and to keep me from throwing myself upon the sword, so to speak, bathing is right near the top. That I can do it beneath trees and an ice-cold blue California sky is the cherry on top!!!