My space at Dairy Hollow has a generous bathroom with a huge sunken tub. I prefer showers. As Kramer (Seinfeld) aptly explained, if I don’t have a good shower, I’m not myself. I feel weak and ineffectual…Showers are quick and efficient – in and out. Get on with the day. Waiting and waiting and waiting for the tub to fill with water makes me antsy. Baths are disgusting – sitting there in my own tepid pool of filth (again, Kramer greatness).
But somehow at Dairy Hollow a bathtub is fitting. I have no agenda. After a writing session and an invigorating hike through the chilly Ozarks, a steamy bath is relaxing.
As I soak, I stare at a photo over the tub. A framed photo from Where the Wild Things Are, a favorite children’s picture book by American writer and illustrator Maurice Sendak. Years ago my son and I read this book together each night, over and over. He memorized the words and recited it along with me. My son who is now in college…I wonder if he still remembers the words to the story?
Initially I thought it to be strange artwork for the bathroom, but as my mind cleared I realized the illustration is perfect.
The story is about imagination and magical travel and wild flights of fancy. It’s about playing and being creative. It’s about escaping to another place, another land, a world with a wild rumpus!
Even Max’s wolf costume is befitting for Halloween in Eureka Springs where zombies are soon to stagger down Spring Street.
Sometimes I think I could stay here forever, in the woods at my writing desk overlooking the turning leaves. But at the end of the week home will beckon. And I will sail back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day and into the night of my very own home where supper will be waiting for me (maybe?)…
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
Come Away With Me, Norah Jones