Bathroom Gratitude

My husband has never understood why I love the bathroom so much. I never tire of hearing the toilet flush or taking twenty-minute showers. It still feels like magic every time hot water flows from that faucet head and covers my body instantly. No work involved --- a miracle really. The shower is where I think, where I relax and reflect. I appreciate it every time. Complete gratitude.

This is not a typical relationship with a shower for someone my age. But if you know me at all or have read any of my island stories, you will know that there was nothing typical about my childhood. On Elliott's Island some of the newer homes or remolded homes had running water and toilets, but many still did not. Our lovely shack (turned into a home by my dear mother) didn't have running water or a bathroom. I do remember my brother's snide answer when people asked if we had running water. He said, "Yeh, we have it. I run and get it."

What did we have? Well, at first apparently we had a "two-holer." I was enlightened today to what that means. It is an outhouse with two seats side-by-side. "Ew gross" as my kiddo said and I tend to agree. Luckily I have no memory of the two-holer. My memories begin with the giant outhouse.

Giant outhouse? Yup. My father and his very tall friend (over 6 foot) Bud, and maybe some others - I don't remember whom, came down to "help out." Help they did. They, accompanied by some alcoholic beverages no doubt, built us a beautiful and sturdy outhouse. There was one catch though. When Bud was designing it he made it to fit him. That meant for children, or anyone less than 6 feet tall; cinder block stairs were needed to reach the seat. I remember being terrified to sit on that giant thing.

Now, imagine being six and having to go out at night in the cold and dark with just a small flashlight and walk down a path towards the woods to reach the outhouse. We could pee in the "pots" in the house -- more on that in a minute -- but no poop. Early memories of this for me include trying to "hold it" and then running to the outhouse while counting. Somehow I convinced myself that if I got there before I got to whatever number I picked that the boogieman wouldn't get me. (I still do this if I am outside and get scared of the dark.) Then I hoped there wouldn't be a snake lying in front and that I wouldn't fall in the toilet. There was an axe next to the outhouse in case there was a snake. But let’s remember, I was 6 and it was dark. Talk about fun memories. It makes me want to go bow to the porcelain throne that is in my bathroom, that wonderful bathroom that is inside and not in the dark scary woods. Again, total gratitude.

Back to the "pots." A few years ago I went to someone's house for a potluck and they had soup on the stove in one of those white pots. I stared at it for a whiles saying, "I didn't know people actually cooked in those." Growing up on the island those pots were for one thing - peeing. In our house we had four rooms only. No place to even put a piss-pot (as they were so appropriately called). So, you might wonder where we put ours in the house? The logical place that was a little bit out of public view of course, the food pantry. Gross. But, that is where it lived and I was grateful for anytime I didn't have to go to the scary, stinky, snakey outhouse. At least I didn't have to dig out the shitter - I vaguely remember David having to do that. Thankfully I was too young which was truly a small miracle.

Public peeing. This has always been an issue for me a little bit. It seems like a private event for the most part, but not to my Nana. Dearest Nana (more on her later as she deserves a whole post or two or three) was a snob in many ways. She was a snob who also had no bathroom and used piss pots and outhouses. But Nana seemed to think peeing was a public event and would do it anywhere at any time. I have very vivid memories of being in my front yard on the island and Nana dropping her pants and peeing for the whole world to see. I think I am still traumatized. Thankfully there is a picture to prove it. She is sitting outside on her front steps, enjoying the fresh air, while sitting on the piss pot. Again, gross. That was just Nana. Take her or leave her cause' she would never change.

All this talk about toileting got me away from the reason for this post - showering and how I developed my love for it. As I mentioned before, there was no bathroom. So, where do you think we bathed? Well, if Fishing Bay wasn't completely infested with jellyfish (I still have a vivid memory of my mom getting her long wavy hair tangled in jellyfish) we went there. That was always fun. I also remember in the summer bathing in a big metal tub in the yard. That was fun too. What about when it wasn't summer? Well, the logical place of course -- the kitchen. That is where we heated the water (after carrying it in from the Swiss Family Robinson style bucket-in-a-tree well) for cooking, kept our drinking water and bathed. We did have a sink (thankfully). I have vague memories of the towel rack next to the sink. I think the routine was to put a towel on the wood floor and fill the sink bucket with warm water and bathe -- sponge bath style. It worked. It had to, as there was no other choice. Well, I guess there was a choice to go without or bathe at friend’s houses. I believe this is what my teenage brothers did. And who can blame them. I have no memory of my parents bathing. I am sure they did. This is an event I either was not privy to or that I have blocked out --- thankfully.

Living on the island was magical for a cute little girl in Elementary School. I didn't realize we were dirt poor or different in any way. It was fun. The older I got the more I could see, or was shown, that maybe we were different and maybe there was a reason my brothers hated it so much and were angry. My memory of this, "we are different," realization is when I invited a classmate to come to my house for a sleepover. Her mother would not let her because we didn't have a bathroom. It was like my magic fairy balloon sprung a leak.

When we left the island and moved to a trailer in the middle of a former cow field (another story for later), we moved in before we even had hot water. There was water, so who cared if it was warm. It ran magically from a faucet. When you peed it magically went away without dumping a piss pot. I had my own bathroom in the trailer, which for me seemed like living in a mansion. Proof that appreciation is all about perspective.

I think it is obvious to all why I (and my mother) will always have complete and total bathroom gratitude. I hope that anyone who reads this (sorry for all of the detail) will have a little more appreciation for one of life's miracles.