You wouldn't think a bathroom could be such a big deal, unless you had the unfortunate rapture of showering in our original one. When we bought our beautiful Victorian almost 6 years ago, her bones and skeleton were in great shape for a 112-year-old lady. But her complexion needed a whole lot of work. She was splotchy, wrinkled, with clothing harking back to the 1980s, where nothing matched and all was gaudy. Dark teal, navy, peach, burgundy, orange, yellow, brown, hunter green were all gloriously displayed in various rooms, but the piece de resistance was the home office, decked out in Villa Rica high school's purple and gold. I am abundantly grateful to all the former owners of this home, for taking superb care of this jewel for all those years, even if she did need new clothes. No matter where I live, I'm going to completely paint and repaint, so getting her gussied up for prime time was pure joy.
But the bathroom.
It was stuck in a corner of the enclosed sleeping porch, tiny, awkward. There was a small claw-foot tub with a curtain rod that circled above the tub. Taking a shower in there was no small feat. For starters, if you were less than fully clothed and walked out of the bathroom after bathing, the side door had a big glass window right there to display all your glory to the neighbors. Getting in the shower, one had to step high into the tall but short tub, a herky-jerky exploit when you're rather exposed and trying to not get twisted up in the curtains. The height of the showerhead was designed for underfed people from the 1800s, not Neanderthal people of dubious Scotch-Irish origins. The water pressure was dismal, the porcelain inside the tub had seen better days, and turning the water on and off with those curtains in the way was just peachy, especially when they blew all around and stuck to your naked body. I'm not picky. I'm an old country girl who was fine living in a camper for a time, where my hips hit both sides of the shower stall...but I was younger then, my knees still functioned normally, and the simple act of getting out of a tub was not life-threatening.
Praise be to the Lord, handy relatives, and a few real estate closings, we finally took the purple and gold office and turned it into a darling master bathroom, complete with a shower, black and white retro tile and a fully-functional gorgeous double vanity from Home Depot. Sometimes I just go in there and breathe. Three and a half years of death-defying shower adventures have made me very grateful. When they were putting in the shower, I said, "Make it gigantic. We can put old Grandma, the dog and the grandkids in there all at one time if we have to." Our water bill has gone up significantly.
Recently, we ripped out the old bathroom and gave the clawfoot tub to a neighbor who's renovating their ancient house across the road (bye bye!). The new bathtub is simple, the walls are all beadboard, with more retro tile and light fixtures. As our last task, my daughter and I scoured the world for the right shower curtain, a seemingly impossible undertaking. How do you decide, when there are virtually thousands of choices? Today we were sick of it. After sifting through online ads, sending bad choices back, and tromping all over Douglasville, we started praying in the aisle at Target. "God, please send us the right shower curtain." A minute later, we saw the perfect one, a feminine, sweet confection hiding behind a pole in the store. When we got home, Liz hung it before I could put my purse down good. It was indeed perfect. Now some people would find that silly and maybe downright stupid, praying for something so small. I laughed when I thought about God and His ways, so different than ours. I believe He cares about our lives, down to the minutiae. He answered a simple, small prayer spoken in frustration. "Not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing. So don't be afraid. You are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows." Matthew 10:29, 31. Indeed.
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