Funny, I was recently having a conversation with a former colleague about this very subject, and what do you know — it turns up as a Daily Prompt: “When and where do you do your best thinking? In the bathroom? While running? Just before bed, or first thing in the morning? On the bus? Why do you think that is?”
For me, it’s in the shower. There I am, steaming hot water pounding down on me, drenching my hair, cascading down my face, releasing all the tension in my neck and shoulders. I turn this way and that, making sure every inch of me gets wet. Making sure every inch of me gets massaged. Pummelled. Relaxed. Rejuvenated.
… bring May flowers. Or so it’s said. I’ve been known to bitch and moan about rain, after about the third or fourth day in a row of getting soaked. Of having to make a run for it. Of walking around with wet shoes, and wet feet. Which is why, as much as I love Vancouver, beautiful as it is, I think I’d have a hard time living there. All that rain (and miserable, grey skies) can be very depressing.
But there are times I love the rain.
I had a friend, years ago, whose parents had a cottage up north, in the Laurentian Mountains (about an hour north of Montreal). I loved their house, because it had a huge screened-in front porch. It was the size of a living room; and, truth be told, everyone sat there, most of the time. It had a bluish grey painted hardwood floor, and lots of over-sized, over-stuffed, mis-matched, comfy furniture.
My favourite was a big old iron-framed daybed that was pushed right up against one of the screened windows. Continue reading →