Why Mexico?

When I wake up in the morning 

and this is what I see from my window,

from my roof... 

the question doesn't merit a response.

bs

Bar Soap and I have never exactly seen eye-to-eye.

His feeble bubbles, aided by accomplice Washcloth, never quite seem to work up to the lather commonly pushed on television commercials. 

Even when set up with Sponge, and the bath runneth over with suds, there is one dingy memory from childhood that, for me, stains Bar Soap’s reputation…

As a child I was sent to summer camp on top of Lookout Mountain in Alabama.  The lush rhododendron’s essence clung to the morning mist and dew that hung heavy around us; we sat on soggy fallen trees and peered out across Little River into the fog.  As we awoke with song and reverence to the surrounding beauty, the director told us that there were problems with the plumbing. We would be bathing in the river until further notice.

We were no longer asleep. Yay! Hunger pains were swept away and breakfast was forgotten. Bath time was not to be hassled with fear of spiders nor the hesitation before braving the icy low-pressure trickle from the showerhead. Not today!  The river was to be converted into a natural bathing spot just as it was used by Native Americans long before.  I deeply felt that in doing this we were honoring and communing with the previous peoples of the land. 

Though we all donned bathing gear and our suds could be seen along the bank for days, I felt as pure and connected to the Earth as I ever had before.  But then, an older girl came and asked me if I had any liquid soap she could use. No. I had been borrowing the bars from others or merely using the suds that flowed past me as I swam against the current.  The look of disgust that froze her face and the words that flew viciously out of her mouth seemed to personify irony.  “Bar soap is dirty.” I listened as carefully as I could to her explanation of germs, her knowledge surely distorted from some other older girl, I became horrified by the little solid scum breeder.  Thus began a habit of washing the soap before using it.

I have no qualms, though, with sharing a toothbrush.