summer showers

 

I showered outside for the first time the other weekend.

Matt came with Zander and me to Rehoboth, Delaware for the weekend. We took him to our favorite beaches, down the boardwalk, stuffed our face with boardwalk fries (another first for me!), rode bicycles - all the while hoping desperately that Zander, our recklessly fearless leader wouldn't get us killed, and brought back pink noses and sun-highlighted hair to show for our efforts. Zan's mom welcomed us all in with open arms, except when we were covered with sand. Then she ushered us quickly to the showers - and since there were three of us and two showers inside, she suggested someone use the outside shower. 

I volunteered so quickly you'd think it was for a make your own sundae bar instead of bathing myself. I ran - really, with a bounce in my step, outside. I full on showered with soap and shampoo and conditioner and suds and bubbles and skipped wrapping my hair in a towel after I turned the water off so I could feel the drops dry on my skin.

It might be ordinary for anyone who owns a beach house, but it was bold and daring to me. I felt the warmth of the sun as it shined down on the parts of me I never show it, the ones reserved for inside the four walls I call home and house and hotel. Like a rebel and a hippie, a naturalist and a minimalist - all the fantasies of a different kind of wondrous life, wrapped up in a single outdoor shower. I lived a little more.