A Story About Baths.

"I want to renovate the bathroom," my mother said. It is true that the plumbing in my parents' fifty-year-old house is nearing its limit. But my mother is eighty and lives alone; renovating now... a bathroom... well, a bathroom...

Let's stop longing for it.

My mother is the type who, once she decides to do something, does it. To turn her dream and longing for a unit bath with a shower into reality, she had already started moving by asking a local carpenter for an estimate. When I asked where she would get the money for that on a pension, she boasted that it would be fine.

Even so, I couldn't just leave her to it, so I generously offered a renovation gift. A complete unit bath as a present. Wow! Big spender!

Seeing that, my daughter said,
"Mom, you're cool! I want to be someone who can just 'pop' out that kind of money too."
My daughter, let's stop longing for it. Work hard every day, and someday you can 'pop' it out too.

The reason for my 'pop' was none other than,"Because it's a bath."That was it.

I'll take the bath.

In my childhood, although we had a bath at home, my grandmother, who was born in the Meiji era and lived diagonally across the street, would say,"It's a waste to boil the bath every day, so come over to take one,"and my mother, my sister, and I would go to take a bath there every night.

My grandmother's house used firewood to heat the water. I was taught to say "Itadakimasu" (I humbly receive) before getting in, and "Gochisosama-deshita" (Thank you for the feast) after getting out. It felt a bit like eating a meal.

When leaving, I would bow with my hands on the floor and politely say "Good night" to my grandmother, then walk home looking up at the starry sky. A post-bath stroll feels wonderful. In the summer, it was routine to catch stag beetles under the streetlights and say,"There are no rhinoceros beetles, are there?"but since I hated bugs, I would get goosebumps and my bath-warmed body would instantly cool down.

I'll take the bathtub.

As we sisters grew up, going to my grandmother's house to take a bath became a chore. Our home bath was like a wooden tub. The washing area was only about half a tatami mat in size, and there was no shower. It was clearly a cramped and inconvenient bath life, and my mother must have wanted to do something about it. She must have, but...

*

One day, shocking news arrived that a relative's house had burned down completely in a fire. Although their lives were saved, it is too tragic for a house to burn down and disappear.
"Fires are scary... I feel so sorry for my aunt..."
As a child, I sympathized from the bottom of my heart and wondered if there was anything I could do. All the relatives brought clothes and daily necessities to encourage them.

My mother, who went to visit them, said this as soon as she returned.
"The bathtub was left unburned, so I decided to take it."

What!! Mom, that is...

"It's a little scorched, but it's still usable, so it's fine."
How could she say that to someone whose house burned down completely? The meaning of 'taking the bath' is different. Besides, if it's still usable, shouldn't they use it?


"They said they don't need it because they are rebuilding."This goes beyond being nonchalant or immoral; it makes me feel miserable. Are we the kind of people who take things from a place that burned down in a fire... This is all kinds of messed up.

Thus, the wooden tub was removed, and a pale light-blue bathtub was installed. When I soaked in the tub, right at eye level, there was a spot that had melted and scorched from the heat. I grew up continuing to take baths while touching that bump with my finger. Even after I got married and left home, the bath for my own children's first post-birth wash was that same tub. After that, my mother, who lived alone from the age of sixty, cleaned it and boiled the water every day for twenty years for her own sake.

The bath is hospitality.

I love baths.
There is never a day I don't take a bath, and when looking for a hotel or apartment, whether there is a bathtub and whether it can be reheated are my top priorities. When a super sento (large public bath) was built near my current house, I danced with joy. It is paradise.

Since I recognize the importance of baths, I don't think it's extravagant that my mother, feeling uneasy about her legs and lower back, wanted a modern unit bath that is shallow and allows her to stretch her legs. It's better to have a daily home bath than an occasional hot spring trip. I don't know how many more years she will be able to use it in her old age, but living in the present—that is what a bath is.

*

"Why don't you stay the night? We have beer."
Every time I visited my parents' house, my mother would say that. She would tell me to take a bath in their new tub. My grandmother, born in the Meiji era, was the same; to people of the old generation, a bath is a form of hospitality. However, busy with work and raising children, I was always in and out. I truly think the distance to one's parents' house should either be close enough to walk to or far enough that a day trip is impossible. If the distance is awkward, you can't stay long.

Now that I no longer need to rush home, I have the luxury of staying over even when it's not far enough to require it, and visiting often even when it's not close enough to do so frequently.

My parents' bath—it is the ultimate luxury. After the bath, chilled beer and butterbur sprout tempura! Above all, I am grateful to have a place to return to.

Oh, right, I mustn't forget the most important line.
"I'll go ahead and take a bath."

#WhatIsThisStoryHouse