Last night was a joy.
Friends from Dallas arrived and we enjoyed good food, marvelous libations, great conversation, and camaraderie. My sister-in-law was thrilled, as was I, that our friends’ arrival meant the delivery of three cases of wine not available in Arkansas.
There was talk of going in to Hot Springs today to partake of Superior Brewery’s newest offerings of beers and stouts and ales.
The most alarming conversation was the one involving partaking of the thermal baths. In spite of my bravado, I am moderately uncomfortable shedding my clothes in public places. Would that it were not so. I am a proponent, intellectually, of widespread nudity as a means to change society’s fear of the human form; my emotional capacity to carry out that theoretical advancement probably falls far short, though.
But, we’re not talking about actually wandering about nude; we’re talking about shedding our garments so that attendants can scrub our bodies and allow the hot water to sooth our souls and make our bodies weak with happiness.
We shall see how this wet, sloppy day plays out. The rain is falling, hard, and the fog between the raindrops is thick as pea soup. I have yet to see any signs of the sun. God, I do hope nothing happened to it overnight!
The title of this post is just a tad reminiscent of the title of the book a member of my writers’ club is having published soon; Beer, Bait & Ammo. But reminiscent does not mean identical.