A few weeks ago, in anticipation of Thanksgiving and birthday celebrations, and the stresses that accompany an overflowing social schedule, I booked a massage at a local chiropractor’s office. A friend recommended a massage therapist who was not available, and I had to trust the receptionist to recommend an alternative.

“If you like Rebecca,” she gushed.  “You’ll love Michael!”

Except for a few moments at the beginning of our session when I asked Michael to turn off the jungle sounds they had piped into the small rectangular room and find more melodic and quieter background music, I was thrilled with the massage. I was glad I gave myself the gift, and I found Michael to be perfectly sensitive to my cues, adjusting pressure when appropriate and not ruining the vibe by making small talk.

In a super-relaxed stupor, after I dressed and slipped a folded ten-spot into Michael’s hand, I was told to drink a lot of water the rest of the evening and, if possible, to take a warm bath with some Epsom salts. Ever eager to stretch the relaxation I felt to the max, I routed myself home in such a way that I would be sure to pass a couple drug stores so I could hunt up bath salts.

I drank lots of water and refrained from drinking alcohol during dinner.  Whatever relaxation benefit I might get from a glass of Malbec, I figured it would not worth interfering with the stretching and deep tissue un-knotting that I received at Michael’s hands.

After a fun evening with friends and singing songs for Thanksgivinkuh (a new holiday that only occurs once in a hundred years or so), after I got home, I consumed a few more tumblers of filtered water and ran water for my bath. I measured a couple cups of salts and added them to the bathwater after carefully manipulating the faucet until I found the perfect temperature. I engaged the jets and lowered myself in the tub.

Ahhhhhhhhh.

Oh, this was good. I mean it. Really good.

Warm vapors hovered over the surface of the water and I alternated between sitting and reclining, turning occasionally so that one of eight pressurized streams of water would hit my right hip and other tired parts of my body.

Why don’t I do this more often?

Ha. While I carved out some tub time on orders from the masseur, the thought came over me that I could really be enjoying the benefits of a good soak all the time. My tub is extra deep. It’s located just off the master bedroom so it’s very private. I can adjust the temperature handily.  It even has whirlpool jets. I never had this luxury before I lived here.

I had gotten into the habit of thinking of taking a hot bath when I have a cold and want to give myself a steam treatment. I will take short showers if I want to get ready for the day quickly; long showers after a work-out.  But rarely have I thought about the pleasure of sitting in the tub as something I could do whenever I want to.

A long hot bath is a convenient way to de-stress. I can take a long hot bath at home. It’s healthy – and it’s free. Now that I have a deep tub that’s equipped with water jets, the experience is especially nice. Besides, I like the privacy of holing up in my bathroom.  I can bring a boom box into the tiled chamber or light candles to make the atmosphere even more relaxing.

Being able to retreat into the center of your home to enjoy the solitude and sensations of a good soak is no small thing.