July 5, 2018
Hubby and I have been to Hot Springs before and enjoyed it, so as a stop on our gradual journey home, it made for an easy choice. It’s hard to break myself from calling Plano “home” even though we’re trying to think of the RV as home. It’s a switch, going from home as a spot on a map to home being this vehicle that you wander around the country in. Plano, with its population of soccer moms carrying their broods around in Porsche Cayennes and Mercedes SUVs, never felt like a place I identified with, but I do miss the house. I even miss pulling weeds, but only in a voluntary way when the weather is nice and the ground lets me have the roots due to a recent rain. Only a bit sheepishly, I pulled a few at our last campground, to Michael’s teasing.
But back to Hot Springs. Yes, they have the historic bathhouse row, and it almost felt like an obligation to go and get a spa treatment, until we did. I insisted on leaving our phones in the locker so when we had the bath it was just bubbles and hot water and cutesy LED lights in the water and calm. Calm. We rejoined the world briefly, pressing lightly-scented, cool cloths to our faces and drinking cucumber-infused spring water, before diving back into mental quiet on the massage table. Maybe I should adopt this routine as a religious observance. I don’t participate in organized religion, but if part of the point of that exercise is meditation and a positive reset for mind and soul, I think I could do worse than a soak and massage.