It was a two shower day. Even if I had not done a work out, which I didn't, or hoisted heavy boxes on to high shelves, which I also didn't, by early evening my clothes were damp and clinging to me. I could not picture climbing into clean sheets when I was not. 

 

I remember when my father heard that JFK was a two shirt dresser. Dad figured if it was good enough for the president, it was good enough for him. By early afternoon he tossed the morning shirt into the basket and slipped on a fresh one. It added to the laundry but Mom didn't mind. His parents immigrated from Sweden where being hot was not an issue. 

 

Often when I feel the rush of cool water on my back I think of those people for whom such a luxury is out of reach. The thousands of immigrants in limbo at the border are in a near constant state of sweat and grime. While I cannot free them from unjust oppression, I send them a splashy prayer. Does it reach them? 

 

Homeless persons, too, long for a chance to rinse off the cares of life on the streets. I have seen inspiring stories of refurbished buses that invite locals to step aboard and get clean in a private stall. Kindness in action. 

 

The truly remarkable thing is that humans are washable at all. Barring oil based paints and tar, a few minutes under the faucet is all it takes to get back to slippery skin. There appears to be no limit to the number of times we can get dirty and return to cleanliness. 

 

It feels like an apt picture of what goes on inside me too. It is still early in the day and yet I have already sullied my thoughts with criticisms and complaints. But miraculously, those flaws need not be permanent. I can, if I am willing, let them fall away.