Have I mentioned how cold that house was in the winter? The bathtub was freezing, icy cold, and not being able to immerse ourselves in hot water meant that we shivered all the way through the sponge bath. Because water was so limited, baths were in demand. Because it was so incredibly cold in there, Raphah and I gladly deferred to others who wanted a bath, if we could get away with it. Even after you got out and stood by the woodstove, it was still cold. If you turned your back to the stove, your front got cold, and vice versa. We hardly ever went anywhere anyway, but it is still a little shocking to recall times when he or I took a bath once a month, or even less often.

There were exceptions, however. Rachel had a nasty habit of neglecting to empty the pot, even when asked. By the time she complied, it would be pretty full, and then she'd complain that it was too heavy for her to dump, which it was by then. This aggravated Raphah and I, since we were the ones who inevitably had to take up the slack, but there was no point in complaining. She was the baby of the family, and she acted so innocent about it.

On one such occasion, she had allowed the pot to fill right up to the rim. Mom asked me to dump it. I griped and pointed out that if she'd emptied it several times, starting in mid morning, this would never happen, and that the overly full bucket, only on her days, was beginning to seem like a pattern, but it was no use arguing. The pot was full and somebody, me, had to dump it. By now it was dark, but the light of the moon shone on the snow, so I didn't need a flashlight. I was so used to not seeing things that visibility didn't matter that much anyway.

I held the pot gingerly away from my body and walked slowly, smoothly, carefully, out the door, so as not to slosh any of it on myself. The slightest bump would send it splashing out. Down the front steps, no spills, no sloshing. Suddenly my left foot hit an unexpected patch of ice! I went down, the bucket went up, and the contents came down- all over me. I must have wailed, because the front door opened quickly, and the whole family appeared at the doorway. I was covered in sewage. It was splattered on my glasses, on my face, soppy toilet paper hung from my hair...it was horrible beyond words. My clothes were soaked through with the stinking mess. Rachel pushed between the others, caught sight of me and began laughing hysterically. The others looked absolutely horrified and awestruck. Dad told me I had to strip down, right there in front of the house, in the snow, and leave my clothes outside. Kettles of water were put on to boil. Someone must have shoveled up the mess. I washed, and washed, and scrubbed and lathered, and I still felt contaminated. I shampooed my hair four times in a row and felt as though I would never be truly clean again. After that, when it was Rachel's day for the pot, I got onto her case early in the day. I didn't ever want to experience anything like that again.