At an amazing spa on the shores of Playa de la Concha in San Sebastian, Spain is where we first experienced the waters of contrast. We were visiting our daughter Emma on her college study abroad.  In the 19^th century Queen Isabella II came to the beach for the healing properties of the water. The Belle Époque spa called La Perla was a treat for our afternoon.  The serene pools looked out over the bay and there were whispering voices and people having therapeutic massages.  This serenity changed slightly when Emma saw her dad appear from the men’s changing room wearing a speedo bathing suit. After slight drowning, choking and muffled laughter we composed ourselves and tried out the various pools.  I stayed in a narrow lap pool while Emma and Kevin walked into a tiled tunnel called “aguas de contraste”.   The serenity of the spa was broken once again by echoing screams and laughter and Kevin and Emma emerged from the tunnel and related that alternating jets of hot and cold water had just sprayed them at full force.

 

The phrase “waters of contrast” has been so useful for me in many of life’s events. I recently parked at the grocery store in Rice Lake, WI and noticed the horse and buggy near the gas pumps.  The contrast was sudden and healthy. A jolt.  We are in our own norm and it is a gift when something comes along to show us another way to prompt us to be questioning and curious.

 

As I mentally prepare to leave the woods and the lake, we will make our trip back to Chicago and our apartment.   It is the contrast that I love. It can be shocking, almost painful,  yet invigorating.  On my walk through the woods today I hear distant gun shots from duck hunters, my recent walks have taken me past men wearing camo that aren’t making a fashion statement.  My students in Spooner are skilled hunters and their families have meat all winter.  Meanwhile back in Chicago we curse the guns and the conditions that create gangs and violence.  My feelings about weapons are born of a life in the city, but rural life brings a different perspective and purpose. Any other gun has the feeling of Anton Chekov’s dramatic principle. One must never place a loaded rifle on the stage if it isn’t going to go off.