The Sauna and the Butterfly Dress

A backyard saunaStepson wandered around the kitchen a week or so ago and launched into a paean to saunas--specifically the one he used to use at the health club in Portland. Having lived in Finland and been back many times to visit, I am as much or more of a fan of saunas than he is. But to me, a sauna located anywhere else than Finland doesn't seem culturally right, so I've never gone to one anywhere else.

As Stepson sang the praises of a good hot sauna, the topic seemed to shift, and eventually it became a full-fledged sales pitch on adding a sauna at our house. "My friend built one in his backyard down in California," he said. "I bet he'd let me have it."

Well now. Let me paint the picture for you as I saw it. Stepson moves back home at the age of 24, going back to school for another degree--this time in nursing--and not only refills the empty nest, but brings two cats that leave long hair all over the place and terrorize my poor kitty cat. And then he puts on the pressure for us to allow him to drag a homemade sauna up from some other part of the country and plonk it down in the backyard for his personal use.

"How would you get water and electricity to it?" I ask.

"It would be a wood sauna," he says.

"How would you get the wood?" his dad asks.

Stepson looks at his dad like he's crazy. "What do you mean?" he asks in the tone of voice that conveys, That was a dumb question.

"I mean, where would you get wood?"

"I'd buy it," says Stepson, who doesn't currently have a job.

By now I'm at the sink, washing dishes and working myself into an emotional lather over the conversation. I know stepson's style. It starts well-meaning, but then we have to take care of whatever is left behind. Let me be clear: I know the sauna would be left behind when all was said and done. It would be the biggest thing we've had to "take care of" after he'd gone on to the rest of his life. Last time there were the personal artifacts, the remnants of ferret pellets, various this-and-that under his bathroom sink, the used oil sitting in cans in the garage.... You get the picture.

"Wouldn't it be cool to have a sauna in the backyard?" he asks.

"No," I say emphatically. "I'm not interested in having a sauna here."

That should do it.

"Why not?" asks stepson.

I ignore the question. I'm not interested should be enough. It's our house. I truly love this guy, but I'm not figuring out how to drag a sauna back up from the backyard and then pawn it off on someone else a few years down the road.

* * * * * * * *

"So what about the butterfly dress?" you ask. "What does that have to do with the sauna?"

Well, let me tell you. My mom may remember this differently, but this is how I remember it:

I think I was 13-ish years old. I was idly flicking through dresses in my mom's cupboard. I was bored, looking for novelty, just being my typically egocentric teenage self. As I pawed through the clothing, trying on various pieces and enjoying the fact that I now fit my mom's clothes, I came across a dress made of white material with a colorful butterfly print.

I loved it. It was cool. It struck me as stylish.

"Mama, can I have this dress?" I asked. "I like it."

"No," she said.

This may not shock you, but it shocked me. My mother--according to my perceptions--was normally generous and giving, and would have handed over anything I expressed an interest in. Why had she said No? I really wasn't asking for that much. I tried again.

"But it looks nice on me," I said.

"And I like it, too," she said. "I had it made for me."

"I'd wear it often," I cajoled.

"No. You have plenty of other clothes," she told me. And she was right.

I remember to this day my surprise at the fact that Mama would deny my request, that she would insist on keeping things the way she'd arranged them for her own enjoyment. I'd run smack dab into a boundary. I wasn't getting whatever I wanted just because I was growing up and refining my persuasive skills.

* * * * * * *

And so, a week or so ago, as I put my foot down about the homemade sauna in the back yard, the image of the butterfly dress came to mind. And I thought wryly to myself that things seem to have come full circle.

This dress looks surprisingly like the one I coveted, as I remember it.