My sanctuary is a place of options. It has both a cold tile floor and a fluffy rug to stand or kneel on. Art hangs on three of the four walls and ranges from merely pretty to thought-provoking. A small wicker basket of pot-purri provides a pleasing scent. Sometimes the basket is replaced with candles that smell like cinnamon or vanilla depending on their coloring. One window, much too small to crawl through, allows passage for sunshine and fresh air equally. A light switch gives and takes life from the round bulbs above the only wall mounted mirror as well as a disc set in the ceiling. Below the mirror is a curved basin. In the same room is a porcelein bowl for waste disposal and beyond a plastic, brightly decorated curtain is a tub with both faucet and showerhead.

That’s right, my sanctuary is a bathroom. I think it must because bathrooms are sacrosanct. Inviolate. As long as you are in the bathroom, most people will leave you alone, especially if it’s yours. It was a place where the world dared not enter.