Grandma Needs a Bath

It was a clamorous day on Mount Olympus when the gods met for a family meeting and came to the unanimous and unescapable conclusion: grandma really needs a bath. 

            Demeter called the meeting, being the most health-conscious of the group. She was concerned with grandma’s health; Gaia didn’t look too bad from a distance, but the closer you got, the more obvious it was that things were not as they should be. Demeter had noticed her grandmother experiencing hot flashes and unexpected chills and having more trouble breathing. Grandma had started smoking heavily, and she wobbled when she walked. Gaia used to clothe herself in beautiful forests, and lush jungles and grasses, and would accessorize with ornaments of stone, wood, crystal, and precious jewels; but now she looked threadbare—when she wore anything at all. 

            Then there was the smell. It was hard to put a word to that smell: oily, stagnant, fermented, acrid? But however it was described, it wasn’t good. She was clearly far too young to be smelling like that. Grandma was not taking care of herself. The siblings seldom agreed on anything, but in this case everyone concurred that something needed to be done, and soon.

            Direct intervention, however, seemed doomed to failure. Gaia was a naturalist who preferred to let things take their course. She was set in her ways and took ill to any meddling in her affairs. If they tried to confront her she was likely to sic their father Cronus on them, and he would eat them alive. No, this would take cunning and teamwork, they decided. They didn’t often get along, but they resolved to put aside their squabbles for a time for the sake of the common goal. They put their heads together and started scheming.

            For this to work they would need to draw grandma in; something she wouldn’t say no to, coming from someone she couldn’t say no to. For that, they knew they needed Gaia’s great-grandson Hephaestus. Zeus and Hera had been reluctant to be seen taking part in the plot, but they did agree to convince their son to invite Gaia to a great family feast.

            In honor of the Earth Mother, it was to be a Grand Luau. There would be ambrosia poured out like perfume. Nectar would flow clear and sweet like mountain streams. Demeter would provide the most wholesome breads, the freshest fruits and herbs. There would be pastries made from clouds and wine that was the blood of past sacrifices, now aged to perfection. But the pièce de résistance was a wild boar they would wrap in banana leaves and roast in an underground pit. And with it would be served with Hades’ spicy secret sauce. Grandma could never say no to such a meal—the spicier the better—and this was the key to their scheme. 

            Gaia was escorted to the base of Mount Olympus by Hephaestus and seated (downwind) at one end of the table very near the hot pit. Soon the table was set, and everyone was having a wonderful time. Indeed, there was very little contention (Ares had not been invited), and most importantly, Gaia was having fun.

            Hephaestus worked the pit. He had hooked up to his forge to produce tremendous heat. He let the fire get hotter and hotter, until small beads of perspiration began to bead on Gaia’s forehead.

            Hades went off with Demeter to prepare the special sauce. While Gaia’s back was turned, Hades reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a flask filled with his hottest hellfire lava straight from the underworld, and he poured every drop of it straight into the mix until the sauce glowed scarlet.

            At last it was time to serve the boar. It looked and smelled delicious. Hephaestus served his great-grandmother the choicest cuts while they were still steaming fresh off the coals. Hades offered her extra-extra servings of hot sauce and spilled a little more on for good measure. All the gods took their seats, said grace to themselves, and prepared to dig in.

            Gaia dove in with a vengeance. She hadn’t had a meal like this for centuries, and the spice just made her want more and more. Her face turned red, and she puffed out her cheeks at the zip of the peppery sauce, but she didn’t stop eating.

            Soon, between the fire behind her and the spice within her, she began to really perspire. Drops of sweat turned into small rivulets, which then became steams. The streams turned into rivers. More and more sweat came down until a vast sea began to form beneath her. Poseidon was ready for this and had chosen the base of the mountain by the sea for this very purpose.

            The waters poured from her, and the sea level rapidly began to rise. Hephaestus cranked up the forge to further heat the water. Poseidon stirred the waters with his trident. Zeus pitched in with tremendous storms, and between them the waters rose and splashed and began to wash Gaia clean. The plan was working.

            It was only then that Hera voiced reservations: “What of the mortals that the Earth Mother cradles in her arms? What will become of them?”

             “The heat of my forge will overcome them,” answered Hephaestus. 

             “The rising seas will overtake them,” confirmed Poseidon.

             “The increasing storms will overwhelm them,” declared Zeus. 

            But Hades said: “They are mortal and were never meant to last. Those that die I shall welcome. There is room and to spare in my Underworld.”

            Then Zeus proclaimed: “When the heat increases, and the seas rise, and the storms swirl about them, those that survive will again call to us and need us.”

            To this, all the gods agreed and were glad: for their ancient power and worship would be restored, and grandma was finally getting her bath.

-Cosmic Daffodil, 2025