I grew up in
a house that did not have a dishwasher. It was my chore to wash dishes after
dinner. Sometimes I resented not being able to run from the table and start
school work or watch TV, but mostly, I felt it was just part of daily
existence. I had a portable record player and must have listened to Joni Mitchell’s
Blue a thousand times as I washed and
dried dishes.
I left that
house at seventeen, went to college two thousand miles from home, had a family,
and lived in a variety of residences throughout the United States- apartments,
condo, townhouse, and houses - all with dishwashers. My children never had to
wash dishes after any meal as the microwave, iPod, computers, and dishwasher were
just part of their daily existence.
A few years
ago, after decades of living with modern household electronics, I moved to an
old house, without gadgets. My
renovation started with the necessities – a new septic system and heat pump - but
when it came time to redo the kitchen, I hesitated. I loved the mellow wood
floors that I found beneath the linoleum flooring and the green glass knobs on
the old floor to ceiling cabinets. I bought a new stove and refrigerator but
when it came time to redo plumbing, I chose to forego a dishwasher. The
dishwasher would have taken up valuable real estate in the old farm kitchen, my
children were grown, and I figured it wasn't a big deal to wash a few dishes.
Now, I wash
dishes every day. The window above the sink faces west toward the river overseeing
birdhouses that attract a variety of birds, squirrels, chipmunks, and even
deer. Washing the dishes provides an opportunity to watch the antics of aggressive
blue jays, or the comical woodpecker hanging upside down. If it is late in the
day, I watch the sunset over the river and hills, creating a backdrop of
beautiful colors. I witness the changing of the seasons, the position of the
sun as it sets each day. At this time of year, I feel the warm, sudsy water caress
my cold hands, the dish cloth gliding over the smoothness of plates, the rough
landscape of food stuck on dishes. It is a sensual experience to feel the soap,
the water, the sleek glimmer of clean glass, smell of the soap, the sound of
dishes clanging and the floor creaking as my body weight shifts on the old
floors. It is a dance of the senses, of body and mind in togetherness.
Every so
often, as I did last evening, when darkness came early, I pull out my old iPod,
attach some speakers, and listen to Joni Mitchell’s Blue, as she sings River:
It's coming
on Christmas
They're
cutting down trees
They're
putting up reindeer
And singing
songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I
had a river I could skate away on
It is indeed
coming on Christmas - I have skates and a river that I could skate away on –
but now I also have a sense of stillness, as a million stars illuminate the
night sky, of calmness, peace. There is in this moment a connection with God,
with the silence that allows us to touch souls, and an understanding that we
can, in stillness and intention, find ourselves in very ordinary acts.
