The Zen of Dishwashing

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.

An Ordinary Life

The whole world is a series of miracles, but we're so used to seeing them that we call them ordinary things.

 Hans Christian Anderson

I spend a lot of time observing nature at Crow River North and the surrounding

lakes and rivers.  I find the time spent to be calming and balancing in an otherwise busy life. Today was no exception. 

I had just arrived at my local library when one of my daughters called.  Rather than go inside, I sat on some steps that lead down to the shoreline of Buffalo Lake. We chatted for awhile and I enjoyed both the conversation and the breeze blowing off the lake.  Shortly after ending our conversation, an eagle worked its way toward shore. I hadn't ever seen an eagle swimming, so I lingered by to watch. It raised its wings, and with each stroke drew closer to the shore.  Upon reaching the shore, it stepped out of the water carrying a large fish in one talon.  It carefully carried its prey a little further up the shoreline. It wasn't an extraordinary event, like seeing a UFO, or watching your favorite team win a championship, instead it was a bird catching a fish,  a tiny spark, a daily reminder, of all that is beautiful, and ordinary, in life

Last evening, shortly before the sunset, I watched a doe, or as I would rather call her, Mama Dear, cross the field in front of my windows, with her two growing fawns.  I've been watching the trio since the fawns could barely stand. They have grown throughout the summer but still have remaining spots on their coats. They graze, and then look up, to observe me, observing them. 

Earlier in the day, a gang of turkeys grazed in front of my deck  - there were probably five or six adults and many young ones - eating and following one another across the grassy area.  Another ordinary day for them.

The cycle of life continues for many creatures, while I observe. There are the ducklings in the pond, swimming close to their mother - always one, moving a little too far away. 

There is the bee going about the business of pollination or whatever it is that bees do, while I silently observe.

I left another career to live and work at Crow River North, knowing that I needed to change my life. I chose to pursue a life in art. I have found art in life.

Wishing you all that is good,

L

When an ordinary man attains knowledge, he is a sage; when a sage attains understanding, he is an ordinary man. 

- A Zen Saying-