Well my dishwasher died today. I am not surprised as it has been making a funny noise and the last time I had the repair man out he told me not to call him anymore but to let nature take its course next time....
The reason I am not upset about this is because a serious kitchen remodel is looming on my horizon and the more "dead" appliances I have out of the way the better to make room for all the bright shiny new ones right?
Ever look at how you react to an event in your life and compare it to a time in the past when the same type of event occurred? Ever happen to notice that your current reaction is more tempered and steady than your younger self would have reacted? I guess that is one way to tell that we are not static in our own lives isn't it?
Like a litmus test of adaptability to the changing circumstances we find ourselves in.
When my first dishwasher died I was a veritable wreck. If I had known about blogging then I'm sure I would have blogged on for days about it. As it was I still wrote about it.
As a fitting memorial service for this currently demised dishwasher I thought I would post the story of my first brush with dishwasher death and the profound effect it had on me then, versus my grief less self of today. What a difference a few years makes!
Be back later - I'm off to look at dishwashers!
The Day the Music Died
written in 2000
I am having a love affair.
It is with my dishwasher.
I admit it. It is my favorite appliance! Sure, a microwave "nukes" and a dryer "dries", but my dishwasher?
It must go back to my small town southern upbringing. On warm summer nights after dinner, I would be busily engaged trying to catch fireflies in an old pickle jar and the call would come......"time to do the dishes...." Ugh! Mountains of cold greasy dishes.
Eventually my family bought a dishwasher that was stored by the washer and dryer and then grandly rolled to center stage in front of the kitchen sink each night. I would load it and hook its tubes to the kitchen faucet and Viola! It would actually wash dishes. Later I would unload it and roll it back out of the way into the laundry room where it would spend its day as a handy folding counter. As an adult, both of my homes, first a mobile home and later a vintage farmhouse did not include, guess what? Many nights I washed dishes with babies sitting around my ankles while I threw them bubbles. Later pouting teenagers glared at each other over "their night" to wash and dry. Still later my husband and I glared at each other over the dishes while growing kids were out stretching curfews!
So it was with my obvious delight that for our 18th anniversary my husband ripped out a kitchen cabinet to make room and Sears installed a BEAUTIFUL dishwasher. Total instant love! With only two kids left at home now I had gone back to work and the days had a rhythm. Come home, fix dinner, help with homework, return phone calls, hectic evening. Kiss kids good night, flip off lights, sort mail, load dishwasher, take a shower- get out, start dishwasher, hmm......that sound of rain in a box.
Quiet house,day over. A mug of tea or a glass of wine. The dishwashers OM became my mantra for "end of day". Shutting the door and hearing the whoosh - water running in - every muscle relaxed, my bones jellied. The perfect ending of a day.
Then one ordinary and horrible day, my "alter" I mean "dishwasher," BROKE! If I started it? Water poured on to the kitchen tile. My husband in his ultimate wisdom said "Don't use it for now."
Monday night basketball practice, working late, pick up kids, pasta for dinner, kitchen a mess......OK! Bite the bullet; you can do this I tell myself....you remember how. I plug the drain. Fill the sink with hot water and squeeze in soap. Pile in dishes....I cant believe I've come to this.
Quiet kitchen, of course not one member of my family would come in here now!
I'd forgotten all about looking out the window over the sink at dusk. You cant do that when your bent over a dishwasher. I see an inky blue sky with a smattering of early stars. The rough familiar outline of trees in the backyard. Our yellow lab turns a tight circle three times and lays down with a soft heave, head on paws she looks in the window at me. I smile back. Pulling clean forks out of hot soapy water my mind drifts to when I was ten and my job was to put the clean silverware away. I always pretended the silverware drawer with its divided slots was a cash register. I would sort the forks knives and spoons into their respective spots pretending they were money and I ran the cash register at some really cool place - like McDonald's....
Now, I let the warm soapy water soothe my tired hands. I had forgotten how it feels to stand on the soft rug at the kitchen sink, my hands and wrists plunged in warm water. It warms the back of my neck. Peace creeps up my fingers to my elbows, my shoulders....
I catch myself looking soft in the now darkened glass of the kitchen window. I swirl my hand through the water, no more dishes. Just a clean shiny stack of plates and glasses, drying on the counter.
I pull the plug, listen to the soft sucking gurgle and feel....relaxed.
I used to keep hand lotion near the sink. Now I go find it. My hands are unbelievably pink, soft and supple. I rub the lotion in. It feels wonderful.
I go into the den to say goodnight to my son, hunched over the computer. I touch his face with the back of my fingers. "Don't stay up late sweetie" I say and stifling a yawn I turn away. "Your hands feel nice Mom" he says distractedly without looking up. I smile. He is right. My hands do feel nice. My attitude feels nice.
We will get the dishwasher fixed, but there's no hurry.