Dishwashing has its charms, but dishwasher has more
My dishwasher conked out last January. At the same time, the outlet in my bathroom stopped working, as did the hallway light.
We had another bathroom for blowdrying. My son hasn’t needed the hallway light on at night in years. But I didn’t have the money for a new dishwasher, not so soon after Christmas.
Early on, I actually found washing dishes enjoyable. Sloshing my hands in hot, soapy, lavender-scented water was soothing. There was a rhythm to it — soak, scrub, rinse — and then pass to the right, where then-12-year-old Sawyer leaned against the counter, an orange-and-white tea towel in his hands.
In the dim kitchen light, I washed and Sawyer dried, and we talked.
We’d get by, for a while.
I missed the hum of the dishwasher as I turned off the lights and locked up. The shifting cycles sounded almost like the ocean, lulling me to sleep. But the empty kitchen sink and the tea towel spread out to dry was satisfying, too.
Two months into it, the novelty was gone. My hands were chapped. Sawyer had abandoned his post completely, and I was left alone to tackle the dried-on pasta sauce and congealed maple syrup.
By July, we were using paper plates, and to heck with the environment. I let the dishes pile up until the dog showed an interest, pacing and sniffing the air, before I’d wash them. I threatened to ground Sawyer when he’d use more than one utensil per meal.
It was time for action. I finally got a good electrician to the house.
Turns out that one bad circuit had shut down the hallway light, the outlet in the bathroom and the dishwasher. Replacing it cost $8.
We (well, mostly me) had been washing the dishes for 10 months, two weeks and one day. For an $8 part.
That night, with Sawyer already asleep, the hallway light off, I rinsed the dirty dishes in the sink, loaded them into the dishwasher and turned it on.
The familiar hum sounded like home.