ON DOING THE DISHES

I've been trying to stay focused on my new housekeeping system. I've made the job cards, and while I couldn't find labeled 3x5 dividers locally, I did find blank ones that serve the purpose even better. While shopping for a box, I happened to think of my mother's last recipe box. To use it for another purpose tugged at my heartstrings, but she doesn't need it now, I told myself, and it's silly not to make use of it. So, I transferred the contents of Mother's hand-painted wooden box to a plastic box and labeled it. I'm not as interested in those recipes as I am in the ones she used during my growing up years, but you know, the day will come when those recipes from the '70s and '80s will be sought after as "retro." So, the card system is functioning and I see progress.

"I love my dishwasher," said daughter Hallie when we were in Seattle. Dishwashers are great time and energy savers. When I was growing up we didn't have a dishwasher until I was 13 (1962). We did dishes the old-fashioned way, and it was a big deal. When I was little, my sister stood me on a chair and I was "allowed" to dry some select unbreakable items. Eventually, it was just me at home with my parents and I was expected to help with the dishes most every meal. At first I was mainly the drier because Mother insisted the wash water be very hot. I was not allowed to wash until I could stand to put my hands in the hot water. As I grew older, I had more responsibility in the dishwashing process. If Mother was involved in sewing or had something else to do, I might be expected to do them by myself. My mother considered that the dishes were not done until they were all washed, dried, and put away. Allowing the dishes to "drain dry" denoted laziness. Even when we had a dishwasher, pots and pans were always washed by hand. And of course, doing the dishes included cleaning the table, the stove, the sink, and countertops. If we had an evening obligation, we ate early so that the dishes could be done to specification before we left the house. The standard was that the dishes were done and the kitchen cleaned following every meal and before you left the house. The same standard was practiced by my husband's mother.

Washing dishes at Grandma Ina's house on the homestead was an even bigger deal, but I now treasure the fact that I was privileged to have the experience. There was no running water in that place, so when we started cooking a meal on the old woodstove, we would make sure to put a pot of water on in preparation for doing the dishes. After the meal, we would take the old wash pans from their place on the wall in the pantry – one for washing, one for rinsing, one for draining. Plates and dishes were removed from the table, scraped free of scraps, and stacked. Preparation was necessary due to limited space. The dishes didn't drain well in the pan, so the dishtowel was frequently exchanged for a dry one. As we did the dishes, we would look out the window, the same window and the same scene I see today when I'm at the farmhouse. And some days, when I'm thinking of old times, I almost have to pinch myself when I turn the faucet on and water flows out. It's magic!

I also love my dishwasher and wouldn't like to go back to hand washing. But I do think the camaraderie of doing the dishes together constitutes a loss to the home and a loss to society. We visited while we worked. As the family worked together things came out that might not have otherwise, perhaps giving a parent insight to a child's character and the opportunity to share wisdom and advice. Sometimes there were arguments over the dishes. That, too, might be seen as giving individuals opportunity to air and resolve differences. And when we were finished, we had accomplished something together, even though it was menial in nature. Something about that was basic and comfortable.

A sampler in my mother's kitchen read as follows:

Life's riches other rooms adorn

But in the kitchen home is born. KW