My dishwasher, loaded up and ready to go, wouldn’t start the other night. I had my son tinker with it—he took apart the electronic control panel and concluded after researching on YouTube that it had to be replaced.
A friend had given me the dishwasher—a Kenmore—when she remodeled her kitchen. I’ve had the free use of it for seven years. It didn’t owe me a thing.
In ordinary times, I would call the plumber or the electrician and expect to spend a few hundred dollars for their time, labor, and cost of the parts.
But these are not ordinary times. I had already cancelled installation of a new kitchen floor to replace the grungy linoleum that I estimate is forty years old, a design popular in the 1980s.
I had chosen rectangular tiles in a subdued marbleized design, stone-colored and minimalist, and put down my deposit. The project would take two full days and require disconnecting and moving kitchen appliances and furniture to the living room.
Soon after, our ordinary way of life disappeared and pandemic conditions disrupted everything. Too many workers in my house exerting themselves for too long—we know the dangers of that scenario.
Even so, the floor company called to schedule a date. I knew that their business must be crashing due to the lockdown. I told them to call back in a couple of months. At that time, early spring, nothing was clear as to the future spread of the coronavirus.
As it turned out, the local, national, and global numbers of infections and deaths escalated dramatically, my own state of Massachusetts included. I told the owner to put the order on hold and wait for me to call when the coast was clear. He has the tiles in his warehouse along with my good faith deposit, and we will leave it at that until further notice.
Now, for the dishwasher. It’s six months later, but I still won’t have a repairman enter my house, regardless of precautions. I don’t know who they are, who they associate with, or their level of care. I’m categorized in a high risk group and I will listen to the science that has determined that mature immune systems are vulnerable, notwithstanding level of fitness.
Buying and installing a new appliance also not an option—the same concerns present themselves. I’m not supporting the local economy in any big way except that I will have a crew come by next week to deal with a Crimson King Maple too close to the house and reaching over to the roof. The branches swayed ominously during a rogue windstorm last week.
Back in the kitchen, I took the weeks’ worth of dirty dishes out of the Kenmore and put them back into the sink. Each day I washed a new batch and let them air dry on the dish-rack, a low-tech alternative to “sani-rinse” and “heated dry.”
I remember as a young girl at family events that the aunties did the dishes and handed the kids dish towels to dry them. I hated this because my hands felt too dry and the touch of the towel made me cringe. They thought I was trying to get out of the chore but I really just wanted to sink my hands into the sloshing water and grab a soaking wet sponge!
In my single digits, my mom bought a portable dishwasher. She rolled to the sink and fussed around trying to keep the hose attached to the faucet. The noise of the machinery, and the filling and emptying cycle, interfered with the tranquility of the evening. I don’t think this appliance became very popular. I prefer the vision of my beautiful mom standing at the sink, a sweeter memory than the unwelcome kitchen robot.
Now I am caught up and will wash dishes faithfully after each meal. My son and I each do our own. We play our respective parts in the peaceful maintenance of our sheltered two-person household. Instead of the grinding of the machinery (the Kenmore wasn’t current enough to be silent or even energy-efficient), I feel the steady rush of water from the faucet and notice the reliable hum of the fridge.
The four distinct seasons of New England display during the ten minutes I am stationed at the window—for now an early fall scene with its painterly colors, green still mixed in.
Same as pulling weeds in my garden beds, washing dishes is a repetitive activity. Outdoors, the work requires movement and physical exertion, but my indoor task only requires me to stand in place at the sink and choose the next dish to clean, rinse, and arrange on the rack.
Adjusting the flow of water at a temperature hot enough to cut the grease but temperate enough to tolerate on my hands is an ongoing element in this daily ritual.
The kitchen is the sacred place where we store and prepare nourishment for ourselves and our families, not just a command central for household efficiency and state-of-the-art design.
In my pre-pandemic life, I would have taken charge of the situation promptly and decided whether to repair or replace. I doubt I would have contemplated the third option—carefully considering if repair or replace are even necessary.
The simple omission of something I thought I needed in my modern life becomes a satisfying way of thinking. My choices expand—I see the reward in something I previously thought was a step backwards. My awareness sharpens, my connection to my surroundings strengthens, whether I am daydreaming at the sink or assessing the danger of a massive tree with potential to inflict serious damage.
I’m constructing my “new normal” each day, and there is no turning back. We never had the past to go back to anyway, even in so-called normal times. That hasn’t changed, despite the prevailing desire to return to life as we knew it before the pandemic struck. Nobel Prize Poet Louise Gluck tells it this way, “ . . . what returns is not what went away. ”
Even into my seventies, I respect change and the need to commit to it.
Our daily lives ARE our lives, while our thoughts and memories bounce around the world and smash barriers of time and space. I have NEVER had a dishwasher OR a microwave, and there is a lot that one can listen to while doing the warm water ritual and getting those dishes squeaky clean, whether it’s music or podcasts. Or just listen to yourself calming down, if that’s what you need. Stay safe!
The calming-down effect of simply handling the dishes is the bonus for me, thank you Sherry.
I also use dishwashing as a kind of meditation. When I was a kid, my brother Mike and I did most of the household chores, including washing dishes and putting them away, and as a result I’ve never much liked that task.
Now, I let the dishes pile up during the day and then wash them deliberately at night. I pay attention to the sound of the running water, the feel of the soap and sponge, the transformation of each dish from dirty to clean. The dishwashing takes the same few minutes it would if I were just pushing through an unpleasant chore. But instead of feeling slightly agitated during or afterward, I feel relaxed and refreshed.
A few years ago, I discovered that this dishwashing meditation had potential side benefits. I was working with an anxious 12-year-old boy whose parents wanted me to teach him to meditate. We tried sitting meditation, but he couldn’t sit still. We tried walking meditation, but he found it boring. So I gathered up the few cups and dishes in my office and put them in the sink, and I had him toss in a few of the washable toys. “Now,” I said, “squirt some dish soap on the sponge, and I’ll show you how to do dishwashing meditation.”
I explained the process and he carefully and attentively washed the dishes and the toys. As he dried the last dish, he turned to me and said he felt much calmer. Then he added, “And my mother will love this! I have a big family, and we have a lot of dirty dishes!”
I love your story David, as do several of my other readers who have commented. And imagining rubber duckies (or gumbies) bobbing in the sink makes me smile 😃
Interesting comments from David and Sherry. I always wash the dishes before I put them in the dishwasher, because I don’t like leaving them with food or stains on them which won’t wash out anyway. I do run it to sterilize them further because I don’t use really hot water when I wash them. But I guess I agree it’s not an essential appliance.
The washing machine, however, is important and I’m concerned it may give out.
But so far it’s lasted about 20 years. I seem to do more laundry now that I’m home more.
Thank you Donna for your comments about your domestic rituals. And if I remove the broken dishwasher, I have room for more shelves!
I have loved everybody’s dishwashing stories. Who knew it could be such an interesting topic. I love clearing my counter of every soiled item and putting it in the dishwasher. When I got married (14 years ago) i came home after being away all day and the dishwasher was not emptied. I must say i was not kind, but since that evening, i have never had to remind him again. Loved David’s story.
Cousin Carol
Thanks Carol for your own very amusing dishwasher story! I’ve decided to take the dead dishwasher to the town dump and build shelves in its place. I’m in a simplifying mode from now on.
I started doing dishes when I was about ten. My mother had surgery and my brother Paul and I did the dishes. I kept asking my mother, aren’t you better yet?? I guess that is about the same time I learned to do laundry…I guess my mother realized she had a good thing going…
I too don’t mind doing dishes by hand. Although I do use the dishwasher most of the time. Since I live alone I use the dishwasher when it is full. All of my appliances are old. Washer and Dryer are over twenty three years old. Refrig. and dishwasher about the same. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that they continue to work well.
I have a second refrigerator that I purchased in 1983 and it is still working well. I keep it in my laundry room and use the freezer for lots of extra soup that I make or baked goods, ice cream etc….
Thank you Karen for reading and commenting on my “doing the dishes” post. I realized that when we moved in, there were four people in the house. It seems extravagant to maintain an appliance just for me (my son is kosher so he keeps his dishware segregated). Hope everything else stays in good working order—and that you are faring well these days.
Barrie, what a wonderful, positive article! I didn’t even start using a dishwasher until I was 62. I always thought that I could do a better job. But I love mine now. I’ve been making do without a clothes dryer and a computer printer. The new dryers my apartment building is providing are ridiculous. I’m on my second one in a year. So I’m hanging my clothes on the shower rail which I don’t mind at all, and for the items like towels and sheets, I go to the laundry room one floor down. Also my microwave had a red light (filter reset), and so I started using the stove and conventional oven. Then one day I persuaded one maintenance man to come to my apartment, and he simply pushed the button and it was good to go. But I’m still cooking some stuff in the old fashioned way!
I think it’s easier perhaps for some of us older people to adjust to this new way of life. I was just exchanging comments with a man who feels that his youth is slipping away. I really am grateful that this didn’t happen when I was young. I might have never married.
Hilary, thank you for reading and commenting on my doing-the-dishes post. I’m enjoying the intentionality and focus of taking care of myself instead of just pushing a button and walking away . . . .
Enjoyed your dishwasher story, Barrie. In my NYC apt., I wash by hand every meal, using the dishwasher once a year after our New Year’s Day party (30+friends). Have just never liked dealing with loading, unloading and waiting until it’s run for my favorites. In Bend, Karen uses the dishwasher and I pull out my favorites (b’fast bowl, salad utensils, wine glass) to be washed by hand so they’re always available.
As for trees, we’re about to remove a couple of Junipers which touch the house and are a threat with local Oregon fires. It kills me because I love them and too many trees are being removed as Central Oregon grows like wildfire (very bad pun). Planning to plant new trees farther from the house and after a year of curing, will have plenty of firewood for our new wood stove.
Thank you Donald for reading my blog, my secret life of prose. And yes, keep that wineglass safe and available!
I agree with the importance of tree removal, whether to avoid fires or blizzards. I’m always amazed at the skills of the crew and the phenomenal machinery.
I live alone and used to have a small dishwasher. I discovered that I was pretty much washing the dishes before putting them in the washer, so about ten years ago I got rid of it. I haven’t missed it.
Three or four times a week I prepare lunch for Norma (the Assistant Musicologist) and myself, and she comes around, eats it, does the crossword and Sudoku in The Age and goes home, leaving me with the dishes. She thinks this is an admirable arrangement.
I wear rubber gloves for the washing up; it means I can have the water a bit hotter.
Thank you Peter for reading and commenting on my blog. I’ve heard that new dishwashers now have an average life of seven years before an expensive repair or catastrophic failure. So I’m done with supporting built-in obsolescence.
I’m enjoying your Elder Music features—the last one an amazing tour of my very own pre-teen memory lane. But I’m worried about our dear Ronni . . . .
Well, I hate to say it but I have a dishwasher and haven’t used it in 35 years. It’s an all-purpose storage bin. For 2or 3 people hand washing is not a big chore.
Great idea, the benefit of extra storage space, thanks Chuck.
I’m right there with you since my dishwasher also isn’t working. Of course it stopped when it was very full. Now we wash our dishes & leave them out to dry. We reuse them for the next meal.
It seems like appliances don’t last very long anymore—not a very wise expense, after all.
Never had a dishwasher and never had a view, but I enjoyed reading about yours 😃
Thanks Choc for reading and commenting. The dishwasher is a relic from my pre-empty nest days. Giving up the ghost, finally 👻
My Grandson and were chatting the other day after the recent move into our ‘down-sized’ new home. He asked when will I move to house that has a dishwasher?
I laughed and said never!
Perplexed, he asked me why.
I said, to me, washing the dishes is fun. It’s like playing with cups and plates in water with bubbles!
He nodded and said, ‘oh, now I understand Granny, I like that too. It’s like water play’ . He offered to do the dishes after lunch.
Thanks for an interesting read friend.
Very sweet story Magdeld, thank you. I’m hoping you are faring well these days, considering the times . . . .
I’ve never been compelled to ruminate on the subtler aspects of dish washing. But Barrie, based on the comments above, you’ve put us all there. That’s talent! Rarely have I ever used a dishwasher. Give me warm/hot water, a sponge with a scouring pad on one side of it, some ‘Ivory Liquid’ and I’m good to go. I never let dishes pile up. As soon as I’m done with a meal at home, off I go to wash dishes, glasses, pots, pans, silverware etc., flip em upside down and create a pyramid stack of dishware with the drying rack underneath as its cradle. I coast on the theory that the activity of dishwashing right after a meal will ward off after meal sedentariness. That the activity will aid in efficient digestion.
Their was however, one dishwasher that I really bonded with. It was my Mum’s reliable old Kenmore. She had it for over thirty years. It shook, it gurgled, It sprayed and shot intense, earnest jets of hot water to wash everything in its confines. It had the honest reliability and effort of an old locamotive. When it got old my Mum would have to press her knee against the door to shut it while pressing down the lever to lock it tight. In my younger years the sound of it working was the last sound I would always hear before nodding off to sleep at bed time. Just like Mum, it never stopped working. They were synonymous. Ever faithful, so hard working, dependable.
In her twilight years the ole dishwasher finally gave out. My Mum and I gave it one last load. I had my brother take a picture of Mum next to it. She held a cane in one hand and placed her other hand on the machine with great affection as it churned and labored one last time. Next I had my brother take a picture of it with my Mum and I beside it. We’d never hear that sound again. The next day a van arrived. Two guys placed the old dishwasher on a dolly and wheeled it out of our lives forever. The new replacement was all shiny, silver and plastic, preening with superior “smart technology”, flashing lights in all its ostentatious glory. Right up to her last day, my Mother never used that dishwasher. And I never did either.
Frank Armitage
Frank, thank you for your fascinating comments about the family dishwasher. I am delighted that you were inspired to provide your own account of this aspect of your childhood and family history. Your description of the workings of the appliance — “It shook, it gurgled, it sprayed and shot intense, earnest jets of hot water to wash everything in its confines. It had the honest reliability and effort of an old locomotive” — brought her alive 🚂