Jaki Jean & Stainless Steel & my Sister

In my somewhat eclectic past, I have lived in spaces without a dishwasher.  None of my spaces in the inner city had dishwashers.  Although the house on Caroline Street had a portable dishwasher, we only used it on holidays or for parties.  My apartment on Virginia Avenue in Washington, D.C., had a dishwasher, but my space in Arlington, Virginia, did not.

So I know how to wash dishes by hand

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At times, I find it soothing.  Standing at the sink, looking out the kitchen window at my neighbor’s wall, thinking about anything but washing dishes.

Most of the time, I hate & avoid it. 

 

A long day ago, I cannot remember exactly when, the dishwasher in Jean’s house died.

And while I know how to wash dishes by hand, my love/hate affair with the process escalated.  I behaved badly, allowing the dishes to stack up, punishing myself for it during the subsequent cleaning.

Recently, I decided to leash my directionless obsessive compulsive tendencies toward keeping up with the dishes.  No dishes allowed to rest unwashed in the sink

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And then my sister bought a dishwasher for Jean’s house

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The dishwasher was not a pressing need.  After all, I know how to wash dishes.  The stove top went out & when Janet bought its replacement, she bought a dishwasher for Jean’s house.

While I was resigned to the absence of a dishwasher, I missed a working stove stop.  No way to cook chick peas for hummus, no way to create the week’s tomato sauce.  No cooking greens or omelets or steaming vegetables.

The new stovetop is beautiful.  And a bit intimidating.  I approach it carefully, clean it after every use, marvel at how nice it looks.  I even read the instruction manual.

The dishwasher was a surprise.  An unsolicited, unexpected gift from my sister.

And I find it amazing.  It smells new, like a new car smells new.

There are little slots for the forks, knives & spoons.  Slots I can use to organize the utensils.  All of this plays into my obsession with organizing the loading of a dishwasher.

I still find myself wanting to wash dishes & pots & pans & forks & knives & spoons before loading them into the new dishwasher, 

And then I remind myself that Jean’s house now has a dishwasher & I can rinse the dishes & load them in the unit. 

I think of all the things I have taken for granted over the years – dishwashers, disposals, central air & heat, a car, a safe place to land, my family’s love.

Somehow this surprise of a dishwasher reminds me of the wonder & beauty & grace of a sister’s love.  A daughter’s love.

I have written before that I am not the hero of this journey my siblings & I are taking with our Mother Jean.  My sister makes it possible for me to care for our mother. 

She is my hero.