Saturday, February 16, 2008
Dish Washing Therapy
I have been washing the dishes this morning. I like the warm, soapy water and the way my nails finally get clean. I like the simple chore that gives me a quiet space and the fact that it's so clear what I have accomplished at the end of it.
(I am less inclined to like putting all the clean dishes away but never mind my shortcomings.)
I thought about Santa Barbara as I washed two soup bowls that I bought a hundred million years ago at the Pier 1 on State Street. I think maybe we used to have several of them, but only two have survived the global relocations. That's lot of miles for a porcelain bowl to live through. I tried to remember what it felt like to live in our little apartment on Carrillo and to be just the 2 of us. To be honest, I don't remember it very well. I think I could, though. I think it's all in there. But it would need more than soapy water and a blue rimmed bowl to call up the feel of those days. I remember that we were happy and that I loved my classes and our church community.
I thought about the things Jim McNeish led the team through last weekend in The Snug at his house by the loch. We notice what is important to us. We need to notice more of the rest of it all too. It helps us connect with those around us if we can do this. Otherwise, we are waiting for people to fit into our notion of things.
I thought about recycling and earth-care and how I don't really know if my small efforts are very helpful. But I determined to keep them up in hopes that they are.
I thought about tea cups and coffee mugs and how I have particular attachments and preferences in this realm. For instance, after washing one of my pretty Portuguese mugs, I carried it away from the dish washing scene to a safer place lest it get knocked and chipped. I like that mug especially.
I thought about how I would rather wash the dishes than face any of the 3 articles I'm supposed to be writing and I wondered why that is. I profess to love writing. I feel moody and intolerant about writing too.
Now the dishes are washed, (and not put away.) I sit on this porch with 3 sleeping dogs collapsed around my feet. Tait is coming over to do some email. Byron is working, though not at the FAFSA application that is hanging over his head. Colin and Chase are eating a late lunch. Skyler is here and he' playing Trevor's little guitar. I think about how blessed we are to have the Russell kids as our extra cousins. And I miss Jesse and Trevor.