Dishpan hands

To break ground for the year 2020, I challenged myself to write about the first thing that came to mind.

Dishwashing. (What!!!)

So here I begin.

One evening after we finished dinner, I heard the usual litany of groans and high-pitched singing from my husband. His personalized style of The Three Stooges cacophony. We have flipped our usual roles of the past thirty-five years of blissful marriage; mine is now the table clearer and he, the dishwasher. This behavior which is now a well-honed habit is now carried out, if he is home, at most every meal.

But this practice hasn’t always been so. Things happened. Unexpectedly I had fallen off the steps of a church altar and landed on thick marble flooring. Ugh. The outcome was a badly broken wrist that required surgery and a lot of recovery time. Saving the day, my husband grabbed a sponge and dish detergent as he commandeered the double-sided stainless sink. He was crooning his tunes and I was smiling a crooked grin. No more cracked, bleeding, wrinkled dishpan hands for me! No more scrubbing burnt pans or greasy turkey drippings. It was now my husband’s job.

Dishwashing is one of life’s most basic tasks, but can also be an annoying one—although I have met some who love the rising soap bubbles and steam in their face. There are varied responses to cleaning up after feeding time. Cultural tradition over the centuries has witnessed women elbow-deep in scrubbing while men sat at tables. But this behavior has changed in recent years. Dishpan hands can either be shared or perhaps eliminated altogether.

Some folks prefer to eat out with only the carry home doggie-bag to worry about. There are those who buy take-out and frequent the grocery store for paper plates and plastic forks. A few people may not cook and use dishware at all, happy to just snack while wandering about the house chomping.

Then there are those individuals who I would call “procrastination innovators.” Many of them prefer to dine at the customary three pauses in the day and often sit at a table. Some enjoy whipping up a hearty meal while others find it sheer drudgery. Both parties ignore the clean-up and put in place a kind of avoidance technique. There are those who practice the art of of throwing dinner plates with reminders right into the refrigerator and slamming the door. Or there is the frenzied scramble to clear the table, resulting in silverware hitting the bottom of the garbage can. At times the dishwasher is quickly loaded and someone fails to turn the start dial.

Cameo moments have been witnessed. I recall a time when a visiting family member was overly earnest to finalize dinner. She quickly removed dinner plates just as forks were filled and lifted to mouths. Rolling up her sleeves, the pile was soaped, rinsed and thrown into the drainer missing major greasy stains. Removing her apron, she returned to the table, beaming with delight.

There was another dinner caper that is worthy to film for a Friday night sitcom. I was invited over to my college friend’s home who was recently married. Famished as well as curious, I drove with keen determination. I pictured the table with lovely place settings ready to be filled with an expertly prepared cuisine. My imagination soared, sniffing delectable aromas as my mouth watered and stomach growled.

Something was awry. When my feet entered the front door into the living room, there were no delightful scents filling my nostrils. Instead oddly positioned dirty dishes, pots and pans decorated their house. Everywhere. Under, over and in strange places. My friend and I took positions in the kitchen spending most of the evening sponging, rinsing and drying before

an onion was even chopped. It was an evening I will never forget.

Dishwashing. Does any of this really matter? Who even cares about dishes? Really. There are innumerable life situations to be concerned about. There is a plethora of possibilities and countless decisions to be made, especially in this new decade.

So, whether it is pulling on those purple rubber gloves, beginning a new job, writing a lengthy novel, or planning a worldwide tour, choose to live life and live it to the fullest.

The choice is up to you. Make the year 2020 one of your finest!

While my husband continues his fake crying at the sink.

… and that’s how I live it.