And, here, so you can read it:
Washing Dishes
This task of cleaning up, the actual process of removing the soil from the pots and pans, skillets, utensils, bowls, measuring spoons and cups that I’ve used during the meal preparation process is one of the most boring household duties I do. Now, cooking the meal, being creative with ingredients, learning to flip pancakes without using a flipper, that, that touches my inner soul. But, dealing with the aftermath is a completely different story.
First, because my kitchen is similar in size to some people’s walk in closet, all of the dirty dishes that are not allowed in the dishwasher (mostly those really shiny pots and pans that will lose their sheen and shimmer should they go through the harsh washing cycle – who the heck’s idea was THAT???) have been put into the sink. So, the first step is to take them out.
Starting with the item on the very top, the pancake batter mixing bowl, I pick it up carefully so that the icky icky stuff touches as little of my hands as possible. I then dump any water that was in the bowl into the sink and place it on the counter thinking that will be a good place to put the utensils as they are fished out of the sink. Yawning from the extreme boredom of the task at hand, I wonder if I ought to lay down for a nap and finish later…..and before I can make a decision to lay down or not lay down, my hand is back in the sink retrieving the 2-cup glass measuring cup. I turn on the hot water and rinse it. Ahhh, this can go in the dishwasher, and in it goes on the top shelf.
Utensils…the rubber spatula with the pancake batter on it looks gross. I wonder to myself how something can start out looking so gross and end up tasting so heavenly. I rinse the gunk down the drain, and put the spatula in the large mixing bowl on the counter. Then, the flipper that I had out just in case the pancakes didn’t land back in the pan when trying to flip them without the flipper is inside the large pot used to cook a big pot of oatmeal which, of course, is holding the remnants of cold, dry oatmeal that looks like dried vomit. I eat that stuff? Yes, I do and love it, but right now it’s not quite as appealing. Rinsing the flipper, I toss it in the large bowl with the rubber spatula thinking what a cute pair they make all snuggled together.
I’m getting to the bottom of the sink now, coming to the large oatmeal pot. Taking the hand sprayer firmly in hand, I turn on the hot water and begin to spray the dried vomit, er cold oatmeal off the sides of the pot until it’s mostly free. Ah freedom, I am too old to spend my life over this sink…is that bars I see in front of me, like I’m in jail? I NEED to be free! I wonder if the day will ever come when I’m able to hire someone to wash this stuff. Hmmm, I wonder where my husband is, maybe I can get him to do it.
Deciding I’d rather have my husband finish the laundry so I have something to wear tomorrow, I put my hand back in the sink to pull out the last item…the skillet used to cook the pancakes, bacon and eggs. Yeah, I use the same pan for all three because, well, that’s probably not hard to figure out….just LOVE doing dishes. Deciding I really need to scrape some of the crusty egg from the side of the pan before I put it in the dishwater that I will draw in a minute, I grab the flipper that I didn’t use for the pancakes out of the bowl on the counter and scrape away.
Oh my, I see the tongs that I used to turn the bacon have slid down into the garbage disposal, so after stacking the skillet under the large vomit pot, I reach my hand down into the disposal being careful not to put my hand down there too fast lest I cut myself on the blade, and fish out the tongs. Ahhh, tongs go in the dishwasher! Oh yeah.
Taking the sprayer firmly in hand again, I rinse out the icky ick from the sink, wondering to myself how many things I’ve actually ground up in the disposal that I was unaware of….and decide to do one more check in the disposal. Good thing I did, I found 1/8 teaspoon measuring spoon. No big loss if it’d become finely ground plastic, but it probably would have made a lot of noise as the blades of the disposal circled wildly, hitting the spoon with brute force that it dies, I mean it really dies.
Waking up from my vision of the murder of my 1/8 teaspoon measuring spoon by the Gigantic (garbage) Dragon (disposal), I turn on the water getting it as hot as my hands can stand. Once it reaches the proper temperature, I put the drain plug in the drain, pick up the glass bottle of dishwasher soap, a bottle usually used to hold oil, and put the tip into the stream of water coming out of the oil rubbed bronze faucet and watch the bubbles appear magically. Memories of blowing bubbles when I was 5 learning to swim are, well, swimming through my head and I am mesmerized by the tower of bubbles in the middle of the sink.
Jarring myself back to reality, I put the skillet in the water first, then the large mixing bowl, removing the utensils and placing them in the front of the water (that doesn’t make sense….the front part of the sink), then the pot with the vomit rinsed out. Pulling a clean dishcloth from the cabinet, I dip it in the hot water, and wash the items, one by one, drying each one immediately after washing it . . . reason being that the shiny pots and pans that cannot endure the dishwasher also will lose their sheen and shimmer if they air dry. (I am certain at this point that the person who created this $%&#! finish was someone who could afford to hire someone to clean the dang thing that the finish goes on). I digress.
All the dishes are now washed, dried and put away, so I reach my hand into the icky ick water and pull the plug. I take the hand sprayer firmly in hand one last time to rinse the sink, and return it safely to its cradle. I rinse out the dishcloth, ring it out and place it over the ceramic piece in the middle of my sink that makes me actually have two sinks to air dry.
I walk out of the kitchen, turning off the light as I go.
by Jamie
One fine winter day. We thought it would be cool to have a little friend. So we got creative and here he is. We like to call him Mr. Snowman.
I never realized how much pressure my inner critic puts on me every day. Faster faster faster.....
