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The water in the sink swirls and swishes between my fingers! As I plunge my hands into the hot sudsy dishwater in the sink a feeling of comfort and calm comes over me. I love doing dishes! The dishes were all fully immersed in this warm bath, and I wondered if they sighed a sense of calm or not. I am a Beauty of the Beast fan and there is a little character called, Chip, who is a boy turned into a china cup because of the spell. Mrs. Potts, his teapot mother, encourages him with her spout into the warm sudsy dishwater and calls it his “bath” and the artist has painted a face of joy on the little cup. As the dishes are fully immersed there is a moment where I question whether I have put a knife in this bath. I looked around my tiny kitchen space. In the drawer, in my mother’s crock that sits on the counter and in my counting, I deduce there are no knives in the bath. All are accounted for, so I proceed to grab the cloth and begin bathing the dishes.
In all my years, the first two trimesters of my life, it has been rare I have had an automatic dishwasher. My mother never did either. I can remember kitchens in my life, where I lived with a dishwasher in the kitchen, and I still washed the dishes by hand. I also have not had a microwave for many years, over 10 to be truthful, and yet just this weekend while visiting a friend, we put out some leftovers and I reached out and put my plate in the microwave, turned it on to reheat the food. It was an action done in a way that anyone watching would think I must do it every day. Nothing indicated by my action that I had not done so every day for years. I also use the microwave at my daughter’s home where we wash the baby bottles (and dishes) by hand, then sterilize the bottles in the microwave after all while the dishwasher sits idle and has for over five years since they moved into this home.
I remember (don’t you love this word remember or to re-member, or pull back together memories) as a girl, my mother standing over the cast iron, porcelain coated sink looking out the window up the road pondering her life. She would use a large Tupperware bowl as her wash basin, because she would break dishes if they got knocked against the sink bottom. She would have the funeral announcements on (precisely 11:56 am) and be happily washing dishes. The dishes she created baking a pie, cookies or some fresh muffins to go with the preserved fruit that she would serve my dad for lunch. She would happily exclaim, “I could do dishes all day!” We often talked about how she should get a job at a local restaurant doing dishes. That would lead us to the conversation of how she would get there as she didn’t drive and so on.
I am sure you may be waiting for me to say as I happily washed my dishes this day, I did find a knife hidden under the suds and how I cut myself. Not so! I fooled you, that is not the story here. The story is about how I have become so familiar with the incremental moments of my past and the tiniest of stories that make up the fondest memories of my life. Where do these memories live when I am not thinking about them? If I ask you to now think of a beautiful red rose, where was the vision of that red rose a moment ago?
As I have been writing now for quite some time, it has caused in me the need and the desire to go deeper and look more at details in my life. I love taking the time to wander through the memories of my past as I live my own life now. This morning as I swished my hands around in the hot soapy water, I felt a wave of gratitude for the action of my being able to “do” the dishes. I realized as I walk among the 600 aging adults I come into contact with each week that each one of them might give anything to be able to stand at the sink and wash dishes. I think about the places where water is not available at the turn of a tap, any water let alone hot and steamy. Right here in this wealthy country called Canada we have communities among us that do not have drinkable water coming from their taps. While camping I witnessed what it feels like to take the empty bucket or container and wagon and go to the community tap, fill up and return to our site. The action of putting a pot on the camp stove to warm it a little to do some dishes. In these moments of remembering I am blessed with a clarity, a moment of clear thinking that goes beyond just gratitude for what I now have, it goes into a deep and profound gratefulness for simply being allowed to savour the moments of time where life is simple. Like recalling the memory or picture of a beautiful red rose we must choose to do so …. If we don’t life can just pass us by in a fog of ambiguousness only to be a distant memory years later.
A few weeks ago, I went to do a mom’s job of cleaning with my son in his apartment. In doing so we had a great visit. This cleaning project is a memory I will cherish always. We could talk and share while we tidied up the way moms do better than some sons. Getting in the corners and shining light on the dark places where dirt and scary things can hide. The action of cleaning out the cobwebs with sudsy water also clears the mind and the soul as well. Movement, like cleaning, physically gets the emotions moving and more than just the dust bunnies are sussed out. Many birds’ and bees’ conversations took place while mom or dad washed the dishes and junior had the drying towel in hand. What happened to those good ol’ opportunities to talk?
Life is so different today compared to my mother’s day when she loved doing the dishes looking out at her two neighbours yards in the country village. Each day as I load up the sink with sudsy dishwater, I am reminded of her and our life together. Each time I help my daughter do her dishes, or stand with my son-in-law over the same sink there is conversation and laughter. The kitchen is the place of love and connection. The baby plays at our feet weaving between our legs, and the older toddler comes asking for a “snack” even though we have not yet finished the dinner dishes! The pandemic may have rekindled that need to be together in the kitchen, or gardening, or playing board games. Remembering times gone by and making new memories to re-member in the future is an action we must create. It does not happen on its own.
Even if you have a dishwasher, take the opportunity to load up the sink with some sudsy water and watch as you turn on the tap and the miracle of running water is at hand. Reach below the sink and pull out the liquid detergent and marvel at the action of it hitting the splashing water. Put Chip and Mrs. Potts in the water to soak and then call your partner, children or friend and toss them a tea towel. You never know what just might surface in conversation and what memories might come back to you from the recesses of your soul.
Cynthia Breadner is a grief specialist and bereavement counsellor, a soul care worker and offers specialized care in Spiritually Integrated Psychotherapy with special attention as a cognitive behavioral therapy practitioner and trauma incident resolution facilitator. She volunteers at hospice, works as a LTC chaplain and is a death doula, assisting with end-of-life care for client and family. She is the mother part of the #DanCynAdventures duo and practices fitness, health and wellness. She is available remotely by safe and secure video connections, if you have any questions contact her today! [email protected] breakingstibah.com
