Dish Washing
Thu., January 31, 01:51 PM
I promised to write something about dishwashing, and I was reminded by the irony of Lynn Johnston’s beginning the week with 
this strip, to follow with a story from the past, when she wished she had a dishwasher. It says a lot about the way the dynamics of a marriage evolve. (And give her points for not killing him when he said, “what do you do all day?”) Now I also wish I had a dishwasher, but it was different in our home back in the day.
When I married Husband and moved in with him, lo these many years ago, he was living in a third-floor walkup. Mostly, he considered it storage space, as he didn’t spend much time there. He had not bothered with a stove or refrigerator because he ate at the hospital where he worked. (Between orphanage and the military, Husband would always prefer institutional-style cooking.) He did not have a phone. He slept on an old cot. He had a recliner and a television set, so he was content.
As you can imagine, my coming brought in BIG changes, but I did try to keep from upsetting him too much. I had all the time in the world to build my own routines. This was the time to make him happy. (As any married woman can tell you, you don’t realize till later that he didn’t need to be quite that happy.)
From a previous apartment, he still had some every-day dishes and pots and pans; he had never used them in this apartment. From what I could tell, he had moved them in a hurry, since some of them still seemed to be dirty. And he had some cheap dishwashing liquid — several bottles of it. It must have been on sale, so he stocked up. To me, the mark of a cheap soap liquid is too many suds; the manufacturer adds a little glycerine, and the buyer thinks he is getting a really great soap, not understanding why nothing ever gets completely clean.
Our kitchen sink had two separate spouts, rather than a mixing spout. And the hot water was…hot. (The hot water heater was powered by gas; it was the best I ever had.) So I used to put the dirty dishes into the sink, add a little dish soap, and cover it with hot water. Then I would put on heavy rubber gloves and rinse the dishes under hot running water.
Husband was shocked. He was sure I was using too much soap and hot water. He wasn’t pushy about it; he would just wash the dishes for me whenever he got there first. Rather than use “too much soap,” he would put a drop or two of soap on a dish, rub it in with his knuckles, and rinse it under a dribble of hot water. You couldn’t see any suds, so he assumed it was rinsed.
When we moved into the Cheesebox, I showed him that I could put the same amount of liquid on a sponge and clean a lot of dishes, but it didn’t make any sense to him, and he continued to wash dishes his way. By that time, we had two — eventually three — babies, and I was grateful for his help, even if I really didn’t care for his methods.
I was to find out from his friends that he always liked to help by washing the dishes. Their kids told me: “I always liked it when H— came over for supper because then I wouldn’t have to do the dishes.” Of course, their kids usually covered that chore; mine never did because Daddy was gonna do it. (A couple of them never really learned…)
Husband had his routines. (Can you say OCD?) He would walk through the kitchen, checking counters and table for any stray dirty dish. I had to teach him to ask “are you through with this?” after he washed out such stuff as egg whites or crushed garlic that were scheduled to go into our supper! That was part of the reason I never thought about a dishwasher, a luxury we really didn’t need. I didn’t think he would allow enough dirty dishes to accumulate for a full load.
That was then. After I stopped working full time, after Husband broke his hip, I took over many of the chores that used to be his. He still tried to help from time to time, but he drops stuff, breaks stuff — and tries to hide it so I won’t find out. It really is easier to do it myself.
Except… it really is too much. My hands hurt; patient care involves extra hand washing. (I have to consider both of us as patients, because when Husband was hospitalized last summer, we were informed that he had tested positive for a variety of Staphylococcus aureus that is resistant to antibiotics.) Nebulizer maintenance means hands in hot water several times a day. And there seem to be more dishes than ever.
We have a double sink, apartment size. I use one of them for draining clean dishes, so I don’t have much space. Typically, I wait until the sink is full, then wash as many as I have room for. I’m wearing rubber gloves again, and that reduces the soreness I was experiencing. A dishwasher would be helpful.
Stand-alone dishwashers are not ideal, but the carpentry involved in the installation of a permanent dishwasher would be extensive — cabinets and countertops are part of a larger unit. I am also aware that the floor is not level, and I have to wonder how much extra work that would entail. Oh, sure, I would love to replace all the kitchen cabinets, but I have no intention of doing so. (And before you mention new fronts, let me tell you that the outside of the cabinets is in far better condition than the cheapie shelves.)
Back to the beginning: it would be nice. But I think I will stick with the rubber gloves and lots of hand lotion. A dishwasher is a luxury I don’t really need right now.
