I tire of washing dishes by hand. Funny, when you say it you sound like a 19th century matron who shakes her lace hanky at manual labor. I washed my own dishes for four years in my own apartment, then another couple out here. I appreciate the mechanical and hydro-cleansological delights of the modern dishwasher. When a modern appliance is taken away from you, the grinding realities of manual labor are brought to the fore. I now spend 20 minutes a day just washing dishes, and that’s with a new frugality and thoughtfulness about using as few dishes as possible. Can I use that fork again?
Our new dishwasher is being delivered soon and my immediate thought is of the delivery guys getting the box wedged in our gate. Would they try to force it through, leave it sitting on the road in front of the house, or attempt to lift it over the fence and break our redwood rails with a heartbreaking crunch? These are the things that go through my mind. Since I am Uncle F%$@-Up, I know how the best intentions and plans can degrade into jury-rigging, improvisation, failure, and desperation. If we have a functioning dishwasher before the end of the year, I’ll be ecstatic. And possibly broke.
Because of the lack of a mechanical slave to wash our soiled dishes, bread baking and cooking have been minimized this week. I did manage to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies on Sunday, but that was due to extreme hunger and a sense of entitlement since I’d gone for an enthusiastic run up a local mountain. I cannot lie: cookie dough was consumed. I’ve given up on the whole raw eggs thing, hasn’t everyone else? A little cookie and bread dough probably won’t make me sick. Plus I hear salmonella is THE designer illness of the 2010s.