The only dishwasher we had when I was growing up was--me.
I don't know if electric dishwashers had even been invented back then. If they had, I didn't know anyone who had one. I have one now, but there are still some things we wash by hand. This morning, as I was washing up a few items, my thoughts went back to those years when I stood over the sink, dishcloth in hand (We use a sponge now. Had sponges been invented?) and washed every plate, glass, pot, pan and piece of silverware. I saw myself doing the job with no love in my heart toward it. I hated washing the dishes.
Then other pictures came into my mind. I could see our kitchen, could smell it--the wonderful aroma of fresh, from-scratch bread and cookies baking. I could see my little brother, a busy, cute curly-headed kid always in the middle of the floor pushing a toy car or truck around and making engine noises that were quite realistic; Mother, a stay-at-home mom who sewed better than any department store seamstress, always the life of every party; Daddy, a hardworking, great guy with a wry sense of humor. A home filled with warmth and love.
Not as my parents were at the end of their lives.
Bittersweet memories.
Having to wash the dishes was a big thing to me back then. As I look back on it today, it was really a little thing in the whole scheme of life. My family was together. We were healthy and young and had a life ahead of us that would bring joys we never could have imagined.
Robert Brault said, "Enjoy the little things for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things." He got that right.
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