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  • Writer's pictureWendy Elizabeth

Oh Dishwasher, how do I love thee…..

Many of you know that I am a devout gadget and technophobe. I would rather use a pencil than a pen (do pens count as a new fangled invention, or is it just me?) and I still just have one, very old television, which is barely bigger than my computer screen.

Like many creative people that I know, I run from some new things because I just don’t understand them. Not because I don’t want them in my life, or am unwilling to learn, but because my brain doesn’t work that way. Ask me to design a room, or find a solution to almost anything else, and I can do it, but don’t ask me to program your widget, or move the red coaxial cable to the black wot-sit, located second from the right. I am embarrassed to say, that these type of words don’t even register in my brain; you could tell me seven times what a coaxial cable was, and on the eighth time I couldn’t even repeat the word back you. Those who love me, know that I will never learn how to operate their electric can-opener, or remember how to jump start my own car. (Is it the positive to the negative, or the positive to the positive? Do I start the car first, or after I have connected everything. I forget (again).

This doesn’t mean that I wash my clothes in a creek, churn my own butter (well, just on special occasions…) and try to control the television channels with a wire hanger. I do know that some inventions are worth their weight in gold, and for some reason that I can’t explain, my favorite one ever is the dishwasher.

Which makes absolutely no sense, because I love washing dishes by hand. There is something really comforting about filling up a sink with hot, soapy water, taking your time, and seeing all the dishes come out sparkly and warm; stacked precariously, and waiting to dry. But, when I can tidy up my kitchen in a few minutes, press a button, and have everything be magically clean in an hour, I am the happiest person on the planet.

There are even days when I whisper to my dishwasher. The other night, I had some friends over, and it took three loads of washing to get everything done. Dish after dish went in, and as soon as they were done, I put them away on the shelves. Scalding hot, and lovely and clean. As he hummed away, I scrubbed the larger pots by hand, listening to the sounds of the cycle, and reveling in the warm water gurgling all over the kitchen.

Maybe it is the instant gratification that I enjoy (well, that is not a good thought), or maybe it is the nurturing simplicity of a task that signals the end of a lovely day (I prefer this thought). Who knows what it is, but the other night, I loaded him up, poured in the powder, said “Thank You”, and told him that I loved him very much! And, I meant it.

Pink washing machine from Pottery Barn Kids.

For more by Wendy and the Blue Giraffe, go to:

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