By Hand

So, our dishwasher broke on the first use by us, its new owners. It could be that it's just my luck with appliances, given that our microwave and washer and dryer also have more issues than National Geographic. However, maybe the dishwasher just misses its old owners. Maybe they gave it an easier time. Maybe they didn't stuff it to the brim with non-pre-rinsed dishes, forcing it to work overtime to just get the dishes somewhat clean, forget sparkling. I wondered if this was just a revolt, a temper-tantrum similar to that of a stubborn two year old.

Unfortunately, we soon learned that it was not an appliance mutiny. Our dishwasher is much more ill than we had previously imagined. In fact, sometime between our possession of it and the day the serviceman arrived, it had died. Quietly and peacefully.

Now we need to decide when to replace it. We have a home warranty that should cover some of the expense, but I'm sure you can imagine the bureaucracy of getting a claim of that sort processed. Which brings me to the title of my post; I've been washing our dishes by hand for the past month. Honestly, I am finding it quite enjoyable. It's relaxing. It makes me want to bake bread and sew an apron. Actually, all joking aside, it reminds me of washing dishes with my grandma. I really liked that. Now, if I could just learn how to cook like my grandma, my kitchen would be a very pleasant place.

So I think I'd be okay with not replacing the dishwasher for a while. Maybe it will be our Christmas present to each other (romantic, wouldn't you say?). Plus, our old dishwasher is serving a very important purpose. It gives me a place to pile our dirty dishes until I actually get around to filling our sink with soapy water and taking care of them. Now see, I'm helping it live out its new destiny as a temporary holding ground for stink, filth, and dirt. If it's anything like my dog, maybe it's happier than I thought.