Therapeutic Dishwater

Therapeutic Dishwater

The kitchen was not feeling happy this morning. There was my dutch oven soaking, a few odd knives & spoons nestled around a saucer. A closer inspection found spills on the stove! I looked around chest-fallen as the coffee pot was activated. This wasn't the way to greet the day.

As the coffee brewed, the sinks filled with hot soapy water. Scrubbing away found memories of discovering that heavy enameled cast iron pot. I was new to my apartment, on my own, feeling lonely and POOR!

That shiny cookware wasn't my beloved bright yellow. Rather it was a creamy unobtrusive shade that made me want it even more. But with a bank balance of zero, it seemed far out of my reach. My mind was made up on the spot. I would save up enough to buy it. A dollar a week, maybe 2! It took what seemed to be forever. Then feeling like a millionaire, the twenty-dollar bill in my pocket was surrendered in exchange for a prize.

On the way home dreams had already started of all the wonderful meals this treasure would produce. The thoughts of how good it felt to save and achieve had fled my mind. Odd how memories come to you soaked in dishwater!

As three tiny pieces of hard plastic were cleaned, I saw them again holding the lid from the pot wrapped in clear plastic. How glad I was they were saved. This was not just shipping material. These were designed to hold the lid above allowing steam to escape while holding in the heat. Wish they had encluded a sign or even a sticker about that. I would imagine many could have just thrown them away as packaging.

Swirling the suds around the interior, brought thoughts about learning to let it soak with a touch of bleach! That removes the scorches and stains. This heavy piece of cookware had taught me much. How to simmer a great homemade pea soup. Or slow braise an English roast which melted like softened butter in the mouth. The happy memories of the delicious aromas that often wafted down the hallway and drove my neighbors nuts!

Too quickly this task was over. Amazing I hated that moment to end. Yes, hot soapy dishwater can be therapeutic! It can be so easy to wake to remnants of yesterdays disagreements. I had groaned to my feet without notice of the window's bright sunlight. Now I looked around my kitchen with happy thoughts. Pearl Bailey called her kitchen the temple where she was the high priestess. My temple now reflected lines of the sunrise. It too held promises of good things to come. A light heart carried my coffee to the computer and started my day. It felt good.