Dishes

The word for today is DISHES. I don't usually think a lot about dishes--until the last few days that is. DISHES are just there, in the cabinet, on the kitchen counter, in the sink. And, for folks, unlike me, who have the usual twenty-first century appliances, they are in the dishwasher. DISHES in the dishwasher is exactly what prompted this post.

The other day I read a friend's Facebook status update which stated that she was too tired to unload the dishwasher. Maybe not the most thrilling information, but it prompted more comments than any other status update posted by my 23 Facebook friends (not very many I know). Maybe I'm not using the most accurate sociological data, but hey, people out there care about dishes, more than bad backs, new puppies, trips to Florida, publicity tours, childrens' accomplishments, and birthdays and anniversaries. They care about dirty DISHES. I keep trying to remind myself about the basics and here it is, right in the sink in front of me.

I think of a former Al-Anon sponsor who said that she knew her life had become unmanageable when she could find only one teaspoon in her kitchen drawer. I think of a friend a who visited me from the West coast and bought me extra light bulbs during her stay so I'd have a replacement when one blew out. I think of another friend who urged me to spoil myself and buy the twenty-four pack of toilet paper rolls for my single-person household. Every one of these people cared about me and taught me an invaluable lesson.

When I was about to get married, more than twenty years ago, years before any of the incidents mentioned above, my fiance and I went to a fancy department store in NYC to select our every day DISHES and our fine china. Lenox and Wedgewood and patterns by other elite manufacturers stood nobly on mirrored glass shelves. I didn't know how to choose; I didn't understand why my parents liked china with seagulls flying over a blue sea or country French versions of the pied piper. I felt dizzy, paralyzed and inadequate looking at all the different patterns, as though there was something the matter with me because I didn't care. I was more horrified rather than thrilled to be engaged in this pre-marriage ritual. My parents and my soon to be in-laws told me I had to do this--you have to register, otherwise how will the wedding guests know what to get you.

I went through with it, as I did with so many other things back then, finding what I disliked the least--a simple blue and white plate with tasteful flowers in the middle. I have used my Wedgewood less than a dozen times. For the last ten years at least, it has remained wrapped in old newspapers inside cardboard boxes in my basement storage unit. Maybe a friend will sell it for me on Ebay. Maybe someone out there wants or needs these DISHES. I guess they were never what I really wanted.