Zen and the Dishwasher Fruit

OK, I admit it. I'm a boring guy. No mountain climbing, no sky diving...hell, we live near the beach and don't even swim, much less surf. Although I've never been much of a swimmer, I'm even less so now. I'm convinced that there is a local shark harboring passionate dreams of eating my ankles. Certainly he's with the gang that we see in pictures shot from low flying aircraft,one of the many sharks looking skyward at all the appetizers riding the waves on surfboards above them between their hungry mob and the sun, oblivious to the the dark mugging being planned below. I like to stare at the water but other than that I don't even want water in my drinks, unless it's frozen into little squares. Squares, but not the half moon shapes that my own refrigerator's ice-maker cranks out. Those things hug the rim of the glass and create a dam, so when I tilt the glass enough to get a drink, the liquid bursts out onto either side of my mouth, forming a quick stream that shoots down my chest from neck to navel, soaking my shirt from the inside. Of course it's doubly nasty with sugared drinks or anything other than plain water, which I never add ice to anyway.

What the heck am I trying to say here? Oh yea, I'm a boring guy. Very domestic, a homebody. Maybe I believe that I actually have a small degree of control at home, in my own little cocoon. Being married, I know that's an illusion, but it comforts me to think in those terms. One of my more satisfying and frequent tasks is emptying the dishwasher. I love to put the clean dishes away. Each item has a specific place where it rests until called up for duty once again. For me, emptying the dishwasher becomes an orchestrated dance of specific movement with a focus on being as efficient and fluid as possible. Collecting all similar items that store in the same area before opening their cabinet door and putting them inside en masse is the norm. You get the picture.

It's impossible for me to just turn off my brain and let it happen arbitrarily. So I guess it isn't a Zen thing at all, I just liked the sound of the title. I do obsess about the movement, flow, and overall efficiency of the task though. It may be disturbing but at least it always has a satisfying conclusion. There's a period at the end of it. OK, that's done.

But it's not only about anal retentive concern for my kitchen traffic patterns. Each item plucked from the dishwasher comes wrapped with a memory that the detergent can't wash away. Certainly the lobster pot reminds me of sitting on the deck last night: a steaming cauldron on the table, a cold beer in hand, a heaping plate of anticipation, already served. I marvel at the Ron Popeil steak knives that have held up so well for “only $19.95”...but wait, there's more! Like Ron's solid flavor injector that I used on the pork chops two days ago (a $30.00 value) but wait, there's more... There's a special satisfaction in seeing each dinner plate completely clean, sterile, and free of dog saliva after the dogs licked them dog-clean last night, before I carefully packed them into the dishwasher ( the plates, not the dogs). Although it really isn't logical to be comforted by the cleanliness, knowing that before the sun sets there is a high probability that one of those same dogs is going to get close enough to my face to dart a quick tongue into my mouth before I can pull away. I may as well lick the dogs assets directly. It is nice to see that Carla's two new antique plates she recently uncovered at her favorite Goodwill store are squeaky clean and ready to join the hundreds of others that she's going to do....something, with though. And so it goes, with each item, but wait, there's more...until there isn't, and everything is put away. Period.

Rod Stewart said: “Every picture tells a story, don't it?” Well Rod, every item in the dishwasher does too. But I guess you need to be a pretty boring guy to enjoy putting the clean dishes away as much as I do.