Well, we are old...but I thought he actually meant just a teensy bit older.
I filled the sink up with soapy hot water and started putting dishes in to soak. Soon I was up to my elbows in sparkling suds, washing and scrubbing away.
It felt good. It felt wholesome and healthy and brought back so many memories of standing by so many sinks doing the same thing. My parents had four dishwashers (each of us girls reluctant and complaining) and for all of the first years of my marriage I did dishes by hand. It always felt like such a chore back then. You know?
Other than those memories, I only end up doing dishes by hand after family parties and, of course, doing Thanksgiving dishes is almost a written-in part of the holiday itself.
Doing dishes by hand doesn't seem like much of a treat, does it?
But as soon as our Granddaughters saw the process, they clamored to help. They dragged the beaten-up old brown bench over and stood bright-eyed and excited and armed with their dishcloths ready to dry, dry, dry away.
They always help load their dishes into the dishwasher when they're here, but I never see their bright blue eyes light up in anticipation of that task.
And I personally never stand dreamily at the dishwasher watching the morning awaken the side yard and illuminate the just unfurling ash leaves with tender golden color.
This dishwasher is all fixed now which is probably a good thing considering we will have a house full of people for a family get together this weekend.
But for the day and a half that machine was broken I actually felt kind of lucky.
I wonder if in years to come our sweet Grands will remember 'washing dishes the old-fashioned way' with their Grandma.
And if they will smile with the memory.