Doo,Doo,Doo, Lookin' Out My Back Door...

Ok, I’m not reaaally looking out my backdoor, but since CCR didn’t make a “Lookin’ out my kitchen window” song, I had to make do.

Recently we moved. On the pleasure scale I put moving right up there with hanging out in the transition phase of childbirth while suffering from the flu. Not so fun. Only moving is worse because it lasts longer. And I lose things. And the movers always break something. And my house looks like the aftermath of a summer evening thunderstorm in Iowa. For months. And I have to buy stuff that I already have because I can’t find it.

One of the things we “lost” in this move was the use of a dishwasher. I had been spoiled for the last ten years. A dishwasher is a nice cave to throw dirty dishes in when the doorbell rings. It’s also a great place of last resort when things are missing.

Me: Have you seen the can opener? I’ve looked everywhere.
Tim: Did you look in the dishwasher?
Me: No!

A dishwasher-ready spot waits in the corner of our cabinets. I have discovered though, that I like doing dishes. It’s a delight for the senses.

Dishwashing soap, when the bottle is gently squeezed after dispensing the liquid in the sink, releases tens of tiny iridescent airborne bubbles that waft across my field of view.

The scent is far more pleasant—Mountain View, Floral Garden or Lemon Citrus.

Soaking my hands in hot, soapy water is a tactile delight.

The clink of water glasses nudging each other sounds musical.

In the morning we rush, Jeremiah and I to get ready for school, and Tim to get ready for work. The breakfast dishes sit waiting on the counter until I get home. I don’t do them right away though. I wait.

Around 5:00 p.m., I turn off the kitchen lights. (It’s a paranoia thing about not wanting people to see inside my window when I can’t see out---see previous post.) I fill the kitchen sink with bubbles. I open the curtains wide, so that I can view my neighborhood while luxuriating in the suds.

At this time of day, people are getting home from work and the houses seem to come alive with activity. Cars pull up in driveways. Lights turn on. Kids are in the yards playing before dark. Traffic increases up and down our block. Dogs bound around, happy to be released after a day spent cooped up.

Twilight rolls down from the mountain like a plush heather gray blanket. As the scene slowly darkens, activity decreases. Neighbors go back indoors. Cars stay settled for the evening. I close my curtains, release the dishwater, and dry my hands.

Doo, doo, doo, lookin’ out my back door….