Dishwashing…Again!

Slouching over the kitchen sink, I glance up at the eight-foot Monstera deliciosa. The plant monster, commonly known as a Split-leaf philodendron, sprouting a new leaf, partially hides the three-tier fountain and the stone tower house next door. Stretching upward and outward, abutting my wide window, the plant grows. Often when washing dishes, I think of how I love this ever gently changing creature, all the while trying to change my attitude about my immediate task: dishwashing.

It’s that time again. Time to wash the dirty dishes, utensils, pots and pans.

I plug the sink, turn the faucet , drizzle the green biodegradable liquid over the dishes which have sat longer than I will acknowledge should anyone ask, and begin. I think of a favorite children’s book, Phyllis Krasilovsky’s The Man Who Didn’t Wash His Dishes. Seems to me he put the dishes outside for the rain to do its job, a brilliant plan I thought when I was six and still do.

As I look around to be sure I have missed nothing on the kitchen bar, I recall how bizarre life can be sometimes. Given I own rental properties, I possess multiple dishwashers yet I have none to use. Nope, I have no dishwasher where I live in a tiny rented albeit beautiful casita in central Mexico so I must do the task myself.

Almost no one here has a dishwasher of the automated kind. Last week I visited…