"washing dishes"

From the time my dad retired right up until his final hospitalization, he took over the house cleaning chores: dusting, vaccuuming, washing windows, doing dishes, scrubbing bathrooms. Mom managed the shopping, cooking, laundry, and money, and I'm pretty sure they were both happy with the division of labor. As a snotty teenager (and the very last one at home), I used to think she had so many kids (there are 7 of us) so she would have a supply of in-house slaves to do the housework for her. Mom detests housework to this day.

But Dad never minded housework, and he liked doing dishes. After I moved out and it was just Mom and Dad at home, they quit using the dishwasher, and eventually it rusted out and they just pitched it, replacing the cabinet that had been removed to put it in. After that, clean up after huge holiday meals was a well-coordinated effort, usually one washer to several driers, along with at least two or three people just to clear and scrape and stack the dishes, and put away leftovers and stuff. When you have so many people contributing, the work goes very quickly, and so the subject of re-installing the dishwasher very rarely came up.

Dad would've said No, anyway. There was something about having your hands in hot soapy water, the methodical rhythm of sudsing and rinsing and stacking, the wiping down the counters and the final scrubbing of the sink. When your hands are washing dishes, he once told me, your problems are solving themselves.

Today, I did wash dishes; I cooked breakfast and lunch, too, and picked up the take-out for dinner. I did so much laundry I lost count (two comforters that have been waiting to be laundered finally got done!)... I kept moving. DS1 and I went to Mass, where I barely sang at all (sob). But I kept moving, stuff to be done here and there, puttering around, not just sitting and stewing.

My Dad was a really smart guy. I know, just as he knew, that certain kinds of problems aren't going anywhere, no matter how many dishes you wash. But problems that start out as "what ifs" and mushroom into worries, those are the kind of problems that having your hands in hot soapy water can help put to rest. Maybe it's the rhythm and routine of it, that reassures us that even in the face of this new emotional crisis, life is still the same. It does go on whether we feel up to it or not, I've noticed.

Yeah, I'm 12 days away from surgery, and I may have cancer and I may need RAI, and I won't know until they get in there and see what's up. I can't do anything about it except wait for the day to get here, and I have no intention of just sitting in a corner moping until it does. I'm getting all my dishes washed, and in the process, the emotional problems that landed on me with my diagnosis are solving themselves.