like a tea tray in the sky

master stacker of clean dishes that i am, i'd still like a dishwasher. our cool old kitchen has the not-so-cool impractical cabinetry and counterspace that will not house a dishwasher unless the kitchen gets a complete overhaul.



my mother tries to convince me to get a portable dishwasher to stick in the corner. the only people i know who have (had?) one of those scooted the thing around the kitchen to gather the dishes. they also piled the thing high with stuff (recently delivered mail, baseball gear, papal pamphlets) that would teeter on the edge and fall off onto the dirty floor while they were scooting the dishwasher around the kitchen to gather the dishes.

my mother insists that "yours doesn't have to be that way (first of all, we're not catholic) -- they (meaning ernie and my dad) can make it stay in one place." she promises that my life will be easier, that i will kick up my heels and dance each time i enter the kitchen, that i will be inspired to prepare more than ice cream sandwiches or pizza for dinner.

when i was in grad school i'd pack my dirty dishes in a cardboard box and take them to dixie's house and run them through her dishwasher (not portable) while i took care of (feeding, medicating) her dogs, bosco (deaf) and spencer (the favorite). it was worth the box, the stacking, the careful transport of everything, to simply not have to stick my hands in a sink of water.

i guess that i'm as portable as they come, though i don't provide more counterspace, more time, more energy, and, as far as the price of the thing goes, although i certainly cost less than five hundred dollars, i may spend close to that much annually in lotion purchases to keep my hands from shriveling prematurely.

all that to say, in unofficial participation with the self-portrait tuesday blog, i'm taking pics (and documenting them here) of my kitchen sink and my sorry dirty dishes every day for the month of march, at 10 a.m. fair warning.