Now that we are six months into the pandemic, I have adapted to working at home around the clock and no longer look for the Muse at the coffee shop. What I’ve realized, though, is that I have to be diligent during my strict morning writing time to minimize tempting distractions. Like doing a load of laundry, wiping down the stove top or the floorboards in the hallway. Or grabbing the handheld Shark to vacuum up Lola’s hair on the hardwood floors that I can spot from “a mile away.” A mother’s work is never done, the saying goes.
And because we enjoy cooking at home, there are always dishes to be washed. The kitchen in our little house on the prairie is too small for a dishwasher, so we wash everything by hand. The job is made easier with the large window above the sink that looks out to the big oak tree in our front yard. Branches are just outside the window giving me a front-row seat as I watch finches flutter from branch to branch, and woodpeckers as they line up on the tree trunk. Then there are the squirrels running after each other along the fence, up the tree, or leaping from tree to tree. The downside is dish pan hands.
By dinner time, I’m so sick of doing dishes. So, after we’ve enjoyed our end-of-the-day meal – whether a new recipe Louie wants to try out, repurposed leftovers, or yummy take-out ramen, Thai, or Mediterranean – always with wine, the last thing on my mind is donning rubber gloves.
I feel no guilt leaving the dishes overnight to tend to “tomorrow.” I just make sure everything is rinsed of food.
In Covid times, I don’t fret the small stuff. And doing dishes is one of them.
Washing Hands + Wearing a Mask + Social Distancing = Saving Lives