Ode to An Appliance

I remember a long time ago, when I first moved into my own apartment, how thrilled I was to have my very own refrigerator. Other people might have focused on another part of their house, but for me, that beat-up nasty old c.1982 beige refrigerator with the missing shelves was just the living end. I got such a kick out of going to the grocery store, buying healthy fresh food, filling the fridge, and just opening it to look at the contents. I thought "I have really grown up. I have the ability to store perishables." Even when we had to rig up shelving inside the fridge out of found wire racks and bungee cords, I still loved it.

Fast forward not all that many years, and I found myself becoming a new homeowner at age 26 (I move fast. The apartment lasted 2 years, or rather, we lasted 2 years in the apartment). Now I really had my own fridge, and oven and stove and sink, and washing machine and dryer, and it was almost overwhelming. Oh was I ever grown up, playing house, whatever you wanna call it. They weren't great - the stove was ancient and cacked out a few months later, the oven has its flaws, and I'm sure the fridge is not as efficient as it could be - but they worked and they were ours, so I was content.

As time passed, we started to upgrade stuff slowly, bit by bit. The stove died, so we got a new one. The washing machine kept flooding the basement, so we got a new one. We got a newish dryer and a newish microwave. The countertops started to compost behind the sink, so finally we had to spring for brand new ones this past winter. However, the kitchen was still missing one essential element: a dishwasher.

Growing up, we always had a dishwasher. My grandparents steadfastly did not have one, and I hated when we finished supper at their house and the expectation was that we would wash the dishes by hand (or dry, I can't decide which was worse). There is something in me that finds it really depressing to wash dishes. I guess it's that the hour or so after dinner is my favourite time of day; the work is done, our bellies are full, it's getting dark, everyone's at home, and it's the perfect opportunity to read a book or work on some kind of project. When Mr. Gennyland and I lived in the apartment, we decided on a division of labour that served us well until recent developments, wherein he does all of the dishes and I do all of the laundry and ironing and general clothes maintenance.

Not having a dishwasher at our house was a really big point of contention between hubby and I. He didn't want one, even though he was the one doing the dishes. I was constantly disgusted by the 5-day-old dirty pots collecting in the sink, and reluctant to cook in the resulting mess (I also do most of the cooking). We fought about it constantly. When he did do them, it took him about 3 hours, and often he only did them because we'd run out of cutlery or something, or because the summer heat made the sink smell. Now I'm not trying to open any cans of worms, but it was a source of fight material for the two of us for about 7 years. He's a great guy, just somehow time often...slips away from him somehow ("what? You mean it's Thursday already? Where did the week go?")

Just before the wedding, my parents blessed us with the Holy Appliance. They installed it while we were at work, and we came home to a gleaming white dishwasher filling the mystery gap left in our cabinetry (which a years-gone dishwasher must have once occupied, but had since been converted into messy open shelving). After a bit of juggling, our kitchen is complete. I am such an adult it makes me sick. Standing on the very edge of 30 (seriously, I've got, like a week and a half left in my twenties), it is a dishwasher that brings me supreme pleasure.

Here's the miraculous thing: Mr. Gennyland and I no longer fight in the evenings. I don't attribute this to our recent marriage as much as I attribute it to the dishwasher. Every two nights after dinner, it's filled and turned on and when we leave the counters clean and the dishwasher's happily churning away, and we turn off most of the kitchen lights so the room is illuminated only by the glow of the light over the sink, I leave the kitchen with such a feeling of homey contentment you have no idea. It's palpable. It brings back that feeling I used to get as a kid, listening to the dishwasher while we watched tv or I did my homework or wandered around in that sink-light semi-darkness scrounging for milk and cookies before bed.

Who would have thought a simple appliance could bring it all back? Thank you Kenmore.