Who needs a massage?

Bliss? P.S. This is not my sink.

For all my feminist bravado about my need for solo time and looking forward to Dan's departure, I actually was bummed to see him leave for the game. ("It's a good thing," I told him. "Keep me wanting more!") To make matters worse, I spent the night---my sacred solitary night---cleaning my kitchen. I am woman, hear me roar.

I spent hours and hours in there and my kitchen is smaller than most people's closets. It started off with my making chili for the week, a dish I can actually prepare, clean up, and have on the stove in about 20 minutes. (It's three bean---sometimes four bean---chili with ground turkey and it's fab.) From there, I decided I wanted to wash and cut the $50 worth of produce Dan and I bought earlier in the day at Applecrest Farm Orchards, a spot in Hampton Falls which supposedly was the inspiration for John Irving's Cider House Rules. From random googling I've read that Irving worked there as a kid, employed by the family who still owns the farm today. (Never read the book but it's on my shelf, evidence of that nasty book-buying habit I spoke of in the last post.) In the fall Applecrest is alive with hayrides, face painters and Christmas crafts for sale but we only ever go for the warm cider doughnuts or grilled corn on the cob.

Cutting fruits and vegetables, if I'm not pressed for time or dying of hunger, is a treat. Some times I'll pour a glass of wine, last night I made an ice coffee and put on some good music. (The great kitchen clean-out of '09 soundtrack was "In the Heights" followed by Idina Menzel's "I stand" and a Dixie Chicks "Taking the Long Way" finale.)

After the cutting came a total douching of the cabinets. (It was time to throw out the stale Rice Krispies and the Treacle---bought undoubtedly during a Harry Potter phase----which expired in '08.) Then came a massive reorganization of our baking supplies, spices and canned goods. (It's all very "Sleeping with the Enemy" now with every can facing front.) Next, the filling, emptying and filling again of the dishwasher and the tackling of the countertops and stove. Somehow five hours passed.

I can't pretend I didn't enjoy myself.

"To my mind, the idea that doing the dishes is unpleasant can occur only when you are not doing them. Once you are standing in front of the sink with your sleeves rolled up and your hands in warm water, it really is not so bad. I enjoy taking my time with each dish, being fully aware of the dish, the water, and each movement of my hands. I know that if I hurry in order to go and have a cup of tea, the time will be unpleasant and not worth living. That would be a pity, for each minute, each second of life is a miracle. The dishes themselves and the fact that I am here washing them are miracles! Each bowl I wash, each poem I compose, each time I invite a bell to sound is a miracle, each has exactly the same value. One day, while washing a bowl, I felt that my movements were as sacred and respectful as bathing a newborn Buddha. If he were to read this, that newborn Buddha would certainly be happy for me, and not at all insulted at being compared with a bowl.

Each thought, each action in the sunlight of awareness becomes sacred. In this light, no boundary exists between the sacred and the profane. I must confess it takes me a bit longer to do the dishes, but I live fully in every moment, and I am happy. Washing the dishes is at the same time a means and an end that is, not only do we do the dishes in order to have clean dishes, we also do the dishes just to do the dishes, to live fully in each moment while washing them.

If I am incapable of washing dishes joyfully, if I want to finish them quickly so I can go and have a cup of tea, I will be equally incapable of drinking the tea joyfully. With the cup in my hands I will be thinking about what to do next, and the fragrance and the flavor of the tea, together with the pleasure of drinking it, will be lost. I will always be dragged into the future, never able to live in the present moment." -Thich Nhat Hanh

I have come across dish washing as an exercise in staying present in much of what I've read about cultivating mindfulness. It's such a simple thing (from what I can tell, all the big things in life are) but it works if you allow it. One of my favorite recent holiday memories is volunteering to do all the dinner dishes (a job not for the delicate-of-hand) while my sisters sat and talked around the kitchen table. I spent a couple of hours enjoying the tactile mechanics of the job; enjoying the fact that this act was allowing my family members the opportunity to relax; and even enjoying listening---not really participating---in the conversation. I've cleaned hundreds of holiday meal dishes and engaged in hundreds of holiday meal conversations, but it is this time that I remember so vividly and fondly.

So, my night of cleaning, though seemingly an act of duty, was, in many ways, an act of meditation.

This post?

An act of procrastination.

Off to the book...