Dad washes the dishes

Dad washes his dishes
Originally uploaded by wethreedees.

Although we ate all our meals out, often blissfully at Luby's cafeteria, Dad still had to do dishes. As we grew up, Mom always spent time teaching us how to do household chores her way, which also meant doing things thoroughly and well: ironing, folding towels, wiping off the stove and counters after doing the dishes. I have to say, for the most part, it was a good way. And when we protested, or wanted to be creative, she always said, when you have your own home you can do it your way.

On Sunday night, I was treated to seeing Dad's way. What a hard time we might have had, had we been made to do dishes his way. But I found great pleasure when I stumbled on his pleasing arrangement. And I thought again, as I have lately, about all the people who mow their lawns and trim their shrubbery, or plant their gardens, or line up their books upon the shelves with the bindings flush. Things I don't or wouldn't do. I've spent months now realizing the small and surprisingly deep moments of peace I am afforded by the urge to order, and the precision of others.