A Walker in the Suburbs

Twenty-one years ago, when we were house-hunting in northern Virginia, we told our real estate agent that we wanted an “older house.” So she brought us here, to a 13-year-old (at the time) center-hall colonial with a big backyard. It wasn’t exactly what we were looking for, but the older houses were closer in, smaller and more than we could afford.

Fast forward two decades. The house that once seemed new and polished is sagging and fraying. The floors creak, the windows stick and the walls, oh, they could tell you stories. We’ve finally found our “older house” in northern Virginia. It’s our own.

Three months ago our dishwasher broke, and we have yet to replace it. Sometimes when I’m scrubbing an especially crusty dish, a Cream of Wheat bowl that wasn’t immediately soaked, for instance, I ask myself why the holdup. Part of it is frugality, another part is economy (there are usually only three of us here now). But most of all, it’s because I enjoy the feel of suds up to my wrist, the squeak of a clean glass rinsed clear, the slow act of drying, always remembering the line I learned as a child from our babysitter, that a good dish dryer makes up for a bad dish washer. There is a lot of life wisdom in that line.
So even though washing dishes is a chore, especially after a long day at work, I take pleasure in the menial task. It’s tedious work that lets me think about what’s happening in my life. In that sense, it’s a lot like ironing, only the sink has a view. While swishing in the warm water, I can study the trees and measure the place of the sun in the sky. That just doesn’t happen when I load the dishwasher.

The signs all point to a day cleaning out the basement or closet or garage. It’s raining. It’s Saturday. I sat down to write in my journal this morning and was distracted by the cover of “Oprah” magazine — “De-Clutter Your Life.” There is nothing left for me to do but grab the trash bag and have at it. But wait a minute. I can write a post about de-cluttering, about how hard it is for me to do, about how many things I keep because I love the person who gave them to me. But how, when I finally make myself throw away what’s irrelevant and unused, I feel light and energetic and newly born.