A Ride In The Dishwasher

A Ride in the Dishwasher
         
© Edmund Gee

Emily, our four-year old granddaughter, slept overnight a couple of days ago. I had volunteered us to be the babysitters for our son that evening. It was fun, and yet it was a bit uncomfortable. The babysitting was fun because we got to entertain the "baby". However, it was uncomfortable because she was so young. It’s been a long, long time since we cared for children, and we’d forgotten how to relate to kids.

After dinner, her parents left for the evening. There we were, the two of us sitting mystified on the sofa, twiddling our thumbs, and wondering how to entertain this child. We didn’t have any kid's movies to let the television entertain her. Long ago, we’d given the children's books and movies away.

My wife looked at me and asked, "Why did you agree to baby-sit Emily?"

"Our son sold me the idea, because she’s so cute and that we would absolutely love to baby-sit her. And besides… remember it is their anniversary.” In the back of my mind, I knew we’d be caring for Emily overnight, something we had not done for a long time.

"What do we do with her?" My wife asked, "Tickle her tummy?"

"We are so out of touch with kids!” I said, and then whined, “I'm going to put the dishes into the dishwasher. Maybe I can think of something.” Like a lazy sluggard, I rose slowly up off the sofa, leaving the comfort of the television.

"Grandpa, where are you going?' Emily asked cheerily.

"I'm going to wash the dinner dishes," I said. "Want to come and help?” I asked, as if ten minutes at the sink would satisfy her hungry desire for attention. As I walked to the kitchen, I could hear the quick pitter-patter of Emily's feet behind me.

I grabbed a chair so Emily could stand on it and watch me rinse off the dishes. When I put the first dish into the dishwasher she asked, "Grandpa," looking up at me, her curious eyes dancing, "Grandpa, why are you putting the dishes into this box?"

"This box," I explained, "washes the dishes."

She pointed, and said, "This box washes dishes?” her voice crackling with amazement.

I gave Emily some of the cups and silverware and let her help load the dishwasher. As she put in the last of the cups she said, "This is fun. My mommy washes all the dishes and stuff in the sink."

A blue dish that I put into the dishwasher had a crack and an obvious chip on its edge. Clearly, this one dish would crumble someday in the dishwasher.

"Grandpa, that blue one is broken,” Emily pointed out. “Shouldn't you throw it away?"

"Oh, I can’t throw away that dish. You see it's a special dish that Grandma wants to keep for a long time. It will be alright."

I placed the cracked blue dish into the washer, moved the chair away, closed its door, and spun the dial to start the machine.

"Now what happens, Grandpa? Are you sure the broken dish will be alright?"

I looked down at our four-year old cherub, smiled, and replied, "It will be just fine, honey."

Then I thought, “Hmm. What does happen inside a dishwasher?” My mind searched for ideas. There is the general noise of the watery, whooshing sounds. There are grinding noises, and sometimes a clink and clunk sound, and maybe a thud or two. Gushing hot, gray water drains into the garbage disposal creating a wild river sound. When it is through splashing soapy water, then a fan blows hot air to help dry its contents. Our fan, however always makes a screechy sound. It screeches because I think the motor needs a drop of oil. Hmm, how could I make this fun, entertaining, and understandable to a four-year old girl?

I picked up Emily and sat her on the counter, the counter top already starting to vibrate from the dishwasher’s motor. "I'm going to tell you a story of what happens when you put dishes in this dishwasher. This is a magic dishwasher." I said, as I looked deep into my mind's eye, shaping a fine tale to tell.

Her eyes twinkled with excitement. She rubbed her hands, anticipating a fantastic story. Emily's feet locked ankle to ankle and then broke apart, "Tell me! Tell me!"

"Did you know that when dishes, and cups, and silverware are put inside the dishwasher that they actually take a trip to a beautiful beach? Sometimes the waves roar, but sometimes they are just calm ripples. When the waves are large, they clink and clunk the rocks against each other. Did you know that?" I asked Emily.

Her eyes held a look of amazement, revealing flecks of glinting gold inlaid upon pools of brown liquid velvet. "Wow!” she said. “Tell me more? What about that broken dish?"

I began to spin a tale of intrigue and suspense, and would later add an element of drama about that old, broken dish.

I began…

"When I close the door to the dishwasher, magical things happen inside. People can’t see what happens inside. But, I know there is sand on a beautiful beach, somewhere. The sky is always blue, and this place is lit by warm, yellow sunshine. The ocean waves cast their white foamy water down upon the sand, turning it to a wet brown.

The dishes leave their holders and are the first to roll like wheels across the sand toward the ocean. Then the cups and glasses follow, with the spoons, forks, and knives following last. One by one, they fling themselves onto the watery surf. The plates spin around and around, making a zinging sound upon the water and then they sink to the bottom where they are gently brushed and cleaned with the sand.

Remember that blue dish? You just wait and see!

The cups and glasses giggle while making a mad dash, tumbling into the slurshing waves, becoming clean on the sandy ocean bottom.

When the silverware reaches the edge of the ocean, they gather themselves into a circle and dance a most wondrous waltz. ‘Round and ‘round they throb to quick beat of music only they can hear. Clinking together, the hot sand scrubs them clean with the hot sand. Weary from dancing, they jump into the ocean and rinse off any sand.

Now, listen to this, Emily! When there is a broken or cracked dish, a broken cup, or a bent spoon, there are seagulls fly about searching for feeble dinnerware. When they see an ailing dish, or cup, or piece of silverware they zoom, screeching downward, and like doctors, heal the cracks, the chips, the leaks, and odd twists or bends.

Remember that blue dish we put into the washer? Those doctor seagulls will tilt their wings, hurry to land, and heal the suffering dish. A crack in a dish could mean it has a… a broken heart. But, you know, people don’t know how dishes feel.

When everything is cleaned, the seagulls pick up and carry all of the dinnerware back into their holders inside the magic dishwasher.

When the dishwasher stops, the ocean drains away. The blue sky turns dark. Those white, graceful seagulls look for another dishwasher full of soiled plates and cups and silverware. Then they soar away; away with graceful wings outstretched, crying, screeching over the sound of the watery surf. That’s how people know the dishes are finished and ready to take out.

When all is quiet, that’s when we can open the dishwasher’s door."

By the time I had finished telling the story, the washer had completed its washing cycle. "Shhh. Listen," I said. "What do you hear?"

Emily's eyes sparkled. "Nothing," shaking her head.

"That’s just it!” I exclaimed. “The dishwasher has finished washing everything."

Our model dishwasher had a cycle to blow hot air over the dishes in order to dry them more quickly.

"Listen. I think I hear the seagull’s screeching call. That means they’re flying away to another dishwasher."

"Can we open it now," Inquired Emily, clapping her hands.

"Yes we can!"

I picked her up and set her feet down on the kitchen floor. Carefully, I opened the drop-down door. Ghostlike steam swirled though the opening, curling upward to the ceiling.

"They're still hot, so we have to be careful that we don't get our fingers burned when we touch the dishes," I said to Emily.

As Emily helped me take out the dishes and stack them on the counter top, she stopped, and moved closer see inside the washer. She nearly stuck her head all the way into the washer. Her eyes danced with the illusion there will never be an end to life. She asked, "Grandpa, where's the broken blue dish we put in?"

"Well let’s see…" I said looking for the dish, finding it stacked neatly with the other dishes. The blue dish was on the bottom of the stack.

Excited, she stood on her tiptoes, her arms stretched out, and her little fingers blurring, her fists grasping, opening, and closing. She said, "Let me see the blue dish, Grandpa. I want to see if the seagulls healed the cracks in the dish."

I thought, "Huh oh, a big mistake. I should not have said something real would come of this, except that the load of dishes would be washed. Cautiously, I lifted the three dishes from the cracked dish and held up the blue dish. "See… the blue dish is…" I paused, "…not cracked anymore. Hmm… and the chip is gone, too." I inspected the dish. The chip and crack were gone, vanished.

After Emily inspected the blue dish, I put it down and Grandma came into the kitchen and announced that it was Emily’s bedtime. "Grandma, did you know that seagulls fix broken dishes? They fixed your old, blue dish!"

“Oh, that's just wonderful, Emily. Let's go upstairs and put you to bed."

"Would you tell me a bedtime story like Grandpa told me? Can you tell me a story like Grandpa’s story about seagulls, and ocean waves, and about your special blue dish?"

"Of course I will, especially about my special blue dish,” answered Grandma.

I turned around, picked up the blue dish, and looked for the crack and chip. Without a doubt, they had disappeared. Then I heard a screeching noise inside the dishwasher. But this time the screech sounded more like a bird accompanied by the hissing of the rhythmic surf. Curious, I poked my head into the dark washer. Caught on the silverware rack was a curious thing. I plucked out a single, waterlogged white feather… the feather of a seagull.