Washing the dishes is fun to do

... the frost has killed the large leaves on my grape vine ...

Bonnie and I have been roommates for some weeks now.

We are often sitting at the same table to eat, depending on what is being served and when the last person has eaten.

After all of that is sorted out and the main course is finished, I feel calm about eating something very good (ice cream) in front of someone without offering them some (because they have declared it is off limits for them).

Thus, the rhythm of meals seems fine.

The one thing I would not have known about Bonnie is that she doesn’t like to do dishes when the last bite has been eaten, when the fork and knife has been placed on the plate, when it is time to leave the table (after finishing off whatever conversation topic we have chosen, of course). The kitchen table, always, a spot of group civility.

... the last of the grapes are too high to reach ...

Still, I wouldn’t have known that she doesn’t like to hop up and do the dishes. 

She is all in for doing the cooking pots and pans up before the meal is served, even cleaning up what has been left out after the last meal. 

But that moment after the last bite is finished. That moment and the minutes that follow are sacred to her and doing dishes isn’t part of that ritual.

I am amused at my own quirks around being in the kitchen.

Any kitchen activity goes in my mind, until the last half hour before I go to bed.

Bake cookies.

Make pies.

Create quick snacks.

Can some tomatoes.

Bake brownies. That the time just before I go to bed – that is when the kitchen has to be clean and the counters cleared of all of the detritus left behind during the day. Strange ritual. But it is mine.