This evening Floyd and I were washing dishes. Melody had used a strainer for the spaghetti for supper, which was Cincinnati chili. It was delicious. (the Cincinnati chili, not the strainer) Floyd washed and I rinsed and dried. As I pulled the strainer from the water, it drained pleasingly, creating a sort of shower over the water.
The human mind is fascinating in how it works. It’s interesting how something totally insignificant like a strainer in the rinse water can trigger memories from long ago. I told Floyd about some of them and we chuckled.
What I remembered from lifting the strainer from the water was my brothers and I as youngsters. One of the curses of growing up in a predominantly male household, was that we often got stuck with house chores or, “girl jobs.” Among these was the project of washing dishes. Tony, Jared, and I often got stuck with it.
Kendra our younger and only sister had come along at the wrong time in history to be much of a regular dish washer so we were often saddled with this chore. We hated it. For some reason there were few things that were despised more. What resulted was an attempt to make this horrible chore bearable and more interesting.
Anything that passed through that dish water was a potential toy. I loved to take strainers, lifting them out of the water again and again, allowing them to make that pleasing, aforementioned shower–water into water. Call me easily amused, but for some reason it was fun. We could make a fifteen minute job take much longer by doing things like that.
Another favorite was plastic sandwich bags and the like. Those were so cool. Mom liked to reuse them because, why throw them away if they were still perfectly good? Awesome. It was so groovy to fill those things water and jostle them around or squeeze the water out of the top. Greater still was if they had small holes in them. These were only noticeable if there was water in them.
The water would shoot forth in delicate little streams, and of course, the harder you squeezed them, the further the water went. We liked to shoot them at each other but it never lasted very long because Mom would figure out from the laughter and other noise that things besides dishwashing were happening, and a mess was being made– not to mention making the holes even bigger.
Memories like that are triggered by the oddest things. I like when it happens though. It’s like going back in time. I think God did something pretty cool when He designed our minds like that.