Doing the Dishes

Anyone who knows me is aware that I’m not the best housekeeper, though I am usually diligent about doing the dishes. I like to leave the kitchen in order, so I wash all the pots and pans and load the dishwasher before going to bed. I make sure when I come down in the morning I won’t be greeted with a mess. That was in the past, last night I decided the dishes could wait until the morning. I was tired, and had cooked an actual meal that required more than one pot.

Does doing (or not doing) the dishes every night before retiring make a difference? Is it a ritual or a compulsion?  As I said I’m not a particularly neat person. I have stacks of papers on almost every available surface, and as fast as I go through and clean them up, new ones appear. The restrictions placed on me post-surgery have curtailed the housework I can do, and I have taken full advantage.

In all my time home, I’ve kept my kitchen neat and clean. I tidy up nightly, while I ignore the rest of the house slowly being covered in dust and cat hair. This weekend is the one when I will finally get out the vacuum and other implements associated with cleaning and try to restore order beyond my kitchen, so it’s a bit ironic that now is when I decide the dishes can wait. Up to last night, matter how late it was, how many guests I’d had, or even if I had to do the dishes inherited from my grandmother by hand, I slogged through and got them all done. Putting them away can wait until the light of day, as long as the sink is either empty, or holds only a lone pot that requires overnight soaking.

It both amuses and shames me when I go to someone’s immaculate house and they apologize for the mess. “This is a mess?” I think, and sometimes I actually utter. Whenever this happens I make a mental note to never invite this person to my home. Many years ago I lived in a studio apartment in NYC, and had a hard time keeping it even remotely neat. One day I got to talking with my next door neighbor in the hallway, and she invited me in for a cup of tea. She had the exact same apartment as I did, but hers was completely clutter free. Her kitchen counters were clear (mine overflowed with appliances and condiments) every other surface also clear, not one piece of paper in sight. How was this possible I wondered. Where was all her stuff?

Over the years I’ve learned that there are people who are naturally neat, and they tidy as they go. I have heard of people who touch a piece of paper only once, then either discard or file it. I don’t have those genes. My kitchen was and always has been the one and only place where I can manage to maintain any sort of order, and now I’m leaving them in the sink overnight and doing the dishes in the morning. What is to become of me?