Dishwasher moon

I’M THE CHIEF dishwasher at home. My wife can wash dishes, of course, but her method lasts 10 times longer.

I imagine it’s something she learned as a child, living with hundreds of siblings* where dishes were allowed to dry in the sink a spell before getting washed.

Tossing dishes into the sink after a meal to be washed later creates a far greater task than simply washing them on the spot. Once food dries, it’s way more work.

Procrastinators are their own worst enemies.

Don’t even mention automatic dishwashers, a dreadful invention that is not Earth-friendly, takes up space, reduces your exercise, and is just plain silly anyway.

Decent people wash their own dishes and the best of them do it immediately. I am one of those decent people.

I was washing dishes yesterday evening when I looked out the window over the sink and spotted the moon. That’s what I saw in the photo above. It wasn’t even dark yet.

Since good things tend to come in twos, I decided to take another photo, so I stepped out to the veranda — the dishes were done — and snapped the photo below.

The hat on the left used to be mine. The one on the right belonged to the Rachmaninoff Cowboy, and on the hook between them are Hare Krishna beads. For about two seconds of my life, I considered joining the Hare Krishnas.

But I didn’t.

I decided to wash dishes under Mexican moonlight.

*Mexicans are hearty breeders, and the Vatican encourages them not to stop.

Scratchy towels

STEPPING NAKED and wet from the upstairs shower stall this morning, I grabbed a fresh towel to dry myself, and it was scratchy and very nice.

I don’t understand the fixation on soft towels, fabric softener and so on. A scratchy towel is like a loofah pad. It’s invigorating, and you get dry at the same time.

We dry our clothes on a line in the sunshine under a clear acrylic roof out back. The first eight years we didn’t have the acrylic roof, so drying clothes during the five-month rainy season was a challenge. Sometimes, clothes would dangle out there for days awaiting a sunbeam.

When we built the Hacienda, we had a gas line installed next to the drain and faucets for a washer. We bought the washer, a nice Whirlpool that’s never given us a lick of trouble, but we never bought the gas dryer, and we’ve never missed it. A dryer would give us soft towels, and I’d miss the loofah thrill.

I’ve never purchased a clothes dryer in my life, though some abodes I’ve rented came with them. I used them when they were available because my fondness for scratchy towels was something that appeared later in life, like a good wife.

Some places I’ve rented came with dishwashers too, and I cannot imagine a more useless thing.

When I lived in Houston, married to Wife No. 2, we owned our home, but we never bought a washer or dryer. I was in charge of clothes washing, which likely had something to do with the fact that she worked days and I worked nights, so I had afternoons off. Once a week I would drive to a laundromat with a book and dirty clothes, which I would wash, dry and fold.

She always found clean, folded clothes and, often, a nice supper waiting for her when she got home evenings. I would already be gone to work. In many respects, she had a darn sweet deal.

Speaking of loofah pads, I once grew loofah gourds on a trellis in the back yard of the Houston home. They are an interesting phenomenon, and come with an outer shell that you must peel and break off. Then you’ve got yourself some mighty fine loofahs.

If you ever spend a night at the Hacienda, don’t expect soft towels.

Expect invigoration.

* * * *

What’s the photo got to do with anything? Nothing much. I was sitting downtown at a coffee shop today with a hot espresso, and I noticed how deserted the street and sidewalk were, which is quite unusual. It was about 4 p.m. I took this photo, which is nicer than a photo of a towel. ¿No?