Our dishwasher has been broken for over six weeks and I am afraid we may never find a solution that will fit our kitchen space.

I have traveled the path of having no dishwasher in a way that is aligned somewhat to the five stages of grief. First, there was denial where the stack of kitchen plates quickly rose each day with no solution in sight. Then anger, when it slowly dawned on me that these stacks weren't going to magically disappear by themselves. The third stage was bargaining, where my husband and I made deals about who was going to do what chore in return while the other one agreed to do the dishes. This score-keeping did not contribute to our marital well-being, however, and so, after some depression about this, I think I have arrived now at the final stage of acceptance.

I would like to say that I came here by way of Thich Nhat Hanh's timeless teaching about washing the dishes but that would not in fact be true. In The Miracle of Mindfulness, Hanh said we shouldn't wash the dishes to have clean dishes, we should wash the dishes "to be completely aware of the fact that one is washing the dishes." I take this to mean that one should be a fully functional, realized and enlightened being in one's kitchen, living fully and accepting of each moment but, Dear Reader, I am afraid that one is not me, at least not at this time.

I did try. But his words, inspirational as they are, could not persuade me to approach washing the dishes in a  contemplative manner or live fully while leaning over a tall sink with my hands plunged into hot soapy water, rinsing and inspecting each glass to make sure it would not have spots or taste like soap to a husband who, truth be told, may have highly sensitive taste buds in this regard. So, like it or not, I needed to explore alternative means.

I next tried a quasi-exercise path which did provide some measure of happiness (or at least distraction) by listening to my workout playlist while doing the dishes, hopping around in my own special way, hoping this would be considered to be at least somewhat aerobic. The euphoria did not last long, however, when I realized one can not quickly disposition one's dishes when one is performing maneuvers that involve lunging, spins, and some kind of Irish stepping across the room. 

I then tried the gratitude path to acceptance which was of some help. I truly am grateful to have these dishes, to have the food that clings to these dishes, and to have a kitchen sink, hot water, soap, and a sponge. I know many others are not blessed with these things. I did feel gratitude, but still I dreaded standing at the sink. How does one family go through so many cups?!

What I think has finally worked for me, though, is a basic acceptance that doing the dishes is something that just needs to be done every day, like brushing your teeth or making the bed, and that, really, it's not all that bad once you get used to it.  

I am also slowly beginning to realize that, instead of bargaining with my husband, this chore is becoming an act of love between us - a clean glass offered as a sacred gift to each other and to our house.  I think reflecting on this activity as sacred has helped to bring me to this place of acceptance.

I have to say too, as an added bonus, there are those special days when we both have time to work together in unison: one of us washing, the other drying, the only music being the sound of our voices, running water and the clink of dishes, and where we can both finish the job quickly, together.