I love comforting sounds. Some are musical; give me a good Peter White CD or a riff by the Rippingtons, and I am going to smile for thirty minutes. Vivaldi's Four Seasons also makes me feel good.
The sound of a baby chuckling - now that is guaranteed to make even the crustiest old curmudgeon smile.
When I step out on the front porch in the morning to retrieve the newspaper, there is one little bird that is always perched on the top of the light pole across the street and he or she is just warbling away at the top of its teeny weeny little lungs, and standing there I can greet the morning with a grin.
But few sounds are more comforting to me than the sound of the dishwasher whooshing away in the kitchen, as I read a book or watch a program, or fold laundry, or whatever .... because whatever else I am doing, I am not washing the dishes! Oh joy!
Have you ever heard of Josephine Cochran? She invented the first mechanical dishwasher, in Shelbyville, Illinois. When I stumbled upon that fact I thought to myself, "Of course a woman would invent the dishwasher. Men were perfectly content to marry one." :)
When I was growing up, dish washing machines were virtually unknown. Oh, sure, they had probably been invented (since the wheel had proved to be such a big hit); but no one I knew owned one. By the time I was in high school, my mom was inclined to respond to any question about owning a dishwasher by simply pointing to me or one of my sisters and saying, "Sure I have a dishwasher, and she is right over there." Not original, to be sure, but she was not kidding.
There were the nightly after-dinner wrangles about who was clearing the table, who was washing, and who was drying. Now I don't mind sweeping, mopping, ironing or most other household chores. But I hated washing dishes.
I didn't like the feel of the dishwater, with all that yuck floating around in the dishpan, regardless of how much liquid soap you squirted in the pan. Yes, we scraped and rinsed first but it just wasn't enough. And we were not allowed to wash just a few pieces, dump the water and fill another pan with fresh water and more soap. (Girls, we are not made of money around here. Fill that pan and put the dish washing liquid in it once.) Yes, maam.
I hated that slimy feeling that became more pronounced as the washing proceeded, and by the time you got to the pots and pans, I could hardly stand to put my hands in the water. Uggghhh!
Even our first new home did not come with a dishwasher. It was still considered a "luxury." Excuse me? Mink coats, 10-carat diamonds, Jaguars are luxuries. But a dishwasher? Pullleeeaase!
I had three children before I was finally able to get a house with a dishwasher. I was over the moon. Tickled pink with my own good fortune. And I have never gotten over being sooooo thankful to have a dishwasher.
So this evening as I sit here listening to the gentle whoosh-swoosh of the dishwasher, watching Wheel of Fortune with one eye, and typing this with the other; I can smile.
And when I think of the upcoming holiday, with stacks of pots and pans and dishes and glasses, etc., knowing full-well that the machine will be washing every last blessed one of them ... well, I can really smile. It makes me thankful three full days early!
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Whatever you are listening to this evening, I hope it is something that makes you smile. Until next time ... Marsha