Smelling The Flowers
I know. I’m sorry. I always considered myself a feminist, but since my dishwasher died last week I’ve had to wash all the dishes by hand and I have found comfort in the warm sudsy water. I stand there, looking out at the garden through the basil and tomatoes growing on the window ledge. If the window is open, and the fine weather recently has made this more likely, I can hear the melody of the wind chimes mixing with birdsong. It is lovely and without the chore of dishwashing, I’d be missing out.
The dishwasher being on the blink has also, oddly enough, given me a bit more energy. After dinner I’d scrape the plates and then sit down to vegetate in front of the TV and laptop for the rest of the evening. But because I busy myself about in the kitchen I tend to stay on my feet for longer, maybe sorting some laundry, tidying a bookshelf… little things but things I would normally leave until the next day.
So instead of getting less done because I have to hand wash the cups and plates and cutlery, I’m actually getting through more. Weird, isn’t it?
I’m not advocating that we should all give up on modern conveniences. Far from it. If I had to attempt the housework in the same way as my mother and grandmother had to, I’d never have time to write, edit my photographs, blog, tweet, play on-line scrabble… you get the picture. But I sometimes think that all the technology we rely on today makes us take a step back from what the job actually means.
It’s the same with writing. When I write straight onto the computer I write quickly, rattling the keyboard with the words as fast as they come. But give me a pen and paper and my writing changes. It becomes slower, more considered and I find I actually need to edit it less than the work I put straight onto the screen.
Is there a lesson to be learned here? For me, definitely. But I’d be interested to know how you feel about it.
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