Maybe it was because she had nine children, or maybe it was just her nature, either way, my Grandma always had a sink full of dirty dishes. And maybe it was because of this, my mother never did.
I suppose I could have followed either one. But I like my empty sink. We all have our own way of doing things. Things that make us happy. And it can be the tiniest of things. On our recent trip, we bought a few Swedish dishcloths. I had never seen them before. They looked like art. And would easily fit in the suitcase. Reasons enough.
Upon returning, fighting jet lag, fighting to once again make familiar the familiar, I bake the bread, serve the Corsican cheese with the French wine, and wash the dishes with my new Swedish dishcloth. It’s probably silly to love it, this 6″ square, but I do! Maybe because it works well, or maybe because it made me fall in love with my kitchen once again after a three week break.
I am so proud of my grandma and my mom. Both lived the lives that suited them best. Neither made apologies for their preferences. Nor judged others for the differences. They found happiness, big and small.
My dishcloth is now drying on the faucet of my empty sink. I find my path daily. And I am happy.