I’m grateful that I’ve been able to transform the unpleasant chore of washing dishes into a pleasant opportunity just by adding a splash of gratitude to the equation: I’m grateful that I have dishes to wash, that I have food to leave traces of on the dishes necessitating washing them, that I have hot water, soap, and hands to wash the dishes, that I have a house with enough space for a dish rack on the counter, and a cabinet above to stack clean dishes in. I am grateful for the cotton dish cloths I knitted through the years, still going strong, just a fray or two, and for the little old lady in the eye surgeon’s waiting room who taught me how to knit them. I feel good that I solved the dish sponge ethical dilemma with homemade cotton dishcloths that wash and get washed over and over for years. How many plastic or genuine sponges have I saved?! I’m grateful for the dishes themselves, their utilitarian beauty, or their purely sensory appeal, and the stories and memories baked into some of them. Mostly, tonight, I’m grateful that I seem to have finally acquired the habit of washing dishes as I use them, instead of letting them stack up in the sink and on the counter for a day or two… or more… until it really is an unpleasant and tediously long chore to wash them all.