Peace, and Then It's Gone

Last night my family left. And I washed dishes.

It had been weeks, months, since I'd handwashed a dish, save an errant pot. It had been hours, days, since I'd had any time to myself. So I shooed them to the pool and eyed the sinkful of cups and plates and odd things, the ones that hadn't fit in the dishwasher's last load.

Silence--finally--fell over the house.

At the sink, I lost myself in the blue of the Dawn, the slip of the bubbles. I focused on the pull of my hamstrings as they stretched to lock my knees, felt the cold metal hardware as I leaned my forehead into the cabinet. My fingers swam the warm water, not quite as hot as I like it to be.

I'd forgotten how peaceful and relaxing washing dishes could be. I was reminded how important--no, dire--quiet is for this thinker, writer, woman.

I hummed a song. I plotted dinner. I heard my thoughts.

I summoned the main character from my WIP, whom I hadn't seen in at least a week. She stood next to me at the sink; we chatted just a bit. But before I could beg her to stay the evening, my family returned and she made a graceful exit.

The dishes were done.

The peace, gone until next time.

"Book Club for the Homeless"

by Jennifer Wren
People magazine
August 10, 2009 issue

For years Peter Resnik [64], a high-powered Boston lawyer, passed homeless people walking through the park on his way to work. But in 2007 he struck up a casual conversation with one of them, Rob, and now they're the unlikeliest of friends. "As we talked about his life, I could identify with who he was as a person," Peter says. He and Rob (who doesn't want his last name used) had deep discussions about books that Peter brought, such as Water for Elephants and The Kite Runner. After Rob, 50, loaned one of the books to another homeless man last year, an idea was hatched. Peter and outreach worker Ron Tibbetts set up the book club (oasiscoalition.org).

Now every Tuesday, about eight men and women meet at a church for literary talk. During those hours, members gain confidence and build friendships--a welcome break from the harsh realities they face. "It takes my mind off my problems," says Jamie Johnson, 50, who lives in a rooming house. "I'm using my intelligence for something other than watching TV all the time." To Rob, who secured housing in February 2008, "Reading is refreshing to me, [but] the best part is the friendship.

Sidetracked

It's a grand idea. I'll gather information for the article proposal, note my personal experience, track down the editor's name and I'll be ready to--

Toilet paper. I have to remember toilet paper. A roll and a half isn't going to get this family of four past 3 o'clock. I'll just add it to my list, the one I have sitting here on my desk, right next to the...

Ooh! A couple new blog comments, I see. And Mom forwarded that recipe. Ooh, that looks reeeaaally goooood. Awesome. And... since I'm here... maybe I'll just check on Faceb--

"Mommy! I'm thirsty! Can I have some milk? And a snack? I'm hungry, too. When's dinner? I mean lunch. Did we have lunch yet?"/"Yes, sweetie. Remember, we had beenie weenies?"

Chumbawumba! That's that band's name. And the song, oh, what was that called? Tubthumping, yeah! I remember, like, back when I worked at Paradise Grill, that song would come on the radio as we prepped for lunch, and what'shername would crank it, and we'd--

Oh, shoot. What time is it? What day is it? I've got to get the car payment in the mail today. But do I have any stamps? I think I'm out of stamps. I'll have to run into town, to the post office, and maybe grab some toilet paper at the store. Which is just down the road from... The doctor. I really need to call and make that follow-up appointment with the doctor, too. I think I left my to-do list--

"Girls!? Why are there balled-up socks all over the kitchen floor? Can we pick them up? And the Barbies, too? I nearly fell over Alexa, you know how clumsy Mommy is. Please? Girls? I love you."

Thank You for my girls. Thank You for all my blessings. Please be with us, guide our paths. Help Dad, be with the church ladies, bless--

What is that smell? Is something burning? No, it's the dryer. The dryer? Good heavens, I--

Well here's the book I lost. How'd it get in here? Wish I had time to read it. Maybe in the loo later, since that's the only place I seem to have any down time. May if I could--

Cripes. I forgot toilet paper.