Ted Cate
A Personal Journal Reflecting On Aging
June 15 | June 16

	Reflections of Ted Cate June 6: A Weekly Retirees Meeting June 8: Weeds, Weather, and Reading June 9: Build For the Future June 10: Flight Breakfast June 11: Broadband for the Computer June 12: Philosophy of Mowing June 13: Facing Extended Care June 14: Storm Damage June 15: Dishwashers June 16: Happy Birthday June 17: Adventures in Baking June 18: Wash Day

June 15: Dishwashers
After breakfast downtown I returned home to become a lumberjack of sorts. A widow living down the street had several of her trees damaged by our recent storms so my neighbors and I said we would help her out by cleaning up the mess. Having a chain saw, I'm in demand after such storms as is my neighbor who has a trailer. The City announced that they would pick up tree debris if it is placed on the parking lane. They will have trouble believing that the pile we constructed came from just one lot.

Having impaired vision as a result of glaucoma, it isn't unusual for me to trip over the dishwasher door when it is left open. I think I hate dishwashers. I was raised when it was a known fact that it was wise to wash your dishes by hand for several very good, undisputable, reasons. 1) The hot water was good for your arthritis. If you didn't have arthritis, it helped prevent you from ever getting arthritis. 2) The warm humid vapors rising from the dishwater was good for your sinuses. 3) This same warm moist vapor was also good for your complexion. 4) What better way to clean your hands and finger nails and prepare them for a manicure. I could go on, but you get the drift.

Having a dishwasher is a prestigious must today. Unfortunately, there are those that are clinging to the past to the extent that each and every dish and utensil must be thoroughly washed before it is put in the dishwasher. Even when the TV ads explicitly explain that as a result of hundreds of spray nozzles and high-pressure jets, such nonsense is not necessary.

When my Phyllis Ann is out of town for a few days, I manage to survive without ever touching the dishwasher. By the time I'm ready to place the one plate, one cup and one set of silverware into the dishwasher, I'm ready to reuse them, and as long as they've already been washed. Why not use them again? If my keeper ever stays away long enough, I'll be able to save a bundle as a result of the soap I've saved.

While on the subject of soap, detergent, or whatever they call the stuff you put in the little compartment on the door of the dishwasher, why not put it in a container that can't possibly be mistaken as something else by the novice. I've tried washing dishes with Soft Scrub Jell, Ultra Dawn, Resolve Carpet Cleaner and Murphy Oil Soap. I mush have mistaken the Lemon Cascade as some type of frosting additive.

You would naturally assume that filling the dishwasher is one of the easy things to accomplish; however, frustrating instructions for this operation have been passed down by mothers, grandmothers and especially mothers-in-law. The machine must be completely packed before you can start pushing buttons. The rule at our house is, "If the door closes on the first try, there is room for more dishes."

Most men find that going to the cupboard for a bowl for breakfast food, or a glass for orange juice, results in finding the cupboard bare. All the dishes and flatware are in the dishwasher. Buying more bowls, glasses, flatware, etc. never seems to solve the problem. When you open the dishwasher door in search of the necessities of life, you never know if what is contained therein is clean or dirty because everything was washed before it was put in the dishwasher. The only real solution is to install a second dishwasher. With two dishwashers, the chance of finding something you want that is clean should be appreciably improved.

June 16: Happy Birthday
Today is supposed to be a special day for me ina-much as it is my 77th birthday, but no such luck. I was sent to the grocery store even though we had been there yesterday. An occasional trip to the grocery store to get a loaf of bread or a carton of milk is no big deal, but one shouldn't send a retired husband to the grocery store to do the week's shopping.

Even if one insists that the wife type the grocery list on the computer so it can be read, there are problems.

Take for example the simple instruction to get a bag of potatoes. As all women know, potatoes come in different sized bags. I for one have no idea how many potatoes we consume in any given time frame. Should I grab a hand full of potatoes and throw them in one of those plastic bags that are mounted on a spindle in such manner that it is next to impossible to find a starting point for removal of a bag, say nothing about how you open the bag once you have it off the spindle? The largest bag of pre-bagged potatoes would help reduce the number of times you have to make the shopping trip. The smallest bag might require an additional trip if guests show up for an unexpected meal. An average sized bag is probably the best bet, I hope.

All women know the difference between an Idaho russet potato and those other kinds. I, for one, have never lived in Idaho and know nothing about what the word russet means. If only she had said red or brown I could have made the distinction without asking a female shopper of equal age which potatoes were Idaho russets.

You know how men hate to ask directions regardless of how hopelessly they are lost? Asking about potatoes falls in the same category. The disdain that encompasses the face of a middle aged woman explaining to a middle aged man the difference between an Idaho russet potato and the other kinds is something not soon forgotten.

A request for peanut butter at first seems quite simple. Right up to when I got to the peanut butter shelf. Have you ever counted how many brands and how many types of peanut butter there are? Add to this the many different sized containers there are and you have another horrendous decision to make. From past experience I ruled out the chunky variety in-as-much as it is too hard to spread. Now comes the question, do you want the low fat or regular variety. Add to this question the question of which brand and you are likely to block the aisle for at least 20 minutes.

I have found that if you have been instructed to bring home a dozen eggs then you absolutely have to open the container and check each egg to make sure it isn't cracked. I'm sure there have been far more eggs cracked accidentally during this procedure than were cracked by the initial packaging and handling process. If you fail to follow this modus operandi you are likely to have a nearby female shopper suggest that you open the carton and check the contents because she found one that was cracked once. Probably back in 1942.

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