The Magic of the Humble Kitchen Sink

I don't know if you're tired of talkng about the pandemic or not. I surely am, so this post isn't going to focus on anything corona-related... just plain and simple stuff, like kitchen sinks.

The other night Tom and I were talking in the living room about this and that, and somehow the conversation meandered into reminiscing about his parent's house. It was a lovely red brick, two-story, federal style, I think, but don't quote me on that. His dad's orthodontic office was attached to the home, but had it's own separate entrance and parking lot on the Nacogdoches side. The backyard had a really cool, brick serpentine fence that separated the home's yard from the office courtyard.

The house was finished and ready for occupancy in 1959, when Tom was a year old. His parents had bought the lot and hired architect Harvey P. Smith to draw up plans for the home and office. Smith and the builder had a few disagreements during the process, as sometimes happens. One of those conflicts was over the window above the kitchen sink. The builder had cabinets made that didn't fit with the designated placement for the window. His solution was to just get rid of it, so one day as Tom's mother was doing a walk-through, she noticed workers bricking in the window. She called the architect, who quickly remedied the situation. His words to the builder: "Every kitchen sink needs a window. The world's problems are solved at the kitchen sink!" Needless to say, the window stayed and the cabinets were modified.

I tell you, those words are truer than true. There just seems to be something magical about plunging your hands into hot, soapy water that helps to calm your nerves, settle your spirit, and realign your priorities. The kitchen sink is my kind of therapy!

Every home I've ever lived in had a window over the sink. Every one of them, except the one on Abiso, had a view of the backyard. I loved that. I wonder how many dinner plates, pots, and pans were cleaned in those sinks over the years! Most people don't understand why I never wanted a dishwasher. My mother and dad never had one, so I grew up doing the dishes the old-fashioned way, which I have to admit I kinda hated back then. Somewhere along the years I began to enjoy it and to experience the magic of it for myself.

It doesn't really matter what kind of sink you have. It can be a deep, cast-iron, double bowl like my current sink (Thanks, Mark and Laura!) or a single pan stainless. It can be an apron front or a farmhouse high-back type with a buit-in drainboard. It can sit in or atop butcher block, laminate, or granite counters... matters not. The magic is universal. Just add some hot water and suds and watch the chemisty happen.

You see, kitchen sinks are places of healing. Any of you ever comforted a colicky baby in the warm waters of the kitchen sink? The fact that the sink, rather than the tub, is compact and at just the right height does wonders for calming a baby down and saving your back at the same time. The kitchen sink is also the best place for washing and doctoring little scraped knees, yeps. The kiddos can sit on the counter with their toes in the warm suds as you wash the booboo away. Having that perfect eye-contact connection helps them be able to look at you and hear your comforting words rather than focusing on their "injury."

More than just physical healing can take place at those waters. Mental health and well-being are maintained there as well. I can't tell you how many times I've mulled over a problem or sought to find the perfect words for an apology there at my sink. Deep reflection is possible when you're alone, and let's face it, if you're wanting to wash the dishes in solitude, I doubt too many will fight you for the privilege.

Sometimes simply gazing out the window at a view farther than the ten or twelve feet we're afforded inside can do wonders for our attitude. If I need a good cry, I can do it at the kitchen sink without anyone noticing. If I want to daydream or think up some crazy, creative project, I can do it at my sink... and nobody will criticize it.

I spend hours at my sink preparing food for my family. I get giddy with anticipation as I'm washing and preparing the produce for a family feast when all the chicks are coming back home, and it's there at my humble sink where I recall the lovely time we had together hanging out and laughing while I'm washing the dishes after they've all gone.

My kitchen sink and I are friends. We've been through a lot together over the years. There are stories and confessions that only my sink and God know. It has listened without interruption and without judgment. It has cradled my babies, hand-laundered my grandmother's quilts, and washed both crystal goblets and plain old jelly glasses. It has probably solved more problems and conflicts than any counselor could, and it has always been there, ready, willing, and able to hear another one.

Yes, that humble kitchen sink isn't really so humble after all. It's integral and indispensable, at least it is to me. I have a dishwasher now here at the casita, also thanks to my son and daughter-in-law and their lovely and very well-done kitchen DIY remodel from when they lived here, and I use it every once-in-a-while, especially when their are tons of dishes to do, but my go-to will always be the old-faithful. Some bonds just can't be broken... maybe they never should be.