Our dishwasher broke at 1pm on Thanksgiving Day. We had just
cleaned up the lunch dishes. The dishwasher was crammed full and it was time to
run it and clear the decks for some serious sidedish prep craziness involving
all the cousins, my mom, and myself. Now what?
Every year we host Thanksgiving for my family. My cousins
arrive from New Jersey and Ohio. My little brother and his family fly in from
New Mexico. My parents travel over from Lancaster, and long-time friends from
Germany come up from Maryland to celebrate. Everyone contributes to the meal.
We’re a family of foodies, so it’s a busy, crazy, loud, happy day in my
kitchen. And the dishwasher is a critical piece of the pie (so to speak).
My husband and my brother, both engineers, analyzed the
situation. I headed to the barn to saddle horses
and take some of the kids on a
trailride, confident that my superman-fix-anything-hubby would have everything
sorted out by the time I came back.
We had a cold but beautiful ride and I arrived back ready to
jump into negotiations over oven time and temperature, pan distribution, and a
million questions that began with, “Where is the….”. Instead I found my cousin
elbow deep in suds. No dishwasher and 21 for dinner.
I’m sure you’re all thinking the same thing.
