i wash dishes first thing in the morning. i find it helpful to begin with a simple act of hand-eye coordination. it focuses my thinking on something rooted and at hand, though nothing too complicated or involved. i enjoy feeling the water on my hands, and i stop to smell the soured apples of the dish soap.

i start by running the water at room temperature. i do not test the water outright, but prefer to dive right in, adjusting the hot and cold faucets as i go.

i take a sponge with the brillo pads glued to the back and inject lines of dish soap into it. i watch the dry sponge absorb the soap. then i fill the sponge with water, watching it engorge itself, grow heavy and less brittle. this is true even with old sponges, so dry they warp and shrink. all sponges, no matter how old, are thirsty and crave water.

i begin with the bowls since they are the easiest to get my hand into. i swoop inside them with the sponge, applying gentle pressure in even concentric circles. washing the bowls is my favorite part. they are open to cleaning.

when washing bowls, i remember the story of the monk who came to joshu, who arrived at the monastery and begged the master to teach him. ‘but first,’ joshu asked, ‘have you eaten your rice porridge?’ the monk paused. ‘why, yes,’ he said. ‘then you’d better wash your bowl,’ the master responded.

and with that, the monk found nirvana.

after the bowls i move on to the glasses, which are narrow at the bottom, precious and fragile. the action is the same: i slide my hand in as far to the bottom as i can go. the sponge must be wet and soapy. then i clean upward to the rim of the glass, skimming it forcibly. i wrap the sponge along either side, and follow it with a couple brisk wipes around the ledge. then i place the glass beneath the water and wait a moment or two for it to wash away the soap. in my experience, one should clear glasses from the sink quickly lest heavier items crash and shatter them from above.

i do not wash the dishes immediately after we eat. i let the dishes rest overnight, so when i return to them the next morning, they exist as their own independent beings, causally distinct from the meal that produced them. and so i see the dishes as dishes. i wash them because they need washing, because the meal is over and in the past, an illusion. washing the dishes first thing in the morning brings me back to the present. instead of washing bowls and smelling last night’s tofu nuggets or my caprese bake or the chinese takeout, i smell the soap and the cool water and the rancid odor of day old food. this brings me joy.

it is a good way to start the morning. when you are eating your dinner, eat your dinner. when you are washing your bowl, then wash your bowl.