“We need a dishwasher,” I sighed as I reluctantly stacked the plates on the table and carried them to the counter, plopping them down with a bit more force than necessary. I knew there was no hope of getting a dishwasher; Mom had her own way of doing things. But I pleaded my case just the same. Hearing the clatter of dishes, she glanced over with a frown, then placed a bowl of leftover potatoes into the fridge. With both hands I gathered the pile of silverware the four of us had used for supper and dropped them recklessly next to the plates.
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