Our dishwasher died this weekend. In a way we were relieved because finally we feel justified in replacing it. It's been half broken for years. It doesn't fill with enough water, and so we have to open it twice every wash cycle to pour more water in. We should have replaced it long ago, but we're lazy. (Mathematically this makes no sense, since surely the time and effort we've spent, during four years, adding water to the dishwasher outweighs the time and effort it would take to shop for a new one.)

Finally forced, we bought a new one on Sunday which will be installed tomorrow. In the meantime, we've stacked dishes on every horizontal surface in the kitchen. The thought of actually washing all the dishes by hand is overwhelming. Sure, we wash pots and pans and other non-dishwasher items on a regular basis, but plates? And bowls? God, how tedious.

But yesterday when I came home from work I could barely find the refrigerator for all the dirty dishes. So I filled the kitchen sink with soapy water, rolled up my sleeves, and started washing.

It took over an hour. I'd wash until the dish drainer was full, then stop to dry, and then go back to the washing. I emptied the sink and refilled it with clean water multiple times. I got into a sort of rhythm, and the process wasn't as burdensome as I'd imagined it to be. That's not to say it wasn't still a total pain in the ass, though. I can't remember the last time I've had to wash silverware.

But it got me thinking about being grateful. How many times have I grumbled about emptying the dishwasher, when really all I have to do is put away dishes that have been magically cleaned without me? How many times have I hoped Rob would jump up to add water to the cycle because getting off the sofa and walking to the kitchen is such a chore?

How many other things in my life do I fail to appreciate until they fail?

I've been pondering illness lately and reading people's stories. When a person is sick or suffering in some way, it's a little like having a broken dishwasher. Things that you never put any real thought into before suddenly become burdensome. Everything takes effort. Daily life is difficult. And yet, amazingly, you find yourself falling into a sort of rhythm and routine with it all. It's no less hard; it's just your new reality.

I remember thinking, when I was sick recently, that if my life ever returned to normal (and I had pretty significant fears that it wouldn't), I would never again complain about getting up and going to work. Getting up is a gift! Going to work is such a blessing! What the hell had I been bitching about all these years? And in the past couple weeks I've done pretty well with this pledge, happily arriving to work with a sincere smile (although still late...always late).

But I know from past events that as things get better and the fear starts to fade, my sense of entitlement re-emerges. I cast aside the knowledge that with a poof a curse can befall an otherwise charmed life. And I sometimes forget to be thankful. Surely, when the new dishwasher arrives tomorrow and effortless, spotless dishes once again become my reality, that evening spent elbow-deep in suds will be but a distant memory.

But I don't want to forget. It's important that I remember the looming stacks of dishes, the piles of doctor appointments, the way something beyond our control can change our circumstances and alter the landscape of our lives.

It's important that I'm thankful every day for the things I've come to expect but that aren't at all a given. And those are the things I'll be thinking about now as I load the dishwasher - counting blessings while stacking bowls.