Clean up. Clean up. Everybody do your part.

There is something to be said about going back to the basics.

As an example...

While camping for an extended period of time holds no appeal for me whatsoever, I can appreciate the beauty of a single night out in a tent: fresh air, the sounds of nature, stars glittering in the night sky. Much like the sport of golf, I can see the appeal, but I just don't want to do it for an extended period of time.

Which brings me to the joys of dishwashing.

Now, I'm sure there were better and more significant moments between my mother and I when I was a teenager, but I remember our best talks -- our best casual chats, if you will -- occurring as we were doing the dishes together. For my mom and me, it was an opportunity to do something together without the outside world (girls, school, work, relationships, 'what are you going to do with your life?') getting in the way.

Maybe it's because the task is so simple and so very achievable that it allows people to work and relax at the same time. The task of finishing a stack of hideously dirty dishes can look enormous and daunting; the sense of achievement some fifteen minutes later can be immense.

The realization I had yesterday was this: my boys, now age 7 and 10, have no idea how to do the dishes.

Somehow they've managed / we've allowed them to completely dodge the dishwashing bullet.

But, when your dishwasher catches fire, all of a sudden the basics become necessities. And all of a sudden the boys get to pitch in.

It wasn't as if they jumped for joy at the chance. There was some surprise and a bit of moaning as they were told to assist in the task. And I know Gee was none too impressed as I attempted to show him how to dry a plate without touching it with his hands. And Zed was surprised to hear that once the spoon hit the floor it had to be washed again and therefore he'd have to dry it again. But the dishes got done and for me there was some pleasure in the fact that the men of the house had cleaned up the kitchen together.

I'm not saying that the boys should help do the dishes all the time. And I certainly do not mean to imply that we won't replace our old automatic dishwasher -- delivery of the new shiny machine takes place on Thursday. (And it's strange to realize that when a person says "dishwasher" we now think of a machine. The term "automatic dishwasher" is almost archaic.)

There is, however, a kind of peaceful charm and quiet smile that comes to me as I think about the boys as they muddled and stumbled as they tried to dry the dishes last night. If I didn't think it would end up with my wife never speaking to me again, I am almost tempted to make one night a week the "Human Dishwasher Night". We would give the machine a break and clean up the old-fashioned way.

I could even ask my mother if she has any dishtowels she could pass down to her grandsons.

Not the best way to clean dishes

This would fall under the "How the Hell Does Something Like that Happen?!?" category.

Our dishwasher wasn't doing its job. Dishes were coming out with a dry, soapy covering. So I decided to get all manly and remove the top arm from the dishwasher and poke the gunk out, replace the arm and then spin the empty dishwasher with vinegar in order to further rid the machine of calcium.

So I'm opening the dishwasher every once in a while to make sure the arms are spinning and to ensure that everything seems to be functioning.

And some water splashes out. And I close the door. And a couple of minutes later I check again. Some more water splashes out. And I hear some snapping. And I notice sparks. And I notice a smell. And then there are some flames. And it looks like there's a fire under the dishwasher. And with that...

Cue the minor, moderately controlled panic.

I tell the boys to head upstairs. My wife realizes that's crazy and we should get them out of the house. She takes them to the neighbours. Out they go. Then with fire extinguisher (eventually) in-hand, we're ready to spray it down. But the fire doesn't spread and puts itself out.

No damage to the kitchen. Everything of a flaming-nature remained contained to the area beneath the dishwasher. An uncertain, cautious sigh of relief.

After shutting the circuit breaker down and making sure no electricity was getting to the machine, I removed the cover off the bottom of the dishwasher.

It appears that the machine had been quietly leaking on the right hand side. The seal on that side was no longer as tight and waterproof as the left hand side. It's slightly rusted along the right side and there was a noticeable build-up of grease on the inside of the cover.

Somehow sparks were caused and somehow the grease caught fire. I guess. I don't know. It's the strangest damn thing. I would never thought something like that could happen: a dishwasher catching fire?!? But searching on the internet after the fact, I discovered that apparently it does happen once in a while. Who knew?

What I do now know is that the Maytag repairman could ride in on his silver horse, hop off, work his magic and declare the machine restored to all its days of magnificent glory -- and we'd still be getting rid of it.

Cuz I may not know a lot of things, but I do know this: once a machine starts throwing off sparks, it's time to go shopping for something new.