Full Speed Ahead: My Journey with Kit

I tell Kit that if I ever see Uncle Hendrick, I’ll say I insisted on helping with chores and sharing her room, so no one calls me a spoiled young one used to getting her own way. Kit smiles, though she looks doubtful, and rightly so. Mom has a housekeeper, so I know little about housework, and this 1930s house’s strange, sparse appliances leave me useless. They have electricity, but no computer or TV anywhere.

Kit finally shrugs, and we stack dishes and carry them to the kitchen, Buddy scampering at our feet with Grace close behind. Kit elbows open a swinging door into a kitchen with a tub-like sink and a stove like a Mars lander, no microwave or toaster in sight. I ask where the dishwasher is, and Kit says she is the dishwasher. They can’t afford a maid, so she and Mother handle all the housework.

I set the plates on the counter and promise to help so we finish faster. Kit turns on the hot water and points me to the soap flakes by the sink. I shake the box, and flakes cascade out in a blizzard before Kit can stop me. The sink overflows, bubbles spilling across the floor and counters, coating us both while Buddy barks and Grace howls. I apologize, mortified.

But Kit bursts out laughing, so hard she nearly collapses. Wasting soap is bad, but I look too funny with a cap of bubbles on my head. I shape mine into a Santa beard and crown Buddy and Grace as elves.

Kit holds up a handful of bubbles and declares herself the Statue of Liberty. We sing together, then she turns on the radio to jazzy 1933 hits while she scrubs the dishes and I dry them.

Kit says they do not waste the soapy water either; they use it to wipe the counters and mop the floor. Kit tells me her Aunt Millie always says to use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without, and that includes soapy water.