“I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.”

– Henry David Thoreau, American author, poet and historian

“Could you use a hand with dishes?” I asked, setting down my cup of tea.

“If you like,” Mom replied. She had just started filling the kitchen sink with hot water. A quick squirt of soap produced ample white, frothy bubbles. I grabbed a dishtowel from a drawer and prepared to dry the dishes. Mom began washing – rinsing each plate and utensil before passing it to me. For a time, we just stood quietly, intent on our tasks.

“You know,” I said, “As far back as I can remember, you’ve always stood patiently here at the sink doing dishes after every meal.” I recalled my father...

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