As I have mentioned in this space from time to time, Lee was a marvelous gardener. She was more than a mere gardening enthusiast. After she retired from a career in government, Lee had plans to become a Master Gardener, a designation that connotes horticultural training and expertise as well as a deep commitment to community service. Lee did not live to achieve this laudable goal.
Whether it involved the large, native plant gardens that she created for us at Deer Tick Manor or our welcoming and sheltered urban garden, every Fall Lee would make careful plans for the next growing season. She managed the urban garden herself until illness overtook her; hers was always a labor of love and provided a good bit of daily exercise to boot. Deer Tick was another matter altogether. She would pitch in where she could but left the heavy lifting to Jeff and his crew, which included dividing and replanting the largest plant specimens, and planting trees.
Although, quite naturally, I enjoy the fruits of these various labors I have not the slightest interest or intention to take up gardening as a hobby or avocation. Nonetheless I am bound and determined to maintain the gardens.
At this moment, however, my head is still spinning with the scientific and common names of at least two dozen plant or flower varieties that thrive in “hardiness zone 5.” I have made pages of notes regarding their optimal soil, moisture, and light conditions. I am still in the process of identifying plants that flower in Spring because these will need my attention before Winter; fortunately, the rest will not need my serious attention before next Spring.
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One thing being widowed has brought into sharp focus for me is the division of labor that we had developed as a couple and came to take for granted. For example, Lee would do most of the cooking while I picked up the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, and took out garbage. Every couple employs some division of labor. Ideally it happens organically, being one hallmark of a successful pairing.
In her song, “Big Yellow Taxi,” Joni Mitchell wryly observed, “don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you got ’til it’s gone.” To this I say, amen!
Lee greatly enjoyed grocery shopping and in time almost insisted on going it alone. In general, I was only too happy to accede to her wish since by nature I like to be accommodating and can be quite lazy. However, I once asked Lee why she felt this way about a chore that many couples view as a participatory activity, and she explained that I lacked the patience to perform a proper shop and she did not want to be rushed doing something that she liked. You see, whereas Lee sniffed the fruits and produce, taking her time to carefully assess their colors, textures, and firmness, or would leisurely explore a store’s nooks and crannies searching out new or hard-to-find specialty items, I am loath to stop my shopping cart for more than a few seconds at a time. In my haste to beat it, the very thought of backtracking to retrieve an item from my list that I might have overlooked during my quick sweep of the aisles can be enough to raise my blood pressure.
My shopping philosophy boils down to this: Just keep moving. Of course, my approach can produce mixed results. On the one hand, my brief grocery excursions free me up to pursue other preferred activities. At the same time, they are not always maximally efficient. For example, not long ago, on the fly I grabbed toothpaste that was steeply discounted. However, as I started to use the product, I noticed that it lacked the usual minty flavor that I prefer. When I mentioned this matter to my girlfriend Robyn, she pointed out that the tube clearly stated this product was “For Kids,” which explained why it tasted nearly as disgusting to me as an artificially sweetened kids’ breakfast cereal left soaking in a bowl of sour milk.
I do not mean to trivialize the necessity or importance of such mundane everyday tasks. In the past year or so, since Lee has been gone, I have learned just how energy draining and time consuming it is to perform all the myriad tasks that I happily used to pass on to my partner. This street ran two ways, I am sure. Looking back now, I can see that my end of things included many chores that Lee was only too happy to leave to me.
Speaking of streets, driving a car is a common example of this same division of labor. I am an excellent navigator but a lousy driver and derive no pleasure whatsoever from sitting behind the wheel of a car. At the same time, Lee loved to drive, but unfortunately had a laughable sense of direction. (If it is possible for a person to have a sense of misdirection, she did.) As part of our unique division of labor, she did nearly all the driving while I rode shotgun, reminding her when and which direction to turn the vehicle. (I suspect many couples have a designated driver.)
The bottom line for me is that a comfortable division of labor contributes to the overall happiness and sense of well-being that successful couples seem to enjoy. Certainly, it is one aspect of my relationship with Lee that I miss very much. Alas, I am left behind to oversee everything.
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I am enjoying my burgeoning and exclusive relationship with Robyn. From Day One we have been comfortable together in ways that feel completely natural. We laugh. We are comfortably intimate. Further, I can happily report to you that to date we have not had a single serious disagreement about anything of value. Thus, there are times when I find myself engaged in speculation how a division of labor would shake out for us. As with most things in this uncertain life, I suppose time will tell.
