I can’t for the life of me figure out why I’m suddenly so efficient. Dr. G has been gone most of the week, gallivanting around the country presenting his research and whatnot, and I’ve been fending for myself on the homefront. This consists, in part, of sleeping poorly and having dreams of the pool overflowing in the backyard while a row of evil Harley Davidsons charges the front. I also start to say things and then sheepishly stop, suddenly realizing that no one is there. I miss my Dr. G and will be glad to have him back. And yet, with him gone, I get so much more done. The annoying pile of tangled necklaces has even been sorted through, each one dusted and hung on a peg board; the leather sofa has been treated with a protective salve and the cushions rotated; I hung a picture and deep-cleaned the kitchen, dug up a bunch of bamboo in the backyard and treated my tomato plants for whiteflies. This in addition to the usual routines.

The question is, why? There is nothing in particular that he and I do together that would prevent me from doing things that otherwise languish undone for weeks. Granted, he did not grow up, as I did, in a home where Saturday Chores held a spot of honor just below loving Jesus and honoring your parents. So, these days, when I occasionally “get my chore on” Dr. G. opts for the Duck and Cover response. He does not believe in the Implacable Force of Chore Doing that was practically a member of my family. Perhaps my knowing that he is not a chore-mania believer subconsciously dampens my task-based enthusiasm when he’s around. Or maybe it takes plenty of homemaking effort to simply live life together, to pay the proper attention to the one I love. Most of the time, I will happily neglect any number of chores to sit out on the back patio or watch 1950’s TV shows together.

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