Laundry Day
Daffodil love…
It’s laundry day. Not mine. His.
Around our house my husband and I go by “His and Hers” and “Mr. and Mrs. H.” It wasn’t always that way. It’s a recent development. A retirement phenomenon.
Nearly twenty years ago, in my 40’s, the prospect of retirement made me laugh. Who had time to think about another stage of life? Not me. My life was full in Australia with three teenagers, a three-year-old, one young dog and a husband who traveled half the year. Retirement was right up there with menopause. No thank you. It was in the “don’t need to know now” category.
Or so I thought. Around that time, I met with the women of my international bookclub group in Sydney, Australia. Ten women, ages 40-70, several nationalities: Australian, British, American, Canadian, Swedish; some stay-at-home moms and some working women. There were all well versed in the trials and tribulations of life. The book up for discussion was Gang of Four by Australian author Liz Byrski. Something about the book deeply resonated with me. A novel about four fifty-something women, close friends for two decades who traveled very different paths in life. I could relate and couldn’t wait to discuss the book. As we settled in to our meeting, a fellow American expat friend, Carol, looked up, a little glassy eyed and downcast. “I have, well” she let out a deep sigh “I have news.” My first thought went to something tragic, cancer? She sighed again, “my husband is retiring.”
What happened next surprised me. Gasps and condolences echoed around the room. I wondered if I missed something, wasn’t this supposed to be a good thing for people at “that age (60)?” Like us, Carol and her husband had dual citizenship, American and Australian. They wouldn't feel the pressure to move once the working assignment was over. The kids were gone, they were free.
I quickly read the room and assessed I got it wrong. The book discussion was put aside for personal stories and advice. Women nodded; shaking heads sideways, back and forth and then up and down in agreement. Helen, Prue and Suzanne were the more “seasoned” of the group when it came to marriage and retirement. The turned to me, one of the youngest in the group, with sage advice on this stage of life.
“Jeanne, remember this:
1. Make lunch for the two of you occasionally and be sure to let him know it will not be a regular occurrence. It is important that he learn to make his own lunch from time to time otherwise he will expect daily lunch service.
2. When he seeks you out and asks what you are doing and then sighs heavily, don’t fall prey and drop everything to entertain him. Suggest he create his own interests and activities.
3. Share in the cooking, if he doesn’t cook, pass him a cookbook or suggest TV cooking shows to spice up his culinary repertoire .
4. Don’t be afraid to encourage laundry, ironing, deep cleaning, window washing and all the other chores you hate to do.
5. Once boundaries and chores are clear, enjoy this time, do the things you always talked about doing together. Just make sure you do it before you get too old because then the health issues come up.”
I stopped taking notes there, my 40ish year old mind was not ready for 70ish health problems. That could wait. I appreciated their thoughts on a phase of life I had yet to think about. I was getting first hand advice. Women on a journey, one different from the next. We finished discussing the book that day, Carol’s news was the perfect segway.
When we left Australia to move to New Zealand a few years later, I thought about the wise advice my bookclub ladies gave me. In my 53rd year a hysterectomy was a clear sign that I was walking that tightrope of life, with child bearing years behind me. Mr. H assured me he had many working year ahead of him and he did. In addition to New Zealand, we measured our time with years spent living in England, Vietnam and Hong Kong. We also measured them in which countries our children stayed behind to live in. By the time we reached Hong Kong in my 60th year, we were empty nesters with three children living in Australia and one in Botswana.
In 2019, in our 60’s and thirty years after an international career, we changed the narrative course of our lives. Mr. H mentioned the word retire and just like that, it was done. We had a new life to live. But, there was one problem. We had spent the previous three years living apart. While he worked and lived in Hong Kong, I lived between America and Australia with pop over visits to Hong Kong. My husband and I spent three weeks a year together, equivalent to three months in three years. We flew and lived to the rhythm of our lives, separate ones, independent ones. As news of his retirement spread, questions flowed in from family and friends over the prospect of this momentous change in his life. All eyes were on Mr. H wondering how he would settle in and cope with small town life in rural New Hampshire.
Secretly, I wondered how I would cope. What did this mean for me? How would I adjust? I had been caretaker of our home, Tahilla Farm, for seven years while living in New Hampshire and abroad. I knew every last inch of the property having been deeply involved in its purchase and subsequent renovation. Beyond our expat life, the order of my life came in the shape of trees, stone walls, home, barn, garden and meadows. I was intimately involved with the design and construction of each. Its was a His and Hers project but to me it was my baby. Would I lose control? All of a sudden I was feeling primal and territorial. I could feel the heels of my boots digging in squarely. The sage advice from my international bookclub ladies in Sydney was ringing in my ears with a fevered pitch.
I will never forget the date. On December 23, 2019 he landed into Boston Logan International Airport. Three of our children were home for the holidays, we waited at the arrival gate with balloons and hand drawn signs, arms held high, “WELCOME HOME” and “HAPPY RETIREMENT”. When he turned the corner into full view, pushing his luggage trolley I could tell he was excited to see us and still overwhelmed by the emotions of saying goodbye to his business associates in Hong Kong and to his international working life. It would take time to process. We had time.
After the holiday had passed we were on our own. Just the two of us. It felt strange. The first morning he looked at me across the breakfast table and asked what our plans for the day would be. It was 7:00am. My only reply was “coffee” as I inwardly grumbled. The second morning, while sipping my coffee he looked up and asked “Have you thought about what our plans for the next 30 years will be?” There were no words, I was still getting over the question from the previous day. The third day, with my coffee in hand, he said, “I think we should talk about your performance objectives for 2020.” After I wiped up the coffee I had spit out over the table and myself in laughter, I passed him a few travel catalogs. “I think we need an unusual journey, maybe two or three, together or separately.”
Shortly after these conversations Covid became a frightening reality. March 2020, our children moved home. We all settled into our quiet woodland haven in rural New Hampshire and enjoyed the feeling of living like a family again, long term, under one roof. A year has since passed, our children moved back to their lives, fortunately for us, three of the four are now living in America. One remains down under in Australia. We continue to channel our energies into this new path in life. Retirement is not a word we use often these days. As the months passed we found our new normal in the shape of His and Hers. On his own initiative, he decided he would do his own laundry to save me the hassle. I secretly go into his closet when he is not around and iron his shirts and pants. I applaud his effort but can’t take the “just rolled out of bed look.” We make our own lunch, some days we eat together and surprisingly we never eat the same thing. He has his schedule and I have mine. We are busy, planning for the years ahead. Some days we work side by side, others days, we come together at the end of the day.
Our only big His and Hers battle so far has been over the garden. I had four raised garden beds for annual and perennial flowers. I lovingly and thoughtfully tended to the flowers for years. When he said he needed two beds to grow peas and tomatoes, I reluctantly gave him one and I moaned about it for weeks. It turns out I had primal and territorial feelings about the garden beds too. He was not deterred, by June he had nine raised garden beds built far from mine for his budding gardening interests. I asked if I could take over one of his beds, he said he would think about it. He is still thinking about it. The next month a receipt for 1000 spring bulbs appeared in my inbox. I was miffed that he didn’t consult with me. When I mentioned it, he was surprised “It was meant to be a surprise for you, I am going to plant them in the fall. You can’t see where. In the spring you will have 1000 blooming surprises.”
Today is laundry day. His laundry day. Mr. H is pegging clothes on the outside line for the first time this year. Each item of clothing is fighting for space, barely an inch between them. He likes to see how much he can get on the line with the least amount of pegs. I am sitting at my desk, typing and occasionally looking up to scrutinize his curious hanging technique, as I do, daffodils light up the landscape, dancing in the wind all around him.
Blooming surprises everywhere…
I hope you enjoyed this story, a snippet of life.
I recently wrote a collection of Collage of Life essays entitled-
Landscape of Memory: An Expat Home in New England
A memoir of sorts, a journey into life writing. I will post a story each week.
Have a thought or question? As always, I love hearing from you!
Thank you for reading along!
Be well and take care my friends,
Jeanne xx
