When he paints the house exterior, performs some interior/exterior electric work, or spends hours in the basement of our house replacing plumbing piping that was originally installed at a gradient not useful to the efficient passage of wastewater from the kitchen, he does these chores on his own.  He neither wants nor expects me to aid him, though I offer, knowing full well my presence would only be an impediment, not a help.

When it comes to the daily household chores requiring attention in the house that have fallen to me, representing traditionally female work, he has never hesitated to offer help, nor to think of initiating some of the work on his own, unasked.  A fairly uneven situation, but one of long standing representing the initiative, capability and thoughtfulness of a partner in life who recognizes no gender divisions.

A reality of our partnership that was expressed when we were 18, married, and undertook to divide household chores so we would then be free to enjoy one another at leisure, when work was completed.  When our children were infants on his arrival home from work he would always make an effort to ensure that another mind and another pair of hands were capably available to look to their needs.

When the children were in their teen years, we routinely cleaned up from the evening meals together, in a harmony of shared purpose that really reflected the tenor and quality of our relationship, when I washed the dishes and he dried them, our three children being excused to do their school homework.  But the message of working together was one that trickled down successfully through exposure, leading our children to understand that there are few divisions and much that bind us together.

Yesterday, he undertook to spread mulch over those of our garden areas that are subject to the fiercest heat of the sun, and which have suffered as a result of the unusual heatwave we are undergoing, coupled with drought conditions, although I am the family gardener, not he. 

Today, when he saw me filling up the container for demerara sugar that he prefers in his coffee, he expostulated that he should be doing that, since he uses it, not me.  And then he set about assembling the constituents he uses for bread baking, to produce the dark, rough type of bread that I prefer.

That done, hied himself outside to retrieve the trash bins after weekly garbage collection.  And then to turn his attention to the assembly of a two-seater faux bamboo garden seat to take advantage of early afternoon shade and breezes that roll through the front garden, where we can sit in comfort our little dog between us, enjoying the gardens on the cobble patio he constructed years ago when he was only 69.