A woman's work is never done

Catherine is fond of saying that insanity consists of doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. We are all familiar with the drill, working out the same strategy, beating our head against the same wall, pushing the same slippery ball up the same hill and thinking that things will be different this time.

For me, the matter is more fundamental. I have always found it insane simply to do the same thing, regardless of the outcome.

There have been times when new-age teachers or groups have encouraged me to move forward and to grow by repeating a mantra until something happened. The practice was supposed to lead to the empty mind that would allow enlightenment to flow in.

I briefly joined some Buddhists, for example, who thought chanting would lead to an infinite array of results. One afternoon, a member of the group called me as I was trying to unplug a kitchen drain. Chanting, he assured me, would unclog the drain.

And, of course, Judaism, the ancient religion of my youth, prescribes the same prayers three times a day (except on days when there are four). I found that while this practice sometimes led me to think I was addressing God, the prayers were more often as mind-emptying as the mantras I later chanted with the Buddhists. After a very few years of saying the same prayers, it becomes hard to focus on the words. I came to perform the practice automatically, habitually, more often out of obligation than because of a search or craving for divinity.

In the course of my life I have come to seek variety, even the kind of mental variety that results from letting my thoughts stray and following my imagination into unexpected corners. That may be why I never fully sympathized with Catherine when she would talk about the sameness of daily life in our previous apartment. She even talked about getting tired of the same old breath-taking sunsets, the same old million-dollar view down the Ottawa River. She felt more of a compulsion to get out than I did. I thought it was a luxury, and often even an extravagance. She felt trapped in the same old apartment, whereas I was excited by the same old chance to write.

Before I go on, I want to make it clear that I am not writing a screed or a complaint. I only want to follow up on my previous two posts and to describe how life can change in unexpected ways. Catherine is a treasure. It is my privilege to be able to help her get through life in any way I can, and it is never a burden. One thing the past few months have taught me is that you have to live the life in front of you because the life you planned is sometimes not available.

So: Catherine’s current condition has changed our routine in ways I never could have imagined. As her mobility has become more of a challenge, I have had to help her do many of the things she used to do by herself, or simply to do them alone. My main jobs around the house used to be to vacuum the carpets, to plan the meals, to hunt down the food and other items to keep the house supplied, and to cook dinner. Now, in addition, I sort and take care of the laundry, do the dishes, and feed and clean up after the cats. (I should add paying attention to the cats generally, because I would not do it on my own and I consider it a chore.)

On top of that, because Catherine has spent weeks unable to put weight on her right foot, I have been helping with a number of minor chores, many of which I would never have thought about. These are as pedestrian as making her breakfast every day, a particularly unique task that involves assembling a concoction of several ingredients (cereal, fruit, nuts, spices, grains). As I do not drink coffee, I have also had to learn how to operate the coffee maker.

I have had to puzzle out the intricacies of her side of the closet and her clothing drawers, which used to seem all a jumble to me. After a few weeks of practice, I now know where to put all the laundry without asking.

In short, this experience has permitted me to become familiar with every corner of the apartment we have occupied since the end of November.

As a diabetic, Catherine has for years had to do many more things out of necessity than I have. That may be the reason she talks more about breaking out of routine than I do. We both spurn same-old, same-old, but in different ways.

Our new routine has affected me in interesting and unexpected ways. I have built up a renewed dislike for routine, felt the monotony of the daily grind in ways I never felt it before. As I face each morning, I consciously think about how the day might present new opportunities as well as the repeated obligations.

In other words, I am learning how to be creative in my use of time. Far from resenting my new home tasks, I now resent the time I used to spend on line, the time that used to slip away as I read articles and posts I could not remember even an hour later, the on-screen appeals to watch some useless video because I had no more new mail – as if I would not know how to turn around in my chair and face life in the other direction.

I am learning that it is insane to come back to my computer day after day and to expect enlightenment from some outside source. The real lessons are right in front of me, even before I press the on-switch.