Category: Reflections

It’s a beautiful, sunny Saturday. Recent rains have dissipated much of the humidity in the air, making the weather warm and pleasant. With a little bubble of anticipated pleasure forming in my head, I have decided to pack up my little, two-wheeled cart, along with some reusable shopping bags, and head over to the local farmer’s market. Such a normal, ordinary thing to do, and yet for me, it’s a big milestone.

I can’t say I’ve ever been that interested in farmer’s markets. Of course, I understand all the benefits of buying local, both nutrition-wise, and for the economy. But for many years, as a busy mom with kids, going to the farmer’s market was just another place I’d have to go. Another chore in a long list of them. It was far easier to just head over to the local supermarket, which was conveniently open 7 days a week, with hours that better suited my schedule.

So, why the sudden interest in the farmer’s market now? It all started when Mike and I drove past it on our way to work one day. I couldn’t help but notice all the happy customers walking to and fro under the colourful pavilions. It looked so peaceful. So ordinary. I remember thinking to myself, “This is what happy people do in prosperous countries: they go to market on a sunny Saturday morning”. And all of the sudden, I decided that I wanted to go too.

I don’t think I am understating things when I say that, over the last few years, I’ve been struggling with a pretty major case of mid-life burnout. I mostly keep to myself. I’ve given up on all but the closest relationships in my life. I feel numb most of the time, just going through the motions of my work. Chores that I used to feel were important to me, I am now letting slide. There are so many things that I just don’t care about anymore.

I’ve been trying to decide if this is an improvement, or if it’s not. Previously, you could say that maybe I cared too much. I let everything affect me too deeply, and as a result, I could go through major mood swings, feeling elated one day, and absolutely despondent the next. But then again, what’s happening now doesn’t feel quite right either. I don’t think it’s healthy to not care if your house is a complete and total mess. I don’t think it’s normal when you struggle to get out of bed each morning. I start to worry when I show no interest in doing any of the things I used to do.

So, under the circumstances, you can see why deciding that I wanted to go to the farmer’s market seemed like a pretty big step. I actually wanted to do something. I had a feeling that it would give me pleasure. I didn’t do it because I had to, as I’ve done so many other things in my life. I didn’t do it because someone else wanted me to do it for them. I did it because I had a small inkling, somewhere in the back of my mind, that it might make me feel happy.

And so, with slow and tentative movements, I drove our car over to the area where the farmer’s market was running, and I parked it nearby. Grabbing hold of my purse, I got out of the car and began the small walk over to where all the fruit and vegetable stands were operating, and I started to stroll. I noticed all the pretty, ripened fruits and vegetables and my mouth started watering. At first, I felt a little overwhelmed by all the choices, but then I started to ask myself, “What would I like to eat?” and it made the decisions easier. I began to purchase all the things that made me happy. I began to purchase what I wanted.

As I walked along, I began to notice all the shop girls. Of course, there were many boys there too, but it was the girls that caught my attention. They wore shorts, T-shirts and running shoes. Their skin was flushed and sweaty from standing outside in the sun for many hours. Their hair was bound up in ponytails or clipped up in messy buns. They watched the crowd expectantly, and helped customers with their purchases. They made change easily and with a friendly smile.

These girls struck me so forcefully, I was stopped in my tracks. I had a strong feeling, sort of like deja vu, but in reverse. A long time ago, I used to be one of those girls. In the small town where I grew up, I worked at a vegetable stand one summer. It was located at the very end of a long, dusty, rural street that I biked on every day, and it intersected with the main street of tiny, Cottam, Ontario. You could blink as you were driving and pass the entire area by. I remember standing out under the trees behind the market table, making small talk with customers, bagging their vegetables and making change. It felt so odd to be on the other side of the table this time.

As I watched them, time warped oddly for a few moments as I dropped into the experience of being a young market girl, and then morphed back into my current experience of being a middle-aged customer standing silently in front of the vegetable stand, trying to decide what I wanted to buy. For those few moments, time broke free of its bounds and started to bend back on itself. It was an odd sensation. Time isn’t linear, I’m discovering as I age. The longer you live, the more your experiences seem to overlap one another in mysterious ways.

Once I’d gotten my head back in order, I resumed my walk among the stalls. The sun felt warm on my face, and the smells of ripening fruit and crisp vegetables were everywhere. I loved the sound of being among people, many different people. There was a low hum of voices and activity as people talked with one another, and exchanged money and produce between them. It felt comfortable and familiar, like a well worn shoe. There was absolutely nothing stressful about the experience at all, and that meant everything.

They say it’s the small things in life that bring you joy, and that’s absolutely true. Wonders like this one – a simple trek to the farmer’s market – can nurture happiness if we really pay attention. Over the next year or so, I’ve decided that I will share with you all the little pleasures I find, as I journey on my way back from burn-out. Every time I have an encounter that sparks my spirit back into being, I will write about it. Come along with me, if you like. Maybe it will help you re-discover the wonder in your life too.

I joined a writing class recently, and one of the exercises was to take a decade of your life and compress it all into a single page of three-word sentences. One page. Only three words per sentence. It takes a lot of thought. What do you put in? What do you keep out? The point of the exercise is to summarize your life experience as compactly as possible. To remove anything superfluous and discover what is truly important to you.

Before embarking on this exercise, I read, and was inspired by the writing of many others in my class. They made it look so easy. Through this exercise, you could quickly see the focus in each of their lives. There is something about the three word sentence that leaves no room for prevarication. It’s simple and to the point. It makes things crystal clear.

But when I compressed my own life into a single page of three word sentences, I was struck by how sad it was. The previous decade of my life has been filled with mountains of all sizes. Lots of climbing. Lots of sorrow. There were plenty of times when everything seemed completely lost. Hadn’t I reached bottom yet? How was it even possible for more things to go wrong? Was anyone else finding life this hard, or was it just me?

It’s funny, but I began the last decade thinking that life would now be easier for me. That it would be on an up-swing from that point on. I figured I had served my time as a daughter, wife and mother. My children were growing up and starting to make their own, adult-sized decisions. I decided that the next decade would be just for me. For the first time in my life, I would focus on myself and my own growth.

Well, I did grow, but not in the way I thought I would. I look back now on the woman I once was, and I can see how naive she was. I can see how much she still had to learn. I can see all the painful moments that she will soon be facing, and I can think of no way to warn her. On the other hand, I can also say that, even knowing what I know now, I would still have made the same choices. I may have been naive, and I may have made some mistakes along the way, but I knew what was important to me, and I was willing to fight for it. I stayed true to myself. There is a certain peace that comes from that.

What all of this boils down to, is how proud I am of myself this month. That long decade of pain and sadness, all those years that I struggled to summarize in my writing exercise, did end on a bright note, after all: I was able to realize a long-held dream. Since I was a young mother, I have loved the practice of yoga, and dreamed of one day becoming a yoga teacher. However, I doubted my ability to complete the gruelling 250 hour yoga teacher training that would be required, especially after I became sick with CFS. I wasn’t sure my strength would hold up. I wasn’t sure I would have the energy. Well, this past year, I finally did it! I actually completed the training! It’s hard to believe. Not only did I complete the training, but I have now taught my first two classes!

If I were to give a message to my former self – to that woman of ten years ago – I think I would tell her to persevere. During those long, dark nights of the soul, I know that is what she most needs to hear. I might warn her that the next decade will be more challenging for her than anything she has experienced yet. But I would also tell her that she will be OK. That she has all the support she needs, both within herself and around her, to get through it. I would tell her that, even though there will be plenty of days when things seem dark and hopeless, there are many people who love her. And I would tell her to lean into that love.

I would especially tell her to soften towards herself. To show herself more of the kindness and care that she regularly shows to others. One of the big lessons I learned over the last number of years, is that the people who love me don’t care if I succeed or if I fail. They don’t care what clothes I wear, or if I’m rich or poor. They just want me to be happy, and they will do everything in their power to support me in that effort. I’ve been humbled by their care. My heart may have been broken into a million pieces over the last few years, but these people have also helped me put it back together again. I’m incredibly grateful.

A few weeks ago, I had an unfortunate accident. It was a minor one, and a silly one, really, but it had consequences that have put me in a bit of a funk. What happened? I stubbed my pinky toe on the foot of my living room couch and fractured it. Yes, fractured it! It’s just another example of the kind of general clumsiness that I often exhibit. I seem to have a lack of awareness of my physical boundaries, and when I’m rushed or stressed it often results in some kind of injury.

My schedule is pretty busy, and so I remember staring at that fractured toe for awhile, even as it throbbed painfully. The way I saw it, I had a couple of options: I could just leave it and keep hobbling on through the rest of the day, ignoring the pain. It would no doubt feel better eventually. But as I continued to stare at that toe, now pointed out 45 degrees in the wrong direction, I knew deep down in my gut that it needed attention. It looked obviously broken.

I was still reluctant to take action, though. It would mean putting people out. Someone would have to drive me to the hospital, maybe even sit with me while I was there. The waiting would likely take hours, completely ruining the rest of the evening. The more people got dragged into this, the more unhappiness it would create. And all because of my clumsiness.

But when I showed my toe to my husband, Mike, he was decisive and uncomplaining. He got up right away, helped me into the car and drove me to the hospital. If COVID hadn’t changed the rules, he would’ve willingly sat with me in the waiting room and made an effort to entertain me as I stared despondently at my foot. I know he would have because throughout our marriage, he’s always been the strong one. I’ve never known him to grumble or gripe about anything, and there’s been plenty of things he could’ve griped about.

This whole situation got me thinking about support, and how important it is to each of us. None of us gets anywhere in life without someone to support us. The support could be financial. It could be emotional. It could even just be physical – the simple lending of hands when you’re about to move, the chopping and stirring when you’re trying to cook, the walking of the dog when you’re too sick to get off the couch.

I’ve been fortunate in my life to have had the support of many different people. I’m indebted to my parents for raising me up in the first place, to my aunts and uncles who kept their doors open, and lent me a shoulder to cry on in times of trouble. To my in-laws, who welcomed me into their home and supported me financially when I became ill. To my husband, of course. No words are sufficient to express the level of gratitude I feel towards him on a daily basis.

Over the long weekend, I travelled back home, to the small town where I grew up, and had the chance to visit with old friends. The joy I felt at reconnecting with these friendly, familiar faces was unbounded, and I realized just then how much they have supported me too. Not only do they show up for me each time I visit home, taking time out of their busy schedules to meet up, but they also provide emotional support. They make an effort to understand me, to offer their sympathy for whatever I’m going through, and most importantly, they’ve taught me how to dance in the rain.

Each of my friends have contended with a host of problems throughout their adult lives, among them spousal abuse, divorce, single motherhood, teen pregnancy, chronic anxiety, and even major heart surgery. I think it’s safe to say that none of us quite expected our lives turn out the way they did. It’s also safe to say that each of us have learned through these experiences what truly matters: friendship, humility, kindness, and that all-important ability to laugh, no matter what your circumstances. We do a lot of laughing.

And so, as I stare at the air boot that now protects my pinky toe, I see another example of the value of support. I know this boot will not heal me. I know that my foot will still hurt. I know that I will still find it difficult to walk, and half the summer will be gone before I can enjoy a good hike. There are no magical powers here.

But like all the other supports in my life, things have become infinitely easier because of it. Enveloped by its protection, I can actually walk without limping. I am protected from further injury. I continue to heal, and I heal more quickly. And as I consider the level of protection that surrounds both me and my foot, I understand what it all truly means. It means that, despite everything, even my clumsiness, I am loved.

On a lovely summer’s day last week, my son and his girlfriend finally graduated from university. I say ‘finally’ because, like all paths undertaken during the last few years, their journey has not been an easy one. Confused, distraught, and occasionally boxed in, they’ve persevered regardless.

Like all students during the pandemic, their classes were up-ended, changing overnight from in-person to on-line. Discussions with their teachers, once so easy to initiate, suddenly became obstacle courses of frustration. Everyone had questions and concerns, and email inboxes were quickly overrun. Opportunities that had taken months to set up, were washed by the wayside, possibly never to return. It was easy to become discouraged.

In the midst of all that, we were also dealing with big familial stresses. Julia had been moved into a nursing home less than two years before, and although she had been in excellent health for years, she was starting to decline. Just when she needed us, it was virtually impossible to visit with her. Relatives from far away were confused about what was going on, and needed to be assuaged. Supports that we thought would hold firm, swayed and then broke.

Work was also difficult. No one knew how well Julia’s business would fare during the pandemic, and it was already reeling from the loss of her. Her self, her voice, her story. She had always been the heart and soul of our business, and now, in addition to that uncertainty, we were now dealing with the world shifting beneath our feet. We had no reassurances. We had no idea what might happen.

There were days when it was extremely difficult to get out of bed. I would try to think of something good to look forward to, anything positive to propel me forward. On many days, food felt like the only thing good in my life – the possibility of a nice grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. That first cup of hot coffee. On other days, it was the serenity of the park as I walked my dog, watching the trees gently shifting above me.

We pulled together as a family. We put one foot in front of the other, and just kept going. Sometimes soft encouragement did the trick. Sometimes active pulling was required. Every once in awhile, someone would break down and need extra emotional support. We did the best we could to attend to everyone’s needs. I’m immensely proud of the way we’ve held each other together and supported one another through this extended series of challenges.

My sons learned valuable lessons along the way. Don’t give up. Keep focused on the job before you. Try not to become distracted by worries and fears that may not come true. Look out for one another. Be kind. Always be mindful of how someone else might be struggling. Don’t judge. Listen closely and show compassion.

And now, after such a long journey through a world fraught with darkness, it feels good to finally celebrate a clear win. I have nothing but hope for these two. I fervently wish that their next few steps will be easier. It is my hope that they continue to walk with confidence towards their future, in a world that is still quaking with change.

The last few years have been so difficult for so many of us. More than anything, I wish the same things to all of you. May your hopes be fulfilled and your future bright. May challenges that once seemed impossible be suddenly swept away. Thank you to everyone who has supported, and continues to support us throughout these challenging times. You mean the world to us.

It’s been difficult for me to talk about Julia’s decline and death. For the last few months, I have felt simultaneously wrenched and yet also numb. Silenced. Muted. It’s been too much to process. Too much to feel. Julia was such a large presence in my life. When I look around at her home, at her business, at all the things she left behind, I still can’t believe that she’s gone.

We didn’t exactly get on right away, Julia and I. When I first met her back in the year 1990, she was aloof, suspicious, and distrustful. I had just started dating her son and she wasn’t inclined to like me. I can still remember how she looked then. The skin on her face still had a dark-ish tinge about the sides, and she looked tired. She hadn’t yet learned how to heal herself, and so her demeanour was bitter and weary. When I said ‘hello’, she looked down at the ground and self-consciously patted her hair into place. I wondered how I, a young 20 year old girl, could possibly make her nervous.

As I look back now, I don’t think I made her nervous at all. Those gestures were merely a way for Julia to examine me more closely without appearing too obvious about it. In truth, she had most likely already made a judgment about me. Julia lived her life by following her gut instincts, and she trusted those explicitly. If she got a negative feeling about you, from something you said or did, that feeling would be exceptionally hard to shift. I don’t think I passed her test on that first day we met, but somehow, over the next three years, I did.

I knew that I had passed her test because, suddenly, out of the blue, she asked me to come help her at her health food store. She didn’t have to do that. By that time, I had been married to her son for almost a year and had just graduated from university. I was looking for work, and Julia said she could use some help. We figured we could help each other out. And so our humble journey together began.

If you worked for Julia at that time, you couldn’t help but respect her. Deep respect. Customers would come for miles to get her advice, and this was before she started selling her own Chinese herbal tinctures. They would ask her advice about which supplements to take, which foods to eat, which foods not to eat. She spoke with such intelligence and knowledge. I was in awe of her. One night, I sat at the dinner table with her, long after everyone else had left, and listened to her personal story. She was incredible. So smart, and yet so humble. A vulnerable little bird who hadn’t yet come into her power. I will always remember that special time.

In the years that followed, Julia and I worked more closely together. I became her right-hand man. I helped her manufacture her products. I answered email for her for years. We consulted with one another about her customers late at night, bouncing ideas off of one another. But make no mistake, it was always Julia who was in charge. It was she who made the decisions, and they were usually bang on.

And so it was very difficult for me, for all of us, when Julia began to decline. When her decisions stopped making sense. She would forget things, and Julia never forgot things. She, who had always been so sharp, began to do and say things that were definitely off. She forgot the names of common objects. She couldn’t tell what time of day it was. Long-time customers that had come to see her for years were suddenly forgotten. We would confer with one another. Is this normal? Should we be concerned?

It turns out, we needed to be concerned. The last five or six years have been tumultuous, to say the least. For, even as her memory slip-ups and judgment errors increased in number and severity, Julia never would accept that she had a problem. Up until the very end, she still believed that she was fully in control of herself. That she alone knew all the answers. She’d been deeply independent and distrustful of other people her entire life, so when we tried to place limits on her freedom, she could only ever see it as a personal attack. It was a very painful and difficult time.

Even when she was finally confined to a nursing home, she found a way to stay in charge. In her own mind, she was still going to work each day, and doing important things. She would tell the other patients that they needed to cleanse their liver. She would continually harass them for payment. “Where is your receipt?” she would demand. It was kind of funny, but it was also incredibly sad.

We finally lost Julia this past February. Although, in truth, we had already lost her years before. During our last visits with her in the nursing home, before the pandemic, I would watch her face, ask her questions. It was difficult to get her to sit still. She continued to believe she had work to do. That she was far too busy to sit and talk. And then, when the pandemic happened, visiting with her became almost impossible. During her last weeks, we had to watch her slowly decline over Zoom calls. She had lost the ability to swallow, and just withered away.

I feel privileged to have known, and been close to, such an incredible woman. I learned so much from her over the years. Many of her thousands of customers have told me the same. She inspired people. She changed lives. There are many pictures of her around our house, so I still ‘see’ her every day. I think of her often. I know that I will never forget her. She has left her mark on me, so she now comes along with me wherever I go, living through my eyes, and feeling through my heart.

If it is at all possible, I know she’s still having an impact, wherever she is. That’s just the kind of person that Julia was. Original. Exceptional. Unforgettable. I hope you rest peacefully, Julia.

Is happy the new wealthy? Is it possible that our thinking has finally evolved to the point that pleasure and well-being are rated more highly then the number of digits in our bank account?

Wealth and happiness are usually equated in our minds, which is why there is often great difficulty separating the two concepts. When asked what they think will increase their level of happiness, most people reflexively mention money without even giving it much thought. We dream of winning the lottery, of being able to afford a bigger home, or a better car, or an extended European vacation. And while all those things might initially help to increase our happiness, studies show they only go so far. Once a certain level of income is reached – usually about $75,000/year – happiness peaks. After that point, more money won’t really make you any happier. The bigger house no longer satisfies, the better car turns out to be a gas guzzler, and your mood dips back to where it was before as soon as you get back from that European vacation.

Similarly, at a nation-level, countries have traditionally used rising GDP as a sign of increased happiness and prosperity among their citizens. Yet, in spite of rising GDP in the United States, life expectancy is falling and rates of depression are soaring. In fact, the link between a growing economy and increased happiness is more tenuous than most would have you believe. According to The Economist, “the world’s population looks roughly equally divided between places where happiness and incomes have moved in the same direction over the past ten years, and places where they have diverged”. Clearly, financial prosperity is not the most reliable indicator of happiness.

Knowing this, it would behoove us to break apart this assumed link. Rather than spend our time working long hours, desperate for that big promotion, maybe our efforts would be better spent elsewhere.

A new study published in The Lancet directs us towards a better way to get happy and stay happy. In this study, it was found that the amount of exercise you get each week is a better predictor of happiness than how much money you make each year. More than 1.2 Americans were asked how much they exercised each week, which was then measured against how many times they felt emotionally unwell during the last 30 days (due to stress, depression or other emotional problems). Participants were also asked about their incomes.

After all the data was examined, it was found that people who exercised regularly were depressed fewer days each year than their non-exercising counterparts, regardless of their income. In fact, the researchers felt comfortable stating [that] “the difference between working out and not working out is the same as between individuals with a difference in household income of more than U.S. $25,000”.

Would you like to know which types of exercises were most beneficial for increasing happiness? They tended to be team sports, likely because of the increased socialization associated with these forms of physical exercise. But cycling and aerobics also rated highly, despite the fact that these activities are not team sports. For the best effect on your mood, aim to exercise 3-5 times per week, lasting no more than 30 – 60 minutes each time. People who exercised longer than that actually had worse happiness scores than people who weren’t particularly active at all, suggesting that social pressure or obsessive compulsive disorder may have been triggered in these instances, decreasing mood.

Interestingly, this study correlates well with ancient Chinese thinking regarding depression. For centuries, Chinese medicine has considered depression to be caused by “blocked liver energy”, which is why movement of any sort will get qi moving and blood circulating, improving mood. Also, herbs which are particularly effective at moving stagnation in the liver, such as those in our Chinese Bitters and Curcuma tinctures, should help to resolve depression more quickly. Curcuma is so well known for its help during depressive episodes, that the direct translation of the pinyin term for the herb is “gold for depression”. Naturally, since increased movement is key in this condition, these tinctures are best used in conjunction with a program of daily exercise.

So, if you are feeling a little low lately, it might help to know that you can increase your happiness quite simply and cheaply – just by moving more. It’s really a rather old lesson, taught to us by ancestors generations back, who felt happiest while working the fields, stalking prey, or just plain walking for many kilometers at a time. It’s a simple lesson, but in our more stationary world, we keep forgetting it. The key to happiness relies more on blood flow than cash flow. Money may be helpful, but movement is absolutely necessary.

 

“Kitsungi” is a form of Japanese art that I’ve always found fascinating.   Really, it’s more a method of repair than a formal art as it requires a broken ceramic object, such as a bowl or plate, that is then mended with a special laquer dusted with gold.   What makes this art form so special, is that there is absolutely no attempt made to camouflage the broken places.  In fact, they are deliberately emphasized.

This practice of accentuating damage and imperfection is related to the Japanese philosophy of “wabi-sabi”, which encourages us to see beauty in brokenness.   A similar sentiment is definitely operating at the newly opened Museum of Failure in Sweden, with a traveling exhibit currently in Los Angeles.   The idea behind this odd museum came from Dr. Samuel West, a Swedish psychologist  who noticed, and became sickened, by the modern habit of promoting success, while ignoring the importance of failure.

To his mind, it showed a lack of understanding of how crucial failure is for the creative process.  Successful innovators, like Steve Jobs, would never have achieved the wild success for which they eventually became known, if they hadn’t persevered through plenty of early failures.  Dr. West hopes that the Museum of Failure will make people comfortable with the idea of failure, and no longer fear it.   The fact is, if you want to create anything, you will fail, and fail often.  This doesn’t mean you can’t eventually succeed.

Within the Museum of Failure are nearly 100  items, many well-known, all of which went wrong in one way or another.   Select items include:  Google glasses, Sony’s Betamax VCR, New Coke, the “Bic for Her” pen,  and a Blockbuster video rental case.

Says Dr. West:  “It’s liberating to see these brand-name mega-corporations — who are perfect and never do anything wrong — and see them [expletive] up.  You think, when I try new things it’s okay for me to fail.  It’s okay, it’s inevitable. There’s something beautiful about that.”  The Museum of Failure even has a “confession wall” where you can write your own failure on a Post-It note and share it with the world.

This spring, as the trees start to bud, and the grass begins to grow once again, maybe it’s time to revisit an old dream – one that may have failed before, but with new knowledge and effort, may yet be brought to life.   Take inspiration from the art of kitsungi, or from the many items in the Museum of Failure, and see the beauty in any attempt, even if it’s botched or bungled.  As Leonard Cohen once sang, in a 1992 song  called Anthem:

“Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack, a crack, in everything.
That’s how the light gets in”.

So, give it a shot.  Let us see your imperfections, unique and precious as they are.  We also won’t miss that special glow you have, that shines through all the broken places from within.

 

 

 

 

Are you giving your wife chocolate or flowers for Valentine’s Day?  Both?  Perhaps neither.  If you want your marriage to last, it might be wiser to clean up the kitchen instead.

A recent poll conducted by Gleedon, a French dating website for married women, found that 73% of female subscribers decided to cheat on their husbands because he didn’t help with the housework.  For women, it would appear that the top reason to reach for another man’s arms is feeling over-burdened at home.

Infidelity may still top the list as the most crucial marital deal-breaker, but an uneven distribution of household chores is now rated as the number three reason for marital unhappiness, and its importance has risen the fastest over the last twenty odd years.  Back in 1990, a Pew Research study found that only 47% of adults said chore sharing was important to the success of a marriage.  By 2007, that number had risen to 62%, with the recent French Gleedon poll suggesting it is now higher still.

This change is likely due to the sharp change in women’s status from home-maker to breadwinner over the last several decades.  And while men have increased their share of household chores, I’m sorry to say that it’s still the women who do the bulk of the work.

To reduce marital strife, maybe men should ditch the chocolates this Valentine’s Day and put on the rubber gloves instead?  Just a suggestion.   As for my own husband, I have no complaints.  He cleans the dishes more than I do!