When my husband and I first married, we had an informal agreement of sorts on the division of responsibilities, both intellectual and physical.
He would handle al the major decisions in our family-decisions such as whether we go to war, or how to handle the national budget deficit and such other world-shaking decisions that needed to be made. I would take care of the minor decisions, such as what kind of hour to buy, how it would be furnished and decorated and what schools our children would attend.
He did his part, taking care of the major decisions, leaving me with the rest, as they were too minor for him to handle.
For example, when we bought our current home, I was determined to have a beautiful garden. I ordered a couple of truck-loads of topsoil, which were dumped on the street in front of our house, and I brought out a wheelbarrow and began steadily shoveling topsoil, moving it onto the backyard. My husband, who was inside the house, noticed that the heat was getting to me. So when he opened the door, I thought he was coming out to help. Instead, he shouted that I should come inside and take a 15 or 20 minute break. He was compassionate, at least, I thought, as I took the break he recommended.
When he says, “we need more tomato plants or basil plants,” the “we” means he will go to the nursery and buy them for me, but his duties end at the door or the house. He gives them to me to plant and to cultivate and to wee and water, and to pick when they’re ripe.
So, he sees the plants to the door, and he eats the fruits when they’re on the table-the full extent of his involvement.
But this year brought the world champion division of labor to our home. Being a graduate agricultural engineer, it probably makes sense that I do all the heavy gardening in our family, but it doesn’t stop my husband from describing what’s growing in the garden as “our tomatoes” or “our cucumbers.” That’s not bad for someone who had never set foot outside the house to even plant one seed. The crowning blow came the other day when he told me that he saw the tomatoes growing good in “our garden.” I was amazed. “Did you actually go outside?” I asked. “Well, no. I used the binoculars, and you can see them very clearly from the living room window.” he said.
While I’m weeding the tomatoes and harvesting the basil and cucumbers, my husband is staying indoors, waiting to handle the next major national crisis, as well as the next delivery of fresh vegetables from “his” garden.
This is a recipe for pasta that you can use your garden produce.