1 min read

It had to happen.

My husband, D, got a job.

You're probably thinking: "It's about time, you lazy bum."

It's just not like that. He quit his job for our Colorado Trail trip. He works in a field where there are like 3 people who know how to do the work (SAS programming) and about a billion people who need it done. In order to not get another job offer, he left his "I'm in the back country" message on his cell for 2 months.

Since the trip, he's been at home playing house frau.

And he's really good at it. He's a much better house frau than I am.

He's reorganized the cabinets, deep cleaned the kitchen, cleaned the house once a week, vacuumed, reorganized our beekeeping supplies, cleaned out the closets, put away most of our summer clothing, and on and on.

He has also made a plan to redesign the house. He has started to replace the structural support of our 100 year old house. He even replaced the leaking bathtub fixture in our claw foot tub upstairs.

And he read all 20 of the Master and Commander series.

He still believes that food magically appears in the fridge and cabinets. But that's OK with me. I don't mind shopping and cooking. And I love to eat out. (Plus, TPWAWP is a grocery store.)

I knew that my little version of paradise was coming to an end when he read the last book in the series. Too bad Patrick O'Brian died...

I only have a few more days in paradise.

Is it better to have lived in paradise and lost it? Or simply to have never had paradise at all? I'll let you know.