In the July 21 section of the Opinion Pages of The New York Times, Frank Bruni writes about the joys of those couples who live just near and not with each other:
If Tom were always at hand and forever underfoot, we could divvy up more of the labor, true. But I don’t always want to. I like being able to make a big meal without him seeing the sweat and the mess and the dread that go into it. I like playing the music I prefer, at the loudness I choose, while the Cuisinart whirls. Later on he can arrive to a neatly set table, a perfectly roasted chicken, a play list for two, the volume set to his specifications.
MORE to the point, he can arrive, period, his presence a bit of an event, something vaguely thrilling and never taken for granted, a shift in the very weather of my apartment, like the humidity breaking or the sun fighting its way through haze.
Leave it to the country folks to be a little ahead on this particular curve; K.T. Oslin sung about this concept years ago.