weeds.jpg

It’s official. As of Friday, we own two houses. We flew up for a thirty hour stay to perform a final walk through and sign papers. We have returned to the old place to wrap up packing duties.

This week will be filled with last minute debates like when to pack the toilet paper, do we really want to transport our houseplants, and whether or not to buy bread or spend the rest of the week dining at the local watering hole.

We are either beloved by friends and family or deplored by them because we are receiving offers to help. The proposals are pure in selflessness, but there is the minor detail of wanting to locate possessions after they’ve been boxed and transported. I appreciate their generosity, but I’d prefer them take the time to share a meal or a pint, than pack the mystery items stashed under the bed.

People want to be needed. Everyone, from the youngest toddler to the oldest grandmother wants to feel useful. The importance of the task seldom matters, just the desire to participate. Sometimes you should to allow others to “help” so they know you still need them in your life.

It’s humbling to ask for help, but it asking isn’t an issue of humility for me. I recognize I possess a stubborn self-sufficiency. I don’t believe in asking others to help me with things I wouldn’t be willing to assist with if I were asked. I have moved people, helped paint houses, remodeled fish ponds, provided technical support, and other physical tasks. I am willing, but I’d rather pay laborers I can bark orders to.

For most tasks remaining, we’ll hire muscle. I know how heavy our sofa is, and how many sheets of birch plywood were required when I constructed flat files. I won’t ask my friends and family to jeopardize their spinal health to move our heavy life, but I don’t feel guilty paying a couple guys cash for their labor.