Perspective is Everything...
Had a small collision with reality this past weekend...
I was cleaning out the basement storage unit of our erstwhile apartment and came upon a couple little yellow bags of rock salt that DH has on hand to winterize the cars. Thinking that we were definitely going to need some this winter, since our new place out in the country is without maintenance staff all set to clear the walks and porch before we get up, I decided to add them to my pile of things to go.
Oof! I made it most of the 50 feet to the base of the stairs, then had to set one down and carry them one at a time the last few feet.
Talk about wimpy, decrepit old ladies! I couldn't even carry a couple 10 pound bags of salt!
I left them at the base of the stairs and went slowly up to our third floor apartment, completely spent and feeling hot and tired and sort of depressed. After a half hour of sitting with a glass of ice water and kibitzing my husband as he was packing his stuff, I went back down to get my MIL (who lives in a first floor apartment) and head on out to the 'ranch' so to speak. DH would follow later, having packed his car...
I left the many empty boxes and trash at the top of the basement stairs for DH to take out to the dumpster (it was just too far to walk any more that day) but I decided he would probably forget the two bags of salt I had told him were still at the bottom of said stairs. So, I went downstairs and brought them up, one bag at a time, one step at a time...lift bag, lift other bag, step up, lift bag, lift other bag, step up, etc.
Finally, I get to the top of three short flights (4 + 7 + 4) and then -- THEN! -- I take a good look at the little bags and discover:
All of a sudden I don't feel so wimpy any more.
I mean: ME, aged 60 something, carried not one, but TWO 25 pound bags -- at the same time! -- across a basement...
Heh. From that angle, I'm pretty hot stuff.
Still.
I was cleaning out the basement storage unit of our erstwhile apartment and came upon a couple little yellow bags of rock salt that DH has on hand to winterize the cars. Thinking that we were definitely going to need some this winter, since our new place out in the country is without maintenance staff all set to clear the walks and porch before we get up, I decided to add them to my pile of things to go.
Oof! I made it most of the 50 feet to the base of the stairs, then had to set one down and carry them one at a time the last few feet.
Talk about wimpy, decrepit old ladies! I couldn't even carry a couple 10 pound bags of salt!
I left them at the base of the stairs and went slowly up to our third floor apartment, completely spent and feeling hot and tired and sort of depressed. After a half hour of sitting with a glass of ice water and kibitzing my husband as he was packing his stuff, I went back down to get my MIL (who lives in a first floor apartment) and head on out to the 'ranch' so to speak. DH would follow later, having packed his car...
I left the many empty boxes and trash at the top of the basement stairs for DH to take out to the dumpster (it was just too far to walk any more that day) but I decided he would probably forget the two bags of salt I had told him were still at the bottom of said stairs. So, I went downstairs and brought them up, one bag at a time, one step at a time...lift bag, lift other bag, step up, lift bag, lift other bag, step up, etc.
Finally, I get to the top of three short flights (4 + 7 + 4) and then -- THEN! -- I take a good look at the little bags and discover:
All of a sudden I don't feel so wimpy any more.I mean: ME, aged 60 something, carried not one, but TWO 25 pound bags -- at the same time! -- across a basement...
Heh. From that angle, I'm pretty hot stuff.
Still.
Labels: house, testaments
posted by Cheryll @ 2:31 PM
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