My mother and I took a trip up to the Aubuchon this weekend; we were looking for a spring rod so I could hang a curtain. We got some fine service while we were there, too. I don’t think there had been many female clients that afternoon.
When we got to my new home, we hung the curtain and then we split a Limonata. It’s funny how my mother intuitively knows when I’m upset or anxious. I was greatly disturbed by the number of dishes I had to put away. I pointed out the boxes that were full of neatly wrapped glasses, cups, saucers, and serving pieces. I don’t know why I was overwhelmed; they had all had a place at The Coop and I had fewer cupboards there than I do now.
I was glad my mother was visiting because it kept me from confronting the dishes.
My mother said “do you want me to help you put some of your dishes away?”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can do it later.”
I was taking the Scarlett O’Hara approach, thinking about it tomorrow.
Later is not in Helen’s vocabulary. She didn’t give me the trademark “she who hesitates is lost,” though. She used a different strategy.
“We could just unwrap a few dishes, one at a time.”
I didn’t realize it, but Helen was using the old Abominable Snowman technique on me, suggesting I put “one foot in front of the other.”
We got up and started working on a box of glasses.
Before we knew it, the box was empty.
“Do you want to do another box?” Helen asked?
We put away every dish that was in a box or on the kitchen counter.
Helen looked at her watch and said she had to go home. She gave me a big hug and encouraged me to take it one thing at a time; she said there was no hurry to unpack everything today. A little today and little tomorrow and soon everything would be in its place.
Then a semi-serious look came over her face.
“You don’t need one more dish or dinner plate, though.”