Some things are obvious. And then a response. That isn’t echoed enough.
But. Short of that. When you move from one house to another, from one county to another, from one state to another from one dialect to another…to have help, or the need of same, cannot be overstated.
I’m head of the line to know everything isn’t perfect. But that doesn’t mean we cannot at least hope for proximity to it. We were blessed with a great “find a mover” company that sought bids to load us up and get us to Leander, Texas. The head of that company knew how to link. A great link. When the “look it over first” agent came, his sense of humor matched his competency…both got A’s from us. Then the load-up-guys came…such efficiency, such politeness. They even promised to take good wrapping-up care of my fishing rods. A victory for them. And a smile that reached my eyes from me.
In the course of all that was selling our house…and I’m gonna name her, because if you live in the greater Seattle area and need a realtor who on a 1-10 is at least a 14 give Linda Ginsberg from Windermere a holler [aka “call” in Washington]. The escrow officer, CK Dotson, was better than good…everything scripted toward success.
We all arrived in the village named Austin…and were especially pleased that Faith and Caleb had no complaints about being crated and put in “storage.” They were glad to see us show up at baggage in Austin.
The closing happened, in no small manner because our Austin realtor, and I will name her should any of of our Austin area friends have need for same, Cathy Coneway, was more than competent. She had been an escrow employee for ten years previous to her becoming a realtor, so knew where the hoops were and what needed to be done. She helped closing on our new home from a hope to a reality. Yeah!
Had the good fortune of the movers coming a day before the original unload time window, so by Sunday night we faced lots of boxes. But, even more, we made it. We made it. A third time, we made it.
The cure for homesickness has started its progress…in leaps and bounds. My computer will be set up shortly so Tricia Gleason’s next journey—as a licensed minister in Snoqualmie, Washington, will begin. Lurking thoughts on the first few chapters but will hold that. More personally, our reason for being here, a family gathering’s on the primary agenda.
And then this happened. Two very overworked, and visibly hapless shirking the shoulders and lots of sighing people were before me. Within an hour of each other. The first stood behind the counter and said, “Sir, I’ll do what I can do.” Within ten minutes he returned and said, “I am finally successful. Here’s your post box keys and the numbers for same.” He then looked at the line behind me…probably a dozen people most of whom were shaking their heads in bitterness at having to wait for a post office transaction. I looked at him, because I had been forewarned the Leander community is growing the fastest in all of Texas, “Sir. We are new. Three days new. I understand you are all overworked…lots and lots of newly built houses. And I understand you don’t have enough workers. Please know my wife and I are some of those newbies. But we are newbies who appreciate people like you. We really do.”
He stopped, gulped, “Really? Someone here who’s appreciating us?” I smiled, waved, “I know how to clap and cheer.” He nodded…”Made my day.”
Ten minutes later stopped to retrieve our first batch of mail. The mail delivery lady, it was 5 p.m. and she stood before four rows of mail boxes and on each were various stacks of mail awaiting attention. And parked were 8 cars with people jingling their car keys—bet their mail box key was attached. It was like a chorus of rants…never thought of that before…but “ranting” works for the scowls of frustration.
The post office delivery lady looked weary…but also very frazzled. Got my mail—she had filled our section of post boxes—walked over her way, “Ma’am, can see you have your hands full. Sure a lot to ask for any of you. Please know you are appreciated…thanks for your efforts…you’re doing as much as you can. Thank you.”
She wouldn’t say a word. No, better, she couldn’t speak. Looked my way and nodded, rolled her eyes and then took a deep breath, held it, exhaled…said softly, “You’ll never know. But, then, maybe you….”
Bit her lip, nodded again, a faint smile…weariness has that impact…then, almost a whisper, “Some medicine you are for me.”
Okay…a couple of exchanges. Okay, gratitude is my mantra. Okay, we now be in Texas and families will gather.
But. I simply wanted to say that my memory’s pretty good…and where we’ve been is not distant…it is present with us. I give thanks—deep and profound thanks—for the ways you maybe aren’t Clint Eastwood, but in many ways I may never be able to acknowledge, you have made more than my day…you’ve brought the great impact of goodness and encouragement to my living.
Tricia’s now tugging on my writing sleeve…better see what she’s hoping will happen. However. Much to her, at times surprise, but more than she’d ever wish, frustration. Faster than a blink. Her hopes become fewer. Life does that sometimes. Doesn’t it.