Ask and You Shall Receive

Early morning at the yurt.

I finally asked. And my old friend, Leanne, came running. It’s a particularly bad (and common) habit of mine to not ask. I can come up with reasons shallow and deep for this but in the end I’m just cutting off my nose to spite my face. We spent a good part of Monday touching up trim and got the lion’s share done. Done enough for me to feel encouraged with the progress (although not by my painting skills, I’m afraid). And we ate a leisurely lunch on the front porch of my new home–our first of hopefully many to come.

My appliances are almost all in now and the plumbing–which has not gone off without a hitch or three–is nearing completion. So many little details, but each one seems to complement the whole as it is checked off the list.

The yurt building journey has been uniquely shaped by the outsized events of this year of 2020. Because of the Corona virus my vision of a “yurt raising” akin to a barn raising of old couldn’t happen as I’d planned. But the yurt did get raised, beautifully, by a wonderful group of my son-in-law and his close friends. And one of my dear friends, Al, was able to lend his tall body to set rafters and his strong arms to lift the heavy yurt roof.

The virus eliminated construction work for the two men, Joe and Wade, who could then build the yurt out on the inside, giving me the benefit of their skill and craftsmanship. The cabinets I’d hope to use were unavailable due to the virus, but others were found at a better price that I like quite well. The list goes on.

With just a few more steps before I move in, I find myself grateful and reflective and exhausted. The pinball machine that has been my life for far too long has run out of tokens and it’s just as well…I need to stop and listen and find a way forward that allows me, like the nation, to open back up.

And I will. We will. The shape of my world has shifted and I need my arms out to help me balance on occasion, but who doesn’t? I remind myself to ask for help with the moving process and to rummage up my sense of humor if I can find where I left it neglected awhile ago.

Evening light.

6 Comments

  1. Beautifully said as always. Seems like that not asking thing runs in the family. I have the hardest time, also. And I have had to accept a lot of help lately too. It’s a tough one, but worth it.

    Karen
  2. I’m glad that pinball machine is going by the wayside!
    I, too, struggle with asking for help. I’m finding that age is requiring more of it. I remember Mom needing help opening jars and other containers that, at the time, seemed like the easiest of tasks. Hmmm. I couldn’t get a jar opened to save my soul the other day! I sure would be asking for painting help since my skills have always sucked!
    I think you’re remarkable in all that you’ve been juggling for far too long, dear sister. I wish for the time when you can put your feet up as you’re watching the evening sun from your beautiful leather sofa. (A stemmed glass adequately filled with wine in your veiny hand.) ❤️

    Pamela Lindsey

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