My Girl

The last few weeks seem as blurred as print without my reading glasses. Although we are not completely unpacked, we have located the basics and our lives are starting to return to their normal rhythm. I’ll be starting my blogging return with a few posts related to our relocation. Today’s post is dedicated to my daughter.

It is said that good things come in small packages. Strength, however, is usually equated with the opposite side of the size spectrum. At just a couple inches over five feet, Calico does not evoke thoughts of Herculean strength. A few pounds, added in her forties, increase the impression of softness. Only those, who have seen her in action, realize just how deceptive that appearance is.

We were sorely disappointed by the performance of the movers, who loaded the truck for our move from Georgia. This time, Calico decided to load the truck herself. She reasoned that she could do a better job, not to mention saving us a few hundred dollars. Even I, who have witnessed her strength on more than one occasion, had my doubts. I knew she could handle the boxes and even some heavier pieces of furniture. I have also seen brawny men sweat and swear after repeated attempts to move our mammoth side-by-side refrigerator-freezer.

Calico planned well. As we packed items, she moved the boxes to the garage, so that they would be close to the truck when it came time to load. By moving day, most of the non-essential furniture had also been placed in the garage. No amount of planning could predict the100+ degree temperature that moving day held. I refrained from watching as she loaded the washer, dryer and stove. When the refrigerator went out the door, I found myself compelled to watch. Calico smoothly rolled it up the ramp to the truck, but as she maneuvered the dolly to turn it, I watched in horror as it twisted out of control and made a slow motion fall against her. It had to hurt, but it didn’t show on her face. She paused for a moment with legs braced, then pushed the refrigerator upright again and moved it into place. I don’t think she would even have mentioned it, if she hadn’t seen me watching. She never complained throughout the heat of a long afternoon, although her face was red and her hair and clothes drenched with sweat.

It was probably a relief to drive the truck the following day. She arrived too late to unload, but was up at 5am to begin unloading, hoping that she would get most of the work done before the day got much hotter. When the floor installers arrived, they were amazed that she had singlehandedly unloaded the truck. Now, she only had to return the truck and catch a bus home to transport family and pets.

It should have been the easy part. There was a wait of several hours until the next bus arrived. Since the bus station is only open for a few hours a day, she walked to the nearest restaurant, a Taco Bell, in the blistering heat. Although it was afternoon and the restaurant was empty with the exception of a few others waiting for the bus, management timed their stay at the tables. In Georgia, I have sat in a Taco Bell for over two hours, reading a book and sipping on an ice tea. On the hottest day of the year, when the heat from the sidewalk melted the soles of her flip-flops, this restaurant actually checked their watches, so that no one exceeded their few allotted minutes of time to eat. (No, we will not be visiting their restaurant in the future.) Calico arrived home around 3am, already showing signs of deep sunburn. Her feet were blistered from the heat of the melting flip-flops and her arms and legs bore dark bruises incurred while loading and unloading the truck. The large bruise across her middle from the refrigerator was merely the icing on the cake.

My girl is strong and I’m not just talking about physical strength. In the 1700’s, she could have been a pioneer woman, fearlessly braving the unknown. In the 1860’s, she might have been a steel magnolia, grabbing a rifle from the gun cabinet and defending her home and children. Hurting from head to toe and bone weary, she didn’t complain about the next day’s return drive, the furniture to be moved from the garage to the house or the return trip to Memphis to move some things that hadn’t fit on the truck. 

Using one of our favorite lines from Finding Nemo, she smiled and said:

Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.