Before I tell my latest story, I have to preface it with some information. My husband has been engaging in a rather rigorous exercise regime for about four years. The result is that he’s in the best shape of his life, his biceps are one of the wonders of my world, and he’s quite strong. Just how strong, I didn’t fully realize until last week.
Last week, we went out for a day trip to look for, and possibly purchase, an antique sofa or settee. We found, instead, two antique chairs and a large area rug. The rug just took my breath away, as it is about 15 x 20, wool, Persian, and in all the right colors for our newly-painted upstairs landing room. This area will be, someday, a reading nook and quiet space for me.
We brought the goods home and, since the weather forecast called for rain that evening, decided to bring our new items into the house. My husband pulled the truck up next to our front steps, which are fairly wide and long. There are about seven of them leading into the front door and hall. We easily carted the chairs into the house and placed them in the living room.
The plan was to carry the large, cumbersome roll of rug up into the front hall and put it down. My hubby said he’d get a friend to help him take it to the second floor.
So, we maneuvered the rug off the back of the truck and Matt took the roll – about midway up the roll – under his right arm and tucked it onto his hip. I gamely grabbed the back end and we trudged up the front steps and into the doorway.
As my feet hit the next to the last step, it occurred to me that the rug was not nearly as heavy as I had thought. We were going at a pretty good clip, so I called out, sweetly, “Honey, let’s just keep going.”
[Now, when Matt tells this story, he recalls it somewhat differently. He says that I adopted the vocal tone, pitch and volume of a Marine drill sergeant and bellowed out, “Just keep going!”]
Whichever account is accurate, through the hall and to the staircase, we went, rug in tow.
At the top of this staircase – which is eleven steps – there is a small landing, after which there are four more stairs to the left. On this small landing is a precious artifact (given to me years ago by my amazing husband) called a “Santos.” This wooden figure stands about three feet tall and is perfectly tucked into the corner of the landing at which the stairs turn.
As my foot hit the second step, I lost my grip on the rug. This is when I realized that (a) I hadn’t been “carrying” any of the weight at all and in fact, may have been adding to it, and (b) Matt was carrying this enormous roll of rug under one arm and moving up the stairs.
I again, sweetly and a bit nervously, called out, “Honey, watch out for the Santos.” He made the turn successfully with me dancing up the stairs behind him, looking around him to check the Santos. [His recollection of this part of the adventure differs from mine as well. According to him, I screeched rather like an enraged falcon, “Watch out for the Santos!” as he was trying to navigate the turn.]
He arrived at the top of the stairs without incident and the rug is absolutely stunning. I was so thrilled and notice that I am giving him full credit for getting it up there!
As I thought about it, it occurred to me that “just keep going” is a good mantra for life in general. Whether you’re facing a difficult task, a tough decision, or just some tedious chore, it’s always good to just plow through. Now, whether you tell yourself to keep going in dulcet tones, or like an owl in heat – that’s up to you.