~1 year ago
Me (I am their mailman and am talking after delivering the parcels and picking up the outgoing and I am leaving, almost to the door when I physically feel something invisible brush against me. I turn around:
“Hey I just had a thought. It looks like I might need to move at some point in the near future, near being 1-3 months. My situation is [I briefly tell them why I may have to move and that the timeframe could be sooner rather than later].”
Property Management Staff “J.” (It is a large complex set on 26 acres and it has a community garden where I sometimes take lunch after delivering their mail, and it seems stable cuz there is not a lot of turnover among names in mailboxes and I rarely, rarely see a moving truck, and J. and F. at the front desks are always so nice, )
[Oh, and it is on my
former God route, 2201]:
J says, “We have exactly what you need; it’s our B****** Community just below the office here.”
I listen to the details and the reasons that it is ideal for me and I filter out any glowing marketing-speak from J. even though she speaks pretty straight and I get the information for “next steps” and I leave to continue working. I think maybe I have a piece of paper that she hands me too.
It’s another time, same space and I am delivering their mail again. I am definietly going to have to “move”, so I tell them and she smiles and I hand her $50 and she puts me on the “waiting list.” [I am using quotation marks a lot, mostly for fun, so when you see one — they come in pairs so you will be hard-pressed to see only one, but you could try — when you see them maybe a chuckle is in order.] Ugh, she says there are ten ahead of me on the list but “it usually moves quickly and we will do what we can for you.” I say okay and I will call on my next day off, bring a deposit, and look at an apartment, if you have one. And she says it sounds good, we do have a unit we can show.
Let’s shorten the story:
I call on my day off and I show up on time and F. shows me around. She is being kind and this experience does not seem like a chore or a “major life choice” or that I am at “the crux of destiny”. It is just a stop on a path, it seems. “I have three apartments that I can show you,” she says. I am surprised, but it’s cool and we look at three and I express preferences and she keeps steering me toward the downstairs flat with the patio, and I am drawn up to the other two. I pay my deposit and when i ask about the waiting list she says that it went away and which apartment do I want? I am close to tearing up in at least one eye and it is too too soon for the office staff to see a grown mailman cry, so I say the one with the patio. She says “unfiltered” that “it is a good choice and you are going to be happy with it. We will paint everything and give you new carpet. This is an outstanding community.”
Not a mailman any longer, I’m not delivering my own mail. I am on that patio, and there are new-ish paint and carpet behind me inside. It is comfortable in there because after I moved in I had one week before I would have a surgery (the first one). I knew that I would be unable to lift and that I’d want to come home to some order, so I unpacked and “decorated” over two days and an “all-nighter.” The rest has been maintenance and tidying since.
Today, I am sitting here in a chair on this patio and I have had a second, more extensive surgery, one that would prohibit my taking stairs for weeks during recovery. I know why, another time ago, I was led to this space, the benefits of which I could not then see.
The patio chair is one of a pair that I found, solid wood and comfortable. I always keep both ready for a visit.
I muse over paths and pathways and the Benevolent One making the way straight at times as we travel forward (not backward, except to taste the rosemary) and toward some spaces.
I am here. You are there. It is now. What is it, what wonder will unfold as his path takes us into the unseen then and there?
Here, laugh: “Shabbat Shalom.”