: schlepping and toting :

Toting and schlepping. Lugging and humping. Carrying and hauling.

That’s how we spend a good part of our day, isn’t it? Schlepping stuff from one place to another. Groceries or dry cleaning or kids or the trash, something. Hell, that’s how I spend most of my life it seems. I can’t even remember the last time I was empty-handed. Was I ever?

Surely there was a time when I wasn’t totin’ that barge and lifting that bale. When my arms were free to make grand, sweeping gestures. When I didn’t have to drop everything just to answer the phone. But if there was, I don’t remember it.

I have powerful and myriad memories aplenty of tripping up stairs, careening down hallways and through doors, weaving around corners and across parking lots, from one end of the world to the other. Hauling all manner of junk: from homework to lumber to mattresses.

Do you know what I’ve never carried, though? Not even once? I’ve never carried a tune. Isn’t that sad? I’ve tried; believe me I’ve tried. In the car, in the shower, at home, in elevators. I came close a couple times, but nope. I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

I wonder: will there ever be a point when we have everything we could possibly need right where we need it? I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I’ll always be out of something essential, either toilet paper or clean socks or cash. One thing or another. In fact, maybe that’s one of those immutable laws of the universe, like gravity.

When. oh when, can we finally sit down, put our feet up, and not have to think about what needs to be carried where?

Oooh, I know, how about now? Sound good? It does to me, I’m tired. Have a lovely evening, boys and girls.

TTFN  : )

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14 thoughts on “: schlepping and toting :

  1. My life/help/housemate grew up with a woman who believed that men should be waited on. I, on the other hand, didn’t receive such instructions. If I had a nickel for every time I’ve said, “I only have two hands,” or “What, are you legs broken?” I could hire a factotum for him.


  2. And no matter how much you carry, if you’re a woman of a certain age it’s not going to prevent the dreaded third-grade teacher arms. You know, that area between the shoulder and the elbow that flaps a jolly Hello! every time you wave? I do plenty of toting here at the farm, yet my arms keep a’blowin’ in the wind.


  3. Rob is unable to carry a tune. He’s tried. I heard the dogs howl as a result. He is good at carrying other things, though. I’m grateful for that fact.
    Keep your feet up, Lisa. The load will still be there in the morning.


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