"The Spirit is Willing..."

     "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."  I remember my mother saying that all the time.  In my youthful naivete, I thought she was merely lazy.  Now I know better.  Presently, her words come back to haunt me on a daily basis, never more so than during the past weeks.  I moved three days ago, and the job was daunting, to say the least.  It was physically demanding, exhausting, and is not over yet, as I still have tons of stuff to put away.  Okay, not tons, but a great deal nonetheless.  

     I hired a moving company for the first time, but I still found the job overwhelming.  Although the movers belly lugged 98% of my stuff, somebody still had to pack it and unpack it.  Additionally, I carried some of my belongings myself-like most of my clothes (of which there are many).  You wouldn't think that clothes would be heavy.  Believe me when I tell you-they're heavy.  Especially when they have to be carried up two flights of stairs by a person seriously flirting with senior citizenship.  Additionally, I personally moved a myriad number of items that are precious to me.   

    Throughout the day of the actual move,  I was reminded of when I was newly married, at the tender age of 29.  My then husband and I (he was 32), helped friends of ours move.  They, like me, had three rooms of furniture.  They lived in a second floor apartment.  (I moved into a second floor apartment.)  My husband drove an eleven foot box truck from his job, and the four of us spent the day emptying out their apartment, driving forty five minutes, and subsequently loading up their new house.  I remember that day clearly.  It was August.  It was hot.  Yet we pulled off that job like it was something we did on a daily basis.  This move, however, was a whole new ball game.  For starters, I have a bad back, with injuries in two different spots, my lower back, and my middle back. I injured my left shoulder recently (did I mention I'm left handed?), and one of my feet is a total wreck, causing pain all the way up my leg.  Add to that the fact that I am 50-something years old.  WTFudge!  

     By two P.M., my body said "Enough!", and I could barely do another thing.  I sat down, and was basically done for the day.  Luckily, all my stuff was in, although I was compelled to, once again, live among all of my bulging boxes and bags of books, movies, countless kitchen items, knickknacks, etc.  I'm used to that though.  I've been doing it for weeks, while eagerly anticipating my big move...