So I’ve always kind of wanted to live on a commune. Not those scarier versions where the “leader” makes you drink poison and things, I just love the idea of neighbors helping neighbors. So in my garden I would plant lettuce, carrots and peas and in your garden you would plant potatoes, onions and peppers. You would help feed my family, I would help feed yours. You need a new roof? Zach helps your husband and I watch your kids.
Love that idea.
Thankfully I have a few friends (and family) who, despite our geographical distance, enter into our commune and help our family. One such friend is Beth. This woman is just a better person in ever single aspect than I am, but she’s so dang sweet I can’t help but love her for it.
So I’m doing this garage sale to help raise travel money. It is the bane of my existence. Eyes on the prize, though, I’m going to finish and add the probable $500 towards our plane tickets.
Anyhow, this little garage sale is taking up a tremendous amount of time. I had to miss our Wednesday play date last week to pull another “all day-er”. I get an email from Beth, “I need to help you, I hate imagining you under a pile of boxes. I’m coming over Monday to help.”
Who does that? Well apparently Beth does.
So last night she came over, I introduced her to “G and T’s” (Gin and Tonics) and we set (garage) sale-ing…for the next 3 hours. 3 hours of dusting off, tagging, throwing some things away (some things I just couldn’t force myself to put my claim on them), reorganizing, pushing, pulling, etc, etc.
No complaints from Beth. To top it off, she tried to PAY ME for a few things she took from the pile. This woman is out of her mind, clearly I should be paying her (and honestly, I would’ve bought new clothes for her little Lucia-who is waiting for her in Ethopia-anyway!)
So Beth, Beth is definitely in my commune and I hope she knows anytime she needs a head of lettuce or new tile for her bathroom floor, she can call us. Because that’s what we do in my imagined commune.