We have an elderly neighbour, Agnes. Agnes remembers the people who built our house, she does. Agnes is somewhere in the neighbourhood of eighty, and smaller than I am. Agnes also does far too much.
Friday night, she called wondering if she could borrow our picnic table, for she was having a yard sale the next morning. I told her we’d bring it right over, and she immediately wanted to know if she could come over and help us carry it.
Later, she asked if one of the kids could also come over and help her set up. By the time I woke up fully, I wandered over to Agnes’ and discovered Addison already there and helping. Shortly after that, we decided to pack it in, as there were more drive-by-lookers than shoppers.
Addison and I helped by moving her own picnic table back, all the while insisting we didn’t need her help. After I told her there was no way I’d let her lug the picnic table, she mentioned something about her sore arthritic hand, so maybe she’d have trouble with it anyway. I heaved a big sigh and gave her my best Mom look.
When we were leaving, she also argued with Addison over paying him for helping. I think she wound up four bucks in the hole.
Do you have a neighbourhood Agnes? Someone who insists on doing things on their own, even though they shouldn’t but they don’t want to bother anyone? She’s a sweetheart, though. She’ll take my extra zuchinni.