We’re All in This Together. Someone Bring the Drill.

I’ve been excelling at ineptitude lately. My manic brain is tap-dancing onstage in a bright pink tutu, with all my body parts jiggling. Quite a performance, but I’m getting little done.

A photography friend came over this week to straighten out the computer program we use to edit and catalog photographs. Again. With a trip approaching, I wanted to find my pictures and keep them safe—a reasonable ambition for a photographer.

We’ll call her Lola. Before she left, I asked if I could use her name here. We agreed on Lola. After two hours with my files, she may have appreciated an alias.

“I see the files, but for the life of me I can’t figure out where you put them,” she said.

Neither could I. That was why she was there.

Pictures need to be organized and stored safely, preferably somewhere I can find without a search party.

Lola played Sherlock Holmes while I continued conducting business. Apparently, watching someone untangle the consequences of my ineptitude didn’t discourage me from adding more projects.

It was embarrassing. It also filled me with gratitude. She was giving me her time, patience, and skills I clearly needed.

“Lola, sometimes I need adult supervision.”

We laughed. I was serious.

We compared notes on what others help us do and agreed there was a column in it.

Fortunately, the people around me recognize when I need a competent adult. Several have helped turn my far-fetched ideas into reality.

For the Fourth of July, I wanted banners in our cove. I knew how they should look. Attaching them was where my expertise ended. Along came Nancy and her drill.

Becky reviews my designs for the neighborhood entrances and usually suggests toning things down. I thought I had exercised restraint with only two sets of red ornaments, but restraint looks different from across the room.

Once she edits my design, she installs it. Having seen my attempts, she politely declines my help. Nancy can attach things. Becky knows what best reflects our neighborhood. I adjust the designs. 

Alan, who is more than six feet tall, gets things down so I don’t climb a ladder. At five-foot-one, retrieving a serving dish could require an ambulance.

Allen (not to be confused with Alan) walked me through my new camera’s settings over the phone. I can take an artistic photograph. Preparing the camera required a call. One handles altitude and the other handles autofocus.

Larry walks Gabby while I’m at work. He is a retired veterinarian. Gabby has someone with a doctorate to get her out of the house.

The other morning, water was spewing from the outdoor faucet. Nick was walking by in flip-flops when he saw me struggling. He couldn’t turn it off either, so he went home for a wrench and returned to shut off the water while standing in a mud pit.

He also clears our driveways when it snows. All I ask is a potty trail for Gabby. She has business that cannot wait.

I fill Nick’s refrigerator with soups and stews. Feeding people is one of my gifts. I can also decipher medical portals and government forms. A competent adult should handle anything involving a level and a drill.

Some days I feel alone. Then I remember how many people show up for me. I hope I support them as generously as they support me. I am grateful.

I hope you have those people in your life.

They surround me. Occasionally, one is standing in the mud. He was only trying to take a walk.