“You look tired. I think you need a day off.”
This is Sandy, the woman who will be selling our house, stopping by for what has become a weekly dose of commiseration, encouragement, and problem solving.
“I don’t think I can take a day off,” I said. “The window guy is coming.”
“He can come tomorrow — the weather isn’t very good anyway. Call him and ask him to wait. And I’m going to give you the number of a wonderful woman who gives massages.”
Sandy has a strong track record of selling houses here in Louisville, and I get the sense she’s like a trainer of thoroughbreds, calibrating very carefully when to push her clients and when to ease off. The seller who looks a little peaked today needs a slow walk around the track; the one who’s making strides might be ready to sprint through that punch list.
In any case, I feel very lucky to have her at a time when every little hiccup seems like bronchitis: Oh my gosh, will we ever get the basement floor treated?! What am I going to do about the light fixture on the porch?! There’s this piece of hardwood sticking up and the floor people won’t call me back!!
And, with her permission, I’ve scheduled that massage.