I don't remember much from my early childhood, but one of my earliest memories takes place the day my parents, brother, and I moved into our house in Parsippany (my sister wouldn't be born for another two years). We had previously moved from New York to Massachusetts for my father's job; now we were moving to New Jersey, where we would remain and I would grow up. My father was at work, and my mother was overseeing the delivery of furniture into our new home. The front door was propped open so that the movers could carry in everything.
I was three years old and, admittedly, not the brightest toddler. I distinctly remember standing to the side of the doorway with my head sticking out, curious to see what was happening outside. Each time the movers came toward the door to carry in an end table, headboard, or sofa, my stupid head was in the way. My mother would gently push my head to the side so that I wouldn't be thwacked by the furniture. She had to do this repeatedly as I kept peeking outside. Over and over again.
Fast forward 50 years. My parents have been gone for almost 9 years, and yet they are still metaphysically moving my head out of the way to protect me from harm. I like to think this is what my colleagues -- professional organizers, daily money managers, senior move managers, appraisal specialists -- and I do for our clients: gently shepherding them away from physical, emotional, or financial danger. If you're in need of a referral, please don't hesitate to call or email me.
