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Things have been remarkably busy over the last few days, and they look like they will continue to be so.  In addition to my usual teaching duties, concerns of the move have taken up much of my time of late.  My beloved wife made it to town on Tuesday, and with her came my mother-in-law, whose visit was fairly helpful and enjoyable.  She left for her home this morning, and I am soon to be joined by my father-in-law, his wife, her daughter, the daughter's significant other, the daughter's children, one of my wife's uncles, and his wife.  They are to help with the move, transferring my wife's things and mine from the containers in which we had them shipped down (and which arrived on Thursday) to where they will rest in the house my wife and I share.

There are many hands to do much work.  It should go smoothly--but "should" and "will" or "does" are seldom the same thing.

For example, the boxes within the cargo containers should have remained relatively well stacked; they were heavy enough in many cases or most to not move.  Yet I found several upside-down and severely impacted when I opened the containers yesterday afternoon to ensure that things would not fall out onto the heads of my helpers this weekend.1  So far, none of the boxes have show up with things in them broken, but I have only looked in a very few as yet, and I saw many which are not in as good a shape as I had seen them last, when they sat in rows and stacks in what was my Brooklyn apartment.

I cannot say that I am hopeful.

Many of those who know me well and care deeply about me (insofar as they can be numbered "many") would suggest that the things are simply things, and that what is important has already arrived safe and sound in the person of my wonderful wife, so those who would remind me of that would be right to do so.  It is likely the case, too, that they would say I am being overly pessimistic--and it is possible that they are correct.  It may be the case that the boxes and packing have done what they are supposed to do and absorbed the destructive forces of any impacts that the goods sustained, deforming in the process of keeping safe the things I do treasure.  They might also suggest that by focusing on the potential for ruin, I am isolating myself from seeing the good in things, and in that, too, they may be right.

But there are benefits to pessimism.  For if I am right, then I am ready for what I see, and I am not rendered entirely ineffective by the shock of the surprise.**  And if I am wrong, the surprise with which I am confronted is a pleasant one.

*I have a long working history of things hitting me in the head, so that I would consider it a job well done were a box of my books or some such to lay itself upside my hairline.  But it is not the case that others fare similarly, and while my head is more than hard enough to resist such a thing, I am not at all sure that some of those who are coming can take such a hit.

**I am rendered ineffective by being ineffective.  Surprise had nothing to do with it.