A Handful of Blueberries and A Biscuit

I have to tell you something. Tiffany is adorable in the driver's seat of a 10-foot U-Haul. She has to scoot the seat way up so that her feet reach the pedals. Uncharacteristically, she's a little bit nervous and, consequently, very chatty.
"I can't see out the mirrors in this thing... it's so big...I hate driving big cars...I don't know why anyone would want a big car... am I in my lane because I can't tell if I'm in my lane... how much space do I have on your side..." she spouts.
Looking at Tiffany in the driver's seat of a U-Haul makes me happy because it reminds me of all the places we've been together and all the places we'll go together and... all the friends who've helped us along the way.
This morning, for instance, after Tiffany successfully double-parked the truck in front of our old apartment, five friends showed up to help us load our big awkward furniture and then to walk three blocks down the street to help us unload it.
Thinking we might get hungry, I made biscuits and cinnamon rolls on strategically left-behind pans. When I say "made," I mean Tiffany and I bought cans of biscuits and cinnamon rolls, and I peeled the paper away, popped them open and put them into the oven about 15-minutes before everyone arrived. But still. There they were for the taking, along with butter and honey as possible toppings, and some fruit for snacking.
On one trip to the truck, I asked our friend Gladys if she wanted a snack. She was stuck holding the door.
"A biscuit," she yelled, as I ran up the stairs. "And some blueberries."
I smiled because I was happy that I had a snack to offer. Friends who hold doors and carry awkward furniture deserve snacks, at the very least.
At one point, as five of us struggled to carry our couch up the stairs of our new apartment, time froze. I considered all the good friends who had placed themselves in the precarious position that these very friends were in now--climbing stairs they cannot see while holding a several hundred pound couch above their heads. I looked down and saw Tiffany straining under a corner and Gladys' fiance Chris straining under most of their end. I saw Rebecca--"Little Rebecca" whom I have known since she was born and whom I once pushed up and down the halls of her Mississippi home in a toy grocery cart--helping Tiffany with her corner and staring up at me like: holy sh*t, this couch is going to fall on my f'ing head. I looked to my left and saw our friend David holding most of our end. I looked up, as I strained to lift my corner onto the next banister, and I could see Rebecca's girlfriend Sam, wide-eyed, praying for our progress, and Gladys, smiling and laughing the way she most always is, looking down at me like: holy sh*t, that couch is going to crush my fiance, but it's still so funny!
Later, we stood around in the few feet of uncluttered space in our new apartment. And I considered what a marvel moving is. And how much easier it is with a handful of blueberries and a biscuit.
And some damn good friends.