Y’all remember Mr. J, my very kind next door neighbor?

Read: What Mr. J did shortly after I moved in…

He came over to make apologies for all the work trucks that were in my backyard (they’re tackling a couple of the grandpapa trees in his yard), and then started poking around for information…

“What happened to that garage door? Yea…lemme take a look. I figure I can fix that…”

…and in the magical way that some of our aged ones have about them, he coaxed-out my stories –

“Oh, yea. Them bunnies. They’ll do no harm.”

“Don’t let that contractor pull the vent inside; it’s gotta be outside.”

“Let me take that house vent to the shop. I got some WD40. I figure I can make it work. Those screws have to be flush to the bricks.”

I’m shy (read: introverted) and don’t want to interrupt my neighbors, though I really want to be neighborly. And not only do I appreciate the help, I really need it. I’m not handy. Y’all know. Even he knows that well enough to laugh out loud when I say it.

I tell him I don’t want to be any trouble…that I’d really like to help somehow in return…

We’ve already been down this road. He doesn’t want my money. He’s diabetic, so #yummygoodness isn’t really a kind gift in response to his help.

He looks at me and says: “I know how you can help. I got one of those Fitbits…and somehow, with the computer or your telephone, you gotta activate it. You know anything about that? I want you to come over and set that up for me.”

A big ol’ grin spreads across my face, “Mr. J. I got you. Now that, I can do.”