The circus left
town. Without me.
Two years ago this
month, my husband was offered a job in San Antonio, Texas. The offer was too good to pass up. During the ensuing months, I became star of
the Big Top. I juggled like my life
depended on it…because it did.
In December 2011, I
moved my husband to Texas and set up his apartment.
During the winter, I
finished a kitchen remodel in St. Louis and laid 1,200 sq. feet of wood
flooring.
I put our house on
the market in March and sold it six weeks later.
That summer, I put
all of the family’s belongings in storage and moved the children and I into a
corporate apartment, as there were no rentals available in my son’s school
district until August.
When August came, we
retrieved some things from storage and moved into a Kirkwood School District apartment. During a quick trip to San Antonio, Tim and I
decided to have a house built.
Two return trips to Texas
in the fall provided opportunity for me to make decorating decisions for the
house.
Throughout my son’s
Senior year, we visited prospective colleges and kept up with the resulting
paperwork. (He visited ten schools.)
With the arrival of
another spring (We’re up to May 2013, in case you’ve lost track.), I moved my
daughter from Truman State University to Des Moines, Iowa for her
internship. My son graduated from
Kirkwood High School and went to orientation at Drake University. We collected our things from storage and the
apartment, and moved them to San Antonio.
I kept all the balls
in the air. I kept moving.
![]() |
from the U.N.I. years, when I first encountered juggling |
Years ago, I was a
theatre major at the University of Northern Iowa. As a requirement for an acting class, I had
to learn to juggle. It wasn’t that the professor thought we would literally join the circus, but it was an
exercise in concentration. I never was
very good at it. (My lack of any type of
athleticism was apparent.) My most
uninterrupted tosses were accomplished by facing a wall. With only three feet between me and the wall,
the balls had few escape routes.
The balls of the last
two years never escaped, but a few certainly went astray. Now, however, the last ball is put away.
What happens next?
Journalist Cokie
Roberts once said: “Women…often they’ve
spent their early years juggling so many different activities that they were
simply making it through the day. But
then they reach a point where they are able to integrate their life
experiences.”
I juggled so much in
the last two years that I felt lucky to simply make it through each day. What happens when the balls are put away
though? That’s what I’m trying to figure
out. What life experiences can I
integrate into this new life, in this new place? What happens when time (which there never
seemed to be enough of) returns to its normal pace.
In short, I’m
breathing again – taking big gulps of air and exhaling with a well-deserved
sigh.
I’m writing
again. (This blog is proof
positive.) I hope to return to the book
that was in progress two years ago.
I’m meeting new
people – through organizational means, as well as the former Chicagoans who
happened to walk by our house with their dog.
I’m finding ways to
volunteer.
I’m taking care of
myself.
I’m finding time for
me.
And I am exhaling.
Sometimes, when I
close my eyes, the balls are still flying.
One, two, three balls - no wall to rein them in - picking up speed. A drop is imminent.
My eyes squeeze
shut. I blink the threat away. And breathe.
You are so missed here.
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