The Juggler
Judy Conlin
I have always been a multitasker, but lately I believe it has outgrown that nomenclature and has transformed into “a juggler.” Let me explain.
Since I turned 90, I have had one health issue after another. Doctors, tests and time for each one until it was cleared up. The very next day, another cropped up. This has gone on for three months. The current problem is clearing up, but it still requires more tests and visits.
If all goes well and it does get resolved and nothing else pops up, this would be one big ball less to juggle. Let’s hope that is the case.
My second ball is my church. I volunteered to be the spokesperson for the Missionary Moment each Sunday. I said I was a good speaker, having been a teacher and an actress. Now, suddenly, my voice has become raspy, and I croak like a frog. I don’t know if this is just a permanent fixture of old age or if I should see a throat doctor. I know the church folks are too polite to mention anything, but I’m sure they wonder what made me think I was a good speaker. I have been drinking tea with honey, but so far I see no improvement. I just keep juggling away, trying to find a solution.
The theater is my next juggling act. We are putting on a Halloween radio show in October, consisting of four separate stories. I am in three of them and wrote one of them. The problem is, when I wrote the one, we had no men in our group. There were three men in the play, so women had to play all the roles. Now we have two men back, and that leaves one woman without a part. I am trying to figure out how to work in another part and have it be sensible. Juggle, juggle, juggle. We are now meeting every week instead of twice a month to get ready, and there is more precious time lost.
To make matters worse, I am also a cat mother. Feeding two inside cats who are mine and two outside cats who are not mine could be a juggling act, but we are doing fine there. The guy who is causing problems is my big, fat, 13-year-old grumpy cat called Beebe.
Beebe has long, silky black hair and usually looks dapper in his tuxedo suit. He has always loved being brushed and knows where his brush is kept. If I do not brush him often enough, he scratches me and the drawer where it is kept until I brush him. This system has worked well for a long time, but lately his fur is getting full of mats, which he refuses to let me touch. I cannot find a groomer to help.
On top of that, he has conjunctivitis in one eye. I have gone through a bottle and a half of eye drops from his doctor but have only gotten a few drops in his eye. No matter how I wrap him, he fights me like a tiger, spitting and growling and escaping. If I only had one more hand, I might be able to juggle this big problem ball called Beebe.
I also am juggling my writing business. My friend says it is just a hobby, not a business, but she is wrong. It is a business that I repeatedly neglect. I don’t get to all the festivals I used to. I do not keep my webpage up to date. I give too many books away instead of selling them. I do have a booth at the October Fest and the Holiday Sale in downtown Havana, but the preparation and booth manning take a lot of time, the one commodity my life seems to be lacking.
Of course, I can’t forget the columns that need to be written every week. Coming up with two separate stories for two separate papers each week is not easy for this old girl, but I could juggle it if it wasn’t for a couple of cats that I have to juggle every week.
Beebe and his sister Momau both fancy themselves as writers. As soon as I sit down at the computer, they both try to get on my lap. No, they are not loving me. They are trying to tap the keyboard and swat the screen. They are diligently trying to get their creative genius out.
I would assist them with getting it published, but their tapping makes no sense to me. They must be tapping in cat language. I do understand the swatting at the screen. I often feel that way myself when my stories don’t come out right. I push one on the floor. The other hops on. I have to lock them out to get anything done.
All I do is juggle day in and day out. I think I have the solution. If I could just have one more hour in a day, one more day in a week, one more week in a month and one more month in a year, I think all would be well.
Is that too much to ask?
After all, it is my first such request in 90 years.
More later,
Judy
