I knew one of my daughters had a live reading last night. She’d won an award at the local arts council and they’d be recording her performance for the radio station. I put it in the calendar but when the hour came, I simultaneously lost track of time and somehow assumed it started later than it did. When I realized my hour, I blew out of work and met Chris in the church parking lot to scoop her up. We arrived a half-hour late, only to find them locking up. It was a quick reading, guys. Sorry.
Just then, an elderly lady walked in. They greeted her by name as she yelled (seriously) I thought it started at 7! What is wrong with me?! The kind attendant suggested my daughter read to her, and he began to unpack his recording equipment. The woman sat, enraptured as my baby shared the tale of the summer when she was injured by our new puppy and had to visit the emergency room, bringing special attention to her memory of the doctor with a voice that boomed like thunder.
A staff member came out of the office and by the end of the reading, there were three of us. I apologized profusely, to everyone from my baby girl to the arts council staff to God to my husband. I’ve been quite busy at work during a potential career transition, and apparently there just wasn’t enough room in my foggy brain for Friday night at the arts council. Everyone was gracious, especially my daughter… it was the perfect audience, Momma. I wasn’t even nervous.
I can keep a lot of plates spinning, but only for so long. The crash is sometimes small, sometimes loud, always heavy, a kind reminder that I should not attempt to do it all.
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