Hobbling, but happy

Hobbling, but happy. That’s me.

I’ve been in Chicago. My big brother (the legendary Charlesinparis) had a conference there, and said to me ‘If I come over a couple of days early, will you come up and hang out with me?” We stayed with Expat Mum, she who showed a group of English bloggers round so ably this time last year. She plied us with tea, wine, nuggets of information about living in Chicago. I met the Ball and Chain (I didn’t call him that). Thank you Expat Mum. You really looked after us well. Ah, Bloggy Friends, it was fabulous.

We went on a boat trip, we went to the Chicago History Museum, we shopped, we saw the Bean (I love the Bean), we ate, we drank, we talked, we went to the top of the John Hancock tower (second highest building in the US) and felt a bit wobbly looking at the view. Here's a picture of the Bean.


We walked miles. Miles and miles. Mies and mies (van der Rohe) - little Chicago joke there. I don’t walk all that much in my daily life (one of my beefs about living in my car-orientated city), and after the first day I was feeling the muscles in my feet and lower legs. I was wearing natty city shoes, not my usual flip flops (it’s still summer weather here), with a little more of a heel than I’m used to. But I wasn’t going to let aching limbs and extremities curtail my city experience. By the end of the second day, I had a blister on each foot. The one on my left foot was on the sole, right in the middle of the fleshy pad, and BIG. Don’t you love blogging? Where else could I share details of my pedicular woes and be sure of a sympathetic ear? I must have looked a sorry sight hobbling through airport security at O'Hare. I’ve spent the week-end walking on the sides of my feet, and wincing, but it was worth every single painful, incapacitating step.

There is a big city person inside of me. It’s quite a small corner of me these days, but it needs a fix every now and again. My big brother is a big city person. But even if he’d invited me to spend a couple of days in a cave in the middle of nowhere, I’d have gone (and I wouldn’t have got blisters). We couldn’t remember the last time we’d spent two days in each other’s company, one on one. If ever. It’s very different to spending time in a big family conglomeration, which is how it usually is. It was wonderful. Thank you, Charlesinparis.

Hobbling, but happy… that’s rather how I am in my life at the moment. Quick update. I did enroll to do an MA in Christian Ministry. I’ve rather taken myself by surprise. I love it. I really do. Every minute. And therein lies the rub (speaking of blisters). There aren’t enough minutes in the days any more. I’ve also upped my hours at the toy shop for reasons that have their own internal Iota-style logic, though an outsider might look at my life and think “Hm, interesting timing”. I do love being busy. I’ve had too many years waiting for green cards, recuperating from chemo, being the at home mum who I love being but who has ceased being as busy as she used to be now her children are getting bigger and going to school. So now I’m busy, but aaaargh, there aren’t enough minutes. Is this what they call juggling? Struggling and juggling, hobbling and bobbling, I call it. Hobbling, bobbling, jobbling and wobbling. I have so much in my mind that my brain has run out of compartments. The chicken casserole we’re having for dinner is all mixed up with Church History, 14-yo’s need for new soccer boots, Neil Armstrong (school project), and Savlon. All to the soundtrack of 10-yo's clarinet practice and the Disney Buddy Songs CD that 7-yo bought at a yard sale at the week-end chim chimma-nee chim chimma-nee chim chim cher-eeeee. It’s not pretty in there, I tell you.

Hobbling, but happy.


Photo credit: www.explorechicago.org