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Note: If you haven't read Part 1, start HERE.

Part 2

You can’t imagine my joy when I first entered the gym. I had never seen so many jugglers. The first person I noticed was a young woman named Cindy. She was effortlessly juggling 5 clubs in various patterns. I was in awe. A man named Bill came up and introduced himself as the person in charge of the group. He asked if there was anything in particular I wanted to learn. Passing. I had originally been inspired to juggle by the Flying Karamazov Brothers, a juggling quintet who do some fancy passing patterns. I definitely wanted to learn how to pass. He gave me some basic lessons and then set me to practicing with another juggler who was learning passing. Note: Neither of these guys is my husband. Looking back, I realize I was one of a very few women jugglers. Most likely I was also the youngest person in the group. It says something about my innocence that I couldn’t imagine any of the men in the gym had any interest in me other than as a fellow juggler.

After practicing, the jugglers went out to eat. Two of them escorted me to the subway, because by now I was so confused about where I was I wouldn’t have found it alone. Streets in the Village twist around a bit, and they have names rather than numbers, so it’s easy to get lost. It was very late, so I guiltily called home from the station and steeled myself for the consequences.

I think my relationship with my mother changed a lot from that day. I was her baby, and because of my asthma she worried about me more than usual. We came to an understanding, and I agreed that from now on I would call when I was leaving and I would have someone walk me to the train.

At this same time, my father had promised to take me to the NY Renaissance Festival. I had known about it since high school, and had only been to it once. This year my father had agreed to take me on Sunday, the very last day of the festival.

The Thursday before the festival, I went to the gym to juggle, my third time at the juggling club. Afterward, we went to a Chinese restaurant called the Hunan Balcony. I sat next to Bob, the guy I had been practicing passing with, and Bill sat across from me. At some point, Bill asked if anyone was interested in going to the Renaissance festival for the last weekend, because R had comps. I said I was going. R told me he worked at the festival as an environmental player (walks around with a cockney accent). In my poorest imitation of a cockney accent I asked, “So how does one get to work at the Renaissance fest?” He told me. In great detail. And all the time I just met his piercing blue eyes and listened to his deep voice.

After we ate, we stood outside the restaurant and I asked if anyone could walk me to the train, because I had promised to come home earlier. (Early being a relative term, as it was close to 11.) R volunteered. I remember exchanging looks with Bob for a second. He had driven me home the week before, but he hadn’t volunteered to leave the group early tonight. As I walked to the train with him, there was something very interesting going on. I couldn’t tell you what we talked about, I only remember the feeling of energy that built up around us.

Of course, my father took forever to leave for the festival. By the time we got there, there were only a few hours left before the fair closed. My father and I watched the “Wooing Game” and hung around for “Trial and Punishment,” where environmental players accuse festival goers of outrageous crimes and mete out their unusual forms of punishment (like eating gummi worms). I scanned the crowd and saw R. standing on the opposite side of the stage. Or was it him? I have the misfortune of not being able to recognize people if they are out of place or wearing costumes. I also assume no one will recognize or remember me. After the show, my father wandered off to get some food and I wandered off to look at jewelry. That’s when R. grabbed my hand and started to take me off to the stocks!

Children were playing with the stocks, luckily for me. I had brought my clubs, so he suggested we pass. I apologized for my bad throws, explaining I was left handed. Imagine my amazement when he told me he was a lefty as well!

We were also both the third of three with an older brother (first born) and sister! By the time my father ambled back, R. had rushed back to his next scene and I was floating!

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How I Met My Husband

Let me just reiterate, in case you didn’t realize, I am an Incurable Romantic. I believe in destiny, in soulmates, in love at first sight. I will now give the cynics a chance to gag and leave the room...
 

To tell about how I met my husband requires me to look back several years before I actually met my husband. There were several factors involved in bringing us together. The first was a request I made to God (we talk a lot). When I was 15 or 16, I was your typical awkward teen, very self-conscious and a bit boy crazy in my shy, withdrawn, “no one’s ever going to love me” way. One day I was sitting in my room and I asked God to please pick out the man I would spend the rest of my life with. I trusted His judgment, I didn’t care how long it would take as long as he brought us together. My only requirement was that I wanted him to be an actor (yes, I wasn’t too shallow). I then went on with my teenage life and entered my first crush. The word crush is extremely appropriate, because it aptly describes putting your heart on your sleeve, only to have it pounded into the ground by a sledgehammer when the feelings aren’t returned. I entered a period of depression that I will not dwell on here except to apologize to my parents for the h--- I put them through.

It was my original request that buoyed me past that first crush. I reasoned that it didn’t happen because obviously that boy was never going to get into acting. When I graduated high school without ever having a date, I always returned to that thought.

After high school, I took a year off from school. Dad made it clear that he didn’t approve, but I was sick of school at this point and didn’t want to rush back into a world of homework and tests. It was during this time that I learned to juggle three balls. It was also during this time that I found out about the Starlight Foundation and started volunteering at their city office. The Starlight Foundation (are they still around?) granted wishes to children with chronic and terminal illnesses, which set it apart from your typical wish charity. I was too young to grant wishes, so I worked in the office and helped at their annual fundraiser dinner.

The September following my year off, I started college. I bought my first set of clubs that autumn, and beat myself silly teaching myself to juggle them. I LOVED college. I wondered why elementary school couldn’t be set up the same way. It took some time for me to get used to the idea that I could take any class I wanted, provided it didn’t have a pre-requisite. I was very happy at this point in my life. By the second semester I was hanging out with drama students, even though I wasn’t in the acting program. I still hadn’t met “the one” and I could count on one hand the number of dates I had.

The June after my first year of college, there was a juggling and unicycling festival at Central Park. Now here is an interesting twist of fate. I could have met my future husband at this festival! We were both there! But instead I hung around the devil stick workshop area and tried to learn this skill (which eludes me to this day). The guy who ran the workshop, Alex, told me about the Carmine Street Jugglers, a juggling club that met on Thursday nights in the West Village in Manhattan. I was in love with juggling by now. The idea of being around all these fun people, learning to do all these interesting things. I wanted to go.

The only thing was transportation. All through high school I relied on my parents, especially my mom, to drive me there. The subway scared me, and I didn’t know that area of the city, so I was afraid of getting lost. I think my mother was also afraid of having me take a train downtown. She turned me off from the idea numerous times, telling me she would drive me down “sometime.” Summer Thursdays started slipping away. 

The next significant event was a sad one, but it was very pivotal. My cousin died in a car accident. My younger cousin. My very popular younger cousin. I was 19 at the time, he was still in high school. His car had plowed into a tree. I remember being dumbstruck by the amount of cars in the funeral procession. He was so loved. Morbidly, I started to imagine my own funeral. I didn’t think anyone other than family would notice my passing. This compelled me to go to the juggling club again. I was desperate to break out of my sheltered existence. I called for subway directions to the club. When my mother started putting me off that Thursday, we had a big argument and I took off for the train station. With the amount of adrenaline flowing through me, I wasn’t scared of anything.

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