June 30, Merrimac.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
The skater.
June 29, Pepperell.
We were here two years ago, on the same lot; at first it seemed like a new town, then the gazebo and skaters' park behind us brought back memories. Then the memories came rushing in.
I remember this kid in particular, maybe because he had such grace about him, he skated so effortlessly, he seemed to flow, not just skate, he appeared as absolutely in his own world as anyone could hope to be, he was skating, the others were parading, showing off, practicing, flirting. Here he was, two years later, the same place, the same group of kids congregating on an early summer day, almost a man now, but there was also a little of the intimations of life's complications to come about him now, the free-flowing gone, but not the grace, yet.
I almost had the urge to hold him, to wish time sucked out of his life so that it would not reach his lucky childhood's simplicity, before even the most privileged have to face life's intricate fights and delicate deceits.
Dylan was having the time of his life, hanging with the big boys, he'd found a helmet someone had left there, he moved in there with Gigi's scooter, in the morning when there wasn't that many kids around, but then I had to pry him out, he was just too small.
He is so small, he has a lot of time, he's at the cusp of things yet.
We were here two years ago, on the same lot; at first it seemed like a new town, then the gazebo and skaters' park behind us brought back memories. Then the memories came rushing in.
I remember this kid in particular, maybe because he had such grace about him, he skated so effortlessly, he seemed to flow, not just skate, he appeared as absolutely in his own world as anyone could hope to be, he was skating, the others were parading, showing off, practicing, flirting. Here he was, two years later, the same place, the same group of kids congregating on an early summer day, almost a man now, but there was also a little of the intimations of life's complications to come about him now, the free-flowing gone, but not the grace, yet.
I almost had the urge to hold him, to wish time sucked out of his life so that it would not reach his lucky childhood's simplicity, before even the most privileged have to face life's intricate fights and delicate deceits.
Dylan was having the time of his life, hanging with the big boys, he'd found a helmet someone had left there, he moved in there with Gigi's scooter, in the morning when there wasn't that many kids around, but then I had to pry him out, he was just too small.
He is so small, he has a lot of time, he's at the cusp of things yet.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
The photographers.
June 28, Littleton.
There are no less than three photographers with us today, they're practically walking over each other.
They are a steady fixture along the circus seasons, the photographers, mostly men, they come and go with expected regularity, attracted by our exotic beauty no doubt, Mary Ellen Mark, maybe, or Bruce Davidson, the young shots, the established, the commercial photographers, the no-flash-I'm-a-documentary maker photographers, the studio types, the I've-always-dreamed-about-doing-a-story-about-the-circus types, they come and they go, the usual story, peeking in, on their way.
I recognize myself in them, sometimes, an old familiar shadow I don't necessarily like to remember. I view them with longing, sometimes, too, the freedom of just working you craft, no kids and no early morning daily calls, just shooting away. But always I'm a little startled, and then giddy, to be the one that gets to bite into the gritty show of our lives every breathing craggy moment.
We go on, the last bohemians of the American road, and the mystery stays entirely ours.
There are no less than three photographers with us today, they're practically walking over each other.
They are a steady fixture along the circus seasons, the photographers, mostly men, they come and go with expected regularity, attracted by our exotic beauty no doubt, Mary Ellen Mark, maybe, or Bruce Davidson, the young shots, the established, the commercial photographers, the no-flash-I'm-a-documentary maker photographers, the studio types, the I've-always-dreamed-about-doing-a-story-about-the-circus types, they come and they go, the usual story, peeking in, on their way.
I recognize myself in them, sometimes, an old familiar shadow I don't necessarily like to remember. I view them with longing, sometimes, too, the freedom of just working you craft, no kids and no early morning daily calls, just shooting away. But always I'm a little startled, and then giddy, to be the one that gets to bite into the gritty show of our lives every breathing craggy moment.
We go on, the last bohemians of the American road, and the mystery stays entirely ours.
A long way.
June 28, Littleton.
Much ado about the hundred-mile-long drive this morning, horrid Boston traffic it would be, and it wasn't much more than a highway that wouldn't end with no more traffic than any.
Oh well, no complaints.
But the way our brain work, the anticipation, hearing Sara leave at four in the morning it seemed, then Casey and Nikki, not being able to go back to sleep, really, for worrying, relieved when the phone rang at five for me to get up and make coffee. So much for trying to take things in the present, my brain in overdrive most of the time whether I like it or not, and I don't, especially when it comes time to make a picture from the heart, not the mind, the loosening of all the learned filters between eyes and heart, or is it that old worn word, soul, impediments on the way to seeing, the loosening of all the defenses, taking in the world as it comes rather than as we think it, stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking.
A long way it was, and is, indeed.
Much ado about the hundred-mile-long drive this morning, horrid Boston traffic it would be, and it wasn't much more than a highway that wouldn't end with no more traffic than any.
Oh well, no complaints.
But the way our brain work, the anticipation, hearing Sara leave at four in the morning it seemed, then Casey and Nikki, not being able to go back to sleep, really, for worrying, relieved when the phone rang at five for me to get up and make coffee. So much for trying to take things in the present, my brain in overdrive most of the time whether I like it or not, and I don't, especially when it comes time to make a picture from the heart, not the mind, the loosening of all the learned filters between eyes and heart, or is it that old worn word, soul, impediments on the way to seeing, the loosening of all the defenses, taking in the world as it comes rather than as we think it, stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking.
A long way it was, and is, indeed.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Reyna's last day in the ring.
June 25, Berkley.
Reyna asked me for a picture of her in costume.
Turns out today is her last day as a show girl this year. She is three months pregnant.
In their shoes.
June 25, Berkley.
Rona Mann, a reporter for a small newspaper in Rhode Island called The Westerly Sun, came to do a story on the circus, and a ritual she has been performing for years whereas she puts herself in someone else's shoes for a moment. Last year she tried a Risley flip and this time she tricked roped with Joel.
I took advantage of taking pictures of her to corner Joel for a picture.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Three days.
June 23, Berkley.
An unexpected three-day stand and not much to show for it so far.
After waiting for an hour and a half to be parked in an ugly muddy field (our usual spot is unavailable this year, much to our collective chagrin,) Alex, Danny, Oscar and Tavo working hard and having to call in a tractor and forklift from town to rescue the circus semis and other heavy vehicles, our second day off in a week was spent doing laundry, after Dylan wet his bed, and because this is the way things happen the washing machine malfunctioned and I had to do the wash all over again. Not that I would have done much anyway for our car has a fuel pump problem (seems to be our mechanical problem of the season, after the motor home's similar issue stretched for an eternity back in April) and after cringing through making a left turn at a stop sign for the better part of fifteen minutes it looked better to just head home and pray we would make it without having to push the thing along.
The rest of the holiday was spent under water, showers to be exact, which had the unfortunate consequence of further condemning the day by making it all but impossible to interview Joel and Adrian, as planned, because the sound of the rain on the car would ruin the recording.
Some people were off to Boston, went to the museum, went shopping, Cape Cod would have been a great choice, or visiting any of my friends in the area, the list is endless of what you can do on a day off in a seven-days-a-week circus season.
Ah but it stopped raining some time around eight in the evening, and Joel was gracious enough to still agree to the interview then.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
A trailer with a view.
June 23, Berkley, Massachusetts (44 miles, 49 South Main Street, a farmer's field.)
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Day two.
June 22, Mendon.
Woke up with the rain, and the sound of the circus stakes truck pounding away.
Nicolas watched from the boys' bedroom window (the window I take a picture out of every morning.)
Travel day's little things.
June 21, Mendon.
Today was a travel day. We arrived at nine o'clock and spent the rest of the day working, doing laundry, the usual stuff of a day.
Trailers were parked haphazard around the lot, surprising against the precise order of the circus with or without the tent going up; the school parking lot next door where they would have been arranged was off limits for the day, for apparently school officials had no knowledge we were coming. We ended up wedged at the entrance to the cook house tent, and rather liked it. We are staying here tomorrow (no need to wake up early to move.)
The guys were listening to Mexican music at John and Reyna's, the pie car this year, passing the afternoon away.
It almost seems as if we don't know what to do with ourselves when we have the day off.
Today was a travel day. We arrived at nine o'clock and spent the rest of the day working, doing laundry, the usual stuff of a day.
Trailers were parked haphazard around the lot, surprising against the precise order of the circus with or without the tent going up; the school parking lot next door where they would have been arranged was off limits for the day, for apparently school officials had no knowledge we were coming. We ended up wedged at the entrance to the cook house tent, and rather liked it. We are staying here tomorrow (no need to wake up early to move.)
The guys were listening to Mexican music at John and Reyna's, the pie car this year, passing the afternoon away.
It almost seems as if we don't know what to do with ourselves when we have the day off.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
The second time around.
June 19, Saugerties.
Two years ago it was pouring, the trailer was leaking and Fridman was gone the minute we arrived on the lot, off to bring back a circus truck from the Chicago area. I remember being stuck in the trailer all day with the then babies, the frustration of not being able to see Saugerties, not being able to do much, barely making it to the whoop in between rain drops. Today is a gorgeous day, sunny and breezy, and a walk downtown, breakfast at the bakery, window shopping, taking life easy.
There is always a second chance.
Two years ago it was pouring, the trailer was leaking and Fridman was gone the minute we arrived on the lot, off to bring back a circus truck from the Chicago area. I remember being stuck in the trailer all day with the then babies, the frustration of not being able to see Saugerties, not being able to do much, barely making it to the whoop in between rain drops. Today is a gorgeous day, sunny and breezy, and a walk downtown, breakfast at the bakery, window shopping, taking life easy.
There is always a second chance.
Millbrook.
June 18, Millbrook.
Martha Stewart has a house in the area. So do Katie Couric and Mary Tyler Moore.
There was a nice farmer's market downtown this morning, croissant at almost three dollars and organic everything. And two other full houses.
Martha Stewart has a house in the area. So do Katie Couric and Mary Tyler Moore.
There was a nice farmer's market downtown this morning, croissant at almost three dollars and organic everything. And two other full houses.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
The drives.
June 17, Cortland Manor.
Something about not being on a certain highway after seven in the morning had me frazzled all drive long, so stressful those drives, the rain, the dark, like this morning, or traffic, and the maze of East Coast highways, and it's a sigh of relief when I turn off the engine, safe, on time, home for the next twenty-four hours. We had a five o'clock call in order to be off the Bear Mountain Parkway before seven and of course a whole caravan of us wasn't, didn't even get on the highway by that time, much less got off of it, but nothing happened, we just drove on.
I started getting some asthma on the way, the feeling of closing in on my lungs, take a deep breath and breathe but you can't.
Something about not being on a certain highway after seven in the morning had me frazzled all drive long, so stressful those drives, the rain, the dark, like this morning, or traffic, and the maze of East Coast highways, and it's a sigh of relief when I turn off the engine, safe, on time, home for the next twenty-four hours. We had a five o'clock call in order to be off the Bear Mountain Parkway before seven and of course a whole caravan of us wasn't, didn't even get on the highway by that time, much less got off of it, but nothing happened, we just drove on.
I started getting some asthma on the way, the feeling of closing in on my lungs, take a deep breath and breathe but you can't.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Strip mall sadness.
June 16, Napanoch.
The Napanoch Valley mall is a familiar sight.
We played here two years ago; it came back as we pulled in, the only sign of change a lot more weeds. It has been a constant sight along the road these past two years: a strip mall gone extinct, sitting empty but filling the area around it with its neglect. It is a familiar sight but no less gripping for it, this ubiquitous sight of an economy gone bad at the most basic level, affecting a whole community along with its demise, the loss of jobs only second to the loss of that vitality which makes a neighborhood, a small town.
This mall now sometimes hosts a flea market site on week ends, the Ames sign in the marquee is ripped and fading, the trace of a store long gone, cracks and craters in the parking lot, where the circus is, bits of pavement on the ground, and detritus, broken glass, weeds taking over.
Several New York correctional facilities are a few miles up the road.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Lush.
June 14, Greenwood Lake.
The horses in the morning in the lush grass, waves.
By afternoon they had chewed it down to a stubble.
Full houses.
JJune 14, Greenwood Lake.
Both shows full, rain again and a surprise visit by Courtney.
The Secaucus dash was so successful as well, the city, our sponsor, asked us back for two days next year.
Let the good times roll.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Tiny's help.
June 13, Greenwood Lake.
The day without shows filled with its own languor, slipping out from under us, just an extraordinary day off in a circus season.
Jeremiah's younger brother, barely eighteen, joined us last week to take care of the ponies along with Tiny. Their blue shirts in concert as they worked in the field behind the circus.
Secaucus.
June 13, Greenwood Lake.
Secaucus, right by the City.
So close.
Half the circus got lost on the way in, New Jersey road maze crash course for small-town America circus drivers (confusing directions made everything worse.) The Fuscos went by the same toll booth three times; the attendant recognized them the third time around and let them by with no charge.
Kristine came by; we met with her sister and went for lunch at an Indian restaurant on Route 17, then for ice-cream at Carvel's. Kris bought a little Fiat, the new version of the "yogurt pot" car of my childhood, and it has turned out to be a road novelty and a guy magnet. The last of today's long series of comments and thumbs-up, an old Latino guy in an oversized red Cadillac pulled over next to us at a traffic light, rolled down the window and said, "Nice car." We said we liked his and he chuckled.
We were in and out of Secaucus in a few hours as we had to move last night to avoid weekday morning traffic. It was a stressful drive for me, the blind night driver. The reward: two whole days here plus a day off today.
This is a beautiful lot in a postcard-perfect mountain village.
Secaucus, right by the City.
So close.
Half the circus got lost on the way in, New Jersey road maze crash course for small-town America circus drivers (confusing directions made everything worse.) The Fuscos went by the same toll booth three times; the attendant recognized them the third time around and let them by with no charge.
Kristine came by; we met with her sister and went for lunch at an Indian restaurant on Route 17, then for ice-cream at Carvel's. Kris bought a little Fiat, the new version of the "yogurt pot" car of my childhood, and it has turned out to be a road novelty and a guy magnet. The last of today's long series of comments and thumbs-up, an old Latino guy in an oversized red Cadillac pulled over next to us at a traffic light, rolled down the window and said, "Nice car." We said we liked his and he chuckled.
We were in and out of Secaucus in a few hours as we had to move last night to avoid weekday morning traffic. It was a stressful drive for me, the blind night driver. The reward: two whole days here plus a day off today.
This is a beautiful lot in a postcard-perfect mountain village.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Ritual ice-cream ride.
June 11, Plumsteadville.
A little advertising while enjoying your Death by Chocolate cone: some of the performers rode in fire trucks to Chubbys Ice-Cream shop across the street, the way they did last year, our little Kelly Miller Circus yearly tradition, unless it's pouring down rain, as it did two years ago, and did just minutes after we got back to the lot this time around too.
The ice-cream was just as good, and there were even some of those tee-shirts I love left over from last year.
A little advertising while enjoying your Death by Chocolate cone: some of the performers rode in fire trucks to Chubbys Ice-Cream shop across the street, the way they did last year, our little Kelly Miller Circus yearly tradition, unless it's pouring down rain, as it did two years ago, and did just minutes after we got back to the lot this time around too.
The ice-cream was just as good, and there were even some of those tee-shirts I love left over from last year.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
