Friday, August 31, 2012
A party for Luciano.
Luciano is leaving tomorrow for Florida and school and the kids threw a party for him, with a play by the little ones.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
All rained in.
August 28, Hebron.
We discovered a major leak this morning, right along our bed, in the alcove above the driving area.
The water has literally accumulated, for who knows how long, Fridman thought he had stopped the leak last year after we bought the motor home, it has piled in there, under the mattress and along the alcove's front window, slowly rotting all the supporting wood frames, permeating the entire board frame under the bed, seeping from it, and from the mattress, and finally this morning, after the rains of the last couple of days, staining the sheets, giving itself away.
There is a gaping hole in our house today, and flies are having a field day, as Fridman took the window off to let the whole thing dry as much as possible.
We just checked if it had by pressing on the frame, and water keeps on seeping out.
We discovered a major leak this morning, right along our bed, in the alcove above the driving area.
The water has literally accumulated, for who knows how long, Fridman thought he had stopped the leak last year after we bought the motor home, it has piled in there, under the mattress and along the alcove's front window, slowly rotting all the supporting wood frames, permeating the entire board frame under the bed, seeping from it, and from the mattress, and finally this morning, after the rains of the last couple of days, staining the sheets, giving itself away.
There is a gaping hole in our house today, and flies are having a field day, as Fridman took the window off to let the whole thing dry as much as possible.
We just checked if it had by pressing on the frame, and water keeps on seeping out.
A trailer with a view.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Vintage dream.
August 25, Middlebury.
Yesterday I passed the opportunity to buy a vintage Schwinn bike, cerca 1960, for next to nothing, because I thought Fridman would be mad, seeing that we've become the traveling circus hoarders with our weekly garage sale pilgrimages, and that there is reasonably no more space in the trailer to put anything, much less a bike.
I have now become obsessed with that bike, beautiful that it was, complete with a front light and a wide, cushy seat, and it is this guaranteed that, no matter how many yard sales we visit now, no matter how much I search, I'll never find another one like this.
Yesterday I passed the opportunity to buy a vintage Schwinn bike, cerca 1960, for next to nothing, because I thought Fridman would be mad, seeing that we've become the traveling circus hoarders with our weekly garage sale pilgrimages, and that there is reasonably no more space in the trailer to put anything, much less a bike.
I have now become obsessed with that bike, beautiful that it was, complete with a front light and a wide, cushy seat, and it is this guaranteed that, no matter how many yard sales we visit now, no matter how much I search, I'll never find another one like this.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
Candy store.
August 24, Edwardsburg.
Fridman like a kid in a candy store at the RV supplies place with Danny.
Fridman like a kid in a candy store at the RV supplies place with Danny.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Monday, August 20, 2012
Again.
August 20, Portland.
Three weeks after breaking his arm, Dylan fell off his bike again last night and narrowly missed fracturing his knee.
Nasty swollen wound, can't walk, and another emergency trip to the clinic.
I'm thinking about buying one of these full-body armors, child sized (surely they make these in this country?) - or howling.
Three weeks after breaking his arm, Dylan fell off his bike again last night and narrowly missed fracturing his knee.
Nasty swollen wound, can't walk, and another emergency trip to the clinic.
I'm thinking about buying one of these full-body armors, child sized (surely they make these in this country?) - or howling.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Saturday, August 18, 2012
A trailer with a view.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Monday, August 13, 2012
Striving.
August 13, Redford.
Apologies for my note on our Kelleys Island visitor, whom in truth I know nothing about.
Bad judgment, when simply being judgmental is such a nasty trait and one that I strive to avoid.
This all means striving some more, which in turn is a good thing.
Apologies for my note on our Kelleys Island visitor, whom in truth I know nothing about.
Bad judgment, when simply being judgmental is such a nasty trait and one that I strive to avoid.
This all means striving some more, which in turn is a good thing.
Friends.
August 13, Redford.
Joys and sadness.
Short but wonderful visit with my friends from Ypsilanti, the White family. Learned that a good man and a recently found again colleague and friend from the newspaper I used to work at in Riverside, California, had died from cancer.
Joys and sadness.
Short but wonderful visit with my friends from Ypsilanti, the White family. Learned that a good man and a recently found again colleague and friend from the newspaper I used to work at in Riverside, California, had died from cancer.
Normal.
August 12, Ypsilanti.
I should have known.
I for whom words are my life, reading and writing my passion, I used the wrong word. The word normal, a simple word, in one sentence, and it conveyed the wrong idea altogether. Worse, it is a word that represent a concept I distrust and dislike, one of those slippery concepts dear to deconstructionists of all stripes, a word that can mean everything to everybody and still mean very little.
It is also the wrong word for someone who has spent her entire life running away from whatever the norms are. I was one of those kids that felt different by the fact of just being, punk then New Wave, dieying my hair red, then blue, spending my days walking the streets of Paris with buskers from around the world, outsiders if there ever were, leaving my country at the first opportunity, choosing the path least traveled, challenging myself at every corner to do something that felt the least familiar, the farther away from home, running away with the circus, the essence of not normal for the vast majority of people, people who live in houses that don't move, go to schools that have walls, people that don't walk around in the mud to go to work in leotards.
It is a dumb word, really, or rather a non-word, norm defined by its absence, vanishing as you try to grab it, and I want nothing with it or its shadow.
I should have known.
I for whom words are my life, reading and writing my passion, I used the wrong word. The word normal, a simple word, in one sentence, and it conveyed the wrong idea altogether. Worse, it is a word that represent a concept I distrust and dislike, one of those slippery concepts dear to deconstructionists of all stripes, a word that can mean everything to everybody and still mean very little.
It is also the wrong word for someone who has spent her entire life running away from whatever the norms are. I was one of those kids that felt different by the fact of just being, punk then New Wave, dieying my hair red, then blue, spending my days walking the streets of Paris with buskers from around the world, outsiders if there ever were, leaving my country at the first opportunity, choosing the path least traveled, challenging myself at every corner to do something that felt the least familiar, the farther away from home, running away with the circus, the essence of not normal for the vast majority of people, people who live in houses that don't move, go to schools that have walls, people that don't walk around in the mud to go to work in leotards.
It is a dumb word, really, or rather a non-word, norm defined by its absence, vanishing as you try to grab it, and I want nothing with it or its shadow.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Patrick Berta, 1963-1993 - Shooting star.
August 11, Wayne.
My brother Patrick died on the wings of a shooting star nineteen years ago today.
He was twenty-nine years young, and loved.
My brother Patrick died on the wings of a shooting star nineteen years ago today.
He was twenty-nine years young, and loved.
Being.
August 11, Wayne.
April First just got bumped to August.
Or this: the circus is a jealous witch.
Or maybe leaving my circus life behind today was just more than I can shoulder, still.
Again I couldn't leave the circus, the thought of leaving this part of me behind agonizing and everything carefully planned turned into a river of frightful tears. I had so fervently wanted my kids to start school like every other kid, on the first day, to give them the smoothest experience of this important event they could be given, on with the rest of the flow of striving lives coming together, the first day of school, a normal life carefully planned, their new life, two circus kids no more. My own longing got the best of all this - but they are circus kids and how could it be otherwise. I close my eyes and ask for forgiveness if they are made to suffer as a consequence of my wrenched heart, the new kids on the block, again, struggling to make friends, again, to blend in, to be just like any other kids. Did I make the right decision?
I don't know where our emotions and thinking process intersect, where our creativity run into our intellect, where our brain flashes into our heart, but it must be somewhere near the buried, primal gut, somewhere so close to our core it is raw and demanding and ultimately compelling. Or maybe all our choices are made already, and we are not, as my once favorite French philosopher Sartre wrote, the constructors of our destiny, solely and entirely responsible for building our way through the world, on our own and through our own decisions only, bearing of the heavy burden of our fate as we build it, existential humans, lonely hunters of happiness.
My brother died some twenty years ago and he was searching for the same answers as he struggled against his demons. They never let go of him and I miss him every day. My mother thinks of him every minute, I know, and her suffering and her longing I humbly pay homage to as I let myself be today, simply a witness to the burden of my own mistakes and fears, knowing that I don't know, I can't know, all the right answers eluding me, and that I just want to be, and love, fully.
April First just got bumped to August.
Or this: the circus is a jealous witch.
Or maybe leaving my circus life behind today was just more than I can shoulder, still.
Again I couldn't leave the circus, the thought of leaving this part of me behind agonizing and everything carefully planned turned into a river of frightful tears. I had so fervently wanted my kids to start school like every other kid, on the first day, to give them the smoothest experience of this important event they could be given, on with the rest of the flow of striving lives coming together, the first day of school, a normal life carefully planned, their new life, two circus kids no more. My own longing got the best of all this - but they are circus kids and how could it be otherwise. I close my eyes and ask for forgiveness if they are made to suffer as a consequence of my wrenched heart, the new kids on the block, again, struggling to make friends, again, to blend in, to be just like any other kids. Did I make the right decision?
I don't know where our emotions and thinking process intersect, where our creativity run into our intellect, where our brain flashes into our heart, but it must be somewhere near the buried, primal gut, somewhere so close to our core it is raw and demanding and ultimately compelling. Or maybe all our choices are made already, and we are not, as my once favorite French philosopher Sartre wrote, the constructors of our destiny, solely and entirely responsible for building our way through the world, on our own and through our own decisions only, bearing of the heavy burden of our fate as we build it, existential humans, lonely hunters of happiness.
My brother died some twenty years ago and he was searching for the same answers as he struggled against his demons. They never let go of him and I miss him every day. My mother thinks of him every minute, I know, and her suffering and her longing I humbly pay homage to as I let myself be today, simply a witness to the burden of my own mistakes and fears, knowing that I don't know, I can't know, all the right answers eluding me, and that I just want to be, and love, fully.
Friday, August 10, 2012
The end.
August 10, Sylvania.
Last morning trip, last circus route, last circus day.
It is raining.
After some seven years living the circus I am leaving tomorrow. We are heading to Columbia, Missouri, where I went to school twenty years ago, to start a new life in town: a real school for my children, finally a job for me. I'll launch a photography business with two branches, one for pet photography and another for family photography. As with all things ending, setting on this new life is hard, but the choice is made and no matter how it turns out we will be alright.
I'll miss my circus life.
Last morning trip, last circus route, last circus day.
It is raining.
After some seven years living the circus I am leaving tomorrow. We are heading to Columbia, Missouri, where I went to school twenty years ago, to start a new life in town: a real school for my children, finally a job for me. I'll launch a photography business with two branches, one for pet photography and another for family photography. As with all things ending, setting on this new life is hard, but the choice is made and no matter how it turns out we will be alright.
I'll miss my circus life.
Thursday, August 09, 2012
Wednesday, August 08, 2012
Kelleys Island.
Fun two days on Kelleys Island, and Dylan doesn't' even notice his broken arm that much. Beach, mini golf, ice cream, rides around the island on a golf cart, more beach and more mini golf and more rides.
Monday, August 06, 2012
Lucky day.
August 6, Kelleys Island.
Lucky Eddie and Ms. Vickie are here! It was so good to see them last night upon arriving on the island, and they are doing great, which is even better.
Lucky Eddie and Ms. Vickie are here! It was so good to see them last night upon arriving on the island, and they are doing great, which is even better.
Saturday, August 04, 2012
Friday, August 03, 2012
Tell me it ain't so.
August 3, Northfield.
My Dylan fell and broke his arm last night.
He was trying to bring his bike down some stairs and I should have been with him carrying his bike for him, the way we did all day while playing in the park. We were coming home for the night, and I was just telling him what a great day this had been. I heard a cry and a loud harsh thump and turned around just in time to see him and the bike hit the concrete ground at the bottom of the five steps. The sight was horrifying, I thought his head had hit the ground; it was his arm, and he fractured it.
It is a small fracture, what I learned is called a "green wood" fracture, most common in kids, whose bones are soft, for the bone bends while breaking but does not break completely. It usually heals fine without surgery or other care than a brace. I drove to the nearest hospital, in Alliance, a little more than ten miles north of Minerva, and because it was a small hospital we didn't have to wait long and were done in less than two hours. Because we are in the circus and we move every day the physician decided not to give Dylan a full cast, which entailed coming back for an orthopedic surgeon's visit over the next few days for a follow-up, but a simple brace, and we'll wait until we are in Columbia to check again on the healing process.
The kids and Fridman had been practicing every day since we arrived, handstands, jumps, and balancing on Fridman's hands, stretching and strengthening exercises. Before Dylan can get the opportunity to practice again it is going to be months. He was doing so good; just yesterday Danny came to see him work and do the handstand. No more practice, and he will start school not being able to write either.
But yes it could have been much worse, and he is taking it all in stride. I told him he could have ice-cream for breakfast, ice-cream for lunch and ice-cream for dinner.
I'd like to give it to him in enormous spoonfuls regardless, just rewind that scene and stay forever with the sweet memory of a day full of my Dylan tumbling through time and joy with bike rides and laughter.
My Dylan fell and broke his arm last night.
He was trying to bring his bike down some stairs and I should have been with him carrying his bike for him, the way we did all day while playing in the park. We were coming home for the night, and I was just telling him what a great day this had been. I heard a cry and a loud harsh thump and turned around just in time to see him and the bike hit the concrete ground at the bottom of the five steps. The sight was horrifying, I thought his head had hit the ground; it was his arm, and he fractured it.
It is a small fracture, what I learned is called a "green wood" fracture, most common in kids, whose bones are soft, for the bone bends while breaking but does not break completely. It usually heals fine without surgery or other care than a brace. I drove to the nearest hospital, in Alliance, a little more than ten miles north of Minerva, and because it was a small hospital we didn't have to wait long and were done in less than two hours. Because we are in the circus and we move every day the physician decided not to give Dylan a full cast, which entailed coming back for an orthopedic surgeon's visit over the next few days for a follow-up, but a simple brace, and we'll wait until we are in Columbia to check again on the healing process.
The kids and Fridman had been practicing every day since we arrived, handstands, jumps, and balancing on Fridman's hands, stretching and strengthening exercises. Before Dylan can get the opportunity to practice again it is going to be months. He was doing so good; just yesterday Danny came to see him work and do the handstand. No more practice, and he will start school not being able to write either.
But yes it could have been much worse, and he is taking it all in stride. I told him he could have ice-cream for breakfast, ice-cream for lunch and ice-cream for dinner.
I'd like to give it to him in enormous spoonfuls regardless, just rewind that scene and stay forever with the sweet memory of a day full of my Dylan tumbling through time and joy with bike rides and laughter.
A trailer with a view.
Thursday, August 02, 2012
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