Evolution.

February 20, McAllen.

We are parked near the McAllen Convention Center, a sprawling complex that includes a mall, lots of parking spaces and a war memorial with black marble slabs, some blank. We were at this exact location three years ago with Chimera; it was a vacant lot with a hull of a building in the middle of scorched scrub grass, crews planting palm trees and shrubs along the recently emerging streets.
The shrubs are grown but the scorched earth is not far.

The lucky laundromat.

February 19, McAllen.

Speed Queen Coin Laundry, McAllen.

Perfectly unnecessary.

February 18, McAllen.

Whenever I need a rest from all the ugliness and all the noise I pay a visit to The Errant Aesthete, a blog so delightful, intelligent and perfectly unnecessary it's like chocolate for the eyes - delicious.

Hopes.

February 18, McAllen.

Here's my maxim for our travails: He conquers who endures. Persius.
Or perhaps that one: If we are facing in the right direction, all we have to do is keep on walking. (Buddhist saying.)

A trailer with a (reverse) view.

February 18, McAllen.

(We turned around so that the front door wasn't facing the street, for the kids' sake.)

Maxims.

February 18, McAllen.

Ah, the maxims again.
Tonight's was: "Much effort, much prosperity. Euripides."
A useful ideal, but arguably remote if you happen to have been born, say, a girl in the slums of Bangladesh (or Congo, or Bolivia.)
We moved at night, presumably because, if I remember well from our Chimera days, traffic is horrible along highway 77/83 in this area.

A trailer with a view.

February 18, McAllen, Texas (54 miles, next to Convention Center.)

Vestige of Valentine.

February 17, Los Fresnos.

Two good clowns.

February 16, Los Fresnos.

I started shooting for the 2009 program today, wanting to make up for last year's karma. The clowns were an obvious choice because they're usually the easiest thing to capture.
They are Steve Copeland and Ryan Combs and they make me laugh.
I don't like clowns and only one has really made me laugh out loud in the past: Guennadi Tregoub, Chimera's artistic director of many years. (Our friend Genia did too, but his was a different kind of act, relying more on poetry than pure comic punch.)
They make me laugh.
Theirs is a slapstick, hit-in-the-face kind of humor, in the time-honored tradition of my childhood hero, Charlie Chaplin, and this seemingly effortless art is one of the hardest to pull off without falling into vulgarity or tired repetition.
They make me laugh.
Just saying that is everything.

Rodeo.

February 16, Los Fresnos.

For rent.

February 16, Los Fresnos.

Natalie.

February 16, Los Fresnos.

Natalie is almost eight months pregnant and doing good. Casey won't let her work in the ring; he does the American eskimos act for her.
She still practices though, and was out with her dogs this morning.
It's a girl.

More than a photographer.

February 16, Los Fresnos.

A friend from the University of Missouri-Columbia School of Journalism recently came back into my life. A mother of two small boys, too, Mary Beth Meehan has been working for a few years on a project to document her home-town of Brockton, Massachusetts, and her images, thoughtful, personal, arresting, reveal many of the tensions at work in America today and are made all the more relevant by the current crisis the nation is facing.

The winning picture.

February 16, Los Fresnos, Texas.

The World Press Photo awards, an annual competition and the Oscars of the profession the world over, were announced on Friday in Amsterdam.
The awards are given in categories ranging from news to nature, and there is also a World Press Photo of the Year, capping them all. This year it was won by Anthony Suau, a wonderful photographer as well as, if I remember him well from my days as assistant coordinator for another photojournalism contest, a genuinely nice guy.
The picture shows a rather shocking foreclosure scene.

It's official.

February 16, Los Fresnos.

The first route of the season said: "Thanks to everyone for your extra work, making this the BIGGEST opening in Kelly Miller Circus history."
Very short trip, half what the route said.

A trailer with a view.

February 16, Los Fresnos, Texas (9 miles, rodeo grounds.)

Catherine.

February 15, Brownsville.

My mother came home to the news that a good friend of hers had just been diagnosed with advanced breast cancer.
Catherine Cousin-Zouaoui is the most gentle, giving, beautiful woman I have ever known. The idea of her always brought peace to my heart. She's 52 years old and has two sons as close in age as Dylan and Nicolas, now young adults. When my brothers and I were little and she was still living near her parents in the south of France where we were neighbors she used to baby-sit us once in a while. For years mentioning her name inevitably reminded me of one of the few childhood memories I have, that of her chanting playfully to nudge the tiny Fiat she was driving, nicknamed "the yogurt can," as it was struggling up the street leading to our house, us three kids crowded in the back stomping our feet in delight all the way to the top of the impossibly steep hill.
Catherine has hair down to her waist and has had it so ever since we've known her. Her hair is her pride and joy, after her family and her work as a speech therapist at one of Paris' leading public hospitals. She is devastated as much by the unexpected news of her cancer as by the fact that she will not be able to attend to her patients for the foreseeable future as she faces surgery, radiation and chemotherapy all at the same time.
My heart grieves.

Circus blessings.

February, 14, Brownsville.

It's just past ten o clock at night and the fourth show of the day is under way.
It is full, like the other three.
The shows were shortened and the order changed so that they could follow each other every two hours. The last show will end at midnight; performers and crew alike have been working since three this afternoon, without so much as a break for dinner.
John R. North, Kelly Miller's owner, was considerate enough to call a meeting at noon to confirm the fourth show and thank everyone for pitching in. John Moss went on reminding everyone to count their circus blessings, since things might be fairly rougher later on in the season, and indeed the economic crisis looms large in everyone's mind, here as everywhere.
It helps that Mr. North's speech also included the words extra cash.

The military option.

February 14, Brownsville.

It is a rather hilarious measure of my desperation that I actually for a minute considered with interest the news that the military would from now on give a path to citizenship to legal immigrants with special skills.
(Un)Fortunately speaking French is not exactly high on the list.

Backstage.

February 14, Brownsville.

From left, Johnnie, John Moss, Steve and Ryan, the new clowns.

Sara's missing.

February 14, Brownsville.

One big absent this time around: Sara.
She told friends, Lucky Eddie and Miss Vickie, Natalie and Casey, that she had hurt her elbow carrying Gigi and would come back in April; she drove back to New Hampshire with the trailer this week from Hugo. Dylan and Nicolas still mention "Haha," as Dylan would call her, and I'll miss the camaraderie Gigi would have given them at a time when socializing becomes so important.

The Brownsville factor.

February 14, Brownsville.

Not in Dallas, not in Ft. Myers, not even in southern California do we get the quality of health care we get in Brownsville, out here on the frontera.
I don't know what it is about Brownsville, but it has an extensive, first-rate health network, of which the Clinica Santa Maria I went to yesterday morning for an annual OB-GYN exam and my first mammogram is a prime example. The staff went out of their way to lessen the financial burden of the visit (Dr. Amanda Tyler, the OB-GYN I saw, simply did not charge me the visit,) but most of all they listened, they were friendly, attentive, a rare find in today's overburdened health care world. When we were here with Circus Chimera we went to the Brownsville Community Health Center for Dylan's shots and visits; this morning we took the boys to a pediatrician. At both places, again, we got above-average care delivered with genuine warmth and concern.
This means a mammogram that doesn't feel like an invasive, painful ordeal, two kids that giggle on the way out of the doctor's office, a sense of safety and well-being both unexpected and oh-so welcome. Unfortunately this was sorely missing in Florida, just as it is in so many other places in this country.

Opening shots.

February 13, Brownsville.

Three hundred people couldn't get seats tonight.
Both shows were packed, again.
On top of the three already planned for tomorrow another one is in the books to accommodate the 300 who went home without cotton candy all over their kids' shirts. The frenzy is not over yet.
2009 here we come.

Here we go again.

February 12, Brownsville.

The season started today with the premiere show at 6 o'clock. Lines of people, both shows packed, as it was with Circus Chimera's premieres. The frenzy then petered out quickly; tomorrow will tell if the Kelly Miller Circus fares better; if last year's attendance is any sign, it should.
From now on our nights belong to the circus.
How quickly you forget when you're living your life on the outside.

Fine-tuning.

February 11, Brownsville.

There were general rehearsals this afternoon. As John Moss said about one part of the show, "as you can see this needs a little fine-tuning."

Getting there.

February 11, Brownsville.

Two days of driving, two kids, no problem.
More than 1,500 miles and we would not have spent less time on the road if we hadn't had the kids with us, they never complained, never held us back, they are the champions of the road.
Failing to read our map correctly we followed I-10 and drove through New Orleans. It was late at night, it was raining, the five-lane highway was empty, glistening black, the city looked like an end of the world city, like the cities in the Cormac McCarthy novel "The Road," menacing, sinister, desolate. The Superdome, huge, charged with the memories of pictures of death and desperation, suddenly rose on the left of the freeway, and I almost screamed.
We spent the night in a Walmart parking lot in La Place, just out of New Orleans. In the morning I discovered that it claimed to be "The andouille capital of the world." Unfortunately, as a vegetarian I simply cannot prove this wrong.
Gleanings: JESUS LOVES YOU Moving sale (Life Oak, Louisiana;) the Tchoutacabouffa river (Mississippi;) Bouba Oustalet car ad (Thierry Oustalet was the name of my first boyfriend, I was twelve;) more junkyards than mechanically possible along I-10 in Beaumont, Texas.
Because we had to drop off my mother at the airport in Miami on Sunday we are the last ones to arrive, just one day before the premiere. Some faces have changed, it's good to see the others again.

A trailer with a view.

February 11, Brownsville, Texas.

Barber shop sign.

February 9, Live Oak.

A trailer with a (Walmart) view.

February 9, Live Oak, Louisiana.

A stopover for lunch.
Sometimes Walmart is surprising; this one is graced with majestic live oaks.

Here's looking at you, stump.

February 5, Ft. Myers.

Sanibel.

February 5, Ft. Myers.

The seagull soared off.
(We're not giving up quite yet.)

Dust to renovation dust.

January 27, Ft. Myers.

This I believe: in dust we shall be covered.
Right now post-home-renovation dust it only is (but there is no end to it,) so we are (grudgingly) thankful.
We finally moved into the house today.

Eugene.

January 20, Ft Myers.

On the way back we drove to Miami Beach to see the Art Deco district, an old yearning of mine since studying American architecture in college, and then stopped to see our friend Eugene before heading home.
Eugene, from Russia, trained at a circus school and specialized as an animal tamer. Now retired from the circus he opened a circus arts school and seems to be doing well, even though business is slow these days. He is the center's owner, manager and sole teacher. A lot of my students' parents have lost their job, he said. I always work, I work every day, this is my business.
The last time we saw him Dylan was a newborn, and Nicolas not even envisioned. Time flies, he said, look at them.
Look at you, Eugene, just two years into retirement, risking, trusting, thriving in a wrecked economy.

Composition with sand, sea, and chemicals.

January 20, Ft Myers.

Composition with two chairs.

January 20, Ft Myers.

Key Largo dock.

Key West redux (and an inauguration.)

January 20, Ft. Myers.

Who needs to wander around Key West when they can drive the 100 miles from Miami only to drive straight back and end up in a motel on Route One across from the new CVS Pharmacy and have time to see the whole inauguration on TV the next morning because half the trip back home is already done?
I'd been to Key West twenty years ago and loved it. We'd planned an escapade so my mother and Fridman could see the town across from La Habana. Instead we spent the day driving, and acquiring a few more gray hairs.
My purse was there at the gas station on Key Largo where I'd left it four hours before, on the convenient little table in the restrooms, and nothing was missing - but my mind.

A world of wonders.

January 17, Ft. Myers.

There is magical place not far from where we live.
It's big and green and wild, it's smack in the middle of town, across the street from all the warehouse stores, it's a godsend, it's the Calusa Nature Center and Planetarium.
For the price of a meal you get a yearly family pass and walk several miles of trails winding around a lush wonderland of native Florida plants, you can learn about Florida flora and fauna in the natural history museum, you can see a rescued bobcat, a bald eagle and other native Floridians, you can brush up your stars at the planetarium, and even pet a snake or two if you're itching to.
I have to think of a reason not to go back every day (laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning the house are the most unfortunate competitors.)

Chineries.

December 30, Ft Myers.

Palette.

December 29, Ft Myers.

Cleaning out the freezer, a remnant of Dylan's birthday party.

The lesson.

December 28, Ft Myers.

In the shed behind the trailer I discovered the history of this house.
Written in marker on one of the shelves:

BANG
HEAD
HERE
STRESS
RELIEF
(surrounded by lines like an explosion)

Bang here when you have finally smoked enough crack,
broken enough hearts, lied your way to hell, cheated, stolen
and become such a low life that you now have
what you deserve nothing.

Eddie in jail

Neighbors telling me bits and pieces of what happened with the people living in this house, the history of the foreclosure imagined, the darkest hours, a woman doting on her home, a marriage gone sour, then nasty, somebody using drugs maybe, it was barely a year ago and now the home is ours.
In an interview published in a French newspaper my mother brought me the Franco-afghan writer Atiq Rahimi talked about his life as a refugee and now a celebrity after winning one of France's most coveted literary prizes, about his philosophy of life in the light of his journey and his countrymen's plight, running away from warfare and death only to be deported back to the certainty of the same. He cited a fable recounted in one of his books about going home to Afghanistan for the first time after the Talibans were ousted: "Once upon a time there was a king and he asked an artist to create a work that would make him happy when he was sad and sad when he was happy. The artist made a ring on which was written: 'Nothing lasts.'"

Winter light II.

December 25, Ft Myers.

Christmas and the Peruvians.

December 25, Ft Myers.

The Peruvian family (Sheyla, Alain, Friedman and don Sandro, with Pedro) arrived yesterday. That's on top of Marcos' other brother, Andres, his family, and yet another Peruvian, Carson and Barnes connection, Chachin, and his family. Christmas eve party, Peruvian version what else, was a late night dinner and waiting for midnight to open the presents. Dylan and Nicolas were up til 2 in the morning, lost in the kids and the frenzy.
Christmas day on the beach with a ceviche (more Peruvian.)

Marcos.

December 19, Ft Myers.

Handyman fabulous (only the tools are all wrong.)

Ze crew.

December 19, Ft Myers.

Winter light.

December 18, Ft Myers.

Green eyes.

December 18, Ft Myers.

The green of the ocean is in my mother's eyes.

(Forgotten) trailer with a view.

December 18, Ft Myers.

The power is on.

December 18, Ft Myers.

We finally have power, more than two weeks after we arrived. It took more phone calls than I care to remember and trying to stay calm as they yielded nothing but silence. Bureaucracy gone private makes for perfect inefficiency and a high price.
All the electric system will have to be redone, even the electric cables were vandalized from the house. Marcos is leaving tomorrow, his brother, Roosevelt, who lives here, will continue helping Fridman with what's left to be done. The house is taking shape.
I found a non-toxic paint dealer nearby and settled on colors after days of neurotically shuffling color samples. Tropical turquoise, deep red, flashing yellow, orange, lots of pure white.

Patterns.

December 18, Ft Myers.

Bedroom arrangement.

December 18, Ft Myers.

Beach tango.

December 17, Ft Myers.

More paradise.

Ft Myers Beach.

December 16, Ft Myers.

We went to the beach today, finally.
The sand was like powdered sugar.
We is the kids, my mother and I. The men are working, there is still so much to be done. We'll go to the beach together, soon.

Family update.

December 15, Ft Myers.

Nuts.

December 12, Ft Myers.

To me the face of the U.S. financial meltdown is that of Sherri.
Sherri is probably in her forties, still beautiful. I answered her online ad for used furniture and walked into the living story of the real estate meltdown and the economic disaster it has created.
Sherri and her husband started out with nothing twenty years ago, and ended up building a successful business, a cabinet-making business that kicked ass, as she said, during the boom of the real estate market in Florida. Then the crisis hit and they lost everything: their business went bankrupt, their home is in foreclosure, they are selling pretty much all they own and moving to Georgia where her husband found a lesser-paying job.
When we started out we had nothing, I used to wonder how I would pay for formula, she said, and now here we are and I have to think of how to pay for milk.
Day after day as I call to find this and that for the house I run into the same story, people living in motels while their home is being foreclosed, Dave in room 154 at the Wonderland Motel selling a new fridge, selling their belongings before the bank gets them, Chris at another motel selling a stove, that's all I've left in there. Sherri said there was a story in the news this morning about southwest Florida having the highest unemployment rate in the country. She's trying to keep her two teenage sons in school, waiting to be reunited with her husband, and it's like we're dating again, she said, laughing. We need a drastic change, she said, and Obama has so much on his plate, but he'll do something good, this is nuts.
I had called about her ceiling fans, white with no lights.
They'll keep my home nice and cool.
My home was a foreclosure.

In between.

December 11, Ft Myers.

Wood frame, circa 1927.

December 11, Ft Myers.

Eggleston revisited, with permission.

December 11, Ft Myers.

The house is being transformed faster than I can think of which color of paint to choose. Think Marcos and his brother Roosevelt, coaching Fridman.
If it weren't for all the permits you have to get, the Kafkaesque bureaucracy, it'd be moving along even faster. I'm beginning to understand the folks who don't want to have anything to do with the government, move out to the middle of nowhere and just want to be left alone.
You'd start to wonder if there's a permit you need to breathe around here.
Ah, the simple life of the road in a trailer.

Green horizons.

December 4, Fort Myers.

Fresco floors.

December 4, Fort Myers.

A room with a view.

December 4, Fort Myers.

Eggleston upside down.

December 4, Fort Myers.

Tres Eggleston.

December 4, Fort Myers.

Only kidding. Oh so far from the American master of color.

Paradise found.

December 3, Fort Myers.

We're in paradise.
The trip was long and uneventful, too many road pictures missed, being strapped to a car seat for hours and days on end part of the kids' lives like waking up to a new view every day and eating their milk and cereals, we left at mid-day on Sunday and arrived here at mid-day yesterday, taking our time after dropping off Castro, the mechanic, sleeping in a McDonald's parking lot after his friends finally showed up, it was raining and Fridman was tired, and the next morning there was no rush to get here other than the trepidation to finally see the house.
We're in paradise.
The trees, the jungle of trees and shrubs engulfing the house, it took both of us and won't let go, there is an immensity of work to do, not to mention inside the home, but it's thrilling, it's beautiful, it's my tropical dream in the leaf. The house is a mess, everything and the meters had been taken out, but it's also charming and I can't believe it's mine.
Dylan says "la maison est tres jolie," accentuating the French r in a funny way, and so it is.

A trailer with a view.

December 3, Fort Myers, Florida (1,200 and some miles.)