April 11, Salem.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Car trouble.
April 11, Salem.
What an enchanting drive this would have been under a rising sun, rolling hills, awakening spring. Just like last week in Arkansas, we had pouring rain and it stopped shortly before we got to the lot, as these things will go.
It would also have been better without engine troubles. Yesterday the motor home all but stopped in an intersection, coughing its way to extinction. According to Castro the gas pump is bad, but it so happens, as these things will go, you need an empty tank to work on the pump and the troubles began the day after we filled the truck up.
What an enchanting drive this would have been under a rising sun, rolling hills, awakening spring. Just like last week in Arkansas, we had pouring rain and it stopped shortly before we got to the lot, as these things will go.
It would also have been better without engine troubles. Yesterday the motor home all but stopped in an intersection, coughing its way to extinction. According to Castro the gas pump is bad, but it so happens, as these things will go, you need an empty tank to work on the pump and the troubles began the day after we filled the truck up.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Fiesta.
April 9, Mountain Home.
The Poemas had a giant party tonight after the shows to celebrate both Cathy and Adrian's birthdays. Also Marcos and his son came up from Hugo to bring a truck over and take another back to winter quarters. They slept over at our house and left in the morning.
Saturday, April 09, 2011
The artists in the family.
April 9, Mountain Home.
Sara and I were talking and Dylan grabbed the camera.
The pictures I had just taken are not worth a penny, boring and predictable. His? Fresh, lovely. Dylan not only has a visual memory, but also a gift for anything visual I think, where Nicolas is all about orality (still the singer of the family.) Whatever their talents may prove to be, I am enjoying watching them develop their distinct skills and personalities, not to mention we've got great art for the trailer's walls.
A game of futbol.
April 8, Mountain Home.
Dylan loves to play soccer with Gordo and Nathan. Most of the times they tolerate him.
Friday, April 08, 2011
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Courtney news.
April 7, Batesville.
Courtney has been doing fine, her foot has heeled completely and she has jobs lined up until next summer.
It was so good to see her again. In spite of our considerable age and interest differences she's about the only friend I ever had on the show that I could sit down with for a cup of tea and chat the time away; we just connect. She's been working dates as a show girl with Rebecca for about a month; they were on their way for a Shrine date in Little Rock over the week end and stopped for a visit.
Until next time on the circus road.
The remains of the night (two years later.)
April 7, Batesville.
It's two years later, but John's still twenty-nine.
John's birthday.
April 7, Batesville.
It was John Moss' birthday yesterday and for the first time since we've been on this show they invited the whole circus over for the occasion. Courtney and Rebecca were also visiting for the day so it was good to unwind.
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
A good day.
April 5, Malvern.
Dylan did school this morning in the trailer, then Sam was at Gigi's and they both came over and made Playdo fish with the boys. Then everybody went on outside to play and they were there a long time, gathering caterpillars and playing in the mud. When the boys came home they crashed in a second, Dylan on his bed and Nicolas against my shoulder. They were out for almost three hours and I did some work.
A good day.
The spirit of America.
April 5, Malvern.
Two anonymous comments on "The incredible story of Brian's burn" had me spinning last night (we had no internet until yesterday.) Both wrote about my criticizing the American health care, the first ordering me to "go back to France" and the second saying that nothing was free.
Whoever wrote the second comment is right: the health care issue had no place in that post. This was Brian's story and Brian's story only, and it was disrespectful to Brian to have mixed it in there (I have changed the post accordingly.) Brian's story is the story of an incredible twist of fate, but also of grace, guts and resilience, a very American way of dealing with life's tough cards.
This is a country that I have loved passionately for over twenty years, warts and all. And in the end this is what this blog is about, this passion for America, the circus just a piece of the whole, the American people, the American landscape. I want to be Walt Whitman and sing its song, sing the mountain ranges and the California woods, the plains of Kansas and the pulse of New York, I want to be Faulkner and delve into the soul and the depths of the South, I want to be Jim Harrison and meander through the Western wilderness, I want to be Mark Twain and travel down the Mississippi, I want to be Walker Evans and celebrate the beauty of those left behind, Richard Avedon and paint the many faces of this land I have called home for half my life, and that I carry around wherever I am like a double skin, a country that elected Barack Obama, a nation I among many admire for the indomitable vitality that defines it and the courage it offers in adversity, but that one should never cease to challenge for its shortcomings, for that would be a disservice to its very spirit.
And health care is such an essential issue that it deserves all the debate we can give it.
No, there is no such thing as a free lunch (that great American expression,) and I certainly never suggested health care systems in other countries, France or otherwise, were free. The French system is paid for mainly through income taxes, which are lower for lower incomes but higher for higher incomes than in the US. Each country's system is very different from the other and all have many flaws, but each and everyone of them has in common that everyone is covered at a much lower overall cost than in the US. So it is mind-boggling for me, not to mention intensely frightening now that I have children, that this amazing country, one of the richest countries in the world, in both natural and human resources, is so incredibly behind on this issue, with millions uninsured and badly managed, skyrocketing costs. President Obama's bill was drained down to just a small step but it is nevertheless an important one, and I can only hope that it is only the beginning.
The second anonymous person went on to regret my "constant jabs at Christianity," and here I am left utterly baffled.
Never have I made a secret that I am an agnostic and have never believed in any gods, but neither have I ever intended to disparage Christianity or any other religions; they fascinate me, and inspire me with a deep respect. This sense of the numinous, from the Latin numina, or spirits, the foundation of all religions, this need of humanity from the beginning of times to find the source of their wonder, has always held a strong hold on my searching, doubting mind. So the comment had me almost sleepless last night trying to figure out where I would even have mentioned Christianity; all I could find was an entry two years ago on the Fourth of July about my kids having to recite the pledge of allegiance, and say "so help me god," an issue on which I have come to a change of mind since.
So coming out of hiding would be courteous but also useful: I could take a good nap, and then we could have an open, raucous, gutsy debate - the American way.
Two anonymous comments on "The incredible story of Brian's burn" had me spinning last night (we had no internet until yesterday.) Both wrote about my criticizing the American health care, the first ordering me to "go back to France" and the second saying that nothing was free.
Whoever wrote the second comment is right: the health care issue had no place in that post. This was Brian's story and Brian's story only, and it was disrespectful to Brian to have mixed it in there (I have changed the post accordingly.) Brian's story is the story of an incredible twist of fate, but also of grace, guts and resilience, a very American way of dealing with life's tough cards.
This is a country that I have loved passionately for over twenty years, warts and all. And in the end this is what this blog is about, this passion for America, the circus just a piece of the whole, the American people, the American landscape. I want to be Walt Whitman and sing its song, sing the mountain ranges and the California woods, the plains of Kansas and the pulse of New York, I want to be Faulkner and delve into the soul and the depths of the South, I want to be Jim Harrison and meander through the Western wilderness, I want to be Mark Twain and travel down the Mississippi, I want to be Walker Evans and celebrate the beauty of those left behind, Richard Avedon and paint the many faces of this land I have called home for half my life, and that I carry around wherever I am like a double skin, a country that elected Barack Obama, a nation I among many admire for the indomitable vitality that defines it and the courage it offers in adversity, but that one should never cease to challenge for its shortcomings, for that would be a disservice to its very spirit.
And health care is such an essential issue that it deserves all the debate we can give it.
No, there is no such thing as a free lunch (that great American expression,) and I certainly never suggested health care systems in other countries, France or otherwise, were free. The French system is paid for mainly through income taxes, which are lower for lower incomes but higher for higher incomes than in the US. Each country's system is very different from the other and all have many flaws, but each and everyone of them has in common that everyone is covered at a much lower overall cost than in the US. So it is mind-boggling for me, not to mention intensely frightening now that I have children, that this amazing country, one of the richest countries in the world, in both natural and human resources, is so incredibly behind on this issue, with millions uninsured and badly managed, skyrocketing costs. President Obama's bill was drained down to just a small step but it is nevertheless an important one, and I can only hope that it is only the beginning.
The second anonymous person went on to regret my "constant jabs at Christianity," and here I am left utterly baffled.
Never have I made a secret that I am an agnostic and have never believed in any gods, but neither have I ever intended to disparage Christianity or any other religions; they fascinate me, and inspire me with a deep respect. This sense of the numinous, from the Latin numina, or spirits, the foundation of all religions, this need of humanity from the beginning of times to find the source of their wonder, has always held a strong hold on my searching, doubting mind. So the comment had me almost sleepless last night trying to figure out where I would even have mentioned Christianity; all I could find was an entry two years ago on the Fourth of July about my kids having to recite the pledge of allegiance, and say "so help me god," an issue on which I have come to a change of mind since.
So coming out of hiding would be courteous but also useful: I could take a good nap, and then we could have an open, raucous, gutsy debate - the American way.
Morning drives.
April 3, Idabel.
The morning drives, alone with the road and the coming day, how I missed them I suddenly discover, incredulous.
The morning drives, alone with the road and the coming day, how I missed them I suddenly discover, incredulous.
A circus tribe and a party.
April 2, Hugo.
Last chance to get stuff out of the trailer; Fridman came over and we worked all morning. Then laundry, errands, and Argio's birthday party after the shows.
Everybody was there, invited by the Loyal and Fusco families, a world-spanning circus tribe. The youngest of the Loyals turned two.
Moving.
April 1, Kingston.
We jumped to Hugo one day ahead so I can have more time to move from the trailer into the motor home.
I worked til after midnight, trying to fit into a smaller space ten years of my life, while the kids played with the toys we had left behind. The trailer seemed huge, a palace.
Our friend Marcos came over for dinner with his son and we had leftover pizza and veggies from Nicolas' birthday. A familiar face, and this strange place feels a little bit more like home.
We jumped to Hugo one day ahead so I can have more time to move from the trailer into the motor home.
I worked til after midnight, trying to fit into a smaller space ten years of my life, while the kids played with the toys we had left behind. The trailer seemed huge, a palace.
Our friend Marcos came over for dinner with his son and we had leftover pizza and veggies from Nicolas' birthday. A familiar face, and this strange place feels a little bit more like home.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
School.
March 31, Tishomingo.
Dee Dee's back at the circus this year, she lost seventy-six pounds and she looks awesome. Liam is doing good.
Today she had school at the park so she could have Sam play while she taught. The kids worked under a tree canopy, next to the playground. It was breezy and warm, lovely after the winter weather of the last few days.
I've decided to bring Dylan to school; even though I won't have him study with the other kids in English, for I'm afraid he'll get confused after starting school in France, it will give us a chance to have a set schedule.
Four.
March 31, Tishomingo.
We had a party for Nicolas' birthday today, rushing, as always, to get everything ready.
Mingo turned four in Tishomingo.
We had a party for Nicolas' birthday today, rushing, as always, to get everything ready.
Mingo turned four in Tishomingo.
Anguish.
March 30, Wynnewood.
Dylan had another asthma attack today, or maybe it wasn't but I treated it as such, just in case. Feeling cold then a fever and the heavy breathing, the wheezing, and the nebulizer is in the old trailer but Sara lets me borrow Gigi's, and thank heavens I have all the medicine and instructions I brought from France.
But I'll never get used to this.
The fear is overwhelming, it spins everything in its wake and leaves me bloodless, the world stops and I am just a raging heart of anguish.
Dylan had another asthma attack today, or maybe it wasn't but I treated it as such, just in case. Feeling cold then a fever and the heavy breathing, the wheezing, and the nebulizer is in the old trailer but Sara lets me borrow Gigi's, and thank heavens I have all the medicine and instructions I brought from France.
But I'll never get used to this.
The fear is overwhelming, it spins everything in its wake and leaves me bloodless, the world stops and I am just a raging heart of anguish.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
The incredible story of Brian's burn.
March 26, Frisco.
Our yearly three-day stay in Frisco, and we're back on the other side of the plazza.
Brian could be dead by now.
Three weeks ago he burnt himself practicing with a new fuel. He didn't want to go to the hospital but Tavana found him in the circus kitchen trying to cool his hand with cold water and made him go. He had second degree burns on his hand and face. Once in the hospital he was found to have alarmingly low blood pressure; they sent him off to a bigger facility, in Corpus Christy, where the next day he was outfitted with a pacemaker. His heart was failing, and would most likely have stopped within days.
If he hadn't burnt himself.
At first he thought they had the wrong guy; he was feeling fine, no chest pains, nothing out of the ordinary. His pressure was under twenty. He was released from the hospital the day after being fitted with the pacemaker and was back at work two days later.
When we were in France Nicolas went about the house armed with kitchen utensils saying he was going to cook, like Brian. When we were invited for dinner Dylan would inevitably say that the cooking was delicious, like Brian's.
To think we could have lost him.
If he hadn't burnt himself he may have been dead by the time we arrived at the circus.
Our yearly three-day stay in Frisco, and we're back on the other side of the plazza.
Brian could be dead by now.
Three weeks ago he burnt himself practicing with a new fuel. He didn't want to go to the hospital but Tavana found him in the circus kitchen trying to cool his hand with cold water and made him go. He had second degree burns on his hand and face. Once in the hospital he was found to have alarmingly low blood pressure; they sent him off to a bigger facility, in Corpus Christy, where the next day he was outfitted with a pacemaker. His heart was failing, and would most likely have stopped within days.
If he hadn't burnt himself.
At first he thought they had the wrong guy; he was feeling fine, no chest pains, nothing out of the ordinary. His pressure was under twenty. He was released from the hospital the day after being fitted with the pacemaker and was back at work two days later.
When we were in France Nicolas went about the house armed with kitchen utensils saying he was going to cook, like Brian. When we were invited for dinner Dylan would inevitably say that the cooking was delicious, like Brian's.
To think we could have lost him.
If he hadn't burnt himself he may have been dead by the time we arrived at the circus.
I want my trailer back.
March 24, Royse City.
Tavana and John Moss and Nikki and Carolyn and Mike have new digs, and so do we. We've got a new home and I hate it.
Well, not hate exactly, more like feeling adrift and missing my home, my trailer, and all the nooks and crannies that have made my life for almost ten years. Fridman wanted a motor home for the kids, so that we wouldn't have to take them out in the cold in the morning to sit them in the truck. We had seen one of don Sandro's used ones and liked it, so here we are.
It is a small class B motor home (it's much smaller than the trailer) that Fridman has been spicing up, building beds for the kids, painting, taking carpet out and curtains in, but all the goodies in the world won't make it home unless I want to and so far I don't, it's too new, too soon, away from home and then it's gone, I need time, time and maybe a lot of Dylan's art on the walls to anchor me in.
But there isn't any counter space in the kitchen, on top of it all. Not to mention the Trailer with a view series ("Motor home with a view"?)
I want my trailer back.
Tavana and John Moss and Nikki and Carolyn and Mike have new digs, and so do we. We've got a new home and I hate it.
Well, not hate exactly, more like feeling adrift and missing my home, my trailer, and all the nooks and crannies that have made my life for almost ten years. Fridman wanted a motor home for the kids, so that we wouldn't have to take them out in the cold in the morning to sit them in the truck. We had seen one of don Sandro's used ones and liked it, so here we are.
It is a small class B motor home (it's much smaller than the trailer) that Fridman has been spicing up, building beds for the kids, painting, taking carpet out and curtains in, but all the goodies in the world won't make it home unless I want to and so far I don't, it's too new, too soon, away from home and then it's gone, I need time, time and maybe a lot of Dylan's art on the walls to anchor me in.
But there isn't any counter space in the kitchen, on top of it all. Not to mention the Trailer with a view series ("Motor home with a view"?)
I want my trailer back.
We're back.
March 23, Van.
We flew back yesterday.
It was a good trip, if a ten-hour flight with two kids and a twenty-four-hour traveling day can be called a good trip. But it was good, for the kids were angels. I woke them up at six for the taxi call after we all went to bed around midnight, and they were fine, fell asleep shortly after take-off, leaving me to browse magazines by my quiet self, and watched cartoons for the rest of the flight.
Dylan fell asleep again on the way back to the circus and didn't wake up til this morning. Then he went chirping around to anybody that would listen - in French. Both he and Nicolas ran wild with Flaco and Gigi and the gang of Kelly Miller Circus kids, all the familiar faces fro; last year and years back, Nathan and Gordo and Renzo and Luis and more.
A day, and we're back at the circus, a language and a world away.
That, and we went straight from winter to summer.
We flew back yesterday.
It was a good trip, if a ten-hour flight with two kids and a twenty-four-hour traveling day can be called a good trip. But it was good, for the kids were angels. I woke them up at six for the taxi call after we all went to bed around midnight, and they were fine, fell asleep shortly after take-off, leaving me to browse magazines by my quiet self, and watched cartoons for the rest of the flight.
Dylan fell asleep again on the way back to the circus and didn't wake up til this morning. Then he went chirping around to anybody that would listen - in French. Both he and Nicolas ran wild with Flaco and Gigi and the gang of Kelly Miller Circus kids, all the familiar faces fro; last year and years back, Nathan and Gordo and Renzo and Luis and more.
A day, and we're back at the circus, a language and a world away.
That, and we went straight from winter to summer.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
On the side.
March 20, Saint-Ismier.
A recent comment threw me into introspection, into the way I write and what I write and why.
Ellyn Rose said what I wrote reminded her of the Portuguese word "saudade," a word I love. It is a word that evades translation in either of the languages of my awaken life; it means nostalgia, regretful love and sadness intertwined but it is also beyond all these notions, as elusive as the feeling it represents.
Reading back it is obvious that my writing has increasingly been infused with saudade, the obsessive return to nostalgia even as the moment is being lived, the fear of forgetfulness (another word falling short, "l'oubli" in French so much more beautiful, even the sound of it,) pervading everything, life passing by to be recorded against oblivion and in the process transformed into a pervading museum of memories to come. It has to do with the fear of death, of course, this obsession of time passing, of recording, remembering life in its most mundane expressions above all, its minute unfolding, and in its scathing ebb.
A recent comment threw me into introspection, into the way I write and what I write and why.
Ellyn Rose said what I wrote reminded her of the Portuguese word "saudade," a word I love. It is a word that evades translation in either of the languages of my awaken life; it means nostalgia, regretful love and sadness intertwined but it is also beyond all these notions, as elusive as the feeling it represents.
Reading back it is obvious that my writing has increasingly been infused with saudade, the obsessive return to nostalgia even as the moment is being lived, the fear of forgetfulness (another word falling short, "l'oubli" in French so much more beautiful, even the sound of it,) pervading everything, life passing by to be recorded against oblivion and in the process transformed into a pervading museum of memories to come. It has to do with the fear of death, of course, this obsession of time passing, of recording, remembering life in its most mundane expressions above all, its minute unfolding, and in its scathing ebb.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Twist.
March 15, Saint-Ismier.
Encounters is a word to which I much prefer the French version, les rencontres.
This one came about by a twist of fate. Saving Dylan on Saturday, and tonight we met, the physician and I, as I was sitting in the same room, literally in Dylan's shoes - inhaling the same asthma medicine, for just as long (it was all quite strange, also sweet, I following him for a change.)
Lives crossing, windows unfolding, possibilities, the valleys of destinies, affinities, rencontres.
Encounters is a word to which I much prefer the French version, les rencontres.
This one came about by a twist of fate. Saving Dylan on Saturday, and tonight we met, the physician and I, as I was sitting in the same room, literally in Dylan's shoes - inhaling the same asthma medicine, for just as long (it was all quite strange, also sweet, I following him for a change.)
Lives crossing, windows unfolding, possibilities, the valleys of destinies, affinities, rencontres.
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