June 24, Littleton, Massachusetts (35 miles, baseball field.)
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
This I believe (sometimes.)
June 22, Spencer.
An irate woman who didn't want to back up her compact car to let Fridman's circus truck go by showered him with insults and then stopped me to call him more names, on the narrow road leading to the lot this morning.
I had been reflecting on what my philosophy of life is, on the long way here, listening to ordinary folks tell theirs in NPR's This I believe series.
I would call my essay "I believe it's really, really hard to be filled with love for one's sister sometimes."
Other non-news: delayed departure this morning, one semi's gear box had to be fixed - Castro's magic hand at work (his feet in the picture.)
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Off limits.
June 21, Cummington.
On to Massachusetts, and it's a tiny village, we're off limits, there is no phone signal at all. Somehow it feels good.
On to Massachusetts, and it's a tiny village, we're off limits, there is no phone signal at all. Somehow it feels good.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Puzzled.
June 19, Washingtonville.
The parking left us puzzled this morning. We're stuck in between Ariel's motor home and Julio's trailer; the truck door opened but for a half and inch.
The parking left us puzzled this morning. We're stuck in between Ariel's motor home and Julio's trailer; the truck door opened but for a half and inch.
In her arms.
June 18, Greenwood Lake.
Drenched in rain most of the afternoon but it was a beautiful day thanks to a handful of women at the Greenwood Lake public library. I'll probably never see them again but will remember them; how grateful I was for their kindness and help in this day of havoc, with no internet signal at home when I needed it most (all is well in the world of Murphy's Law.)
One of them gave me a resounding lesson when she picked up a fretful Nicolas and spoke to him so softly I wanted her to take me in her arms too. She made me see another world, one I always yearned for, a world of softness against my outbursts, a world of quiet against my frantic pace, she made me touch it. Nicolas was quiet in her arms.
Drenched in rain most of the afternoon but it was a beautiful day thanks to a handful of women at the Greenwood Lake public library. I'll probably never see them again but will remember them; how grateful I was for their kindness and help in this day of havoc, with no internet signal at home when I needed it most (all is well in the world of Murphy's Law.)
One of them gave me a resounding lesson when she picked up a fretful Nicolas and spoke to him so softly I wanted her to take me in her arms too. She made me see another world, one I always yearned for, a world of softness against my outbursts, a world of quiet against my frantic pace, she made me touch it. Nicolas was quiet in her arms.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Ben is on.
June 16, Basking Ridge/Stirling.
We've had a new driver since last Thursday; Fridman had to switch vehicles again. Mike-the-mechanic disappeared two weeks ago in Maryland so he had been driving the mechanics truck again, like at the beginning of the season; Castro rode with him. Now he's back driving another bleachers' truck. Driving the mechanics' truck means leaving last and driving at the end of the procession to be available to help other vehicles; we're back leaving a little sooner, although we always end up traveling right next to the mechanics truck anyway - force of habit.
The new driver is called Ben, and he happens to be the husband of Patrizia Di Lucchio, with whom I worked on publicity at Circus Chimera two years ago, my first full-time circus year - more it's-a-small-world on a circus mode. I owe Patrizia the name of this blog, and I wish I had had the opportunity to get to know her.
We've had a new driver since last Thursday; Fridman had to switch vehicles again. Mike-the-mechanic disappeared two weeks ago in Maryland so he had been driving the mechanics truck again, like at the beginning of the season; Castro rode with him. Now he's back driving another bleachers' truck. Driving the mechanics' truck means leaving last and driving at the end of the procession to be available to help other vehicles; we're back leaving a little sooner, although we always end up traveling right next to the mechanics truck anyway - force of habit.
The new driver is called Ben, and he happens to be the husband of Patrizia Di Lucchio, with whom I worked on publicity at Circus Chimera two years ago, my first full-time circus year - more it's-a-small-world on a circus mode. I owe Patrizia the name of this blog, and I wish I had had the opportunity to get to know her.
Chris is mad.
June 15, Basking Ridge.
I'm not coming back next year, said Chris, el flechero, as the crew calls him, literally the arrows guy. I'd rather go to Iraq and get shot.
Chris was mad this morning because the lot is small and private trailer and the cook house had to be parked on a field next to it, resulting in the tigers getting two days off (they need to be parked right next to the backstage entrance as their cage is pushed in by the prop crew.) Chris served in the U.S. Army, and told me when I first met him that he had tried to go to Iraq but "they wouldn't let me, I'm too old." He has the swinging, round-shoulders walk of a military guy and always wears black army boots, no matter the weather. On most mornings he sports a neon yellow tee-shirt with "Logistics" written on it. He says that with the old owners things were better; he says that he wishes he could fire a weapon.
His is a lonely job. He parks us in the early morning then takes off to mark the route for the next day and stays on that lot by himself until the next morning. No doubt he misses the camaraderie of the army, if not its brutality, as he proclaims a little too loudly.
This is the guy who goes out of his way to save a sparrow's nest.
I'm not coming back next year, said Chris, el flechero, as the crew calls him, literally the arrows guy. I'd rather go to Iraq and get shot.
Chris was mad this morning because the lot is small and private trailer and the cook house had to be parked on a field next to it, resulting in the tigers getting two days off (they need to be parked right next to the backstage entrance as their cage is pushed in by the prop crew.) Chris served in the U.S. Army, and told me when I first met him that he had tried to go to Iraq but "they wouldn't let me, I'm too old." He has the swinging, round-shoulders walk of a military guy and always wears black army boots, no matter the weather. On most mornings he sports a neon yellow tee-shirt with "Logistics" written on it. He says that with the old owners things were better; he says that he wishes he could fire a weapon.
His is a lonely job. He parks us in the early morning then takes off to mark the route for the next day and stays on that lot by himself until the next morning. No doubt he misses the camaraderie of the army, if not its brutality, as he proclaims a little too loudly.
This is the guy who goes out of his way to save a sparrow's nest.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Muggy weather.
June 15, Basking Ridge/Stirling.
Two days again here, after the two days in Plumsteadville, but it's so muggy after the storm last night that it doesn't feel like a fiesta anymore.
Two days again here, after the two days in Plumsteadville, but it's so muggy after the storm last night that it doesn't feel like a fiesta anymore.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Grand opening.
June 12, Pemberton.
We inaugurated a new feature in our luxury cruise-trailer line: a traveling pool.
It turned out to be the ultimate weapon in the daily domestic drama: the kids just fall like timber afterwards.
I'll be dancing the summer nights away (oh I wish.)
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