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.