September 13, Island Lake.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Puzzle.
September 12, Round Lake Beach.
I was working at the computer and Nicolas was singing and after a while, when I was finished, I turned around to see the floor covered with books, like a giant puzzle.
Kite.
September 11, Harvard.
We found the kite garage sailing yesterday.
Fridman made a tail out of bits of leftover costume fabric.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Lake in the Hills.
September 10, Lake in the Hills.
This is the town where the city voted an ordinance barring circuses from staying overnight, even though they keep wanting them to perform in their neighborhood, or so I surmise from the fact that we are asked back every year and do good business too.
Lake in the Hills is an exurb of Chicago, those suburbs on the fringe of the rural and metropolitan worlds, urban planning limbo, ecological nightmare, the sort of town that was carved and bulldozed out of farm land into rows of identical boxes later sold as American-dream homes by scores of developers, two-car garage looking bigger than the house itself, deck and the occasional pool in the backyard, arm-length contact with your neighbors, honey-I'm-home, and kids' effortless grace and joy in their soccer uniforms is not enough to dispel the malaise. The sight of these towns has always had a depressing effect on me, doubled by a sense of outrage that this could ever be an option, this life of dull, vacant plenty.
The park we're on is dirty, littered with cigarettes butts, ticket stubs and tiny bits of various plastic garbage, I started cleaning up in front of our trailer then quickly gave up. We pride ourselves on leaving the lots we play on cleaner than we found them, but it will be impossible here.
We'll be gone tonight.
This is the town where the city voted an ordinance barring circuses from staying overnight, even though they keep wanting them to perform in their neighborhood, or so I surmise from the fact that we are asked back every year and do good business too.
Lake in the Hills is an exurb of Chicago, those suburbs on the fringe of the rural and metropolitan worlds, urban planning limbo, ecological nightmare, the sort of town that was carved and bulldozed out of farm land into rows of identical boxes later sold as American-dream homes by scores of developers, two-car garage looking bigger than the house itself, deck and the occasional pool in the backyard, arm-length contact with your neighbors, honey-I'm-home, and kids' effortless grace and joy in their soccer uniforms is not enough to dispel the malaise. The sight of these towns has always had a depressing effect on me, doubled by a sense of outrage that this could ever be an option, this life of dull, vacant plenty.
The park we're on is dirty, littered with cigarettes butts, ticket stubs and tiny bits of various plastic garbage, I started cleaning up in front of our trailer then quickly gave up. We pride ourselves on leaving the lots we play on cleaner than we found them, but it will be impossible here.
We'll be gone tonight.
Friday, September 09, 2011
Baby shower.
September 9, Elmhurst.
Baby shower for Reyna in the big top today. Her daughter is due December 20th.
Thursday, September 08, 2011
Berwyn.
September 8, Berwyn.
Every year we come to Berwyn, and every year it rains.
It pours, as in 2008, it drizzles, as in 2010, it pours again.
And every year the shows are packed.
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