June 30, Townsend.
The horses are free and so are we. This morning Ben came to check an enclosed sports field in the back of the trailers and then set the ponies free. Each and every day, all through the eight months of the circus season they are tethered, working or not. Christmas in June. Thanks Ben.
We have the day off today, the town the circus was going to play (Malborough) got canceled. We drove straight to the next one, crossing Massachusetts from south to north. The arrangement was announced only two days ago; up until then it was an open question where we would park. Saved by the last minute bell, circus-style.
On the mechanical side: a couple of days ago the engine, brakes and airbag lights have started going on and off in our truck, all the gages shutting off in concert, and I can only wonder if the engine is about to shut off too and leave me without any kind of control over the truck in the middle of the interstate, for example.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Little big man.
June 26, Middleboro.
Nicolas is almost 15 months old, and I now have to decide which way to run when I'm with the both of them outside and he is walking straight on oblivious to my calls, hands up, bobbling along at unsuspected speed. He is slighter than Dylan at his age. Dylan at his age witnessed Nicolas' birth at the birthing center in Dallas, my mother playing with him, holding him while his little brother struggled his way into the world. I cannot fathom that Dylan now, cannot relate Nicolas to that Dylan at all. Nicolas seems so much smaller, or was I painting Dylan into a bigger little man than he was, unknowingly, in anticipation of the infant that was about to take over the baby role?
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
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.
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