Friday, September 30, 2011

An uncommon story (part I.)


September 30, Granville.

There was once a boy who loved to ride on top of rickety trucks loaded with a circus tent and his family's belongings. They would travel all over his country, Peru, in South America, to villages in the Amazonian jungle and in the Sierra mountains, to the ocean, to the cities, and pitch the tent for a few days or weeks. He would go to school in the morning and work in the show in the evening. He loved to hide in the darkness beyond the campfire light and listen to the men gossip and talk until the wee hours of the night. He loved to travel and get to be the new kid in town. Then there came a time when he yearned for bigger skies, and he came to the United States. There he worked harder than he ever thought was possible, saved enough to buy a home, and made his way into a new family.
His is a typical American immigrant story. Only he wears makeup and a costume for a living and works thirty-five feet up in the air.
His name is Fridman Torales Rios. He is a circus performer.
Fridman is thirty-three years old, born and raised in what is one of the poorest social group among one of the poorest countries in the world. That he says: In Peru the circus is about the lowest you can get.
And:
I thought everybody's life was like ours: I never thought for a moment that we were exceptional for being in the circus.
A life of hardships, an exceptional life.
But then again, this he says: I had nothing, but I had everything.
There always was food on the table, there always was work, there always was travel, friends, and the circus. A childhood memory, maybe the only one of want: when he was a boy Fridman longed for a bicycle. Not many toys, no toys for Christmas, but a new pair of pants, some new clothes to last you the year. His mother couldn't afford to buy him a bicycle, his father he didn't bother to ask. The circus owner's son had a brand new bicycle, and he so longed for it, and he still remembered that longing years later when he bought a bicycle for his own son.
He made his own toys.
We had nothing but we had everything.
In Peru in the eighties circus life was a camping tent for a home, his family ten feet by ten feet long, richer families as much as twenty feet long, most often home-made, and in the tent one arranged partitions if it was big enough, but the floor was always dirt, and cooking was done on a wood stove, inside a separate tent. There was competition as to who would have the nicest tent, with the nicest decorations, the most windows. Living on his own Fridman soon became well-known for crafting custom tents, and sold them to fellow circus people.
Or simply life was a mattress under the bleachers, under the circus tent, for the city workers, or the odd youth, like Fridman after he left his parents at the age of twelve to go find work on his own.
Like a soldier you carried your mattress on your back, and when the night came you laid out your mattress under the bleachers and there you slept.
That, and you carried your water.
You had to suffer to get water, to bathe, to cook, to do everything, you couldn't waste it. Reminiscing.
Water has always been for me the most precious thing there is, water is sacred.
You had to fetch your daily water at a water truck, or at the river. At the bigger circuses the city would provide a water hose, but in all the others, smaller circuses, one had to carry his own water, bartering a gallon of water for a free entrance to the show at the nearest home, or just buying it. In the Amazon things could be easier, there was often a river where one could wash clothes and bathe. To get power the bigger circuses had generators, like American circuses, and circuses like his father's would get the city's electric company to come and connect them, or would simply send someone to climb the nearest post and steal power. You connected the positive with the negative and here you were.
There I learned about electricity.
We had nothing but we had everything.
(To be continued.)

A trailer with a view.


September 30, Granville, Illinois (38 miles, high school grounds.)

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Out-take (Gordo.)


September 29, Marseilles.

Backstage impressions (elephant bath.)


September 29, Marseilles.

Backstage impressions (elephant bath.)


September 29, Marseilles.

Pirate ship.


September 29, Marseilles.

Fridman is working on a pirate ship for Carolyn's dog act next year (the new season's theme revealed.)
Yesterday the kids helped.

Out-take (Cathy.)


September 29, Marseilles.

Out-take (Johnny.)


September 29, Marseilles.

A trailer with a view.


September 29, Marseilles, Illinois (32 miles, 10 acre park.)

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Late night snack.


September 28, Channahon.

Last night as a tired, cranky Nicolas was screaming at the top of his lungs Dylan put headphones on so he could eat his ice-cream in peace.

Backstage impressions (continued.)


September 28, Channahon.

Backstage impressons.




September 28, Channahon.

The little tomato plant that did die, and more on inadvertent gardening on the road.

September 28, Channahon.

Back in the spring, in a burst of gardening enthusiasm, I had bought a little tomato plant from an organic grower at a farmer's market in Mountain Home, Arkansas. In the next few weeks, that tomato plant earned the name "The Little plant That Wouldn't Die," thanks to repeated, albeit innocent, attempts on its life.
The little tomato plant refused to die. It refused to die even after I tortured it into fitting through a too-small scissor-made hole at the bottom of my plastic pot so that I could transform it into the much-touted upside-down tomato plant. It refused to die even after it rode at top speed at the end of a rope tied to the back of the motor home for over twenty miles in the pouring rain (remember spring?) It refused to die even after it endured a lapse in watering duties by Dylan, officially anointed the guardian of the tomato plant.
But it didn't survive Nicolas.
He yanked it by the leaves one day shortly after its last triumphant escape from our household's unconscious annihilation attempts. That was the last straw for the little tomato plant, it didn't make a comeback.
This story doesn't end here, though, for I kept the empty flower pot in hopes of seeing the little tomato plant resurrect from the damp earth (I dutifully watered it,) sad at its demise still, and a little miffed too, I admit, since it was supposed to be indestructible, after all.
That's when the real miracle happened.
About a month afterward a little shoot appeared in the bare pot and grew so incredibly fast it was riveting to see its progress every morning (and I was reminded once again of the blind force of life in all its infinite forms.) It was a tiny twig, and soon it sprouted two leaves: it was a maple tree. A maple tree growing right there in the ashes of the little tomato plant that did die but lived on, a little maple tree-in-becoming, just two leaves, beautifully defined, our little gardening miracle of life renewed.
Dylan loves to gather and plant seeds everywhere we go, no doubt he had put a little maple tree seed, those aery winged marvels, in the flower pot some time back.
The shoot grew on, two leaves at a time, then faced some challenges of its own. It was attacked by some mysterious fungus, and I applied a treatment and saved it, only a few weeks later I inadvertently parked the motor home on top of it while performing the daily leveling duties, and screamed in horror as I spotted its leaves under the wheel by the front door, scrambled into the driver's seat to move the trailer, shouting incoherently, Fridman and the kids watching my hysterics, mouth open. It survived with only bruises.
A few weeks later still, it was the heat wave that almost did it under, drying up all but one sole leaf, new shoots shriveled in mid-growth. All that stubborn growing, only one leaf left, and now after turning brownish it finally dropped last week.
The little tree is alive, it will sprout again next year, if all goes well - the little tomato plant living on in it, too.

A trailer with a view.


September 28, Channahon, Illinois (27 miles, Central Park.)

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

A trailer with a view.


September 27, Darien, Illinois (6 miles, Carefree Carmelite Village.)

Monday, September 26, 2011

A trailer with a view.


September 26, Downers Grove, Illinois (28 miles, middle school grounds.)

Sunday, September 25, 2011

On being.

September 25, Chicago.

This, from an interview with rabbi David Hartman on the NPR radio program On Being: "I need people to take me out of a locked room and let me breath alternative pictures."
And this: "Joyful are those who seek God, not those who found God." (from Psalms.)
Let me breath alternative pictures.
I am reminded once again that On Being is a such deep, thoughtful, provoking program, that it embodies the best of what public media can be, an important part of public discourse, that it sheds new light on my life every time I stop long enough to listen, and I am thankful.

A trailer with a view.


September 25, Chicago, Illinois (Norwood Park neighborhood, 17 miles, Norwood Park school grounds.)

Friday, September 23, 2011

Framed.


September 23, Rolling Meadows.

Backstage.


September 23, Rolling Meadows.

A trailer with a view.


September 23, Rolling Meadows, Illinois (37 miles,community center park.)

Thursday, September 22, 2011

A trailer with a view.


September 22, Lockport, Illinois (45 miles, Brett Hassert Park.)

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Mostly circus.

September 21, Crete.

Almost a hundred miles to come back to Crete, where we played on the eve of this year's Chicagoland tour, to just park for the day. Armando's truck has lights issues, so we idled on the side of the road for almost two hours, barely ten miles into the long jump. By the time I made it to Crete it was noon, and the cook house was closed. Fridman was still a long way out, having stopped at the weight station then blown the arrows.
Today is a day off.
Later on tonight the whole circus is going to see Universoul Circus in Chicago. That's what circus people do when they have a day off: they go see another circus.

A trailer with a view.


September 21, Crete, Illinois (94 miles, Balmoral park.)

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Second tooth down.


September 20, Somonauk.

A trailer with a view.


September 20, Somonauk, Illinois (53 miles, community park.)

Monday, September 19, 2011

A trailer with a view.


September 19, Belvidere, Illinois (52 miles, fairgrounds.)

Friday, September 16, 2011

Still there.

September 16, Vernon Hills.

McHenry and Vernon Hills, same lot as every year, great lots, and good news: the farm tucked in the middle of encroaching McHenry suburbia is still there and it's not for sale anymore, but thriving, it looks like, with horses and sheep and a truck in the driveway.
I almost said an alleluia.

A trailer with a view.


September 16, Vernon Hills, Illinois (21 miles, Vernon Hills Mall.)

He's back.

September 14, McHenry.

Fridman had been gone since Round Beach Lake, sent to Hugo to get a truck to replace the one that broke down last week. He flew down on Monday and arrived tonight, glad for the break in the endless circus routine but also to be back home after driving close to a thousand miles in two days in an old shaky truck without a radio to listen to.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Frames.


September 14, McHenry.

Morning glory.


September 14, McHenry.

A trailer with a view.


September 14, McHenry, Illinois (8 miles, Petersen park.)

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Mariana.


September 13, Island Lake.

Gordo.


September 13, Island Lake.

The Poema family.


September 13, Island Lake.

A trailer with a view.


September 13, Island Lake, Illinois (18 miles, Water Tower park.)

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.

A trailer with a view.


September 12, Round Lake Beach, Illinois (41 miles, civic center grounds.)

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

A trailer with a view.


September 11, Harvard, Illinois (28 miles, Milky Way park.)

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Out-take (baby shower.)


September 10, Lake in the Hills.

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.

A trailer with a view.


September 10, Lake in the Hills, Illinois (38 miles, Sunset park.)

Friday, September 09, 2011

Out-take (rain drops.)


September 9, Elmhurst.

Baby shower.


September 9, Elmhurst.

Baby shower for Reyna in the big top today. Her daughter is due December 20th.

A trailer with a view.


September 9, Elmhurst, Illinois (11 miles, Sandburg middle school.)

Thursday, September 08, 2011

Rain.


September 8, Berwyn.

Cheers.


September 8, Berwyn.

Looking down.


September 8, Berwyn.

Figure.


September 8, Berwyn.

Thin air.


September 8, Berwyn.

Intermission.


September 8, Berwyn.

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.