My 2 minutes of fame or: how I always wanted to join the Circus

I went to the Circus today with my two youngest daughters’ school classes. My primary job was to escort little boys to the bathroom if the need arose. Both teachers were ladies and were glad to have me on-board. So were my daughters.

Somehow we got front row seats. Sounds like a good thing except for the constant stream of peddlers hawking cotton candy, toys, and assorted Circus junk and of course if you are in front, everybody walks in front of you to make their way to concessions, bathrooms etc.

In the second half of a fairly short circus, a clown went out into the audience. He/she (couldn’t tell) started on the far side away from us and selected a man to come down into the ring. The clown proceeded to make his/her way around the small arena until he/she stood right in front of me. Having a young child on either side, I was sure he/she was coming to pick one of them. Circuses are for and about kids – right?

This clown didn’t talk but gestured and blew a whistle as if to say “You join them out in the ring.”

So I made my way out where two other guys were also starting to stand around wondering what have we gotten ourselves into. One more joined us in the center ring.

The clown made us stand in a line and to tell the truth I can’t recall everything I did (What happens at the circus, stays at the circus!) but one part required us to wiggle our hips in a sort of Macarena-type dance. Fortunately that was pretty short. Only the audience can say whether it was pretty or not.

Next he had us sit on four small stools. Each person facing a different section of the audience. By the way, the lights are bright and I couldn’t tell you anything about the audience outside the ring. The clown started positioning us against one another to the point where we were leaning back on each other. I should mention he first had us cross our arms over our chest. Finally we were leaned back to where we were laying across the knees of the next person.

All I can do is describe it like this: my head is in some guys lap. My lap now has some guys head in it and so on for all four of us. Then the clown takes our stools away. So all we have to hold ourselves up is each other. This requires much arching of the back and trying to hold your legs parallel to the floor.

(the picture above was sent to me by a co-worker who happened to be there)

All I can say is this was hard and after what seemed like an hour or so, my back was giving out and my legs were quivering. But something inside me didn’t want to be the one to make us fall so I kept tightening up and trying to keep myself from falling.



Then without warning we all toppled. Not sure who broke first but we fell in a heap.

The clown waved his/her arms for applause and we walked out of the ring and that was that.

But it is funny what people notice. On my way out I got lots of looks, quite a few “You were a good sport”s and my daughters seemed to like it a lot. One lady even said I’d end up on Google (she probably meant YouTube but I didn’t correct her) by the end of the day. We’ll see.

But I guess this probably qualifies as my brief stint of fame. It was fun and silly which is what I guess circuses are about anyway.

Still alive and kicking

Spent a chunk of time today trying to find a part for my daughter's truck so it could pass inspection. Small hassle but time consuming. Driving across town during what passes for rush hour here and then finding out I'll have to do it all over again tomorrow as a part must be shipped from KC or somewhere.

In this endeavor I went to a small garage I pass almost every day. I guess since my dad spent the bulk of his life working in a small garage, I have a soft spot for them. But you never know what you will find in terms of people and quality of work etc.

But being in a hurry today I stopped at this small grimy place. I went into the office - if you can call it that - where two grizzled and grey old men were sitting. One had a pretty sizeable grey beard and the other just looked like he had lost his razor a week or so ago. Neither one seemed to perk up much when I walked in so I wasn't sure if they were waiting on something, workers there or what. After a bit the unshaven one spoke and asked if he could help. I told him and he said (NOTE: this is a quote and not my own comment or words): "Go out there and see the 'colored' man, he'll take care of you." I turned and walked out of the room before it sunk in what he had said. Now I grew up in the south during the 50s and this type of talk would have seemed tame and acceptable to about 100% of the populace back then. But I'll bet I haven't heard anyone use that word or descriptor in decades.

I probably should have walked out and left but I continued into the shop where at first, I didn't think anyone was there. But back in a corner where a small old TV played some unknown cartoon, stood an African-American man. For the next few minutes I went about my business with him and then when he needed some help, he called for the unshaven guy in the "office". I wasn't sure what to expect but somehow didn't expect him to respond favorably. But the two talked as if nothing was wrong, nothing bad had been said etc.

It took me back again to my childhood and my dad again in the shop where he worked. He worked side-by-side with Martin. Martin was an African-American painter who finished up the body-work done by my father. They probably worked together for 20+ years if not longer. But in that time my dad never referred to him as anything but Martin - Martin being his last name. Arthur was his first and I never heard anyone call him that. I do believe my dad thought of Martin as his equal in every way but skin color. They ate lunches together, talked all the time. But I never recall them doing anything socially together while my dad did do things with his boss Joe, who was white.

Away from work and the shop and Martin, I know I heard my dad use the "n" word more than once. The "c" word was used even more frequently. I don't know exactly what my dad thought when he spoke this way. I think his upbringing in the south in the 20s and 30s just ingrained this language as normal - not necessarily racist or even condescending.

I can only surmise that the man I met today, was of similar upbringing but maybe not. I don't know. But the simple fact of his language told me that we are still a long way from the end of racism as we know it. And I'm sure African-Americans in our very white city could tell me story after story about similar and even more hurtful language that I guess they choose to ignore.

positive frustration

Almost 10 years ago I started writing my first real attempt at a book. Slowly but surely I wrote about 5 short chapters. Then I got stuck and didn't know how to get where I wanted to go. So it sat for a long time. Then I thought since I know sort of how it ends, try writing the last chapter and work backwards from there. So I did. But here I am a long time coming or gone and no more to show for it. I've been collecting bits and pieces that have something to do with the book but have not felt any real pull to get back to it. Still not sure where to go.

Fast forward to yesterday. I was reading somewhere on the internet (I read so much and follow so many links from this blog to that one that I lose track of where I've been - except for the little history section that dutifully keeps track of our comings and goings on the web) that a new book is coming out next month. I've never heard of the author but his subject matter is very much like my idea. I'll probably try to read it so I can see how he handles it. Whether I'll get back to mine afterwards - who knows.

I am taking a workshop on creativity and getting back on track. And today one of the things we read said something like - someone else's good doesn't negate yours. Meaning writing is not a zero sum game. There isn't always a winner and a loser. I felt like a loser yesterday. I'd been beaten by someone else. And beaten because I was slow on the draw. But maybe I haven't been beaten. The other guy just got there sooner with his idea and its execution.

I can still pursue mine or not. Up to me. If his does well, there may not be any room for similar ideas. And yet if it does well, there may be more interest in similar projects.

But I need to decide whether to pursue or not. This book idea was obviously not high on my priority list. I have two other things I am sort of working on. My reasoning behind taking this workshop was to get some ideas for how to break my log-jam and get back working on something. Between stress at work and plenty to do at home, I've just not had any creative energy to work on much of anything. Nobody's fault but mine.

But I guess I better get moving so I can make sure those ideas I am trying to work on get done before someone else comes up with a similar idea and gets it done before me again.

Made in China (where else?)

Several months ago I bought a new pair of boots - Tony Lama's to be exact. I've always wanted a pair of good boots - Dan Post, Tony Lama, Lucchese etc. and finally! Found them on sale at a local feed/hardware/clothing store for only $40. When I bought them I tried to ask (half-jokingly) if they could be discounted even more since they were the last pair in this size and style but the counter-girl told me they were already below their cost as it was and she doubted Roger (the manager) would accept any less. A good deal is a good deal so I paid my $40 and left. I've been wearing them ever since and let me tell you - a good boot beats a cheap boot anytime. In my life I've owned three pair and the first two were what I could afford and my feet paid the price!

My point here is something else. Saturday night we were heading out to a local junior rodeo to watch a neighbor/friend compete in the bull-riding. As I was pulling on my boots (can't wear any other kind of footwear to a rodeo can you?) and I noticed the words "Made in China" stamped inside the leg.

What a disappointment! I accept that my Hanes underwear is no longer made in North Carolina. My Wrangler jeans come from Guatemala or somewhere in South America probably. But boots? I'm from Texas and I just expected that most good cowboy boots came from Texas or Wyoming or someplace with lots of cows and the need to wear boots.

But China? As a co-worker used to say: "Say it ain't so!"

I've nothing specifically against the people of China per se but I do have a problem that so much of our stuff comes from China. Poor Kathy Lee Gifford got into all sorts of trouble when she/we learned that some of her clothing line was made in a sweat-shop. We try our best to buy fair-trade coffee. We're glad that Ben and Jerry's buy their dairy products for Chunky Monkey from local U.S. farmers at fair prices.

For some reason we turn a blind eye to things from China. And for the most part we have no choice. I have a friend who was a vegetarian and he wouldn't buy or wear anything that had leather. Now that's not for me but I respected him for his choices and the difficulties it presented. Try going into a store and finding items to buy that are NOT made in China.

And for crying out loud - Beijing Olympics in 2008?! Remember folks we boy-cotted the 1980 Olympics in the then Soviet Union because they had invaded Afghanistan in 1979. And that statement alone is worth a lot of blogging but not tonite!

This is all about greed. We have embargoes and what-not with Cuba. It's communist right? And it would be wrong to allow our hard-earned U.S. dinero to help prop us the communist government of el jefe Fidel.

But corporations have been falling all over themselves to negotiate to trade with China. And I don't pretend to understand protectionism and everything else that people DO complain about in our trade relationship with China. What I do understand is that we seem to go out of our way to help them sell their stuff in the U.S. but when it comes time for us to do business over there, it is a tougher sell. I know I'm getting off-track here so I'll veer back in the right direction.

China has more than a billion people. Cuba has maybe what ... slightly over 11 million according to Wikipedia. There's the answer. It doesn't cost us anything to not do business with Cuba. But all the big U.S. corporations want/must do business in China.

I wish there was a better way.

deja vu all over again

Without rehashing too much old news, our home was hit by a tornado last March 12. Pretty frightening and something no one should experience more than once - if at all!

We moved later that same month but not because of the tornado. The move was already in the works. Several weeks after the storm, severe weather came around again in the area of our new home. It was another fit-ful evening huddled in the bathroom listening to the TV audio from another room. But while apparently tornados came close to our area, we were spared anything more than a brief power outage (I think we lost power) and lots of rain.

Since then we have looked for storm shelters and have found some that fit the bill but that's just it. The bill is too high - for now at least.

Last night or rather early this morning about 4 a.m. my oldest daughter wakes us up to tell us severe weather is moving in once again (a spring ritual for southwest Missouri). By the time I can really make much sense of anything other than it is really raining and windy, I sort of stumble to the bathroom which is already full of people; little ones that is. Seems my daughter had gotten everyone in there with pillows and quilts and stuff. They were quietly sitting on the floor. My wife and I began to move back and forth from the radio to the TV trying to follow the latest weather updates.

For about 30 minutes it was touch and go. The radio folks said "if you live in Everton (we do) you need to take shelter immediately" as a major storm was moving right toward us. I still recall following the path of the March 12, 2006 storm as the projections about where it would hit had us in the crosshairs. The TV today had a home shopping thing on with little maps off to one side showing who was in tornado watch, tornado warning, flash flood, severe thunderstorm etc.

Within minutes - but very fretful ones I must say, the forecasts changed, our warning was cancelled and we were out of any imminent danger.

At 4:30 a.m. we heard another warning; this time for Springfield so we called our daughter who lives in an apt. in town - woke her up to tell her that things were turning badly weatherwise. She could hear the sirens and said she'd go to the basement of her building.

We all tried to go back to sleep and surprisingly, all three younger kids fell back asleep without much fuss or bother. I was proud of the way they handled it. Maybe they were simply too tired and groggy and never really woke up enough to realize what was going on.

Not so easy for me. I'll bet I lay in bed - wide awake for at least a 1/2 hour before finally waking back up to my 5:30 a.m. alarm.

Nothing much of substance here except to say that I think we will never completely get over a fear (healthy to some degree I hope) of bad weather. I remember as a kid living just south of what was called tornado alley in Texas and during the violent weather season, weathermen (yep they were all men in those dark days of the 50s) talked about squall lines. For some reason that word still takes me back to those times as a child. I'm not even sure what a squall line is and if meteorologists even use that term anymore. I also vividly remember hiding behind a couch in 1956 or 57 while our mailman (yep they called them that back then - not letter carriers) was on the phone with his wife. They lived a few miles west of us and were right in the path of a tornado raging through Dallas. It was amazing in that it basically travelled right down the middle of a street for several miles. Houses on both sides were damaged, power lines down etc. but two blocks away you'd never know there had been a tornado (except for debris and stuff on the ground).

All this to say that since age 4, tornados have been a part of my life - a scary part. And I don't think they are the kind of thing you can forget.