Changling

When I was thirteen, my grandma took my brother Luke and I, along with my Aunt Shirley, to the circus for a joint birthday gift. THE GREATEST SHOW IN THE WORLD!

Grandma even bought us a program, slick and glossy. It was more like an oversized book, really, and I pored over its pages for hours and hours. For a provincial country girl who'd never been to the movies, who didn't watch television, and who hadn't traveled much past the end of her nose, it was the most exotic, exciting thing I'd ever seen outside of a National Geographic. It was about that time that I decided I would become a clown. I knew that the trapeze was beyond my abilities (though I wished otherwise), but clowning seemed within my grasp. I had an amazing, stretchy face, I already made faces at myself in the mirror for more time than anyone would consider healthy, AND the program featured a two-page spread on the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey clown school in Florida.

I tacked the circus-poster insert to the wall at the foot of my bed from that point on, and I'm sure it seeped into my dreams. I thought a lot about this future, and even into college, I considered it a serious possibility, along with going to theater school and traveling the world.

Then my best friend told me he intended to marry me, so we had a circus-themed wedding reception, instead. I moved the circus poster from the foot of my bed to the wall behind the reception head table, where it provided a festive backdrop to John and I as we celebrated. It was WAY better than clown school, and what I've been given in the last ten years eclipses all of the above. I still have the program and the poster, though, and I wonder if the circus accepts highly motivated 80-year old clowns.

_________________________________________________________

When Susannah was 2 weeks old, John surprised us with a trip to the circus. He'd received tickets through his work, and my girls were dazzled as I had been. Since that time, he's taken us two other times, thanks to tickets through his work, and it never gets old or stale.

This time, we had to pay for the adult tickets because of a glitch, but it was more than worth the cost.

And we went with friends, which made it all the more merry!




I didn't take many pictures. Having a squirmy baby on my lap while trying to adjust manual settings that I'm not entirely competent with yet hampered any excess, which meant there was more time to stare wide-eyed at all the wonder and glitz.

More time for Luci to eat elephants.

More time for Pip to wonder why I'm taking her picture.

More time to watch the trapeze artists with awe and wistfulness. (A small part of me still wishes my mom and dad had been circus people, so that I'd have an excuse to swing up so high.)

They were the best trapeze artists I'd ever seen, and I can't even remember the name of their troupe. (Rebecca?)

More time to envy the woman who rides elephants.

And more time to watch the real Human Cannonball shoot through the air and land at the opposite side of the arena. I'm sorry that I have no picture of this new-to-me marvel; I was too busy watching, but it was exciting.

Then we walked across the bridge to normalcy, where women don't swing through the air by their hair, Tiger Men don't pace a ring filled with striped beasts, dogs don't willingly rush down slides, spangles don't shoot out of every corner, and where cotton candy doesn't cost 3 bucks a bag.






We drove home through beautiful rain.

It's a good life, this life of mine