(matter-of-factly)
"Oh. I'm bleeding."
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Memory Lane
Last night I was going through the hundreds and hundreds of photos I've taken since the beginning of my journey with my circus. I have one folder titled "The Arrival" and it consists of photos of C and I en route to Salins for the creation.
This is a photo of me with our combined luggage.
I'm not entirely sure how we managed to get there. But I do know I'm going to miss having her with me as I continue to navigate my way through France.
This is a photo of me with our combined luggage.
I'm not entirely sure how we managed to get there. But I do know I'm going to miss having her with me as I continue to navigate my way through France.
So Long, C
The last few days have been exceedingly difficult for me. C performed in her final show, the switch to her replacement was made, and now she’s really gone.
C and I were in school together. She was a year below me. We had already done a contract or two together. When my circus was looking for another female artist, I thought that she would be brilliant for this show. It turns out the company thought the same and she stayed on right after her audition.
The entire experience with this circus has been trying. There have been many wonderful times too, of course, but as with anything, there’s also lots of drama. Plus, we’re both from Canada, both had to jump through the same French hoops, and bore a lot of the same burdens that only those far away from home can truly appreciate. She has been my closest confidante. And there are things going on here that I can’t share with anyone else. Now that she’s gone, I don’t know how I’ll get by. You can’t possibly imagine how lost I feel.
I miss my friend. I miss planning dinners together on our days off. I miss movie nights and teatime. I miss my rock. There are so many ways she helped keep me grounded. Who else will advise me to give my internal organs a massage before the show when I’m feeling particularly anxious?
Her last show went brilliantly and she was showered with a huge outpouring of love. Many secret, and not so secret goodbye messages were littered throughout the performance. A sign saying “So long C!” taped to the marimba, getting roses all throughout the show, her name in song, paintings in her honour, a sign held up in the technical booth at curtain call, a goodbye made before the entire audience…
After her last show, we finally had tea on top of the tent. We’d been planning on doing it for ages and never did get around to it. It was the right time. It was the only time we had left. It was beautiful.
When her replacement took the stage and C could finally sit in the audience to watch the show (the first night C was still backstage guiding D) she cried. Of course she cried. I cried for most of her last show, most of the first show without her, and at the end of the show where she was in the audience. I’m crying now. I’ll be crying for days.
It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t seem possible. I keep expecting her to come back. As she was driven away to the train station, half hanging out the window waving, the car flanked by at least half the troupe, it felt like a dream.
I miss her tremendously. I can’t even explain. Everything I just wrote is like a single drop of water in the ocean. Truly, a light has gone out here. And not just for me. The first full day of her absence, almost everyone was reflecting on the realization that she was really gone.
The technician who pulled her in her act looked wistfully out the kitchen window and said “It only just hit me that I’m not going to be seeing that smile again…”
And I can’t even count the times where her flight status and possible location ‘right now’ was discussed. There are echoes of her everywhere. It’s always hardest for those left behind.
She gave me a string of decorative lights that had always bedecked her caravan. I admit, I always did admire them. I didn’t get a chance to tell her that I strung them up before she left and had them on throughout that last show.
They may not as bright as her own light, but it’s still nice to have a little bit of here shinning here with me.
So long, C. We miss you.
C and I were in school together. She was a year below me. We had already done a contract or two together. When my circus was looking for another female artist, I thought that she would be brilliant for this show. It turns out the company thought the same and she stayed on right after her audition.
The entire experience with this circus has been trying. There have been many wonderful times too, of course, but as with anything, there’s also lots of drama. Plus, we’re both from Canada, both had to jump through the same French hoops, and bore a lot of the same burdens that only those far away from home can truly appreciate. She has been my closest confidante. And there are things going on here that I can’t share with anyone else. Now that she’s gone, I don’t know how I’ll get by. You can’t possibly imagine how lost I feel.
I miss my friend. I miss planning dinners together on our days off. I miss movie nights and teatime. I miss my rock. There are so many ways she helped keep me grounded. Who else will advise me to give my internal organs a massage before the show when I’m feeling particularly anxious?
Her last show went brilliantly and she was showered with a huge outpouring of love. Many secret, and not so secret goodbye messages were littered throughout the performance. A sign saying “So long C!” taped to the marimba, getting roses all throughout the show, her name in song, paintings in her honour, a sign held up in the technical booth at curtain call, a goodbye made before the entire audience…
After her last show, we finally had tea on top of the tent. We’d been planning on doing it for ages and never did get around to it. It was the right time. It was the only time we had left. It was beautiful.
When her replacement took the stage and C could finally sit in the audience to watch the show (the first night C was still backstage guiding D) she cried. Of course she cried. I cried for most of her last show, most of the first show without her, and at the end of the show where she was in the audience. I’m crying now. I’ll be crying for days.
It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t seem possible. I keep expecting her to come back. As she was driven away to the train station, half hanging out the window waving, the car flanked by at least half the troupe, it felt like a dream.
I miss her tremendously. I can’t even explain. Everything I just wrote is like a single drop of water in the ocean. Truly, a light has gone out here. And not just for me. The first full day of her absence, almost everyone was reflecting on the realization that she was really gone.
The technician who pulled her in her act looked wistfully out the kitchen window and said “It only just hit me that I’m not going to be seeing that smile again…”
And I can’t even count the times where her flight status and possible location ‘right now’ was discussed. There are echoes of her everywhere. It’s always hardest for those left behind.
She gave me a string of decorative lights that had always bedecked her caravan. I admit, I always did admire them. I didn’t get a chance to tell her that I strung them up before she left and had them on throughout that last show.
They may not as bright as her own light, but it’s still nice to have a little bit of here shinning here with me.
So long, C. We miss you.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
UPDATE!
Riri has been found! Almost immediately after I finished writing the previous post commemorating his Riri-ness, his master drove into the lot, Riri seated by her side! It turns out he was picked up by the SPCA.
I must say, I have never seen that dog look so happy.
Apparently Doggy Prison wasn't his cup of tea.
Welcome home Riri!
I must say, I have never seen that dog look so happy.
Apparently Doggy Prison wasn't his cup of tea.
Welcome home Riri!
Riri
Picture a crotchety old man. And I mean seriously crotchety. Now picture that crotchety old man as a small, runty dog. You have just been introduced to Riri.
Riri is the dog of one of the kitchen staff and, like a number of other dogs, comes along on the tour when we’re under the Big Top. I first met Riri in 2008. We had started to do research for the show, but the previous show was still touring so it was only a month-long stint. At that point, there were four dogs at the circus. One was extremely obedient, one was adorable if not a little pushy, one was made of hyperactivity and craziness… then there was Riri.
Riri was mean. Not in an aggressive way, but in, well, a crotchety old man way. The doggy equivalent of “Dang kids! Git offa my lawn!” He was never one for cuddling or other such mundane dog things. Sometimes he could be found sleeping in a box of onions.
But it’s no longer 2008 and time seems to be taking its toll on Riri. It started with a sudden need to always be with his master and now rarely leaves the kitchen. He doesn’t really bark anymore (and did he ever before), and in what can only be described as a throwback to his youth, he’s started randomly humping legs.
Then, on Halloween, Riri vanished into the night. In a statement that chilled to the bone, his master announced that this time, he would not be coming back. She just knew. Riri was gone.
Say what you will about the little shit, but that is one hell of an exit.
Riri.
The dog. The Legend.
Riri is the dog of one of the kitchen staff and, like a number of other dogs, comes along on the tour when we’re under the Big Top. I first met Riri in 2008. We had started to do research for the show, but the previous show was still touring so it was only a month-long stint. At that point, there were four dogs at the circus. One was extremely obedient, one was adorable if not a little pushy, one was made of hyperactivity and craziness… then there was Riri.
Riri was mean. Not in an aggressive way, but in, well, a crotchety old man way. The doggy equivalent of “Dang kids! Git offa my lawn!” He was never one for cuddling or other such mundane dog things. Sometimes he could be found sleeping in a box of onions.
But it’s no longer 2008 and time seems to be taking its toll on Riri. It started with a sudden need to always be with his master and now rarely leaves the kitchen. He doesn’t really bark anymore (and did he ever before), and in what can only be described as a throwback to his youth, he’s started randomly humping legs.
Then, on Halloween, Riri vanished into the night. In a statement that chilled to the bone, his master announced that this time, he would not be coming back. She just knew. Riri was gone.
Say what you will about the little shit, but that is one hell of an exit.
Riri.
The dog. The Legend.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Stay Classy
It was a fine day. I was enjoying my tea on my ‘stoop’, stealing the internet as best I could, when suddenly, the peaceful calm of the circus was shattered by an overly-charismatic voice on a loud speaker. It was going on about… something… something that sounded remarkably like exotic animals and acrobats…
I looked to my left and what should I see but an entire convoy of brightly painted Circus Pinder trucks loudly advertising their show right next to our Big Top!
I mean, c’mon Pinder. Seriously? You’re seriously advertising your show by parking five or six trucks next to our tent and blaring your happy little circus promo audio clip? Seriously? Next to our tent? While most of us are outside our caravans giving you the stink eye?
Wow.
I mean…
Wow…
I stepped onto the sidewalk to get a better look at this sideshow and a man comes up to me and says, “Looks like you’ve got some competition.”
I turned to him and said, “Well, our shows aren’t anything alike. We’re much more artistic and poetic. And they’re…” then I pointed to the visual assault that was their trucks.
Subtle.
Don't think we don't see you.
This one was taken from my caravan window!
Fifteen minutes later, they moved on.
Stay classy, Pinder.
I looked to my left and what should I see but an entire convoy of brightly painted Circus Pinder trucks loudly advertising their show right next to our Big Top!
I mean, c’mon Pinder. Seriously? You’re seriously advertising your show by parking five or six trucks next to our tent and blaring your happy little circus promo audio clip? Seriously? Next to our tent? While most of us are outside our caravans giving you the stink eye?
Wow.
I mean…
Wow…
I stepped onto the sidewalk to get a better look at this sideshow and a man comes up to me and says, “Looks like you’ve got some competition.”
I turned to him and said, “Well, our shows aren’t anything alike. We’re much more artistic and poetic. And they’re…” then I pointed to the visual assault that was their trucks.
Subtle.
Don't think we don't see you.
This one was taken from my caravan window!Stay classy, Pinder.
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