Molly & the circus...

Theme Thursday

Theme Thursday for August 9, 2012 - RECOLLECTIONS

The scene was exactly out of a story book called "Circus Time". 

 It came to life before my very eyes.  In the 1950's, descending from Glacier National Park on part

 of our vacation to Canada, we drove around a corner and into pastureland.  To our extreme surprise,  we saw men in blue overalls hoisted long poles.  Little people scurried about watering elephants as they, indeed, were helping to pull taut the ropes which fastened a huge tent down with 
spikes driven  into  the ground. 

We had happened upon one of the last "Greatest Shows on Earth"!  Performers had to be 

getting ready behind the scenes  as well.  Until it opened we found lodging in the nearby small town, the name of which I don't recall now.  I'm sure my jaw fell wide open and then my imagination ran wild as I fixated my memory on the little Golden Book read to me as a child over and over by my paternal grandmother.  What I describe now is partly 

what I saw that day, probably in Idaho, and mostly from the story book.

Living the gypsy life, lost boys called "The Big Show" home; sawdust

 stung their bare hands and arms and the scent of barley lingered from pitching bales of hay.

A trapeze artist donned her ballerina type shoes; clowns painted smiles on their dour faces.  Sky the color of cotton candy and buttercups began the day over three big tented arenas.   Onlookers filed into grandstands from oh, so many places, children arrived in swarms.  

Unparalleled in today's

 world, people watched in awe as the tigers and lions obeyed 

the tamer.  Men in leotards stretching and pretty showgirls on white prancing horses shared the spotlight with vividly costumed bears and dogs.  Many a writer has most likely already described all the                                   sights, smells, sounds and more details of a circus, particularly the familiar roasted peanuts, hot dogs, popcorn, and pretzel smells that filled the air.

Clamoring horns, the beating of a big drum, children screaming;,,, frequent hushes of an audience spellbound.  Bells ringing from the arcade and laughs from the crazy mirror house....

I channeled the little golden book that was read to me, of Molly and her father at

 the circus for the day.

Familiar was the side show where she saw the bearded lady and the man covered 

with tattoos.  Muscle bound men lifted weights; a very plump lady wept behind a curtain; another 

swallowed a snake!  
Bridles of silver gemstones shone in the sun as the sky turned a brighter, closer blue;  upbeat melodies 
played from the three rings in three tents gorged with people....all  of them happy to be there, simply to put grins on the faces of others.

The illustrations in the Golden Book by Marion Congor are by Tibor Gergely .... beautifully done,

 it seems with a magical brush, in hued colors in round, supple strokes; children have rosy cheeks and men have kind faces; each scene is easily imprinted on one's mind for lifetime.  Dipping his pen in caramel ink for the late afternoon soil and then adding the grey- blues and textured finer touches, he used 
a Kool Aid cherry red paint to contrast with the lime and orange balloons....

At the end of this day in the illustrations

 in the book, the sky changes to shades of purple.  Everything is exaggerated as they 

 might be in a child's mind...larger than life...and up close.  

Tired from the excitement, Molly rests her sleepy head on her father's shoulder, balloon in hand.

He carries her home in the cooler evening after they have had their fill of entertainment.

The warm wholesome feelings the book imparted to me years ago, still exist, but also have led me to revisit the father daughter dance that I ironically found myself a part of.  I idealized my father...he taught me how to dance by letting me stand on his feet, how to chop down a 
small Christmas tree with an axe,  to study hard and long,  and to not be
 prejudiced. To all of us, he was a champion 
in everything he did.  
We learn parents have faults.

Growing older, I saw I was not the little girl in the black Mary Jane 
shoes dressed in the French blue dress.  The man in his green suit and brown hat was not 
really capable, not emotionally available, as is said now, to understand a girl's ever fragile and changing thoughts and emotions.  I rebelled against my usurper and clashed with his 
patriarchal tone.

I learned to separate the truth from the fiction, the ideal from the actual, and the love and disappointments with cloudy boundaries.  I was oblivious to the mixed messages of unconditional love.  My god, did that take me 50 years to sort out?!  

No longer did I put my father on a pedestal; never performing quite well 
enough, I distanced myself, separating myself from him in many ways at an early age, and
 left home at 18 like a babe in the woods, head upheld, not down.  I was ill prepared for adulthood; I began to thrive when I learned that feeling anything at all in the world was allowed....even expressing those feelings was a healthy thing to do..  Well, I finally realized I deserved to
 be happier than I was at some point ;-_).....'hello Jane Fonda', 
who I later learned had dealt with the same issues with her father that I did,  that took a

 lifetime almost (thank goodness not too late) to parse out and uncover, 
a false premise, if you will.

So come one, come all!!  Join the parade!  .We all have our favorite books from childhood.  What is yours?  point ;-_)  If you mention those like Treasure Island, Nancy Drew or Moby Dick,

 then I believe you to be a well-grounded person.

 .