Raising the Big Top

Back in 2012 when I was touring with Panic Circus, one of the most exciting experiences was learning how to raise the big top. I think in the three weeks I was there, I probably helped raise and put down the tent at least five or six times, in the rain, wind and sunshine. Each time was thrilling. I got the sense that I was one of the only members of the crew that saw the task in such a glorious light… for many it had simply become a part of the job.Now after Circus Cascadia has bought a big top of her very own… I am beginning to see their point of view. 

But before I get too jaded and enveloped in the worries of a tent-owner (what if barn mice chew more holes in my tent?!), I want to relish in how wonderful my first experiences were. In my naive mind, the physical labor of raising a tent was so romantic, stirring up images of my childhood like watching Dumbo and remembering magical moments when going to the circus. The rhythm of the sledgehammers, the clanking of the chains, even working in the rain had a rose-tinted feel. And truly, it is a very fulfilling experience to be part of a team, putting up such a beautiful structure when hours before it was just a grass field. 

Looking back on it, I understand that it was fun and thrilling because my tasks were relatively simple, and all I had to worry about was listening to the team leader and doing my job well. Laying out side poles, tightening ratchet straps, helping the crew lay out the tent fabric, pulling up stakes, etc. Everyone else had already done this hundreds of times, so the technicalities were already worked out. I was a welcomed extra set of hands that made it easier for us all. As the weeks went by, they let me do some of the more skilled/dangerous parts, like lacing up the pieces of the tent ceiling or even being the one to lower the center ring when it was time for take down. All in all, it was ALWAYS fun. 

Creating a lovely space for some circus and puppet magic!

~~~

And now… a new chapter begins with Circus Cascadia. Even though we now have a tent, we still technically have no permanent space. Since joining the Circus Cascadia family, The Bus of Fun has been her central hub, and as a teaching circus that visits schools, our vehicle is really irreplaceable. I like to think that the communities of Portland have come to recognize us from our circus bus, painted beautifully with red and blue.

Now we have something special, something big, beautiful and yellow! Without the help of our crew and circus community, this tent raising would not be possible. Here are some pics from the put up… BIG THANKS to Sisyphus Farms for graciously letting us use their field… and lending a helping hand! Shout out to Charlie, Zephyr and Ike, you guys rock our socks!!

Laying out the tent… like working with the heaviest and most annoying piece of fabric…

 

I love Paul's face in this photo… it perfectly encapsulates the feeling of amazement when you finish a tent-raising. He was totally flabbergasted, once it was actually up. We did it! We've never been so sore!! Circus Cascadia has it's own tent!! (Yes, this was a long-time dream realized for our dear ringmaster). 

As it was our first tent-raising ever and we had a crew of four, progress was frustrating and slow. We quickly realized a lot of mistakes and changes we would need to make for next time. Instead of tying knots we'll definitely invest in some ratchets to tighten the side ropes, and a better measuring system for our stakes. In the photo below you can see a little bit of sag on the left… that will not be there next time! Part of tent safety is having every panel nice and tight and the stakes aligned. 

In the end, the tent was up in a mere 8 hours (eshk!), but once it was, there was much reveling and joy. We will have to practice our put up and take down a bit more before we start using it at events, and perhaps find a reliable, strong and enthusiastic tent crew (a few more hands make much more light work)… so if you live in the Portland Metro Area and you dream of running away with a circus… don't hesitate to look us up! 

Isn't she a beauty?!

Tent-Time!

I'm going to skip the part where I write "Oh my goodness, I haven't written for a year, how awful, etc etc" and come right here to the present moment.

Since I last wrote, I have started and finished graduate school, got my Masters in Elementary Education, had a fantastically busy summer (oops, where was my vacation?!) with summer camps, circus, and nonprofit work, traveled to Hong Kong and Mexico, and started my first job as a 1st grade teacher.

This happened! Whoohoo!

Every part of me wishes that I had documented this past year in some sort of organized fashion. And by that I mean a photo album, a journal with consistent entries, or even better, a scrapbook journal filled with my doodles from graduate school notebooks and all the random odds and ends that I collect, always planning to one day put them in a journal. I have even started carrying gluesticks in my purse just in case I need to glue in some ticket stub or other.

But I digress.

I have written before about how I am not very interested in sharing a whole lot of my life with "the internet" (scary!). Especially since becoming a teacher, one's personal life is in all ways essential to maintaining sanity. A lot of teachers I know (and I am certainly no exception) love nothing more then to come home and embrace a hermit lifestyle after a long day of interacting with people. Teaching is all about interaction and personal relationships (Know Yourself, Know Your Students), which makes personal time such a treasure.

And yet, despite my desire to maintain anonymity on the interwebs and not put too much out there, here I am typing away, wanting to share something, something with the world because when I sit back and look at my life, I am flabbergasted with how much magic surrounds me.

There are two aspects of my life that I want to share on this blog.

First, there is making.

Whether it is sewing, knitting, crochet, hot gluing, paper-making, mod podging (Mod Podge! I have just discovered Mod Podge and my life has changed forever!!), or whatever else strikes me, I love to create. If the materials I use are upcycled, that is even better. Knitting season is upon us and I have already dived in with glee.

Second, there is Circus. As someone who was up to recently fairly "normal", (meaning, no running away with a circus), I have fallen in love with every aspect of circus life. Wouldn't it be cool to get to read all about what goes into a circus education nonprofit?! Um, yes it would.

It turns out the crafty part of my life is overlapping more and more with Circus. Whether I am mending children's costumes, practicing face painting skillz, making costumes for myself or others, making props, taping hula hoops, there is ALWAYS something to be done. Winter is traditionally the time of year where we repair all the equipment that was so well loved over the summer, and refresh our materials for the upcoming school year. I have many fond memories of re-taping hula hoops while the snow fell silently outside. This year my Circus crafty-ness went to a whole new level. I can now call myself a tent-maker...

It started off as a small idea…. making some tent covers for our three blue pop-ups that we use. It quickly turned into an elaborate design (complete with stars because of course a circus tent needs star decals!) and a few trips to the fabric store. I spent a week of summer in full-on sewing mode, devoting my entire days to sewing, cutting. It was so exciting, and the materials divine to work with (Sunbrella fabric: resistant to all weather and mildew, aka perfect for Portland). When they are done, these covers will last us at least 10 years.

Since the school year has started, my attention has been turned elsewhere, so for now, the pieces sit in our living room, but once I get into the groove of school, I will be able to work on them in the afternoon and my goal is to have all three finished by the new year! (Eek…).

As far as the blog goes, I am not making any promises.  But at least just for me (let's call it a personal goal), I want consistent documentation. That starts here, and my goal is to share some circus magic with the world every Sunday. That seems reasonable, don't you think?

Tis the season!

~~~

So before I started school, I definitely knew that this year would be an overwhelming year of a lot of hard work and not as much play. And I had totally accepted that because I was really excited to be back in school, learning new things, meeting new people, and hopefully finding my path on the next exciting chapter that is my life! 

But there are some days, oh some sweet autumnal days where the golden leaves glimmer, and I sit and wonder why I'm working and not knitting. So lately I've been tackling some projects that require only my hands and not my eyes! That has sort of worked when reading is involved (and there is a lot of reading in graduate school, good grief), but I'm still getting the hang of it. I think if you watch me trying to knit and not look at my knitting.... it's a pretty funny sight. Face all scrunched up in concentration... my fingers fumbling to find the stitches. Hah! 

But as much as I'd love to whip out the sewing machine and really go crafty-crazy this fall/winter, alas it will not be so. Knitting and maybe embroidery is about the only thing I can handle space-wise, sewing just takes up too much room with the machine, and all my books current occupy that desk. 

On the other hand, I think I've always been somewhat of a seasonal crafter, with sewing in the summer and knitting in the winter. There is just something so nice and cozy about knitting in winter, any knitter will tell you so. And in the summer, the longer days make sewing more fun, jumping from the machine to the ironing board to the machine and back again. 

As soon as the season started to turn, my ache to knit started with vigor and has not stopped since. Who knows, maybe since I've started in September, I may just reach my goal of knitting something for everyone I love this holiday season!

In the meantime, the notions will wait patiently, brightening our days with their presence and sweetness, and provide the perfect display for some finger puppets, perfect for the impromptu puppet show on the couch during these long nights. What crafty adventures have you started this fall?!

~~~

Circus Goodies

As the summer is slowly coming (and school hasn't started yet), I've been spending most weekends either at the sewing machine, or in the garden. This morning Paul and I worked as a team to finish nine shiny new circus ribbons! He cut, sanded, and shaped the dowels while I went to work on getting brass eyelets punched.

After we finished, I took an extra 20 minutes to make a pretty bag for them, since up till now the ribbons had no place of their own and were often tangled in the other equipment boxes. Hurrah! I have been wanting to make some ribbons for a while now since ours are so well loved. Especially by the little ones! Nothing is more fun that dancing with a shiny new ribbon :).

Best of all, the fabric and ribbon for the bag is all 100% thrifted! Thank you SCRAP!! I love thee.

My Backpack and Me

All things considered, I consider myself to be somewhat of a hermit. Most days all I want to do in the evening is snuggle with my dog and bf and watch Doctor Who. I am not particularly interested in letting the world know what is going on in my life. Frankly, sometimes I wonder if I was born in the wrong generation, (considering my bf is 20 years older, the evidence supports my suspicions).

HOWEVER, every once and a while I want to be just like everyone else, writing blogs about my perfect life and eye-opening adventures, taking pictures of everyday beauty and secretly hoping that someone somewhere will read about my life and be amazed. Because really, this past year has been AMAZING for me. Germany, Israel, England, Wales, Arizona, Mexico. I've been at home for a total of 4 months this past year, and I feel the effects it has had on my psyche. Both negative and positive.

I feel like I am floating, weightless, above the world and everyone is calling for me to come down. I know it is time to come down and sort out the pieces of my life I tossed aside in favor of the backpack. I left a job, I left a home. Neither are the same anymore, and I'm nervous about adapting to the changes. As far as travel goes, I'm done. I'd like to spend some time nesting, I'm not eager to run off to somewhere else exotic. But its strange to think that right now I am very comfortable with myself as a traveler. I know myself, life isn't complicated or weighed down by possessions, deadlines, or even the expectations of those around you who see you everyday, the same as the day before. Maybe that's why I'm not running back with open arms?

One of my realizations in the tropical jungles of Mexico is that the majority of my wardrobe is very fitting for that environment. A lot of clothes my mother passed down to me, or the colorful skirts, shawls, dresses I have accumulated work very nicely as everyday wear. Clothes that stay tucked in my closet in Portland, never daring to come out because it's too cold, or too flashy, or too daring. I want to change that. I love fashion (especially fashion I can pull off for a buck, which I can). It feels great, exactly the same feeling when I used to dress up as a kid. There was once a pair of red pumps that were my favorite pair of my mothers shoes because they were RED. I would walk around in them, way too big for my little toes and make a hell of a racket. Now they fit me perfectly. Treasure.

My sister gets married one week from today.

                                                        Gabi and Me, SF Zoo, 1992. 

My sister and I have had the most polar opposite years. She bought a house with her fiancee and planned a wedding, the two ultimates of settling, committing, making some serious investments in the future. I imagine her standing on a very very solid foundation, and I'm proud of her for building such a wonderful beginning of a life for her new family.

I, on the other hand, ran away and joined the circus (literally), and have been floating, floating, floating ever since. Granted, I have done some things to work towards a future (applying to grad school, etc), but I have noticed that a big similarity between Paul and me is that we both have that flame under us that keeps us moving, searching, exploring, touching the corners of the planet and making each place another home. I have no foundation to stand on that I can call all my own, expect maybe a banana plantation in Nayarit, Mexico. Writing it down for the first time makes my heart thunder. Life is funny that way.

So in about a week I'll be back in Portland, with no immediate plans to take off again. I am nervous to face the winter in full force (well, Portland winter anyway, I know I am a wuss with the cold, I blame SF upbringing). Maybe one day I'll sit down and write about the rest of Israel, all of the UK, and Mexico with everything in between. Or maybe I won't. It's all floating, floating in my head like a dream, but I know it wasn't a dream, and it makes me giddy thinking of all the stories I could tell.

There is one thing I can say for certain. The culminating lesson I have learned, the pearls of wisdom I have gained from meeting all the people I met, all the lives whose paths have crossed with mine. I know that it's all going to be okay. The world is so big. Life is long. And everything is going to be alright. Pretty zen, right?

Sheesh, I've become such a hippie :)

Haifa Diaries pt. 3

July 11, 2012

9:15 -- The Clown's Silhouette
14:00 -- Preparation for Clown Invasion
18:00 -- Clown Invasion of the Neveh Yosef Community Center

So, I wrote a lot about this day after it happened, but it is all a bit scrambled and unclear, so I'd rather start by writing about it now, in real time, a couple weeks after the actual events.

In the morning we had a workshop all about costume, the clown silhouette and the relationship between character and clothing. I have always always always been obsessed with costume, with clothing in general, especially one of a kind, handmade, unique pieces. (Side note: I think that is actually a big reason why I have to go back to Portland... I miss Red Light and Scrap too much, haha). I've dreamt of the day when I finally have enough space to really tackle my sewing with a vengeance, and perhaps get brave enough to try and make clothing. But I digress.

The workshop was really excellent, and the first time we all got into costume as a group. The workshop leader, a street clown for over 20 years and one of the first Dream Doctors was really a clown to aspire to be... he'd been doing it so long the lines between him and his clown were completely blurred. But you could see the love he had for his work, and his costume was as big a part of it as anything. He encouraged us to make our own costumes, as well as have a story for every single piece. And also, don't be afraid to try new costumes, build different outfits, but at the same time try and keep some base element always with you, so from anywhere, your silhouette is still recognizable.

I love costumes. Love love love them. I loved seeing everyone in costume for the first time, because especially with those who have been working a long time (and have a very developed silhouette), their costume can instantly tell you a whole lot about their personality. It's another kind of vulnerability I think, because one of the reasons a clown dresses the way it does is to stand out, to be noticed, and in many ways appear ridiculous and be ridiculed. 

~~~

SO. That leaves me to the second part of this post, The Clown Invasion. 

That evening, after a session of brainstorming, we all hopped on a bus and were taken to a theatre festival in a community center in eastern Haifa. Our job was simple. We were to disembark, and mingle among the people, explore the building, etc etc, and just do what we do: clown around! The only thing we weren't allowed to do was enter any of the performances that were going on, since we would inevitably draw attention and ruin the work various theatre groups had been working on for so long. Rightfully so. 

It was one of those experiences where you basically had to just dive headfirst and don't give yourself time for second thoughts. Upon arrival we were immediately greeted by throngs of people watching a dance group outside the building, music blaring, traffic everywhere. But I quickly learned that's just Israel for you. My first at length encounter was with two little girls who could only say 3 words in English, "Come on!" and "Cookie!". We played for a while, blowing bubbles and chasing with my feather flower, and then they started to lead me somewhere. Man, these girls were on a mission. Every time I paused they both would scream "Come on!" and would grab my hands and pull. Soon they had dragged me all the way to the other side of the lot where we met (I hadn't even entered the main building yet), and I saw that they seemed to be leading me through the exit of the festival, insisting that there were cookies on the other side. I decided it was time to move on. 

So I entered the building, having no clue where I was going or what I would do, or where any of the other 30 clowns were that I had originally arrived with. I spotted an elevator and squeezed in, using the silence as an opportunity to blow up some balloons and let the air out in farts. I think I could have stayed on the elevator, going up and down and up and down for the whole hour and keep myself entertained. But I got out and wandered some more, meeting another clown and playing for a while, then going off exploring the building. 

This was absolutely the strangest and most confusing building I had ever been in. It was on a slope, and the entrance was actually on the 5th floor via a sky bridge, and the stairwells didn't just go up, but through hallways. There were random corridors and the elevator took you higher than the entrance floor, needless to say I never knew where I was. I rounded a corner and found myself in a room where 6 or 7 preteen boys were hanging out with another clown. As soon as they saw me put my bag down, full of spinning plates, a diabolo, juggling balls and scarves, they went nuts and rushed me, emptying it out in excitement and commencing loud and rambunctious play. The other clown left and I found myself alone with these kids, and for about 10 or 15 minutes it was all fun. I periodically had to remind them not to use the spinning plate sticks as swords, and one boy in the corner was very energetic with my bubbles, so much that most of the soap was being sloshed on the floor before he could blow. I did feel a bit overwhelmed by the energy these boys had, and this was my first time clowning alone, but I took a breath and kept up the friendly energy and they were all really determined to learn to use my toys correctly. 

Then at some point, after I had been with them for what felt like an hour but was probably about 10 minutes, something happened and the mood in the room changed. Two of the boys started exchanging very strong words. Then one boy started to hit the other. First he punched him hard in the arm. The a hard kick in the back. I had already raised my voice at that point to break it up but they were oblivious to me. Then the boy gave another hard punch in the shoulder. At that point I grabbed him and led him away as gently as I could, not wanting to provoke any more violence from him. The boy that got hit slipped into the elevator first chance he got, not crying, but I think they are used to that sort of thing. It all happened so fast, but I felt totally blindsighted. After that happened, I was ready to move on from this group. So I packed it all up and slipped away, blowing a kiss as they professed their love to me and trying not to think about what had just happened. 

I went up the stairs and down a hallway and saw before me a room filled with people. That was my way out. I took a breath, and swoosh, opened the doors. There were way too many people in the room, at least 50 or more. I knew immediately I would have to focus my attention on just small groups at a time. Had some funny interactions with a boy scout and army recruiter, and a group of kids, some small and some older with my spinning plates and scarves. There was a sweet girl who immediately understood the point of the flower as a tickling stick, and she chased me for quite some time around the room, delighted to try and catch me. A small boy with big eyes watch with a grin as I performed my scarf in the ear trick. The boy scout gave me a balloon flower and then I gave it to another girl, he was sad and I did everything in my power to make it up to him. Another clown encouraged me to join the army and the boy scouts by kissing the back of their business cards as a signature. Handfuls of children came and went trying my spinning plates. The same little girl who tickled me found my scarves and we played dress-up with her brother, draping ourselves and pretending to be royalty. I stayed in this room until all the clowns were alerted that our hour was up and we met in a basement room for water, sandwiches and a roundtable discussion. 

But it wasn't till I came in, sat down, and took a breath that I realized how upset I was over witnessing the violence between the two boys. I wanted to talk about it, but I felt it bubbling up inside me and I knew that if I opened my mouth that I would break down. So I sat in silence and listened to the others complain and gush about their experiences. Everyone had something to say. To some it was completely pointless, because this wasn't like medical clowning, and was more like street theatre we would normally be paid for. I tried to breathe, and process it in my own mind. There were a lot of factors that made it particularly stressful for me. It was the first time I had clowned alone, and the unfamiliar building was like a labyrinth. And when I was in that room, I was Delilah but I was also the only adult in the room, and the paradox scrambled my little brain. There was a moment when I didn't even feel safe, knowing that this violence was in the room and feeling helpless to prevent it, because at first they did not listen to me. So yeah, I was scared. And the fear didn't reveal itself in all it's glory till we were sitting in that circle. I wanted to say "Hey, I had a weird experience. I have never worked alone and found myself with all these boys, and then there was a moment of violence and I had a moment of panic, being a clown and yet also being the responsible adult. Has anyone else encountered violence while clowning? How do you handle that?" But I wouldn't have been able to say that if I had raised my hand. The dam was cracking and I wanted more than anything not to cry in front of 30 clowns. It wasn't because I was ashamed of crying, because I knew I was in a supportive place. But I think at the time, empathy from 30 people would have been too much to handle. 

But this story ends happily. After the circle broke up, I approached one of my friends, she was the first clown I had met and felt like family to me. I opened up to her about the experience and as I predicted it took me like 10 minutes to get the whole story out because of the tears. I cried, she sympathized, and I felt loved, supported, and much better about it all. It was a moment of acceptance for me that yes, I am a beginner clown and there are many situations I have yet to encounter while performing or clowning. I didn't want pity, but I needed empathy from someone more experienced that my strong reaction was understandable. 

Thinking about all of it in retrospect, I know it wasn't that big of a deal. Boys beat each other up. In the end I am grateful for the experience because it brought up some important questions for me, and highlighted all the craziness that comes with the job of clowning. What does a clown do when we witness things that don't exist in a clown's world, like violence, racism or sexism? When is it okay to break character or take off the nose? What happens when you're the only adult in the room but also the clown, who in many ways is as innocent as a child? I had to face all of these questions head on, and thankfully the situation wasn't particularly dangerous or harmful for anyone. It was actually obvious, I knew I had to intervene physically since they were ignoring me otherwise. But in that moment right when the mood shifted, I had lost all the power and control in the room as the adult and that was disturbing. 

In the end, about 75% of that experience was all good. In fact, 100% of my interactions were positive and friendly, since none of the violence was directed towards me, I just happened to be there when it occurred. But that was really a defining moment for me, and from a psychological standpoint my strong reaction was really curious to dissect later on. My heart is on my sleeve, and when I clown I am like a sponge, absorbing every emotion around me, feeding off the energy of the crowd. I didn't give myself any time to process in the moment so when it all came flooding back later it was about ten times as strong, added onto the chaos (although entirely fun) of the last room I was in, where everywhere I turned there was the potential for a moment shared with a stranger. All in all, an unforgettable experience. 

The night ended with my roommate and I getting sloshed and drinking our troubles away. It was the best ending of a very very eventful day. Oh yes, and when we walked into our apartment, a piece of our kitchen ceiling had fallen down. But that is for the next entry. 

Haifa Diaries pt. 2

July 9th, 2012


10:00 : Human First, Red Nose Second
14:00 : The Medical Clown in a Therapeutic Relationship: Meeting the Patient and Family
16:00 : Movement for Medical Clowns

"Today was a great day. In workshop I finally got the chance to get up in front of everyone, and get some feedback and praise for just being exactly myself. We learned a little step, partnered up, and our direction was to do nothing. Don't be a character, don't ham it up. My heart was in my throat, but to my delight, my energy was described later in exactly the ways that I try to embody Delilah. Sweet, delightful, girly, innocent. I can't wait to get into costume, I think Delilah will really just feed off of the love from everyone. 


For a few short moments in movement class, I began to forget to worry about what other people were thinking, and just really got into exploring my body and creating a story. I don't really know what the story was, a sad little puppet in a box trying to get out, perhaps. Discovering her own hands, arms, legs, and marveling at the moment of a single digit. The object of the exercise was to pick body parts, gently letting them guide the rest of the body up, and then back down, but alway vertically. I picked a corner and really just tried to stay in my own headspace. 


I am happy. Bruises are starting to appear on my pointy limbs. This is the best decision I have made, that feels right deep in my heart. I always had a feeling and high hopes that 23 would be a great year, and being able to come here and do this has made Germany so much more important to me. Panic Circus will just be the sprinkles on this Israel Icing that is on the Germany Cake!"


Real Time thoughts:

Our first week was the best week of the seminar. I think it had a lot to do with the extended workshops that lasted a few days, and it gave us a chance to really form personal relationships with the instructors, as well as take it slow in the classes and really spend time on the details -- because it is all about the details, friends.

The first thing I really learned about "medical clowning" specifically is that it exists all over the world, and it is not a full time job. Every time a participant talked about their schedule, 4 or 5 days a week was always pushing it. I suppose it makes sense when you think about it, because you are really exerting an incredible amount of energy in a small period of time, as well as absorbing all the emotional baggage of any person you might happen to interact with in the hospital.

Medical Clowning is a job full of paradoxes. It is very serious work... but we strive to make a place like the hospital a little less serious. We may play as if we are against the rules and regulations of the hospital staff, and yet we secretly have the same goals that they do. Above everything else, a strong and trusting relationship between the hospital staff and the clown is key. What the first class taught me  is that we are good enough, delightful enough, as simply ourselves. Making that connection with people and that bond that can blossom into play or even just a release of tension, is something you can do without a costume, without props, with nothing but your own person, and an openness in the heart. That is really the beginning of Medical Clowning, and it was surprisingly difficult because hand in hand with that openness is the vulnerability of rejection.