at the circus

On Halloween we decided to go to the circus, which was holding its last performance in our area. Or, I should say, my mother and daughter decided to go. I wanted to stay in and laze around, or at most, go do some grocery shopping. I'm not very ambitious on a Sunday. But I was feeling a tad guilty because I knew we wouldn't be trick-or-treating later, and I wanted everyone to have a good time, so I acquiesced.



And we did have a good time. For the first half of the show. And then I looked over at my mom and I knew something was up. She wasn't looking at me or answering my questions. It was getting scarier by the moment. I knew exactly what was up, as the tent had been wickedly hot. The same thing had happened with her once before at an outdoor event a year or so ago. She was going to faint from heatstroke any moment if I didn't do something fast. I tried to get her to sip through the straw of her lemonade but that wasn't working. Luckily a nice lady behind us saw immediately what was up and asked her companion to go for help. By the time they got there I had got some ice on her wrists and neck and got the lid off the cup and forced some lemonade down her. It was like a light going on. She responded immediately. She was back, just as the circus security guys arrived. They helped her down the bleachers and plopped her in front of a large fan—probably the only one in the entire tent—and got her an ice pack. As we were climbing down the bleachers behind them my daughter asked me if she could get a pony ride—you've got to be kidding. Kids are amazing.

She didn't want to go to the ER, and after watching her for a moment I didn't think she needed to, so they lowered a barricade so that I could drive my car right up to the tent. As I was threading my way through the field where we parked, finally managing to get the car to the side of the tent, like a scene from some crazy movie, a tiny man appeared at my car window, banging on it and yelling, "No, NO!" I just shook my head at him and kept driving while someone else called him off. There were apologies all around and free passes to future shows, but I don't think we'll be going back anytime soon.



We seemed to have dodged once again, a mini-bullet, but what a horrible mini-movie it was of what's to come. Sorry for all the minis, but I can't get the image of that security guard pounding on my car window out of my head. We moved to Florida expressly for this purpose—to be close to my mom, whose health and ability to care for herself is failing. It's not that an incident like this should or does shock me (even though it shakes me to the core). I guess I just wasn't ready—for the intensity, the speed of it. And it feels like some bad cosmic joke—what, I can't even take them to the circus? As if I needed any proof that clowns spell e-v-i-l.

She bounced back, but I think she was thrown too. She doesn't really remember anything specific about how it happened, how bad she must have felt, but how could she? She was about to pass out. I am trying not to kick myself for not "knowing better." I can't stop the inevitable decline, as much as I might like. But I can try to prevent any future episodes of this nature. I can try.

hold the fry?

Stephen Fry made some remarks recently about straight women and sex that seem to have got the internets up in arms, from feminists crying, "foul!" to "experts" saying maybe he's on to something. I honestly don't get what all the fuss is about, why anyone would take these remarks seriously. I happen to love Stephen Fry, and the Mrs. I have for years.




Maybe the folks whose panties are so twisted don't really know who Fry is or what he's like. Here are a few things to keep in mind before getting too upset.

1. He's a homosexual. He is about as privy to the inner workings of a straight woman's sexuality as ... Well, he isn't at all. That's the point. If that's not enough to convince you ...

2. He blathers. And yammers. And splutters. It's his stock-in-trade. No one should be paying any real attention to about 80% of what he says, it's just static. And usually charming.

3. He's British. Why would anyone take a Brit seriously as a sex expert? It's not like he's French.

4. He's a comedian. They push the envelope, sometimes too far, but that's their job. I can't even imagine what the politically correct police would do if a Richard Pryor came onto the scene now.




It's amusing and possibly a little disturbing that some people are outraged that he claims that women don't like to go trolling for anonymous sex in the park. Like some gay men might. Poor women. These are all stereotypes and generalized blah blah blah, people. Bad cocktail party conversation, maybe, but not a call to arms. Are we really supposed to take this seriously? Seems to me that Fry is not the only one who's clueless about women and sex and talking about women and sex.

I hope Fry, after a self-imposed humbled interlude, continues to blather freely once more. Even blither. I'm quite upset that he isn't currently tweeting. I find his silence much more upsetting than anything "inappropriate" or "incorrect" he could ever tweet or say.

People who read such articles or opinion pieces on such articles should just R-E-L-A-X.

Related articles

• The Fallout Over Stephen Fry's Sexual Insights [Sex Ed] (jezebel.com)

the graveyard book

Happy Day of the Dead! The Gaiman-athon continues.

I really enjoy Neil Gaiman's writing. But this book, The Graveyard Book, is exceptional. It seemed at first a possibly odd choice for the Newbery Medal last year, but it was well-deserved. When one thinks about all of the grisly happenings in fairy tales, and how many things in the real world that can be sometimes perceived as frightening to children, a book like this is actually a balm.

Admittedly, it starts off with a bit of a shock, with a brutal murder of a family that unfortunately is not too far from the headlines of many local newspapers. The child that survives the attack, another "boy who lived," but with a distinctly different future in store, fortuitously crawls up the hill to a neighboring graveyard, where he is adopted by some kindly ghosts, and watched over by a young witch, a werewolf, and, although never blatantly stated, a guardian vampire.




The book of course has its fantasy aspects in featuring all of these creatures of the night and shadows. But what is its strong point, and what comes across most clearly in the reading, is how we, along with the graveyard's inhabitants, get the opportunity to watch little Nobody "Bod" Owens grow up, through all the struggles and childhood challenges he faces. He may be able to walk through walls and make himself disappear as long as he is under the protection of the magical Grey Lady and the graveyard, but when it comes down to it, he has many of the same issues as any sheltered child.

The world outside his graveyard home is dangerous—full of folks who may do him harm or, even worse, other children who may not want to be his friend, schools that teach things that may not be entirely accurate. We feel Bod's growing pains and his need to move beyond his supernatural family—all the time realizing that no one may ever love him as much as this family, but he will still have to go when the time is right. I could relate to Bod's need to break out of the protective cocoon. It brought back memories of my hitting the road for New York City as soon as I could fly out of the nest. But I also remember tearful nights in my new home and realizing that I couldn't go back—we can never really go back, even when we visit. Everything had changed. I had changed. I was in tears at the end of this book, both for my lost childhood and with the realization that I will sooner than I want to be living this timeless story from the other side, when my daughter is ready to leave home.

The other touching aspect of the novel are all of the dead characters. How many of us have lost someone, and wished or wondered if there was some sort of existence, similar to their living one, that might continue? Bod gets to know people from many different eras in his town's history. He gets a built-in history lesson as well as the reassurance that death is not final. He learns not to fear death or endings.

Gaiman may use a fantastic setting, but he is telling a true, heartfelt journey of growing up, for both child and parent.

The Graveyard Book is truly one of the most wonderful books that I have read in a long time.

Book #2 in reading challenge Cannonball Read 3, sponsored by Pajiba

Related articles

• The Graveyard Book: Live! (tor.com)
• Big Blog on a train (journal.neilgaiman.com)

on halloween last year ...

Halloween last year was when I realized that my cousin Ann was going to die.

We made plans to go trick-or-treating in my Adams Morgan neighborhood. Even though we lived in the heart of D.C., the block my daughter and I lived on took Halloween very seriously. Every brownstone was decorated with lights and carved pumpkins. Every neighbor seemed to take part, as well as the local fire station down the street. It was a really fun experience for my little city kid (and me) to be able to go trick-or-treating, just like the suburban kids. Just like me when I was growing up.

 Mr Bones, always a favorite and it glows in the dark, too.

The previous year, which would be two Halloweens ago, Ann had concocted a crazy homemade costume (always the best kind) that she wore as she climbed up the steps with my four-year old daughter. It had a headdress made of fall leaves and wire, and a gown of bright yellow fabric. I think she said she was supposed to be the energy of the sun or something. Something very Ann. Anyway, she looked terrific and she headed out with my little spider. My friend Mary had given me a terrific spider costume when the kid was very small, and she had fit into it the previous year and it had become her costume this year too.

Last year's twist on the spider costume? A Ron Weasley doll held prisoner. Yes, it's Aragog.

They hit every house on the block, a few more than once. I stood down on the sidewalk most of the time, taking photos, just too tired to climb another set of steps after my long day of work. And I didn't need to. Ann had been declared cancer-free after a grueling 8-month round of chemo and a diagnosis of ovarian cancer. Her hair was growing back nicely and she had energy again. Nothing was going to stop her from enjoying this experience with her favorite little cousin. In fact, she had energy to burn, as she was going to a Halloween party with work chums later that evening after our trick-or-treating adventure. We all had a great time.

Just a typical day at work.

The following year she came over to go trick-or-treating with us again, but this was quite different from the previous year. The cancer had come back over the summer and it meant business. She had to postpone chemo treatments as she was just too week to endure them, and she had been having trouble breathing for over a week and was starting to get scared about it. She only ate a piece and a half of the sushi I had ordered in for dinner from one of our favorite local restaurants. We headed out to trick or treat, but she was clearly exhausted, and only was able to make it to our corner and back to her car before she had to call it quits. She didn't make it up any of the apartment building steps his time. I held my now five-year-old daughter's hand and walked her to each door and called, "Trick or treat," as Ann smiled, waiting on the pavement below. She took a great photo of us at the corner.

 Urban Madonna and Child, photo by Ann Gerstenberger

She wore part of the headdress that survived from her costume from the previous year. We hugged and parted and my heart sank as she drove off for home, but I smiled and asked my daughter if she would share some of her loot with me as we walked into our building.

 Loving Cousins

This year everything is different. We no longer live in D.C. and I work from home. My daughter and I didn't go trick or treating. Mostly because I'm not completely familiar with the neighborhood, and whether folks are open to door-to-door candy begging. We did go to a party at the local rec center and my daughter had a blast, and got a bunch of candy (and it all goes on sale today, so we will probably get a bit more), so I feel like we celebrated Halloween. But I can't help but think about Ann and trick-or-treating and how I miss her and wish it hadn't been so hard for her those last few months.