This seems fitting as we approach New Years Eve. I don’t know why. Mine is not to reason.  Spring 2009

We have friends visiting from Canada. They are both psychotherapists and no, they are not here on a house call, but thank you for asking.

The cold and rainy weather has been unfortunate for them although Art is always looking on the bright side, which is just one of the many reasons Hungarians might believe he may need some of the very therapy he offers to patients.

He is also a big fan of circuses. I had never been to one, which means I either had a deprived or privileged childhood, depending on your circus or psychotherapeutic disposition.

Well, the circus is in town. In fact, it’s been here since February and is refusing to leave until August. A version of the Grand Circus has been performing here since 1889 and  they are putting on 120 performances to celebrate their 120th anniversary. When Art learned about the circus he bought us all tickets. My deprived or privileged childhood was over.

The Grand Circus has a relatively small venue as far as “big tops” go, giving almost every seat a great view of the performers and their acts. Frankly, I found some of it archaic. Particularly the “man-conquers-beast” thing. Training animals to do unnatural tricks through food-reward and whipping seems old world. With Hungary being quite an equestrian nation, there were a few horse performances. During the acts riders got their beasts to “dance” and “bow” and do other things they would never do if they were left alone. I don’t know whether it was the horses or the lions that made me feel the saddest.

The funniest animal performance involved a team of husky dogs. The stage was set up with little igloos and ice blocks and a slide for the dogs to run up and slide down. And, of course, they had the sled for the dogs to pull a woman around who was wearing a snow-white costume. I think this was their Canadian and/or Siberian content. The first trick was an attempt to get the dogs to roll over in unison. One dog wouldn’t stop barking and the team of eight or nine of them never did do anything in unison, at least to my eye or sense of timing.

The clown was really good. In fact, he was great. Truly funny. If he runs for office, my vote’s with him.

There were various acrobatic acts with women going into such unbelievable contortions that I think you could have stuffed them into your carry-on luggage.

In Canada, we have strict workplace safety regulations. Apparently, not so here. For some of the acts there was a safety wire. But not for all. One of the acts was with a woman balancing on one hand on top of a 15-foot pole that was balancing on a man’s forehead. Gives a whole new context to “I’ve got Georgia on my mind.”

The high wire act consisted of two men, one of whom looked almost as old as Mick Jagger. The safety net was a concrete floor. During one of the stunts, the Jagger-era stuntman was blindfolded to walk across the wire. He lost his footing half way across and went partially down, saved by a wire up his crotch. I know this wasn’t part of the act because he yelled something to his younger team member, who immediately grabbed the wire to pull it tighter.

The juggler seemed to be the biggest hit.

Just when I thought it was over, I was crest-fallen to learn the lights were only coming up for the intermission. “But wait! there’s more!”

Yet it was the intermission that proved to be the most entertaining.

As I said, it is a relatively small big top. The entrance lobby, with its concession stands selling weird stuffed animals, (few of which were representative of any animal in the circus – an overlooked merchandising opportunity), food concessions selling popcorn that also may have been from 1889 and washrooms, was shoulder-to-shoulder at intermission. It was hard to tell whether the crowd you were standing in was trying to make its way to the non-circus stuffed animals, the vintage popcorn or the plumbing.

Unbeknownst to us, we found ourselves standing in a line for the women’s washroom.

A young woman went up to our guest, Patti, and asked a question in Hungarian.  Perhaps she was asking if this was the line for the washroom or the popcorn. Who knows? Of course, Patti didn’t understand what was asked and she responded, ever so politely,

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak English.”

It was a therapeutic day for all. Sort of.