What It's All About by Joe DeRozier

Dave and I would tear down our checker patterned hall, wearing only our pajamas that we had outgrown the previous year.

It was 6:00 am... Of course, Dave and I had already been awake for over an hour.

We were early risers, anyway, but today...

...today, was Christmas morning. Starting at five am, Dave and I crossed that checker patterned hall every 10 minutes into Mom and Dad's room.

Mom possessed that sonar "mom hearing" that always jolted her awake when we entered their room, while dad pretended to sleep, hoping we'd leave...

...but we were seven and eight, sooo...

"Now?" we'd plead with mom.

"No, boys. Your dad is tired. Let him sleep until 7 am."

Negotiations took place between ourselves, and our very tired mom, until a compromise was met.

"You can go to the Christmas tree, but do not turn on any overhead lights, and don't touch anything."

That compromise worked for us, knowing there would be further negotiations 10 minutes after we stepped foot in that magical room.

Our tree was a real tree that we grew in our backyard.

Mom and Dad had planted several of them years earlier for this singular purpose.

This made our Christmas tree that much more special.

I remember Mom pruning and shaping the tree throughout the summer, so it would be perfect for Christmas.

The smell, and the pine needles are things I'll never forget.

That piney scent gently wafted throughout the house, and Mandy, our Collie/Shepard would continuously knock needles on the floor with her tail.

For the previous three weeks, our home was filled with Christmas music from morning until nightfall.

The voices of Brenda Lee, Bing Crosby, and Gene Autry filled our home, with songs like “Little Blue Bell,” “White Christmas,” and “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.”

Mom spent every morning vacuuming up the renegade pine needles, saying it was a small price to pay for the aroma of our tree.

...and she was right.

Mom was very frugal as money was tight, but that didn't stop her from going all out for Christmas.

Tree lights were never thrown away, and mom hit every garage sale in Spring to accumulate more.

Some ornaments were garage sale prizes, but the best ones were from mom and dad's childhood.

I especially remember a cheap plastic apple. The ornament itself was nondescript, but when you held it, you could see the teeth marks of a child.

Dad bit that ornament when he was a kid, thinking it was food, and grandma DeRozier passed it down to our family.

We were retold that story each Christmas.

All decorations and lights on our Christmas tree were perfectly symmetrical.

Mom would tell me I was the only one that could help her set up the tree, because my older brother, Dave, and younger sister, Kerin, didn't do it right.

Looking back, that's how mom got me to do a lot of things that no one else wanted to do...

...smart lady.

I'm certain my siblings messed things up on purpose so they wouldn't have to help.

Dave and I would stare in amazement at the beautiful tree, with the brilliant, symmetrical lighting that increased each year, and rag tag ornaments.

There were so many brightly wrapped gifts stuffed under the tree!

Dave and I would kneel next to the presents, careful not to touch them, as per our agreement with Mom, and figured out the division lines for each of our Christmas hauls.

Once Dad got up, he loaded up his six-point antler lighting system for his movie camera.

Once the movie camera started rolling, it was officially Christmas morning.

With squinted eyes, we displayed each of our gifts for the camera. Many presents were practical, such as socks, underwear, and clothes, but there was always one "surprise" gift.

To this day, I can name many of those "surprise gifts" that were so special, and required Dad to work overtime.

When we were done carefully opening the gifts (on which Mom was careful to use minimal tape), we folded the wrapping paper neatly, so it could be reused for the next Christmas.

We weren't allowed to play with anything until that was done.

As we placed the folded holiday paper in its place, Mom and Dad would exchange the gifts they purchased for each other.

There would never be more than one for each of them.

Dad's gift from Mom was often an Avon decanter with aftershave.

Dad loved those decanters, and I know he still owned them until his passing.

Dad's gift to Mom was usually a surprise.

I'd hear a slight squeal from mom, followed by a big hug.

...I just got teary thinking about my parents embracing like that.

That picture is still in my head, and to this day, is the visual definition of pure love.

The years seemed to fly by...

I entered the Army after high school, and I made it back for only one Christmas, since.

Life, too often, seems to get in the way of love, and family.

Over 50 years have passed since Dave and I sprinted down that checker patterned hall, wearing pajamas that we had outgrown the previous year.

...but I remember it all like it was yesterday.

When I reminisce about those Christmas mornings so long ago, the thing that I'll never, ever forget... ...the one thing I remember that epitomizes Christmas spirit and love...

...will always be that slight squeal from mom, and the way they would embrace.

Merry Christmas.

Joe

Find dusty baker Joe on Amazon or stop in and visit him on Broadway in Peru, Indiana. I guarantee you'll enjoy the visit. - Liz

In the Center Ring...

This was written in 2015 and last published in 2017. Much has changed in that time and much has stayed the same. It's about writing and about the circus. I thought about rewriting (see? writing again) to make it all about the circus, but since I write about things from the heart, I decided I'd leave it in. I hope you enjoy the visit back. May all your days be circus days!

Photo by Dianne Stoner Gustin

Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages...welcome to Peru, Indiana, the Circus Capital of the World, and Miami County's own permanent big top! -

Michelle Enyeart Boswell, Ringmaster

Peru, Indiana is the county seat where I live. It’s also the Circus Capital of the World. It’s the home of the biggest amateur circus anywhere, has had a TV special made about it and books written about it, hits USA Today occasionally, and has an ever-evolving band I could listen to all day long. There is an annual circus parade—one of the largest seasonal parades in the state—and sometimes it seems as though every kid that’s not on a baseball diamond or a soccer field is in one of the circus building’s three rings. When I wrote for the newspaper, my favorite assignments were always interviewing performers. If you want to find out more, go here http://www.peruamateurcircus.com/ and if you want a nice place to spend a few days next summer, go ahead and make plans—we don’t have a lot of motels around here, and they fill up fast.

Commercial over, and circus week is over for the summer, too, but those three rings make me think of not only raising kids—yes, it was a circus, the most fun and exhausting one in the world—but of writing books. Specifically romance novels.

 
The Center Ring, obviously enough, belongs to the protagonists. It is the story of how they meet, overcome conflict, and live Happily Ever After. But then there are the rings to each side, too. The ones with—you know what they are—subplots! Where you get to have secondary characters with stories and pains and glories of their own. The rings aren’t as big, but they either bump up against or intersect with the edges of the center ring to where things are moving all the time and the performers are dependent on each other—and on you, their audience—to make it a good show.

 
The Center Ring garners the most attention, it’s true, but the acts in the side rings require as much work, as much thought, and as much heart as the ones in the middle. You get to add some idiosyncrasies to those performers that might not fly with the hero and heroine, which can sometimes make them more fun to write but they must not be more fun to read! This is a rule I’ve heard my entire writing life. It’s one I still don’t like and, as a reader, don’t entirely believe, but I admit I’m probably wrong about it. So, as I undoubtedly said to those kids I was talking about raising, Do As I Say And Not As I Do.

 
There are gaspers in the circus, things like human cannonballs and doubles from the trapeze, just as there are black moments and aha moments in books. They are the connecters that keep you going from act to act or chapter to chapter.
There are the clowns. In the amateur circus, there are tons of them. Peru, after all, is where Emmett Kelly, his sons Emmett, Jr. and Pat, and his grandson Joey—clowns all—are from. If you’re scared of clowns, you didn’t learn it here, because Peru Circus's jesters are fun and funny and heart-melting. The late Doc Sprock’s day job was as a physician—he delivered a good many of the audience! The Kiddie Clowns are so cute you spend a lot of awww time when they’re in the rings. They choose their own faces and names and they work hard at their craft.

 
Back we go to secondary characters. While their primary job may be bringing attention to the Stars of the Show you’re writing, their faces and names need to be distinctive. Avoid stereotypes. Let me say that again for the 400th time this week, avoid stereotypes.

 
At the end of the show, and the book, it all comes together. It’s the big payoff. You leave the arena, or close the book, with both pleasure and regret. Oops, that’s important, too. Circus performances are long—there are 200 performers in the Peru one—and books are often long, too. Sometimes because that’s how long it takes to tell the story and sometimes because publishers have length requirements. So it’s up to the ringmaster and the writer to make sure there is more regret than relief that it’s over. Because the circus performers want their audience to come back next year and the writer wants her readers to look forward to the next book.

 
Have a great week. Read a great book. May all your days be circus days! Be nice to somebody.