Kiddieland in Melrose Park is set to close after 81 years. The reasons have to do with the price of real-estate and a family feud -- a year round Costco will make more for the landlords than a seasonal amusement park. A lot of people are making a last pilgrimage to the site. Like others, Kiddieland has been a childhood mecca for three generations of my family. The photos below were taken with my cell-phone camera. Sorry for the shoddy quality.




The Tilt-A-Whirl used to test my intestinal fortitude as a child. The blue half-spheres still swing young and old alike upon their rusty grooves.

This is my daughter's fourth or fifth time at Kiddieland. We go once every summer. It's hard to quantify "fun" but the kids seem to have their $23 dollars a ticket (for the whole day and all the rides) worth of fun. With shorter lines, I wonder if the fun-quotient isn't the same or better than the thousands you'd pay for Disneyland or hundreds you'd pay for Great America. My daughter and her friend liked the water-tube-slide thingy so much, they went on it ten times -- not something that would be likely to happen at Disneyland where there might be an hour wait for a ride.




The "Little Dipper" -- an ancient wooden roller coaster -- is the stuff of nightmares if you are under six. For anyone else, only the general ricketyness is of concern.




This is currently the stuff of my nightmares. This hot dog is wrapped in the American flag and showering itself with ketchup and mustard in an effort to pretty itself up and make you want to eat it -- a very self-defeating act for a hot dog. I cut off the bottom part of the wiener because, well, this is a family blog and some things are just too disgusting.

Kiddieland is full of retro detail like the hot dog above -- must have been the cool thing in condiments at some point. Or was there a point in time in the last eighty-one years that people didn't know to put ketchup on their hot dogs and needed that self-same hot dog to point the way to fully condimented bliss? Were their periods, say during WWII, when patrons would only trust an American hot dog as opposed to a German frankfurter?

Another retro detail (sorry, no picture): a large tin thermometer that is also a vintage advertisement for Mail Pouch chewing tobacco that greets you as you begin the log ride. (See also.)







Enjoying the Scrambler as it scrambles. Sadly my favorite ride, The Polyp, was closed. That's right, they aren't just for Ronald Reagan's colon -- Who wouldn't want to ride a polyp? If only they could stay in business, Kiddieland could invite children to ride the "Malignant Melanoma" or "Weeping Staph Infection."





Dig the Buck Rogers style space pod with attached guns that make old-style "wooga-wooga" noises. This area of the park (which really only has two areas) has a number of retro-futurist "spin your child" rides.

The only thing I can think of that has the same non-corporate, home-made, and purely "for the heck of it" vibe as Kiddieland is Circus Bruno. I don't know if Circus Bruno still exists.

Or perhaps Kiddieland just seems more charming now because it's closing?




We stayed their seven hours and the kids would have stayed longer. I have never tested my daughter's staying power at Kiddieland -- I always give up first.




As a kid I wanted nothing more than to ride in the mini-trolley car on the right. I would run out of the gate and zoom right for it -- disappointed if the front seat was taken. The trolley or new-fangled "moto-bikes" would then spin benignly at a speed of 5mph while all the kids made clanging/beeping noises. It's a bit hard to see the allure.

Yet, there is a whole aesthetic that I was introduced to as a child at Kiddieland -- something to do with the flashing lights on the bumper cars, the shined chrome on the fins of the merry-go-round convertibles, the sleek Zephyr-like lines of the mini-railroad that travels through the parking lot -- something about that old-time amusement park aesthetic is something truly magical, home-grown, and as American as ketchup on hot-dogs. There's a lot about Kiddieland I don't like as a parent, namely the fact that I have to be there all day, but I also can't deny that something of Kiddieland is stuck in me. So when they finally take down the multi-colored mini Ferris wheel that is made up of five kid-sized cages there will be the ghost of at least one little boy who was stuck at the top, all of fifteen feet in the air, and thought: "ohhhh gosh, I"m flying!"

This summer I took a stroll through my mind (the Temptations helpfully suggested the trip). I read "War and Peace":

It's the translation by Anthony Briggs. For what it's worth, I found it less fussy and more readable than any other version. Certainly the prose is rendered in a non-flashy, direct manner without constant notes -- and he helpfully (to me) translates all the French that's used in the book right there on the page rather than as a footnote. It took me over a month to read and I enjoyed it immensely. By the end, I found that I was in complete accord with Tolstoy's humanistic world-view. It was a deep, rewarding experience that snuck up on me (okay, sneaked up on me, whatever). I mean, it seemed like a good story to begin with, but really became something much deeper. I did skim the umpteenth time that Tolstoy broke the narrative to give his views on Napoleon and history and great-men and determinism, yadda, yadda...

I also worked on writing a book. Here are the first two paragraphs:

"The Feast

A rivulet of pig's blood trickled underneath one of the enormous yams. Two rows of yams flanked the sides of a muddy road that led up to the feast house. Each yam was tied to a log and hung liked enormous, deformed Christmas stockings between two oil drums. These giant tubers, hairy with crazed roots and as long as a small child, hung in fat clusters beside the little road. Each cluster of yams weighed hundreds of pounds. A few had to be trucked in on flat-bed pick-ups and hoisted by six men... ten men... fourteen men. The size of the yam was rated by the amount of men it took to carry it on thick poles strung through the bark-roped top of the yam clusters. That's a fourteen-man yam... Each of these monstrous yams was dressed at the top with a garland of green vines. In spite of all the manly endeavor it took to grow, harvest, and carry the yams to the feast, the long row of yam clusters that flanked the road looked something like dressed-up, shy dancers at an awkward party.

The pig's blood flowed beneath the yams into a muddy crevice where barefoot children were playing. The riot of children were landing here, near the pig's blood, after they slid on their butts down a muddy streak in a grassy hill. The morning had brought the usual downpour, but now the weather was sunny, humid, and steaming as the warm pig's blood streaked across the haphazardly placed bits of cement that called itself a road on its way down the small hill in Pwudoi, Pohnpei, Micronesia, Pacific Ocean. The bloody path trickled towards the ocean, towards the open mouths of a tangle of eels, waiting in the dark maze of a mangrove swamp. The blood crossed the island's narrow circumferential road, went under the cement beams of the policeman's house and through his small sakau market where people were sitting on plastic coolers and drinking a gray, dirty mildly psychoactive liquid out of emptied-bottles of cheap Filipino rum. From the cement edge of the market, the blood dripped into the waiting maws of the eels."

In preparation for my wedding, I painted eight portraits of authors in oil on canvas.

This is Haldor Laxness, (I mean Halldor Laxness) Icelandic Nobel Laureate:



This is Tillie Olsen -- my favorite of the eight that I painted, mostly because the hand doesn't totally suck.



This is the poet Robert Lowell:



There's only one person in the world who could inspire me to paint eight portraits and write a book, that's Kristin Gourlay. Here we are in Quebec after the marriage:



Here are our hands on the top of Mont Tremblant, Quebec:




We picked up some Elk Pate (you know, with the slash above the "e") in Quebec and brought it back for my daughter's birthday.






What's better than an Elken meat-spread on your birthday?

Then we went camping in Eastern Kentucky with our new tent.


What a great summer! Too bad it's over... but even that Temptations song alluded to earlier came to an end -- eventually -- after eight interminable minutes of psychadelic noodling (and I'm huge fan, okay! Check out this CD! You won't be disappointed!) and the Temptations dropped off one-by-one so that now I think they tour with the ashes of an original member and maybe one guy who joined them when they were doing duets with Rick James... Ah yes, seasons turn, the great wheel of heaven grinds on, cloud nine dissipates, papa is a rolling stone and gets a brand new bag -- and honest papas love their mamas better, by the way - and so we write an end to the summer, farewell -- those ashes are now cold from the fire that once made my sweet, sweet s'mores...

Something exciting is approaching in the Fourth of July parade -- probably Tootsie Rolls.



Blowing rainbow bubbles -- 'cuz the Fourth is all about freedom and equality, baby.



The Grace Lutheran 25th Grade School reunion (No, we didn't go to 25th Grade, it just felt like it). Stevie and Martin sit on a plate of baked beans and hug, just like the old days.



Nyah nyah nyah, you're extinct and I'm not!



Climbing trees at Brookfield Zoo.



Brookfield Zoo's new "wall of effervescence" where kids and adults can explore the world of trapped air.

If these guys were a band, this would be a great album cover.





The next generation of Micronesian kids will wear crocs and eat waffle cones. This was taken in one of those fake Scandinavian towns for Midwestern tourists, New Glarus Wisconsin. You can tell it's bona fide Swiss because all the tchotchke stores are called "something-'haus'" The kids had a great time swimming. Some of the group went to the brewery. The beer is really good as far as I can tell. I'm working my way through a variety pack.






On our way to Minnesota we stopped at Devil's Lake state park. I remember coming here when I was a kid. Great beach.




On our way back from Minnesota we stopped at Roche-a-cri state park and climbed the 303 steps to the top of the mound.




Hiking in Roche-a-cri.

What happens when you press the red button? Nothing. But few people get to press it and that is enough to make it worth pressing.




First draft of "Raiders of the Lost Ark":

Indiana Jones: Smooshy colorful cubes?!?! Why did it have to be smooshy colorful cubes!?!?




You can hardly see the wires that control her movement.






Everyone is a winner. Everyone is special. It's just that my kid is so much better than yours. That's not bragging. It's just a sad (for you) truth.

Livin' the diversity on Diversity Day! Oh, yeah!

Representin' Micronesia with some purple plastic flowers. Catch the hagutiwahu -- nan, I can't spell it, but I can feel it.




Walkin' down the street in the "Parade of Differences," flanked by the "Sidewalks of Similarity."




Eatin' some "pad Thai" and ice cream, watchin' the Peruvian mating dance followed by the middle school doo-wop group singing the "Laverne and Shirley" theme song. Schlemeel, schlemazel, hasenfeffer incorporated!





Paintin' the face, courtesy of an elderly clown stuck in the right field mud. Remember: live the diversity!

Among weekend's amazing discoveries that can be shown semi-publicly are riding a horse:

That's Kristin doing the stirrups -- she got the ornery horse, b/c she's the most experienced jockey. The hour-long trek afforded pristine views of brand new spring blossoms and horse's behinds.

On to more discoveries. Here's Gen. Clark pointing at something or other.


It's a little known fact that Gen. Clark was fifteen feet tall, had one arm permanently locked in the "pointing" position, and carried a small girl attached to his foot.




What amazing discovery could they be pointing at???




Turns out it's just Indiana. Gen. Clark was apparently pointing to the nearest Wal-Mart, home of everyday low prices.




Keep Louisville weird!





Rare "Killer Maple" tree (the Native American name is the "Ack-Ack") in Muscatatuck National Wildlife Refuge -- that's in Indiana, about an hour past the Wal-Mart.






The Wood Duck trail in Muscatatuck NWR. We discovered through picking petals on white flowers that many people "love us" while some "love us not" -- very wise flowers.

"We are not aware we are acquiring when we are acquiring, and after we acquire, we are not aware that anything has happened."

This is my favorite Krashen quote because it is at once both silly and correct. He's speaking of language acquisition. In Krashen's world, grammar drills have no use and explicit grammar correction no function. The only benefits would be seen on grammar tests, where the "monitor" can decide the grammiticality of a given item and correct it.

I recall beginning my ESL teaching in Micronesia with Betty Azar's black grammar book (a.k.a. the Black Betty). We filled and drilled, filled and drilled, etc. until the students could get a TOEFL score of above 470. (I was learning the grammar along with the students. It was quite interesting to me!) Then we would write essays and of course the students would not apply any information from the drills into the essays. I almost became a "But I told them the rule!" teacher. This sort of teacher blames the students, thinking that exposure to the grammar rule should automatically translate into success. No success? Show them the rule some more -- only louder! It's an exercise in frustration. (And we changed the classes a couple of years later, ditched the TOEFL and disowned the Azars -- not that it caused a great leap in student success, but at least we were teaching for communication rather than drills.)

Krashen's theory explains this experience and replaces the drills with "meaningful input."

The "Communicative Approach" which is now the hip model in ESL, and what I am trained in, is concerned with "meaningful output."

Somewhere there's a happy medium (she's probably talking to Elvis right now) -- what I like to call the "meaningful quantum revolving door of merry-go-round-put." In this theory the input goes in a revolving door, part of it decides to go grab a snack in the frontal lobe and the another part meets an old friend and goes back through the door as output. Thusly does acquisition occur.