The Cowardly Lion of Oz

[mariness]

I know clowns get a lot of hate these days. But someplace in my storage boxes, I have a little paper mache clown, made, I believe, in Mexico. I cannot remember when I first got it, although if I'm right about Mexico, it must have been when I was about two or three. The little clown was certainly around when I entered kindergarten, and when we moved to Italy and when we returned. I loved that clown. I made up horrifically bad stories about him and made sure I could see him when I went to sleep and when I woke up. It's why I still keep the clown.

I suspect it helped inspire the first poem I ever wrote, a poem I struggled with for days that ended up going something like this: "Clown fell down. Down down clown. Poor clown." (My memory is probably improving the poem considerably. But, you know, I was in first grade at the time, and "clown" is difficult to rhyme when you're in first grade.) I loved other clowns as well. Big clowns. Little clowns. Clowns with balloon animals and clowns with juggling balls and clowns in cars and – Yeah. Clowns. I still love clowns.

With all that said, I really hate this clown. (I see I was so annoyed that I even messed up the tags on the post. Oh well. I'm considerably calmer about the next books.)