Circus takes its act to Chicago

VACATION FINALLY beckons here in the House of Kind Thoughts and Loving Gestures. Kids and adults are scurrying everywhere, frenzied and a little breathless. Everyone is helping one another. If you peeked in the window, you’d be certain you’d stumbled across some sort of renegade church.

“Last call for laundry!” my wife yells. “Last call!”

In the House of Kind Thoughts and Loving Gestures, no job is too big. The kids work together to prepare for their plane trip back to see their grandmother and cousins in the Midwest, in one of those plush, conservative Chicago suburbs where everyone wears chinos. Even the cops.

“I warned my boyfriend not to mention Bush,” says the lovely and patient older daughter.

“Good idea,” I say.

“And not to be too sarcastic,” she says.

“That’s good too,” I say.

Like their grandmother, I disdain sarcasm in any form. It only leads to cynicism, disenchantment and a form of nihilism that doesn’t play well in the nicer suburbs. The suburbs are for happy thoughts. From happy people, properly dressed.

“Can I bring my surfboard?” the boy asks.

“Why not,” I say.

Evidently, we are bringing everything we own, so why not the surfboards? When we load the van for the airport, it will look as if Mariah Carey’s closet exploded. There will be a hundred suitcases. Hatboxes. Jewelry trunks. Bucketfuls of socks. Even the older daughter’s boyfriend is coming along. Presumably, we are never coming back.

“We do not take a trip; a trip takes us,” Steinbeck once wrote.

Well, Steinbeck was a more spontaneous guy. The residents of the House of Kind Thoughts and Loving Gestures leave nothing to chance. Like a wedding, no detail is too small to worry over. There are to-do lists on the kitchen counter, three pages long, with asterisks and addendums. They look like legal documents. I’m pretty sure they’ve been notarized.

* Pacifiers.

* Sunscreen.

* Phone charger.

* PLANE TICKETS!

But most of all, there are suitcases. They are scattered everywhere on the bedroom floors. Usually, you can step around them, till night comes and you find yourself standing in a pile of T-shirts or -- if you’re lucky -- in some stash of lingerie. Imagine waking from a passionate dream and stepping into the cool clover of your wife’s underclothes? In a nutshell, that’s pretty much my life.

“I had a sex dream last night,” I tell my wife.

“And?”

“I left you to marry ... you,” I explain.

“You know what that means?” she asks.

“That I have no imagination?”

“No,” my wife says. “It means you feel stuck.”

Stuck? Why stuck? We’re about to embark on a wild adventure to the Middle West, with three tons of luggage and a herd of circus clowns dressed like our kids, who’ll press the plane’s overhead call-buttons and try to order double Whoppers. I have never felt more alive.

“Have you thought about which suitcase you’re going to bring?” my wife asks.

“Honestly, no,” I say.

“You should,” she says.

And so I finally pack. Two pairs of shorts. Two T-shirts. A Bears jersey, in case we go out. I can pretty much cram it all into the pockets of the cargo shorts I’m wearing. Unlike the people I live with, I travel far too light.

“Should I take this?” the little girl asks.

“What’s that?”

“My lucky snow globe,” she says.

“Sure,” I say.

We don’t know quite what to expect from Chicago. It’s been a few years since we’ve visited. From what we hear, that big fire’s finally out. And Ditka is gone. But we’ll find something to do. If things get dull, we can always buy a pellet gun and shoot giant mosquitoes. Or spend the day trying to make a left turn off of Lakeshore Drive.

“I can’t wait to see Grandma,” the little girl says.

“Who?” I say.

“Grandma,” she says.

“Never heard of her,” I say.

“Your mother,” says the boy.

“Oh, her,” I say.

Such youthful compassion is common here in the House of Kind Thoughts and Loving Gestures. But how will it play in the heartland? In a week, we’ll find out.