The Carousel of Dreams

 

A child, a tiny thing in blond banana curls and cut-off genes walks with her dad, or rather dad

walks with his vivacious daughter.    He is still wearing his fatigues and is a bit weary but a

promise is never forgotten when your daughter asks… The carnival was one of those rent-a-rides

put up by the local church to gather money for things like the leaky roof on a steeple that had

seen better days and for food that would feed the many in a parish just as poor as its

parishioners.  The fun carousel was the brightest, loudest, thing in the parking lot 

among the hawkers of fish bowls and stuffed animals it twirled and howled a calliope of show tunes

only those from the past would remember, but everyone still enjoyed the lively sounds.    A tug or

two on a pants leg sent father and child into the thick crowd of the curious.  The event had invited

many in this small town to do something different or do something at all. It was another

reason to gather and chat with neighbors and relatives, people everyone knew.    The Carnie people

raised their patrons to new heights of social significance. They allowed everyone to

be better than they were until it came time to ante up for a chance toss at games that made all

but the very lucky, losers.   

Dad had enough time and energy to just sit and speculate what he remembered from his

childhood as a wonder.    The intelligent adult he prided himself on being wasn’t impressed, but the

glow on his little girl's face was worth the farce. After all, it was her first encounter with another

world and people who had nothing better to do than giggle and gaggle. The line to the carousel

was long because the spinning monument to 19th-century ingenuity was indeed a wonder to

behold.    It had been reconstructed from parts of a handful of its kind.    The man responsible for

this reconstruction was a retired engineer who had run out of things to fix around the house.    His

ambition to make something amazing for all took him almost twenty years. It cost him no more

than his time because money was not an object to the visionary who had pushed his generation

far into the computer age.    He yearned for the simple and relished working with gears and levers

rather than microchips and lines of code.    All the while, parts found or made begin to fit together

or point to another problem that research and patience would remedy.    His project was not

slowed by the entrance of grandchildren or the loss of siblings. The revolving stage with

grotesque creatures that moved up and down and round and round to the sounds of bygone days

were mesmerizing, being a perfectionist new life was being born.    This was no longer a machine,

this was the past made present, and presentable.  A monument to dreams and goodwill that

would never die. 

Some who looked at this ride felt it had not survived the journey to the present. There was good

reason to feel this way.    But then it wasn’t supposed to.  A machine that travels from the past to

the present could continue without permission, assuming a little imagination came with the price

of admission. That was its allure. Everyone knew what it was, but no one understood 

why it made them feel so good.

This story was originally published on July 17th, 2005 by myself, the blogger.

Image:  https://www.gesacarouselofdreams.com/