To Eat or Not to Eat

It's a party. There's music, food, games ... everyone's happy. My clients, typically the birthday child's mom and dad, are often wonderfully hospitable, insisting that I help myself to the feast. While I will regularly accept a bottle of water, especially as temps soar in summer months, my standard gig rule is NOT to eat at an event. I have a few reasons for this: #1 -- If I stay and eat with my hosts, every epic balloon pop is likely to garner a tear-filled, "Can you make me a new one?" from the young guests. No matter that my hire time has ended or that I'm eating. #2 -- Miss Pickles is a fantasy character. Having a child observe me grazing on the buffet fare rather tarnishes the image. #3 -- Getting my grub on at a gig might leave food in my teeth or ruin my Miss P make-up, creating a less-than-professional appearance and once again diminishing the fantasy in a child's mind. Unacceptable!

That said, I absolutely adore Indian food. So, when I'm offered this delectable fare at a party, I have been known to accept. But here's how I sidestep the onslaught of requests to remake burst balloons after my service time has concluded. Two simple words: TO GO. Yes, I get a plate of saffron rice, dal, naan, that spinach yumminess, perhaps even a slice of cake and take it with me! That way I can slip safely away from the frivolity and grub in private, probably sneaking a few bites at every red light on my way home. So, for me Not to Eat is the general rule, unless Indian food (or lemon cake) is involved ... and then I adapt, deliciously!

I Have A Dream ...

One of the most rewarding parts of “performing” at an event as Miss Pickles is the special interaction I have with the children. There is often instant chemistry between us, as young people believe they are in the presence of a cartoon character come to life. They know I am there solely for them. It is a pure, almost magical relationship that I hope to share across the globe some day.

To date, I have never had a gig in a hospital, orphanage or children's home, yet my heart yearns to love on the kids in each of these types of facilities. It breaks my heart of think of precious little ones who might be injured, without family, impoverished or otherwise in need, and I'd love to introduce them to Miss Pickles. I hope to travel to Europe, Asia, Africa and beyond to share my brand of joy with the beautifully unique children from various cultures,

Twisting balloons and painting faces are simple activities, but the joy they can bring is impactful. A latex sword or painted butterfly can lift someone's countenance, edify a wounded spirit, and initiate a smile that spreads across a precious, young face. In this way, I consider what I do as Miss Pickles a ministry. I feel privileged to share the very essence of God by approaching my clients, children and their families, with love, and I look forward to expanding this ministry worldwide.

"Are you a clown?

Due to an abundance of curiosity, children have no problem staring at someone. When I am painting a child's face, I literally have them in the palm of my hand … their face, that is. So, we are truly face to face. Inches apart sometimes. What else have they to look at but me? When I see them staring, probably noticing the glitter I brushed through my eyebrows or that weird spot in my eye, I just smile, which usually makes them do the same.

Admittedly, Miss Pickles is a novelty. Clad in every color of the rainbow and then some, not to mention the plethora of patterns, I (as her) am certainly stare-worthy. From the trio of items in my retro wig (or is that my real hair?!) to the bows, buttons and glittery laces on my two-tone sneakers, they have something to study on me from head to toe. And they do.

As they survey me, their little minds churning away with imagination-infused thoughts and bizarre connections most adults could never imagine, the question they ask most is, “Are you a clown?” I was initially surprised they would have any doubt, but they ask me so regularly, it made me start to wonder. I never do answer their question. I simply toss it back to them, saying, “What do you think?” Some say yes, others don't verbalize their conclusion. One boy said, “You're an upgraded clown.” I like that one!

Guess it all depends on what each person views as a “clown.” From so many, the mere word conjures up fearful images, and I have no desire to encourage association with any of those negative personas. Even the happy, jolly ones can be kind of scary, so I let children believe I am a new species of children's character, clown-esque in nature, but perhaps evolved to the place where fear is not a factor.

I love seeing how children's minds work, how their thoughts direct how they conduct themselves with different people. For some kids, there is no getting-to-know-you period with Miss Pickles. They know me immediately! Or, at least, they act like they do. I call this type of child “the sassafras.” They are sassy, funny, bursting with personality. They can be a bit rambunctious, but they are wildly entertaining, often very helpful, and keep me laughing.

The sassafras rarely asks if I'm a clown. It's not that they don't care; they just wouldn't give others the satisfaction of knowing they don't have a clue about it. And if another child asks me the question, they might respond before I can. The sassafras knows all, or so they think. “Clown” label or not for Miss Pickles, one thing the sassafras knows for certain--they know I'm there for them and that's all that matters.

Why Clowns Aren't Scary!

Ugh … that Pennywise! Thanks to great writers like @Stephen King, an entire generation of readers and movie watchers remain petrified of clowns. Admittedly, coulrophobia or fear of clowns did not originate because of the prolific Mr. King. A surprising number of people seem put off, even freaked out by painted people or someone with a “hidden identity.” I get it … I do. I was creeped out by the clown doll in “Amityville Horror” too. It's powerful when something that is supposed to be innocent turns sinister. Look how often children and even babies (painted too pale or with disturbing posture) are used to scare the stuffing out of us.

The stereotype for clowns has shifted. The beloved bumbling jester in too-large shoes and too-small car is too often portrayed as a talon-toothed distortion peeping thru windows or stalking folks thru the woods. Those distorted creatures do not possess the pure nature of the kind of clowns which seek only to bring joy not fear. As with angels and demons, they are the same type of being but with two very different motivations.

In my guise as Miss Pickles, I am clown-esque in minimized make-up with attire that offers a different silhouette from the baggy, big-buttoned onesie. But I have the heart of the fun-loving, goofball clown whose sole purpose is to make a child smile. Sappy sweet? Perhaps. But in a time when children are often injured or mistreated, couldn't the world use a little more of that sentiment?

I still love you, Stephen King. On Writing is life-changing … or, at least, craft-changing. Will somebody please hug a clown today?

----------
LIKE Miss Pickles on Facebook:  

Follow me on Twitter  ... @misspickles711

The Balloon Secret

People often ask me what's my favorite balloon. On any given day, my favorite may be the ram, the ray gun, the swan, the frog, or the monkey in a tree. But on a fairly consistent basis, it is the bow & arrow. Simple and easy to make, it requires only two balloons and a short piece of yarn (to tie on each end of the bow). The arrow is not fully inflated; I leave about three inches at the tip, which helps steer the balloon during flight. That's right, you can actually shoot the arrow! See why it's my favorite?

The other best part is it's secret. I begin my dramatic spiel by asking, “Do you know the secret of the bow & arrow?” Wide-eyed, the child inevitably shakes his or her head, so I continue my demonstration. “You take the finger that you point with … which finger is that?” I wait 'til they stick it out, and then push my pointer into the arrow to prepare it for takeoff. “I poke into the balloon as far as I can go and hold my finger and thumb together,” I do so, lift the arrow beside the bow, choose a target, and take a stance like ol' girl in The Hunger Games. Then I turn to the child and say in a whisper loud enough for parents to hear, “Now, you don't really use the bow, but nobody needs to know that. And when I open my fingers ...” I never finish this sentence because I've opened my fingers and, amidst gasps from the crowd, the arrow has already grazed some tall passerby in the back or boinked harmlessly off the noggin of an infant. My arrows really love babies.

Well, that's it … my fav with secret revealed. But words are flat; they cannot fully convey the mystery and wonder of this experience in real life. So, if you ever get the opportunity to request a bow & arrow from Miss Pickles, perhaps at my next public event, take a few steps back; I'll aim for you. Probably won't hit you, but I'll still aim. Those who pay attention might even catch the arrow. Just don't stand by a baby.
----------
LIKE Miss Pickles on Facebook ... Help me reach 100 Likes on Facebook so people can find my page. To date, I have 95 Likes and need 5 more to be featured when people search Facebook for Miss Pickles. Please share and encourage others to like: http://on.fb.me/1orUcLa GRACIAS and watch for notices of public events, so I can aim for your noggin.

Follow me on Twitter  ... @misspickles711

Balloonitude

Miss Pickles holds soldier (l) and pirate swords.

Like people, balloons exhibit different behaviors depending on their circumstances. For instance, balloons are surprisingly weather-sensitive. In cold temperatures, anything below about 62 degrees, they inflate reluctantly and practically wither during the twisting process. They also appear slightly smaller once inflated, as if the air molecules are huddling together inside the balloon to keep warm.

In warmer weather, balloons inflate easily and fully, but one must be mindful of exposure (nope, I don't mean sunscreen). While balloons share Miss Pickles' legendary love for heat, they do not behave well in direct sunlight, exploding with alarming frequency. That's why I typically request an awning or shady spot for outdoor events. At one festival in Tennessee, with temps at a sizzling 94 degrees, I twisted contentedly beneath my awning with few to no pops. See, like me, balloons dig heat.

In addition, like most of us, balloons prefer careful handling. Excessive or rough twisting (yes, there is such a thing) or handling a balloon with sharp nails or craggy fingers will usually not produce desired results. Smooth hands and gentle twisting, pulling balloon segments apart slightly while twisting (this also lessens that squeaky scrapey sound that makes people flinch) leads to beautiful creations more than poppage. (Is that a word? Well, it is now.)

Last weird tidbit, I find that balloons fare better when blown up by mouth versus the hand pump. Now, I'm an avid hand pump user myself, but I've witnessed that there's something about those moist saliva molecules that increases a balloon's chance of survival. Strange but true. Perhaps my science friends at Big Thinkers could explain why … stay tuned and keep twisting!

LIKE Miss Pickles on Facebook

Follow me on Twitter  ... @misspickles711

Culture Club

Some of my best Miss Pickles memories come from what the children say to me. I recently did a double-header, two gigs in one day, both birthday parties for little boys. The first event was held in the clubhouse of a nice subdivision; my clients, a stunning young family from India. I say stunning because they were lavishly adorned in rich silks and vibrant emerald, turquoise, and magenta fabrics, often trimmed in gold or sequins or gems. And not just the husband and wife … everyone from the children to the grandparents looked absolutely beautiful. Most of the men wore ornate silk tunics, the women, with glorious black hair, glowed in cultural garb, some with gems on their foreheads. The little girls wore bright dresses and such adorable shoes, I wondered where they shopped.

While many of the children seemed shy and hid behind their mother or father as I twisted a balloon for them, one surprisingly tall four-year-old came boldly. She smiled her magnificent smile and asked for a swan. She began helping me by staging the clubhouse with the flower, the heart pole, the teddy bear I just made. I painted a pretty butterfly on her cheek, to match her emerald outfit, and kept making balloons for her little brother, who enjoyed squeezing the life out of them. After the first hour, when I had a lull in shy customers wanting balloons or body art, my little friend sat with me for a chat. Flat out, she asked, “Do you know that we're from India?” I told her, “Yes,” waiting for her to ask how I knew, but she never did. She simply smiled, satisfied that I knew. I marveled at her inherent pride in her heritage, love for her family, and generosity of heart. She demonstrated a quality that reminded me of what Jesus said in Matthew 19:14--“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."

LIKE Miss Pickles on Facebook

Follow me on Twitter  ... @misspickles711