Fault Lines - John Knoop

folded wads of cardboard through the clouds of cotton candy carried by unsuspecting fairgoers,
preferably those in the hands of teenage girls. When our timing was right the victim would turn
back from watching a ride or talking to a friend and find a cavernous hole in the confection. For
ten days I savored the smells and sounds of the fair and had fantasies about training my horse to
be a sulky racer or maybe running away with a circus.
At dusk clouds roll in and it begins to rain. I roll myself in a poncho and doze until Naren
returns after having been gone nearly fourteen hours. Using our flashlight, we put the tube in,
pump it up and ride to the first of several gas stations at which Naren had failed to find patches.
We sleep on the porch, sheltered from the rain. It was one of the longest, strangest and most
magical days of the trip so far.
El Cerrito
Kay and I walked into the 25 th anniversary Film Arts Foundation party right after
the showing of a doc about a handful of us filmmakers launching the organization back
in the seventies. Several compliments on my description about how we did it. It gave me
a good feeling to be recognized and not quite yet forgotten. I was given a copy and when
I looked at the film a day or two later was relieved to find that I hadn’t made any stupid
pronouncements or put on any airs.
Checking my messages early this morning I found that I could have done a shoot
for the NewsHour on Sunday if they had been able to reach me. It underlined for me how
happily out of touch I am much of the time. Even though I’m sidelined as a cameraman
by my disability, I still get some calls. When Kay and I are away together I don’t often
consider checking my messages. And though I could use the money I don’t mind
avoiding the struggle with the gear and the traffic. And I can look forward to a shoot at
Indian Canyon next week for C.L. Reed.
At times like this when I’ve missed an opportunity as a result of my careless ways
I’m able to shrug it off and remain even-tempered. That reminds me of how much more
placid my psyche is than when I was the gloomy and negative boy my mother frequently
accused me of being. At the core of this negative stance was a conviction that no matter
how beautiful, exciting or enjoyable life was, it remained a meaningless puzzle. Except in
the moment. Watching a flight of geese over the river in a glowing sunset had as much
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