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hobgoblinnHobgoblinn Manor, 30 July 2008.
You know the title of that book that says “You can’t go home again”? Well you can. You just may not be prepared for what you find.
Some parts of the trip so far have been better than I could have hoped: Wee Hob is getting on famously with his cousin, doing geeky little boy things like playing tennis— not the game with a net and racquet and balls, but some testosterone induced thing where they hold hands and take turns slapping the back of the other’s held hand as hard as they can. My brother assures me it's harmless. We went to Lake Ray Roberts this afternoon and the boys built a sand structure of some kind and argued over whether or not the trenches to let in lake water could properly be called irrigation (I suggested aquaduct and that satisfied them both.)
As my brother observed, it’s so cool that they “get” each other.
I’ve been spending rather more time with my 10 year old neice. She is so beautiful, a little elfin princess. But it is also so terribly sad, because she has a mental age of maybe a year and a half. She has cerebral palsy; in twenty years or fifty, she will still be like this. Full of joy and wonder and random energy, yes, but also needing constant care in a safe and loving environment. I feel sad for my brother that he and Emmy’s mom will be taking care of her like this for the rest of her life.
But I also have enjoyed being with her. She has decided she loves me, and will come up to me randomly and blow in my face, which is her way of giving kisses. We swam together and played in the sand at the lake today, and when she has started humming “Oh when the saints go marching in” I will sing it for her. I also am kind of pleased because I taught her another song, and she has started humming that one as well at times: the old Shaker Melody “Simple Gifts” (which classical music buffs may know as the main theme to the last movement of Copland’s “Appalachian Spring.”) There’s a third she may also be getting: I know it as “Holy Manna” but it is an old Shape Note hymn. Even though the old piano I learned to play on as a kid is in horrible shape and tune, she has loved it when I have played some of these things for her and with her as she strikes random keys.
They are both beautiful children, and I am so proud of their dad, my little brother.
But he went back to Austin today with them, and I have to get through a couple of days before my old high school friend gets here. And I can already tell you that I have Got to find some more elsewheres to be, as this house is so old and depressing. It’s not just that everything has changed here at Hobgoblinn Manor, because so much has not. It’s the level of decay, of stuff unchanged to the point of stagnation. It’s a mom who is dying of emphasema and still smoking between breathing treatments. It’s a brother who is a nurse who is lecturing her about it while himself smoking. It’s a mother who seems determined to pick fights over pointless stuff, as if she’s been missing this with me for years. I’m just ignoring the latter, as brother Hob has been doing all these years while I’ve been away and mostly out of it.
I’ve got a couple of days with Wee Hob to explore my old hometown, though it is terribly hot here now. And then seeing and comparing notes with my old friend.
I'd write more, but I neglected to pick up my power cord this morning in the rush to get out while I still could get a ride from my brother, so I am kinda limited on battery life. I will definitely get out here tomorrow, though. This place has the best cappuccino on the planet, for one thing. And my mom will be so much happier being able to pick at me for my addictions.
Hope all is well where you are.
You know the title of that book that says “You can’t go home again”? Well you can. You just may not be prepared for what you find.
Some parts of the trip so far have been better than I could have hoped: Wee Hob is getting on famously with his cousin, doing geeky little boy things like playing tennis— not the game with a net and racquet and balls, but some testosterone induced thing where they hold hands and take turns slapping the back of the other’s held hand as hard as they can. My brother assures me it's harmless. We went to Lake Ray Roberts this afternoon and the boys built a sand structure of some kind and argued over whether or not the trenches to let in lake water could properly be called irrigation (I suggested aquaduct and that satisfied them both.)
As my brother observed, it’s so cool that they “get” each other.
I’ve been spending rather more time with my 10 year old neice. She is so beautiful, a little elfin princess. But it is also so terribly sad, because she has a mental age of maybe a year and a half. She has cerebral palsy; in twenty years or fifty, she will still be like this. Full of joy and wonder and random energy, yes, but also needing constant care in a safe and loving environment. I feel sad for my brother that he and Emmy’s mom will be taking care of her like this for the rest of her life.
But I also have enjoyed being with her. She has decided she loves me, and will come up to me randomly and blow in my face, which is her way of giving kisses. We swam together and played in the sand at the lake today, and when she has started humming “Oh when the saints go marching in” I will sing it for her. I also am kind of pleased because I taught her another song, and she has started humming that one as well at times: the old Shaker Melody “Simple Gifts” (which classical music buffs may know as the main theme to the last movement of Copland’s “Appalachian Spring.”) There’s a third she may also be getting: I know it as “Holy Manna” but it is an old Shape Note hymn. Even though the old piano I learned to play on as a kid is in horrible shape and tune, she has loved it when I have played some of these things for her and with her as she strikes random keys.
They are both beautiful children, and I am so proud of their dad, my little brother.
But he went back to Austin today with them, and I have to get through a couple of days before my old high school friend gets here. And I can already tell you that I have Got to find some more elsewheres to be, as this house is so old and depressing. It’s not just that everything has changed here at Hobgoblinn Manor, because so much has not. It’s the level of decay, of stuff unchanged to the point of stagnation. It’s a mom who is dying of emphasema and still smoking between breathing treatments. It’s a brother who is a nurse who is lecturing her about it while himself smoking. It’s a mother who seems determined to pick fights over pointless stuff, as if she’s been missing this with me for years. I’m just ignoring the latter, as brother Hob has been doing all these years while I’ve been away and mostly out of it.
I’ve got a couple of days with Wee Hob to explore my old hometown, though it is terribly hot here now. And then seeing and comparing notes with my old friend.
I'd write more, but I neglected to pick up my power cord this morning in the rush to get out while I still could get a ride from my brother, so I am kinda limited on battery life. I will definitely get out here tomorrow, though. This place has the best cappuccino on the planet, for one thing. And my mom will be so much happier being able to pick at me for my addictions.
Hope all is well where you are.
