Ramblings from the 'goblinn

Hobgoblinn 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.

Well, tomorrow night, or obscenely early Monday morning, I am off for the wilds of Indiana, and hence for the wilder wilds of the Milwaukee airport, and then to Denton, Texas. ( Read more. )
( And, the alcohol meme. )
See everyone this week if I can find wifi access somewhere; otherwise, I'll check in by August 5th. Happy week, everyone.

Just a quick drive by to rec this return of Geoffrey Chaucer's blog. Thought he'd been dead for several hundred years, and only resurrected to torment English Majors from beyond the grave? Well, you would be mistaken.

Seriously, I have not laughed so hard in Years. Beverage warning in effect, and more than usual too, because the slight unfamiliarity of the Middle English means the joke hits you a little after you read it.

Thanks once again to gillo for turning me on to this blog, which I have put on my flist via a syndicated feed.

And I have a new aim tag, which is long but oddly appropriate for work these days:

Go to Canterburye and light yowerself a clue candle, doctor of theologie.

And in conclusion:

GEOFFREY CHAUCER HATH AN EXTREME BLOG: GO ENGLAND! IT YS RAD!

Check out what arrived at Casa Hobgoblinn tonight! A box of "obscure grooviness" from nwhepcat! Yummy snack-like things, a very pink frisbee, a pen and pencil set, a cool card, A lovely feathered piece of art, very colorful, and best of all a Real Fairy Wand. The penguins were indeed a nice touch-- thanks for pointing that out. Did I forget anything? At any rate, it was a wonderful homecoming present. Glad I got it this week and not next, when I wouldn't be here to get it anyway. I'll let you know how that wand works out.

Oh, and Wee Hob commandeered the box and the styrofoam peanuts to make a "lego guys battlefield." He is quite pleased.

But this is not getting my summer_of_giles stuff edited/ written. nwhepcat, will be in touch about Labor Day. And Thanks!

So, I have part 2/3 of my First Half Fic for Summer of Giles on deck and ready to go-- and now I have to wait until Saturday, which is my posting day.

*looks at clock*

*sighs*

I have too much to do tomorrow. First up-- morning mass, and returning something and making amends afterwards to the Good Monsignor. So not looking forward to that. Then I take Wee Hob to his godparents, then sing a wedding (Schubert Ave Maria-- coolness), then rush to the ballpark to work the game. Lots of beer pouring and trying to make proper change. It will be long, long after midnight when I get done. Sunday is Wee Hobless, though I will probably go out there and hang with them part of the day. Maybe pick up the Buffy comics I've missed. Monday he's staying out there while I make a business trip to Columbus, and then we'll have the rest of the week for laundry, packing and general preparations for the trip to Texas.

I guess I could go re-copy my letter to the Good Monsignor, and log in at work to see if my program worked as expected or intended, and work on part 3/3 of my story for next Friday. I've already done a little more beta work for someone, so I guess I could also finish that.

See you at midnight, everyone.

It's just as well that I never sent that letter to the Bishop a while back. That's behind a friends lock, but the short version is, I was very angry at the Good Monsignor's continued unfriendly attitude toward me and Wee Hob. I decided to wait until it felt less like I was sending a flame, and by then I had realized that I wasn't sure what I really wanted and that sending such an incendiary letter was a really good way to take away all my choice in the matter. I do work there, after all, and sometimes I even get paid.

( And now, I am in possession of some new information. Some information that leads me to believe I owe the good monsignor an apology, and although he has likely never seen my journal, a retraction here. )

So, while the Good Monsignor has maybe not been as gracious as he might have been, I really haven't been either. And my son is both a thief and a liar and I really do not know what to do. Other than take away all his privileges again, not trust him, be really angry at him and tell him I might take a long while to get over it, and make him write a letter of apology to the Good Monsignor: legible, properly spelled, and demonstrating both a clear understanding of all the ways his actions have wronged the man and a sincere penitence for it. This last is torture in a lot of ways-- he has a hard time writing, and it will take several copies before he gets one that's acceptable.

His therapist knows about it and is backing up my letter of apology demand-- he'll be excluded from camp outings until it's completed. The senseless of it really gets me, on top of the whole betrayal of trust thing. I mean, he was already caught, and these items were ones we had already told him we knew were stolen. How hard could it be to give them back to the right people, while you're already being punished for the offense? He lost all privileges and was grounded for months-- it's not like I could have done anything worse because he honestly had nothing left to take Already. I. Do. Not. Understand.

Back to my point. I was wrong, about a great many things, and regardless of anybody else's actions or omissions, and I wanted to state that publicly and for the record. Which I have now done.

X Posted to Summer of Giles.

( Housekeeping Matters First )
( And story background. )

Without further ado: here's the link. Feel free to leave reviews. Enjoy.

Well, the good news is, I have a solid grasp of where my Summer of Giles story needs to go, and how to correct the Point of View mess of the 2nd and 3rd half. Not sure if I can do it in 2 weeks, but I wasn't planning to post the whole novel in one day, anyway.

The bad news is, I reread the first half. (Yeah. hobgoblinn and fractions are very unmixy things. I don't want to talk about it.) Again, the news is mixed. Apparently, I have improved a great deal as a writer in the past 2 years. Or even the past year, which is how long this revised version has been lying about. But oh Lord. I remember this version being much improved over the original, and I think gillo can attest that it is. But I spent a good half hour last night trying to do something to the opening paragraph. Just that. Sigh.

I'm going to split my time between trying to revise the first half and rewrite the second. I think the third is in better shape and will fall in line with a running start from the second.

In other news, this is just about your last chance to vote in the tnl_awards. There's a lot of great fic out there by some wonderful new voices. I personally will not be sorry to lose to the competition I'm up against-- heck, I was among the people who nominated and seconded them in the first place. It has been quite gratifying to get a couple of random comments out of it, from people just now discovering Lost Boys. I think awards are due to close tomorrow (right, angelmischa?) and barring tie breaker voting, should be announced Monday. Something to look forward to.

Unlike wading through the mess of SoG. Better get back to it. Good luck to all on my f-list who are represented among the nominees for the tnl_awards.

So I posted the last part of "In Loco" I'll probably get to before Summer of Giles, and while doing the formatting, I had been listening to Sondheim's "Merrily We Roll Along." For those who aren't familiar with the show, it runs backward through the lives of three friends, starting with them all estranged, their lives outwardly "successful" with all the things they thought they wanted, and ending with them together watching Sputnik passing overhead, their whole lives ahead of them. It asks the question, "How did we get there from here?"

I thought it might give me a new perspective, going back through the Buffy canon from the end. And so far, yeah, it's been interesting.

But something just happened that threw me completely. In the episode "Touched," Giles listens with the others to the Bringer speaking through Andrew's body, about how it serves the First Evil and how it will be around long after they're all dead. The Bringer is bound and helpless. And Giles picks up a knife and cuts the Bringer's throat to silence him.

Just trying to wrap my mind around this. I know it's often been remarked how Giles is anti-Giles in this final season. But I'd appreciate thoughts on this and what it might say about Giles, here and post Chosen. I can't write this story if I can't get back in the head space of these characters. And I'm not sure this Giles is someone I can understand well enough to write, or even to edit what I have to finish this.