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Been a long day. Hung out at the mall a very long time to meet eldest son. He and his girlfriend got lost. They eventually showed up, about 2 hours after they initially said they would, and about 3 after we got there early (because I just do that.)

While wandering about killing time, I got tackle hugged by my youngest. She's now 12. She happily introduced me to her friends as "my real mom." She came back a couple of times for more hugs. She is so tiny and delicate. Reminds me of the little girl I used to see for visits so long ago. She is a beautiful little elf girl, bouncy and full of life.

Her brother informed me when he arrived that she was in fact "pure evil." I'm sure she is a handful, with my sense of mischief and her birth father's stubbornness (ok, mine, too.) She had several friends around, and she bossily sent some of the boys away because she said they weren't being appropriate-- she's a leader of sorts, and popular, and kind of all the things I never was. I am happy for her, though.

My eldest son is also wonderful. Looks just like me, but with a kind of scraggly beard. Wee Hob is a head taller, which floors me. Eldest is not much taller than I am. He mentioned wanting to study psychology and go into therapy practice, as he gravitates now toward giving advice with his friends. He certainly has a background to be great at that, from all his experiences. I hung back more as we wandered after the meal, letting him and his brother and girlfriend interact. It's great to see them able to reconnect after all this time. She also seems a nice girl. Not quite sure what to make of us, of course, but that's to be expected.

I do have to get on writing a "What Happened?" memoir for Eldest, even though as I told him, it's so hard to remember details of what and why. I was actually thinking about this earlier in another context, how much we want to believe memory is like videotape, and how much instead it's filling in blanks and extrapolating just as we have to do to try to narrate the contents of a dream in a way that might make sense.

Still, he's asked for it, and he deserves it. They all do.

That's about all I have for now. I'm trying to come out here and post more. It's writing, and it will fuel more writing, or at least it used to. Hope all is well with all of you.

Oh-- Music note: checked this album out from the library for Wee Hob. I kinda like it.
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Okay, So I've been gone a lot. I have read back at times, and commented when I wasn't too out of date. I can't promise I'll be here any more regularly, but I can't promise I won't get hit by a bus tomorrow, either.

So. Here's today. )

Wee Hob turns 17 in April, 13 months after 2nd son. Will have to relate some of his adventures in another post. Unless I get hit by that bus.

How are all of you?
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My last entry (which was on a filter-- so not everyone may have seen it) got me to thinking about the past, and I realized there's another entry I would have made in early March when I found out about this, had I been here. I correct the error now to celebrate the life and mourn the passing of Tom Willenborg.

He was my lawyer for most of the proceedings involving my children, and he got way more than he bargained for when he took on my very complicated case. He did a goodly number of things he didn't have to as the years dragged on, much of it pro bono. He was a genuinely good man, and he will be greatly missed.

Cut for length. )
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I couldn't figure out why I've been in such foul temper all weekend. Yesterday, I could see it-- insufficient caffeine, 5 hours of mind numbing boredom in a training class for fundraiser groups to work concessions stands at Reds games, 4.5 hours of which was spent wondering what on Earth had possessed me to agree to said fundraiser, when I could make more money working the same number of weddings (and spend a Lot less time). And it was cold and rainy.

But today I slept late, had a beautiful dream involving having an confrontation with the Good Monsignor, and had plenty of coffee, but I was still short tempered and on edge all day. So much so that I didn't even make Wee Hob go to mass tonight. I probably could have gotten him to, but the decision was less about fighting with him to get ready than it was about Not wanting to get into an actual confrontation with said Good Monsignor about That Boy being in the building with (possibly) no "acceptable" overseer sitting right next to him in the pew. Honestly, in the mood I was in today, I thought there might be "killins". Or something. So hey, if the Good Monsignor wanted me to feel welcome with my kid in his church, he has failed on an epic scale. Yes, I am immature. Your point?

But talking with my Fearless Leader before mass, it suddenly hit me. Oh. Yeah. My eldest son was born on Palm Sunday, 16 years ago this year. The actual date is about a month hence, but still. Funny how those anniversary dates work, isn't it?. Anyway, after some lovely singing, and a couple of hugs and prayers, I felt loads better. And a bottle of Sam Adams Scotch Ale with dinner didn't hurt, either.

I do hope [livejournal.com profile] zeegrindylows updates De Profundis on schedule tonight sometime-- that fic is really eating away at my imagination as only really good stories or intriguing premeses tend to for me. I find myself spending more time daydreaming scenarios for her fic than for one of mine in progress. Which, by the way, should be up by next weekend-- I have one beta out of town until Tuesday, and thought I'd spend the time polishing the section and starting on the next before putting it up for both of them at once.

Should be a busy week-- Tuesday night Chrism Mass, Good Friday service, and Easter. Luckily I'm not technically in Choir right now, or it would be Holy Thursday, another Good Friday service and Easter Vigil as well. Ah well. Maybe next year. I may pinch hit on Easter morning if I'm asked to. One good thing about a repertory chorus is, you tend to do the same 200 or so pieces a lot. Plus, I read well enough to get away with sight reading stuff I don't know. Even when I'm at rehearsal, I often end up singing a different part than the one I rehearsed, to fill gaps caused by absences in a section.

Happy Holy Week for those who celebrate it, and happy regular week for everyone else.
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"He who lives this day and comes safe home will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors and say 'tomorrow is St Crispins.' Then shall he strip his sleeve and show his scars and say 'these wounds I had on Crispin's day.' Old men forget, yet all shall be forgot, but he'll remember, with advantages, what feats he did that day.... This story shall the good man teach his son...."

~Henry V, William Shakespeare

A year ago I posted on the significance of this day for me-- a suitable arbitrary date to mark the end of my court battles, for better and worse. I will have to feast my neighbors virtually again this year, but I didn't want the date to go unremember'ed.

Things are better, and worse since then. I haven't seen my other kids, the three in the same household since April, and the adoptive mom isn't replying to my letters trying to set anything up. I feel guilty sometimes, that I don't miss them more. What kind of mom am I? But I am busy continuing to build something good out of the shambles I've managed to make of my life, and to build something good for my wee hob.

It's good to take a time out and reflect on the achievement that is. Human beings have such a fascinating ability to survive, and even to thrive in the most horrible and unlikely of circumstances. When I am in a receptive, not-pissed-off-at-God mood, I have to admit that's as good an argument for Divine Providence as anything I can think of. That people can, sometimes, get through it, show each other kindness and compassion, keep getting up no matter how many times they get knocked down. Not that everybody does, of course. But that anybody does is kind of amazing, when you think about it. That I did is downright humbling.

So, neighbors, draw a virtual mug of ale, bitters, wine, or your other beverage of choice, and drink a toast to-- what? Survival? Friends, certainly. Perseverance. You suggest something. And share, if you like, something you're proud you survived with scars and memories, and something worth passing on.
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"There will be no having of any kind....."

Yes, well. It's been a year since I joined this great whirligig of fun known as Live Journal (and other, less complimentary names, depending on its behavior and my flist's moods). If I haven't thanked you folks recently for your entertaining posts, comments, friendship and support lately, shame on me. Thanks, everyone.

And a special Happy Birthday to the great and wonderful [livejournal.com profile] gileswench, whose natal day this also happens to be!

I should try to post something slightly profound today, given the significance of the date. Well, okay, how about this: what I'm really thinking about today is how we go about launching ourselves into the telling of tales. To get an idea and post a start to a story takes a tremendous amount of faith as a writer. (Or maybe that would be temporary insanity. I'm not clear on that point.)

To start reading a WIP takes a tremendous amount of faith too, as a reader. I can't count (not being a math major) the number of times I've started reading a brilliantly written and conceived story-- that stalls. The Transformations Quartet springs to mind. So does [livejournal.com profile] liz_marcs's "Water Hold Me Down" (possibly the best title I've ever seen. Not to mention a damn good story.) I've had some stalled tales, myself, most notably my first novel, started in grad school and then abandoned for over 20 years. Still have no idea how it ends.

I've got a couple of WIPs I'm working on now, including the Nano06 novel. But here's the weird part-- every single time I pick up my pen or my laptop, after a tale has stalled, and somehow new stuff comes to me, I'm surprised.

It's like, I struggle so hard to write a scene, and nothing comes, and then one day, for no reason at all, something clicks, and I write it. It's not Hemingway, but it's also usually not bad. At least, I can work with it. It's devilishly hard to edit what's not written, after all.

I invite you to share your moments of grace, if you care to. Or those of you with seriously stalled fics-- how did those start for you? What were you working out with them at the time, and what's changed since? I'd love to see liz answer that-- almost asked on her journal today, but didn't want to seem to be pressuring her. I know real life plays a role-- you can't receive the inspiration if you're too exhausted at the end of the day to write it all down.

And I will share one more bit of thanks. Doubtless she's regretting her generosity now that she's slogged through the start of the Nano Novel, but [livejournal.com profile] gillo has graciously agreed to beta it for me. I am learning a great deal about my bad habits, how to avoid them, and how in general to be a better beta reader myself. Watch this space. Once I have a completed draft, I'm going to take her early comments to heart, fix what can be fixed, and start posting.

Thanks again to all, and good night.

hobgoblinn: (Default)
Been in a funk for the past couple of days, and just now realized why. PTSD is such fun. And yesterday was an anniversary date of sorts, and that always hits me, even if I'm not consciously aware of it.

On anniversary dates, and battle aftermath )
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