<--continued from] (cast: E__ - 12; P__ - 11 ; K__ - 9(ish?); S__ - 6(ish?); J__ - 9 mo.)
E__ I find to be a little bit inscrutable. She has developed, and often appears to me to be, very solitary, and/or very close to my mother. During the family visits or her visits alone she tends to either be off alone working patiently and slowly at some craft or other (often drawing or writing letters), or else with my mother, helping with whatever task is at hand and learning whatever my mother talks about when she has a willing receptive audience, and often patient clear explanations of things. And that's pretty much how she was this time. More affectionate. More confident. She was focused on some craft, apparently oblivious and disinterested when I reported the "mommy doesn't love me" event to my mother, but piped right up to ask which well known adage about the apple and the tree I had meant.
The annual letter informed me that she has learned sign language and has been cancer free for 9 years. It was she, herself, who suggested to me that J__ has acquired particular sign language expressions. On reflection and examination, i think "more" might just be learning to clap or otherwise bring hands together, and, later, that "more" no doubt is the gesture it is, etymologically (or whatever) because it is evocative of clapping, which conveys approval. On the other hand, i saw a very convincing "thank you" perhaps in its appropriate context.
Tonight, with a bevy of other pre-teen girls, some of whom must have been the children of my cousin, who was there, and some tape and a fashion sketch kit game of some sort, she was methodically transforming a newspaper magazine into some sort of fashion catalog. I think she knew I wasn't sincere when I responded to her invitation by saying I'd be delighted to look at her fashion catalog, although I really did try to and, somewhat belatedly sort of succeeded in being delighted. I think I even expressed approval without exhibiting too much bias or reinforcing perhaps unrealistic and unjust body image socialization in approving two of her designs and being surprised how skinny the templates are. She was promptly distracted and chased some girl who may have been the daughter of my cousin from the room. Which was fortuitous, because my comment started my father on an anecdote about how tall and skinny some girls he'd seen somewhere were which could have developed in any number of troubling ways, and ultimately did not (Dad's verbal statements and sense of discretion seem to waver some; alcohol or age [or biased view]?).
I credit Girl Talk Hell with preparing me for that interaction, and probably many more such, with my nieces, and also drew on my recent exposure to the Coach catalog, at the office.
Sometimes within an antihumor paradigm, as in neurolinguistic programming, it is funny, or not funny, or effective, to repeat certain key phrases for some reason or none. Antihumor isn't sure; antihumor doesn't care.
K__ and I, as E__ and I do, communicate a lot, or at least communicate substantially by silent facial expression and gesture of approval and the occasional exchange of purposeless pokes in passing (E__'s more into hugs - her grandmother's influence? - but will also poke). He is often content alone, reading or playing or tinkering with something, and often running amidst a loud rowdy crowd of boys (some of whom, this time, must have been sons of my cousin).
On Xmas observed he spent a lot of time trying to get what more than thirty years ago was a temperamental train set to work, patiently setting up the tracks, making sure there was a more or less securely situated circuit, attaching the wires, and operating the transformer, only to find the thing didn't work. He, his mother and I tinkered with it, perhaps without exercising adequate electricity safety for a long time, determining, to the best of our abilities, that one of the two wires must be broken somewhere inside the insulation.
But the cute part is this: He sort of shuffled his feet and wrinkled his brow and said to his mother, "If only we'd brought along my voltmeter." He had received an electrical kit on real christmas, and probably actually had to be told by his mother not to bring it in the car with the whole family and all their stuff for the cross country drive. So cute!
On the other hand, he's the primary instigator of the rubber band treachery. (Or maybe that's me.)
It is he who remembers as the height of enjoyable play the game in which one tries to knock down units of one's opponent's ranks (divided more or less evenly from among the total available collected figurines, army men, playskool and action figures) with rubber bands, which we played once in a terrible exhibit of scorched (or snapped, abraded and eroded) earth resulting by practical application of the doctrine of mutually assured rubbber band destruction. I still wake in cold sweats from time to time, and shrink from confronting the ravening killer that night showed me lingers just beneath this fragile, (somewhat) civilized veneer. Naturally I don't want to recapture the moment.
Anyway, he was the second person to get to me (after S__). And he got to me asking whether we could play that game. "Probably not" I said, as is my custom. But later he and P__, and S__, prevailed on me to at least go so far as to split the collected "men" into three parties (S__, whose participation in her own part was scorned by her brothers, was suffered to participate as my junior partner), and deployed in three regions of the room. We had just begun to propose and dispute about rules of engagement - viz., who could shoot from where - when truce was called for xmas observed dinner. After dinner, I'm not sure how it happened but know in my heart that K__ orchestrated it all, instead of virtual war with figurines as troops and victims and rubber bands as artillery, real war broke out outside, with rubber bands for bullets, and my unfortunate though energetic nephews for victims. As described above.
I will say this in addition. During preparations for the figurine war, there was much interpersonal menacing performed with rubber bands stretched taut. And, despite the ban on aiming (much less shooting! heavens forfend) at faces, it is really hard to menacingly gesture at a person with a rubber band without that gesture tending toward that person's eyes. So there were some parental admonitions about that rule (their parents, not mine), and some violations of it (omnes), and we ended up outside.
And it remained fun and games. But for the humiliation and the not-quite-blistered fingers.
Tonight K__, and P__, and a bunch of other boys (some of whom must have been...) wanted to go outside to do it again. But it was very cold and I outright refused on those grounds.
The annual letter informs me that K__ has an insatiable appetite for science. I have inferred that he has an electrical kit. I believe him to have some other kits. He listened very attentively - although ostensibly reading in another room - while his brother and I talked about computers tonight.
Both P__ and K__ regularly stay up after "lights out" reading books under the covers by flashlight. K__, reportedly, for hours. He is often caught because he falls asleep with the flashlight still turned on. I had a chance to look at a couple of their library books, but no details stuck. It may also be true that sometimes P__ will leave his flashlight by K__'s bed.
When P__ hugged me hello upon my xmas observed arrival I said "Oh my! You're huge," because that seemed to best express my surprise at how much he had grown. He responded, "Thank you." I cannot explain why he persists with the clearly inferior approach to firing rubber bands. He is helpful, attentive, mostly thoughtful, an avid reader, and seems way more positive than in some prior times. Tonight, he wanted to talk about computer security, and I was happy to try to oblige. His father, who is well versed in computer security listened to us for a long time before coming to encourage P__ to "Stop reading those science fiction books that give you bad dreams, and read a computers for kids book, so that you develop the groundwork to learn from what people tell you."
P__ was a little embarrassed, but is a good boy. He only offered "It's not science fiction; it's fantasy," which is a point to which I'm sympathetic, as a lover of scifi and loather of much of fantasy, so when his father replied "Same difference," I offered that it is an important distinction although perhaps one subtle enough to appreciated only by adherents of one or both genres. Anyway, he explained some nice general principles of organizational security that should be applicable to any system for which security is an objective, and which his son and I could both grasp. And then we mostly talked about his job and anecdotes of computer and satellite related symbolic geopolitical gestures.
I would have liked to talk about the science fiction fantasy distinction, particularly if it is true that P__ is troubled by nightmares and related fearfulness . . .
(I think I mentioned the time he "fell on" three bullies who were picking on him, perhaps telling it in such a way as to cast doubt on his status as victim in that scenario, but it is my impression that he was truly traumatized by that incident or some other, for he has been reportedly fearful since. On the other hand, it is comforting to be able to point to one trauma, when there are likely any number of other traumas of similar and divergent character)
. . . because it is my conviction that fantasy addresses the supernatural, with literal avatars of good and evil reenacting over and over again the ultimate battle of good versus evil (with the orphan/farmboy/secret-son-of-prior-generation's-hero/villain leading the forces of good - Harry Potter, or Luke Skywalker, or, damn it all, Frodo Baggins to finally vanquish the personification of a transcendent evil that once was vanquished by good and now is resurgent, threatening the future of all good forever). Whereas science fiction is mostly about nerds and geeks solving technical problems, exhibiting thought experiments, or presenting grand political parodies/sagas/theories/dramas, generally set within a realist world, allowing some variation as to what might be a plausible technology someday, or to what degree that matters. There are of course cross over pieces, fantasy stories in science fiction clothes, such as the Star Wars epic.
Anyway, evil is scary. Supernatural evil is scary. The prospect of dying of starvation or exposure isolated and adrift in empty space is likewise scary. But I don't think it is stay awake at night scared of what might lurk in the dark and afraid to look scary like supernatural evil is. Until after enrolling to become an astronaut, whereupon maybe it is just that kind of scary.
I believe the annual letter informs me that P__ has developed migraine headaches and is a Boy Scout.
Is that all of them?
Sister and I didn't directly speak much, except about others. We might not really need to, mostly, and besides, I express what affection and approval I can most of the time by interacting with her kids. We did orchestrate the transfer of a large volume of music and audiobook lectures. I think a lot of the lectures will really please Brother-in-law as they are mostly history, with emphasis on biblical history (both of the compilation of the book itself and of some events recounted in those texts, I bet, but haven't myself listened yet). And there was plenty of evidence of her manic energy being spent on a broad assortment of crafts in addition to the many bratii and their arrays of activities.
As for me, I had a day of clickin' that ol' mouse, then a lot of lifting and hugging, a rubber band war, some handshaking, a meal or two, a poke or five, I played the piano and drove a robot off a table. Now I've just walked in the door and typed all this and . . . boy are my fingers tired!!!