Feb. 20th, 2016

kingtycoon: (Default)
So this was on Tuesday.
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It was actually - actually beautiful. When Bridget came back to town over NYE she said, after years of being away - "I forgot that in Cleveland it always looks like it's 7PM." And that's pretty apt. White sky and the snow just gracing the trees - actually a pleasant winter day - none of the Lake's viciousness, none of the bitter chill. Pretty snow with a white sky.

And I mean - I had been thinking about it - there were a few really wet & bitter days where you couldn't feel or get warm - and then? Today there was sweating. Today. This day I'm having is pretty nuts, actually, it's a lot. Here's the whole thing.

So I got up, all on my lonesome - Agatha stayed at her mom's and then I took a shower and got ready. The plan was this - we go to Columbus to meet the new girl - the newest of my clan - my little brother's daughter! Just born last Sunday - we'd been planning to go and see her today - so I took a shower and got ready and while I'm drying off and preparing for the day - this happens:
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The ceiling in my shower just straight collapses. It missed me by what? Minutes?
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I guess I feel sorta lucky? But then - here you can see the 100 year old shower in my kinda outmoded building - I mean, yeah, it's not that cool. Whatever, I feel a little displeasure about it generally - but for it to collapse? I'm on my way out to get Agatha at her mom's and emailing the landlord. I get her and we're walking home & I'm kind of out of it, emailing on my phone - ignoring - she points it out - a Robin - I look and there it is, hopping in a remnant mound of fading snow. The most auspicious of signs. I finish emailing and she's irritated - "what are you even doing dad? Pay attention! The Robin!" "Something crazy happened today and I have to email about it." "What happened? What? What?" "Oh, I finally grew a second face." "Good, I'm glad about it, let me see!" "Oh, it's under the bathmat, I just was feeding it this morning - it looks just like me and was hungry." "What!? What's wrong with you!" "When we get home go and see." So she does and is all - "What is wrong with the bathtub! So whatever, dadjokes - I'm that way, that's my way. We get in the borrowed car, go to the bank, get the money and head to Columbus.
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Being in the car is weirdly confining - leg cramps, whatever, I don't go in cars, generally. But then... There's a distinct & substantial pleasure in the road trip. I tell stories about the long journeys I used to make. I think about a car. Driving all that way - stopping here and there and kind of taking my time. Something almost apocalyptic about driving a car away from the city - something that feels like escape & and an ending- like I can sense the bombs dropping and I feel that I am Leaving All That Behind. Liberation - that's what it is.

(Now, commuting, I mean, I think about it, about having a car, maybe a cool one, probably a Mustang. That'd be me all day, and then I think about commuting - and how it's slavery - it's punishment, it's brutal & hateful and unpleasant, how the bus, even when it's crowded isn't cramped at all. I wonder if there's a way to have a car once a month only? Renting is expensive - whatever, I'll get to this a different day)

We drive and go and end up in my brother's neighborhood in Columbus - where I've never been. Never. "I don't think I've been to one of your houses since I helped you move into that place on what? 113th?" "That was fifteen years ago bro." And I guess it was? I remember when he finished college - Heck, I think I Livejournaled about it - another long trip to Oxford - I remember sleeping in a park - that was a different me, all that time ago. A drunker me, for sure, but also, living in that magical time when you could buy straight up speed at the gas-station. Better days, in a lot of ways. Which is kind of how it is, with my brother. That's the toast, the gist of the toast I gave at his wedding. "I talk to this man, probably less than five times a year - he says, "Hey, what's going on?" I say "Everything's cool, here's what's up with Mom & Dad." "You still like comics and stuff?" "Yeah. You still into Hockey all the time?" "Yeah." ""Hey you seen the new Star Wars yet?"" We're brothers, is the thing, we're really different, but we have that thing figured out where we count on each other to be who we know each other to be. There's familiarity without closeness, ease without effort, brothers - it's hard, really, to explain about brotherhood to the unbrothered, so whatever. He had a baby though! So I mean, yeah - I go to greet her, a new person! Welcome. Welcome to the team kiddo. We all believe in you. & so extra miniature. I held her for about an hour - her nice mother, sweet lady - she's tired, it's only been a few days since she had a baby - she's cheerful, but you know - she needs rest.

We hang out - walk around the neighborhood - brother, me, daughter, dog. Big dog - for the first time I see what it is people have dogs for - as he has maybe 5 conversations, just walking around? Dogs. We get a beer together and I get the waitress to figure out a rootbeer float for my cub. We sit - outside even - in the beautiful sun - it's 70 degrees! Coats off, sitting out we talk about work & what's what. We have some time and then walk back - see some more baby - take a picture- fathers and daughters
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And then it's time to go home. Well, we think about seeing Columbus (a town I have a specific dread and hatred for) - only to be kind of driven out? We go downtown and up to the cool part of town that is like a huge version of my own neighborhood - and it's crowded with a lot - a lot of walkers & drivers, and it's maddening, a little - I do okay in the car in the big city - so I've been told - I got high marks for navigating NYC with ease over and over - but I'm offput. I gotta find a place to park this heap? Then I gotta remember where I put it? And what? So I can go to Big Fun? I can throw a rock at the first Big Fun! What is that, Melt? There's a Melt in my neighborhood! Fie on you Columbus! Impostor falsehood town! I see the highway entrance and don't really look back.

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I put kiddo on Ingress duty - which is funny cause it helps you find weird nonsense at the edge of the ersatz towns up and down the highway. This enbosomed indian was part of a diorama with a steer and a cowboy that was part of a restaurant made of decommissioned passenger train cars? But like, train cars from the 70's? The country is weird, is what I'm saying - I don't get the appeal at all.

We listen to songs on the radio, we have a great trip - it's a bonding time for us - and we sing along with old metal & pop songs - we drive on north under the bluely pearlescent moon. We Go Home. Actually literally - we pass Wallings road, and then don't actually pass it - I hop off the freeway and she says "What's this spooky woods what are we doing here?" And I say - "you'll see." "Oh, what another face in the bathroom dad?" "No, no, I'll explain about those woods." And I take her down wallings to Daventree - and that's just - it's weird. About a mile, maybe a mile and a half? I take her to the old cul-de-sac and aim the headlights up the hill. "This is the house me and my brother and sister grew up in. When Grampa built it - it was the second or third house on the street, everything else was woods- and I used to go into the forest all day with my dog - I used to go up to the highway. I never realized how far it was." They'd cut down the trees, made it look plainer than it had been. I never liked that house, I always resented having to live in Brecksville - I hated it there. But then - the forest. And all those days where I'd hear my brother out in the driveway dribbling the ball, shooting baskets - hundreds a day, all day - rain or shine or snow. That was him. And I was up in my room reading & writing & wishing for another place, a better life - a decent computer, for fucking once. I didn't get emotional, didn't feel emotions, but I wanted to see that place - I don't think I'd even considered going there- not since I was? Maybe 20? I moved out at 18 and I haven't lived with my parents since.

I drive Agatha to my mother's current - much less fancy house in a much less fancy suburb. She wants to stay with her Grandma and I want her to have what she wants. I leave the car, and am glad it's behind me, I kiss them all goodnight, father, mother daughter, I fix my old pop's computer and I walk on down the road - the RTA is on time to meet me, takes me to public square where I walk around a while ,aiming at a feeling but falling short - uninspired by feelings today - I'm in it - in activities, a lot is happening. In the end I take the healthline home and crack a nut I've been working on for a couple of months now
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I stop to get coffee at the coffeehouse on the corner, cause I'm out and I'll want some in the morning - they're playing the Fallout 4 soundtrack a they're closing up shop & I make chitchat for a while about videogames as they grind the beans. I think I'm distracted and spaced out enough that I don't even tip, I'm in a state, in a headmaze I guess. I saw the robin in the snow. I had to take my jacket off in February, I have a baby niece and a little brother and a sweet daughter, I have trips when I need to, and I have music, I have a world with light & darkness throughout -with everything, everything I could need. I saw the Robin in the Snow and I walk home and look at the painting on the wall I made, and the drawing on the grandfather clock my daughter made - our family crest our family of 2's crest- The Robin In The Snow. I feel a weird transformational power- a joy and a strength - but a low & rolling strength - without ferocity - like the motion of the earth - of tectonic plates, that the cities float on my back and I wearily move only by necessity.

Maybe that's it. I've felt, rutted, on rails, and now - today - I feel situated, firm. In my place. I come home and see, having forgotten the start of my day - that things are progressing, repairs are pending.
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A strange last thing for a day - a thing to see that feels like an omen almost.

When it comes to it. I've got a lot of memories, and I guess I am accepting that I will have more, maybe most of my memories are ahead of me. That this moment, a day, like this, it will seem more vivid, more informing & real, tomorrow, and the day after and a year from now. This day will seem a signal, and do you know? It felt, despite all that happened all the miles that drifted underfoot - that it was just a day, like another. Does it mean I live in beatified wisdom? that all days have glory or that I'm faded to numbness that all days fold together?

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