I sat on the couch watching Lethal Weapon 3. We watched the first two the previous two nights. Despite the efforts of Danny Glover, Mel Gibson and Rene Russo, I wasn’t giving it my full attention because all I could think about was it was my last night in Cranbrook.
I sat beside my brother saying nothing – and him saying nothing in return.
I reviewed the week – and it always seems to go so fast when I am at home – I have a healing Juniper rash, a burn, white paint on my hands and shins, a broken nail, pine sap all over my flip flops, an assumed 5 extra pounds and two ruined shirts. I dug around in the shrubs; removed painted over wall paper with a heat gun; taped, sanded and painted the white trim; cleaned up after the storm; ate a lot of carbohydrates and fat; and carried, toted, cleaned up, lifted, cleaned and generally did my share of the house maintenance.
My brother doesn’t say much, and when he does it is often sardonic wit. He smirks at me often – like he’s caught me being an idiot again. Rarely do sappy words leave his mouth. And Rarely is probably too strong a word.
He has to be at work each morning at 6 am, and therefore is almost always in bed by 10 pm. As the movie progressed, the clocked ticked on – and soon it was 10:30 pm. Then 10:45. And then the going to bed process finally began. I got the message.
July 22nd, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: I’m going to miss you too Todd, thanks for that extra hour together.