But not as good as the first two.
For some reason I've been thinking about my brother quite a bit lately; this morning my iPod rolled around a song I keep on there as a quasi-guilty pleasure -- it's Seasons in the Sun, but it's by Blink 182, so that makes it all right, right? I remember some years after Tim died I heard the original Terry Jacks version and it made me think of Tim and cry, but I still felt a little guilty because, well, you know, schmaltz fest, right? ANYWAY, it occurred to me today that it's coming up on the 14th anniversary of his death (March 22 -- my family is weird that way; Dad died two days before my birthday, Tim died seven days after Mom's). I cannot believe it's been fourteen years since my little brother died. I'm trying to imagine him at 41 years old; because of the drugs he'd managed to stay mentally around thirteen or so, and I missed his last few years when he'd gotten himself together and clean and everything, I was simply too far away and I never got to know him as an adult. By all accounts he HAD grown up some, and was making it. I wish I'd known him as an adult -- we were thick as thieves when we were kids, and we lost touch during the teen years, when I went one way and he went the other. I think we could have been friends again, given the chance. I'd love to be able to tell him now I know the music, better than I did then; I can name guitarists and agree with him on Aerosmith, Sabbath, KISS (and goodness knows how many other hard rock/metal groups). I wonder what he'd think of Cross Canadian Ragweed and Reckless Kelly. Tim is one of my great regrets in life--wondering if I could have done anything better, as a sister, to help (instead of nothing).
Today I got home and found the front door hadn't latched properly, so the cats were outside and the door was wide open; fortunately, no one noticed and the interior of the home was untouched (whew!). The cats came right back for their gooshy food, too, so all's well that ends well.
Then I went off for my massage, ah! Lovely. I have a couple more weeks of the once-a-week therapy, then move to monthly or as-needed. It IS helping, I know it is, but there's still twinges. My therapist assures me eventually I will find myself wondering where the pain went...
I made potato-leek soup, with just a little onion, chopped jalapeno, a bit of butter, chicken broth, salt, pepper, paprika, dill, and rosemary. Came out VERY well!
And still I drabble:
There were always new wrinkles in the mirror, always a few more silver hairs. Sometimes Cody wondered if she ought to be jealous of Della, whose face stayed smooth and hair red, no matter how many years passed, but then, it never really bothered Cody. She peered at her face, at the age that settled onto it, and smiled at her reflection. At least she had a reflection. But far more than her reflection, Cody had joy. And somehow Cody also had the feeling that, despite having everything else in the world anyone could want, Della had very little joy.