"I only walk our wonted road..."

I wish that I could say I enjoy traveling, but I don't. I enjoy arriving. I don't mind being elsewhere, but I loath airports, train-stations and I am not one for long drives. So now I'm facing a very long day indeed on the road, in cramped airplanes, etc., with all my usual bad grace.

Leaving my folks' place to fly back to Seattle today. I've got my ridiculously heavy suitcase already in Dad's van. I've got a box of butter-cream chocolates and the Sunday New York Times in my carry-on, and I'm already wishing the day was over.

It just gets harder and harder to say goodbye each year when I visit the home place. It gets harder and harder to be thousands of miles away from my parents and family. And I can't help but love and respect my brother, Clay, for being the one who stayed, who sees to the place, who sees to the old people, who does for my sister and me as we're both far off.

There's almost always one who stays. Both my parents were that person in their families. Clay is the child of theirs who does for them. It doesn't begin to say it to say that I'm grateful to and for my good brother.

I'm typing this this morning on the computer he almost never uses, in my brother's house, the house we grew up in, across the yard from the house where my folks live. That can be a long walk across the yard, I know. It is my brother who makes it almost every day.

Clay is at work now, at the factory where our father worked for many years, where Clay has now worked for many years as well. Last night I stopped over just before my brother had to go to bed. Just came by to say goodnight and goodbye as I wouldn't see him this morning.

What I should have said, and probably didn't, was thank you.

I'll just say that now, here, and hope he knows how much I mean it.

We couldn't be less alike, you know, my brother & me, except in all the ways we are just alike. Now that we're older, by God, we even look alike. Wouldn't have thought that that would ever be so, but it is; two little bald men with beards and big bellies. Both smoke, and he drinks more than me. Rides a Harley. Nowadays we look just like a set of little salt & pepper shakers.

When I get up from here, and walk back across that yard, I think I'll try to remember better the good man who walks it, as I said, every day.

Meanwhile, I'd better scoot as I still haven't decided which books to take in my carry-on, and my parents will probably be wondering where the hell I disappeared to again. (Dad's still a great one for "getting on the road with time to spare.")

Take care, brother, as I know you do.