Meaningful Conversations

My brother Paul recently returned from a trip to Georgia. Not the Georgia of Peaches and people who still believe that George W. Bush is a good president but the Georgia that is in between Turkey and Russia.

When us regular people are asked how we spent our summer vacation we usually say, went to the beach, the cottage (that is what they say up here, they don't go to cabins they go to their cottage) or they did really fun stuff like work on their houses until their back was hunched over and their fingers were bloody stubs and tears of pain slid down their face that was streaked with wood dust and sweat. Yes it my summer reminded me of that Movie with Sally Field Places in the Heart - the poor widowed woman who had to work with her children and the black man in the cotton fields under the blazing summer sun, her fingers bloody and poked and swollen from picking cotton all day long while the blind man at the house did his caning and made dinner for those poor folk, cause they just had to get their cotton picked and to the cotton gin before anyone else so they could get that hundred dollars, they just had too. Obviously it seems that while my brother spent his time in the country of Georgia in my mind while sanding and painting and sniffing varathane I spent my time in the depression in the state of Georgia.

So my bro the professor spent hung out with the people of Georgia doing what professors do when they are doing their thing. Which I have no clue. But they do it so good for them.

When he comes back he usually visits my parents for a week. Second day he was there I get this call from my mother. Barb hands me the phone which I cradle in my scabbed over bloody puffed up fingers and Paul is on the phone. So we talk for a few minutes, he bitching about his computer he bitching about working, then we both began complaining about the custom charges that I had to pay for my wedding gifts from my parents. There is nothing better then being able to have a sibling to bitch with.

Our bitching was interrupted by my mother in the background yelling SAY SOMETHING MEANINGFUL TO EACH OTHER! THIS IS PHONE CALL IS ON MY DIME.

Well the pressure to preform was now on us and I fear we failed miserably. We were able to say we love each other but when you have a mother circling in the background wanting their children to bond like some genetic superglue we did what we knew what to do, we bitched about the Canadian Postal System. I really have nothing against the system, other then the one guy who was really an alien who sniffed me but Paul, well he could spend hours on it.

I have no clever ending to this post, other then to say that I have nothing against the Canadian Postal System, so please continue to deliver my mail.

Thanks