It’s a long, hard road for some of us to get to where we should be. I ought to know. Just now I said goodbye to my brother, William G., after handing him an “allowance” check from my mother’s bank account that’s way too little for most people to survive on. He was very grateful.
I added 50 bucks extra to pay him for the promised removal of two piles of tree clippings in the patio of the old double-wide, and then we walked through the place so he could name things he thought he might want. Some of you might be surprised to learn that Helen’s sewing machine and associated gear was all he really cared about, plus a couple of simple mirrors hanging on the wall. My brother has been sewing his own clothes (and shoes) for years, mostly in quite unconventional ways, using found or salvaged material of one kind or another to extend the life of garments in creative ways. It’s a side of him that most people have no idea of, an adaptation to years of bone-grinding poverty but also indicative of a native artistic soul that will not be repressed.
Yes, I threw him out of the house last Sunday because of prior draconian banishment, and I made multiple apologies today for this unconscionable behavior. He knew why, of course, but still. Yes, he’s done a lot of things he shouldn’t have, and I have cursed him publicly and privately for decades. (I probably never got over his peeing in my shoes when I was 10 years old.) Yes, I apparently have all kinds of issues with my siblings that are only now coming up for needed attention as we contemplate our mother’s imminent demise. Who knew? In any case, this has to be a good thing, provided I can stand it.
On my last visit to Tucson, I gave Bill our mother’s old computer, an eMac of indeterminate vintage, the first computer he’s ever had in his own residence. He told me today that he had recently googled his name and come across something I’d mentioned, perhaps on Twitter, about the kinetic artworks he’d created out of old electric motors and bits and pieces of old junk. “It makes me feel good when you say something nice about me,” he said. So for all his difficulty in communicating with the world at large, he still has the ability to zing right through to the heart of things occasionally.
Ouch. Oh dear. Or oh wow, depending.
When next my wife and I descend on the dystopian glamour that is Tucson, I will shoot some video of his creations for you all to see. This isn’t charity, he has real talent in this area and always has had. One of his skills is stacking rocks, for example. It is simply time he had his due, and I will help him get it. Maybe he’ll even pose for a picture.
Mere survival has to count for something, and both of us still walk upon the earth. I have credit cards, computers, a beautiful wife, and gobs of mostly useless intellect. He has our mother’s aging attack chihuahua, an old trailer, and lives alone on less than what most of you spend for gas and burgers in a given month. If I am so much better, why is he still here?
There’s so much to ponder in this life. Perhaps before I shed my mortal coil, as my Aunt Mary used to say, I’ll know a bit more of the answer to that last question. It may just be that he has stayed around for me.
God truly does move in mysterious ways. You can tell her that I said so.
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