Summer

I had two older siblings, but it was me and my little brother who were inseparable.

We would spend hours hunting through rubbish dumps looking for spare parts for the space ship that we were building. He collected ancient Mad magazines, which we read over and over until the pages were worn thin by our laughter. We devised our own cartoons and had art competitions. (He drew better, but mine were funnier.)

He taught me how to shoot and gave me my first and only gun. I inspired him (through my own poorly done efforts) to become an oil-painter, which is what he grew up to become. In fact, I have his first oil painting hanging in my house -- it's the first thing you see when you walk in the door.

Even in our early twenties, we were uber-close. His then-wife became my best friend, and he tolerated my then-husband.

But summer doesn't last forever.

After I had kids, we drifted apart.

And even though he lives just twenty minutes down the freeway from me, I hardly ever see him. In fact, it's been exactly a year since I last saw him.

Yesterday, I called him to try and get together for Thanksgiving, but he was in Hawaii.

Hawaii?

I guess it's always summer somewhere.