So I woke up this morning and had this conversation with my husband:
O: It's my brother's birthday, but I can' t call him because he's in Africa.
J: Actually, I think he's in Spain today.
O: Oh, Spain.
J: Tough life.
O: Must be nice.
He's officially my little brother, because I was born Dec. 9, 1974 and he was born Dec. 30, 1975. That puts 12 months and 21 days between us, which means for 21 days of the year I am two years older than him, instead of just one. I liked that when we were younger. Now he's 31, and all I can do is pray that his 31 is better than mine was.
He's my big brother because he's the one with a job and a condo in his name, whereas I still rent and am currently not technically employed. One day we were having a Biggest Loser pissing contest and decided to call it a draw, since he's not married but I don't have babies--and those are the two standards (after are you a doctor or an engineer--again, he qualifies, but because I'm married to a man who will be a doctor on June 1, 2008, I think I squeaky by with a pass) that Indian children are supposed to live up to.
But we've never really lived up to Indian standards, so why start trying now. We just have to avoid situations where we have to talk to Indian people of a certain generation or certain members of our generation and we do OK.
Then later I got an e-mail message from mom that they got a text from Neil that he and his traveling mate are in Seville and OK: "12-30-06 6:23 am Greetings from Seville we are safe and sound possibly south towards the coast manana, adios Jen and Neil."
Mom followed his lines with this message: "Just wanted to let you know that in case you see the web news about a bomb blast at Madrid International airport on the 30th."
Thank God he sent the message or Mom would (no joke) be considering sending a private detective to Spain, or me (which would be OK), to find them. I'm sure Jen is the one who suggested they contact their folks; in his 31 years of adventuring (including getting lost in the mall pre-child-leash days) he has yet to think to call home in a timely manner.
In case anyone detects a tone of resentment in my voice, it's really not there. I'm happy that my brother gets to travel the world and maybe one day I will too. After all, I will be married to a doctor. Also, maybe I'll get to do like Patti Fox and get an Artist in Residency gig in Eastern Europe or where ever it is she has gone.
But for right now, I have to prepare to shoot a Jewish wedding tomorrow morning and a reception that is in a backyard on New Year's Eve and a beach BBQ tonight. Thank God I invested in the good flash. Today, between downloading hundreds of bachelorette party photos and doing several loads of laundry I think I will finish reading Dry by Augusten Burroughs--an amazing read--and rearrange my paintings in my house so that I can paint more.
Maybe one day I'll be a destination wedding photographer because I'm so good people will want me to fly with them and capture every moment of their journey to matrimonial bliss.
God bless 'em all.