He Ain't Smelly--He's My Brother

August, 2004

My brother just left. He’s been up to visit family, stinking up my guestroom for the last two days.

He flew into Providence from Jacksonville after spending several days looking at land on tributaries of the St. Mary’s River. Having checked out of his hotel, he’d gone kayaking on the bayous on the last morning. It wasn’t until he got on the plane that he realized that he bore an olfactory resemblance to the Okefenokee Swamp. The gag response of the lady sitting in the window seat further evidenced his aura.

Arriving late in the evening in Massachusetts, he claimed exhaustion and went directly to bed. By the time he awakened the next morning, the tiny room bore the essence of black water, skeeters, and gators. His penance consisted of maddeningly itchy ankles, a condition that I diagnosed as chiggers as I handed him the cortisone cream. I enjoy my brother’s visits immensely, but the fumigation requirements sometimes temper that enjoyment.

Despite--or perhaps, because of--our innocence and naiveté, the two of us usually manage to blamelessly stumble into misadventure when we combine forces. Last night, after visiting our mother at the Home (what could be more praiseworthy?), we set out for dinner at a highly recommended Italian restaurant where you can eat at the bar. How were we to know that we would happen upon a much-favored "girls’ night out" location?