If Meriwether Lewis had lived to be 80, I wonder what he could've accomplished. Would he have continued to serve as Territorial Governor of Upper Louisiana? Found a wife? Published his journals on his own (very scientific) terms? Weathered an election for national public office?
We'll never know.
And, today, Merry doesn't really matter much to me.
I blame my father for my third spider bite in July. Same leg. Thigh. Back of knee. Front of thigh, just above the knee.
Dad distracted me, the third time.
I'm not supposed to talk about my brother. No ranting about him to my husband. No skewering him with my friends. Especially no writing about him in public. Most of you didn't even know I had a brother, did you? That's how well I've followed an old directive.
Well. Screw that. Here's to making up for lost time.
Dad is SUPPOSED to be working for me. He's here for dual events to benefit Friends of the Library: a book sale at the Charleston Farmers Market yesterday, and an author appearance at the Charleston County Library's Main Branch on Tuesday, June 24 at 6pm.
While he should have been handing out book cards and chatting people up yesterday, here's what he was apparently doing instead.
A one-sided exchange with my mother. In his own (very cootie-fied) words.
Does your family show affection in bizarre ways? My dead grandmother showed her adoration by cracking my toes, usually when I napped on the sofa or was stupid enough to leave a foot on top of the sheet. One of my aunts whispered "I love you" by hacking into my self-esteem, because she didn't want me to become cocky, my ego unmanageable.