eleven twenty-one sixty-four

I came across this photo of my brother and me several several years ago, I was probably about 13 years old or so.

Being a 13-years-old-or-so girl, my initial reaction was, "GAWD, Mom, I look terrible!" Yeah, Mom was in the room with me as I poured through a box of old photos.

"I look like I'm on my deathbed!", I continued in annoying adolescent girl fashion.

"Yes", she replied. "I think you're saying that Wombat killed you" (noting my index finger clearly identifying the villain) after which she commenced to laughing hysterically. Really. I think she may have peed a little.

So, what brought back this memory? Well, today is my birthday, so naturally I'm thinking of my death.

Just kidding, that would be morbid. A little.

Actually, that memory came back because I was thinking *a little bit* about my death and I got a birthday greeting from the villain brother. He wished me a happy birthday in tagalog - Filipino language. Mom's Filipina, Dad's not, so we kids are half. We really don't know the language other than a few words like terms for body parts taught to us during bath times and not typically shared in mixed company.

Being born on the cusp of Scorpio, my birthday has always fallen near Thanksgiving. So I'm thankful to be seeing another birthday. I'm thankful for Mom. And Dad. And brothers. Even Wombat, who was and is, clearly, the favorite child. Bad hair and all.
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