![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
enteleinI had the lemon pepper shrimp, and I drank the oolong in tiny little sips.
P.F. Chang's is really noisy. It was not too difficult to talk, despite my reservations over the acoustics I remembered from the first time I ate at this restaurant (in SoCal, back when I was working for GlobalCenter), but I also personally didn't have a lot to say. I grabbed my brother's arm at one point, hooked my arm through, and squeezed him to me, and although he didn't really squeeze back, he also didn't resist me, he let himself be drawn and held for a few seconds. I listened hard to pretty much anything he said, and I kept an eye on my mom, for any serious swings towards the maudlin.
I've been getting randomly weepy, and while I think some of it is just staying up too late and not getting enough sleep, night after night, I know, also, that I am very sad over my brother leaving. He's got the truck ready to go for Tuesday morning, I think, and I am not sure I am ready for this. This is too soon. Even with spending some time tomorrow over at his house in Elgin, helping him pack, I am not sure this is enough face time before he's gone, gone, gone. Gone to Houston, and his new house with his Houston-born wife.
He nudged me hard about flying down there in April for a weekend. "Fares are not bad," he said. "Plus, who's gonna play pinball with me?"
Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. Not in the restaurant, at least.
We ordered crab won tons as part of our appetizers, and he asked if he could have the 'ears' off of them before letting me eat them. Uncertainly, I said, "uh, sure!" Sure enough, he'd take the little fried pouch, break off the crispy corners, and leave me with the rest, to dip and eat. He and my mom had Mongolian beef, Tyler's sans scallions. Ro had the lo mein.
My tea was served in a little heavy pot, with a heavy trivet. We gave our waitress a $5 tip, folded like a bowtie.
I watched my brother drive off tonight, his car filled with empty cardboard boxes.
Too soon. This is no small incident.
P.F. Chang's is really noisy. It was not too difficult to talk, despite my reservations over the acoustics I remembered from the first time I ate at this restaurant (in SoCal, back when I was working for GlobalCenter), but I also personally didn't have a lot to say. I grabbed my brother's arm at one point, hooked my arm through, and squeezed him to me, and although he didn't really squeeze back, he also didn't resist me, he let himself be drawn and held for a few seconds. I listened hard to pretty much anything he said, and I kept an eye on my mom, for any serious swings towards the maudlin.
I've been getting randomly weepy, and while I think some of it is just staying up too late and not getting enough sleep, night after night, I know, also, that I am very sad over my brother leaving. He's got the truck ready to go for Tuesday morning, I think, and I am not sure I am ready for this. This is too soon. Even with spending some time tomorrow over at his house in Elgin, helping him pack, I am not sure this is enough face time before he's gone, gone, gone. Gone to Houston, and his new house with his Houston-born wife.
He nudged me hard about flying down there in April for a weekend. "Fares are not bad," he said. "Plus, who's gonna play pinball with me?"
Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. Not in the restaurant, at least.
We ordered crab won tons as part of our appetizers, and he asked if he could have the 'ears' off of them before letting me eat them. Uncertainly, I said, "uh, sure!" Sure enough, he'd take the little fried pouch, break off the crispy corners, and leave me with the rest, to dip and eat. He and my mom had Mongolian beef, Tyler's sans scallions. Ro had the lo mein.
My tea was served in a little heavy pot, with a heavy trivet. We gave our waitress a $5 tip, folded like a bowtie.
I watched my brother drive off tonight, his car filled with empty cardboard boxes.
Too soon. This is no small incident.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 08:27 am (UTC).. if it helps, time changes all things, and dulls even the worst pains, but the miracle of the internet and the telephone have helped recent generations survive such things. :)
no subject
Date: 2005-02-28 03:33 pm (UTC)Maybe..write him? Not an email but a letter. There's something different about actually writing rather than typing. Take some pictures for him and send them along.
At least, it's helped me.