I wish I could cook hot dogs with my brother Ammon. That was always his favorite thing to do on his birthday (today's his birthday and he's all grown up...maybe he doesn't even like hot dogs any more?). We'd go down to Boulder Creek. My brothers would fashion hot dog sticks out of willows with their pocket knives. My mom would bring all the food. My dad would lay in the grass and pull his hat over his eyes and take a nap. We'd jump in the water.
I wish I could take Braeden's dresser drawers that are broken to my brother Enoch. I've talked to him on the phone several times about the dresser. I've texted him pictures of the drawers. He talked me out of an unwise purchase at Lowe's. "Sometimes it's better to leave the store empty handed than to buy the wrong thing," he cautioned. Enoch told me yesterday while I was wandering through the produce section of Fred Meyer simultaneously picking out sweet peppers and talking to him on my cell phone that he would fix my drawers for me, if I'd bring them to him.
I wish I could talk more with my brother Tabor about my story I'm writing. He gave me some marvelous ideas the last time we talked. He was sitting in a parked air conditioned car with sweet Ruby asleep while Katie shopped. Otherwise we don't have all that much time to talk. I want to read him what I wrote and see what he thinks. Does it ring true? I want to tell him that he's changed some of the direction I'm going with the story. If I talked to Tabor more, he'd likely give me more ideas.
I think I miss my brothers.