Two nights ago, I read a “This I Believe” essay by a girl whose brother was killed in California gang warfare. She defines herself as the sister of Rogelio Bautista, and she believes that everyone deserves flowers on their grave.

It brought to mind the note I put in my brother’s casket before we laid him to rest. Probably more the result of agonized disbelief and despair than a desire to leave something poetic for David, it read something like “I have two brothers, even if I have to tell people I have one.” It’s probably well on its way to disintegration by now, along with everything else in the ground there, topped by a small headstone and fake plastic flowers.

I don’t know how often anyone goes there to visit his grave. I, for one, have lived too far away for a long time, and even when I was there, I didn’t go. And if anyone goes there, they don’t bother to tell me. It’s like my Granddad’s grave in Tennessee. We used to visit when I was little, but when Gran moved away from Norris, we stopped going. Who puts flowers on his grave now?

It also recently occurred to me to get David a Christmas gift. What to get? What would he have wanted at 25? Would he still be obsessed with chemistry and mathematics? As for the gift, it would have to be something small that wouldn’t blow away or be too damaged by the elements. And it couldn’t be too valuable, otherwise it might be stolen. That eliminates a lot of things, I guess. Would he like something that says Texas? Or something that says Clemson?

As for flowers, it’s winter. They shrivel up, get frozen over. Rot. Why bring them?

I am still the sister of David Edward Kaplan, and I want to put flowers on his grave. I stop myself from asking other people to do it for me. Because if I can’t even go there when I live there, why should I ask someone else to make at least two trips—once to put the flowers there, and once to clean up the rotting mess?

It’s been 4 and a half years. Maybe one day I’ll be mature enough to do something about my desire to be a good sister and quit complaining.

All airports other than Austin make me want to cry. In the Austin airport, I forgot to take my liquid baggie out of my bag and no one even asked me about it. In Knoxville, however, I forgot I had a bottle of water with me, and not only did I get specially screened, I had to go to the back of the line and take my shoes and jacket and scarf off again. I asked the guy initially screening me if I could just drink the water on the spot and be on my merry way, and he said he wished he could let me do that. (You could have.)

This appears to be a beautiful example of process replacing thinking. Ask anyone with a brain who works at the Site what they think about process, and they will tell you the same thing. As long as you have protocol, you don’t have to think about what you’re doing. Take the top off the bottle, smell it, allow me to drink it, and forget about it. I mean, if the liquid’s in my body, how is it going to explode a plane?

If I say I sense murder in my future, do you think security will pick up on it and send me to the back of the line?

After yesterday’s fiasco, I was thinking maybe I’d make a partial derivative list of my most memorable bike crashes. I realize other people have more and worse stories, but they don’t blog it. Therefore, I win. (These all ended in blood, a hospital, or replacement parts. I’m not counting the times I’ve fallen because of my shoes/pedals.)

1. While in high school, I vaguely remember trying to ride at night without feet or hands and crashing spectacularly. Chris Glenn may be able to back this up. I sort of remember being with him at the time.

2. The next two were in Germany. Once, being late to class, I took a corner too fast and ran into a wall. I scraped my forearm from wrist to elbow and got bloody knuckles.

3. Vodka. That’s pretty much all the explanation you need, and pretty much all I remember.

4. Somewhere on the back roads near Clemson, I was drafting a cycling team member on a windy day and sort of ran into his back wheel. I flew. That cost me a new wheel and fork.

5. We all remember the car accident in Austin. Most Expensive Crash Award.

6. And most recently, lost my balance and ended up with the lovely bloody elbow you see below.

Should I be riding bikes? Seriously, in eleven years of gymnastics, I remember crashing, with a blood or hospital result, only three times. If I count all the sprained ankles, rips, and straddled beams, maybe the number would be more appropriate, but I just don’t remember how many there were. The average rate of serious injury with bicycles is much higher.

…I will make it through an entire ride without crashing.

Oh it’s cool, I just fell on some rocks.

This happened after we got lost.

At least we parked next to Performance Bicycle. They fixed me right up. Just needs some superglue.

Also maybe I will resize my photos before I post them.

The will to be stupid is a very powerful force, but there are always alternatives. – Lois McMaster Bujold

Google makes it so easy for me to be lazy.

“If the ball touches your hands, you catch it! Gimme a lap!!!”

And strangely, my life is as lame as before the game.

I was the most intense Texas fan at the game.

This is going to sound nuts, but sometimes all I want is those desolate stretches of SC 28 where there is no radio or cell phone reception. I know where I am and where I’m going, and everything is familiar.

Is that weird?

When I was overwhelmed in high school, I would skip class and drive home, stopping at New Moon for a chocolate chip muffin and root beer. I would go home, eat half the muffin, drink the root beer, and take a nap. When I woke up, I’d finish my homework and the muffin. It was such a simple, effective routine. I wish I had a chocolate chip muffin and root beer right now.

I’m sure you’re going to love real life.

Watch your stapler!

(PS to everyone who is not Matthew: Matthew got a job offer in Surrey. He is rule!)