My brother is much younger than me, still in his twenties and still in need of adventure.  Not horseradish and peanut butter, more Into the Wild, which is not for family men edging towards forty, i.e. me.

That’s nice brother, anyway I’m sailing to Ireland.

The last week of last month I was chatting with my brother Matthew

online and I excitedly linked invirtu on urban dictionary, which means “within virtual reality”.  I had been trying to get words I made up for my book Destiny’s Hand into the dictionary, and this was my first success.

His response, “I am going to Boston in a week to meet Norwegians.  If all goes well I will crew with them as they cross to Ireland.”

I expressed surprise, then he added, “Norwegians have a great history with Ireland: visit monasteries, take a few souvenirs.”

 35 ft, blue water cruiser, four crew.

He tells me the size and jokes about getting an eye patch.  I suggest he bring a bucket of sun screen.

The day before cast off he writes,  “Destination Ireland early July by way of Azores. Possible landfall in Azores late June, weather dependent. I may be able to receive emails intermittently.”

I respond, “Beware the (Fool) in you, embrace his luck and whimsy, beware his wisdom and fancy.”  But I send it too late.

I have this crazy thought that he will pick up WiFi in the middle of the ocean and reply.  I wait and check storm watch websites, while being thankful it’s a relatively calm season.

I feel old and jealous, anxious and proud.  My brother is all grown up.  I think I feel an echo of my son twenty years from now, reaching back in time to connect twin feelings.

It’s a right of passage.  I must remember this.  Survive and grow.

The old woman in me hopes that this scratches his itch and will come back to his quiet slog.  Another part wonders if he will find a red haired maiden and sire a rainbow of leprechauns.

I expect whatever happens, this will be a trip of a lifetime for him, and I am nothing more than happy he’s getting to do it.

Sail safe foolish Icarus.