Nostalgia and home are creeping into my thoughts. The pair of them have been working together at stirring up my memory.
Mike and I met, and fell in love in Canada. I miss the land and the smell of the air after a rain. I miss the cold tall mountains that filled me with an enormous confidence that only mountains can project. I miss green. Lush, wet green moss and never ending pine forests.
Most of all, I miss my dad. Hi dad!
Although he might hate to admit it, he could be brothers with William Shatner.
I miss my dad who embarrassingly answers the front door half naked, even in the winter. The same dad who has a habit of shouting if he’s lost something, and laughing (man giggling) when the item is discovered and surprisingly “it’s” on his head (usually his glasses). He watches Star Trek at a volume that might be making his hearing even worse than it already is, and some how he did not go grey raising 5 daughters on his own. He let the dog eat his hearing aids. They were under warranty, but he never looked into it. So we lived and tolerated deaf dad for a few years.
I love my dad, I think he’s changed since we were kids. He can tolerate us for the most part these days. I know we drove him to the brink of madness as teens. One afternoon my and sisters I were quarrelling. Who knows what about. It was likely over who was drying the dishes. We fought often, and who can blame us with that much oestrogen under one roof. He snapped and said “THAT’S IT! I’M LEAVING AND I’M NEVER COMING BACK!” The back door slammed. The car left the driveway. We all were terrified that we’d finally done it. We’d pushed the old man off the nest and he was never returning. Of course we argued over who was to blame.
He did return several hours later with groceries, a fresh haircut, and a shave. If dad couldn’t handle us who could?
I was recalling a time with my cousin Chelsea the other day where dad came to visit me in Toronto. When I think about it even these years later I still have to laugh. My apartment was on a busy road, and the buzzer apparently wasn’t working. I did not know my dad had arrived. I heard a wild man screaming. I listened carefully. Like Stan from A Street Car Named Desire, he was screaming my name in desperation on the road like a maniac. HOLLY, HOOOOOOOOLLY! HOOOOLLLY!! I ran to the window and interrupted him, to let him know I’d be right down. I was mortified, but also found it rather hilarious. “Dad, I’m sure the locals think you’re just another lunatic!”. He came to visit me often, and if I was ever feeling homesick, I would hop on a train and head south.
It’s not that easy anymore.
According to Google Maps, I am currently living 25,642km away from my childhood home.
We Skyped for the first time recently. In true form, he was half naked in bed. He’s grown a beard. I haven’t seen him since September. There was that moment when we all (Mike, Myself, Dad, and Cathie (dad’s partner) realised a new awkward level of closeness.
Some days I really feel this space, and even though we had to look at Dad’s naked chest the whole time, it certainly made the distance feel like mere inches.
Dear reader, are you far from home?