Le père headed back to Toronto yesterday, which, he promptly informed me, was seventeen degrees warmer than Montreal at the time of his arrival. Since waving goodbye to his departing cab, I have retired the sofa-bed, done two loads of laundry, and washed a sinkful of dishes, which are now drying in their rack. I am a bachelorette again, in a strangely still apartment.
It was an exceptionally good visit. Among the highlights:
Arit explaining the art of photography to my dad.
James and my dad playing to a draw in their first game of chess.
My dad dispensing relationship advice to Ada. (“Maybe you should try a Latin lover? I hear they’re very good.”)
My dad dispensing relationship advice to Atomic. (“Maybe you should marry a big shot at the UN? Then you’d always have work.”)
Telling James and my dad old punk rock band stories, complete with artefacts.
Eating Polish sausage for the first time in seventeen years.
My dad reminding me of all the friends that used to hang out at our house when I was a teenager, and telling me that Mike was his favourite.
Making Serbian onion-noodle soup.
My dad announcing his plans to visit Serbia for an extended period next year, and his entirely remarkable reasons for doing so.
Enjoying living with someone for a little while.