i really do wish they lived closer and not more than halfway across canada. the perfect length for a visit is 4-5 days and with that distance it is hard to have a trip of less than a week before the end of which i get antsy. i get a craving for my own space, my own house, my own time. one of the nasty side-effects of being an only child...or my growing misanthropy.
it felt really good to cook and bake for my mom for once. her last visit to me was early last summer when i was all alone with a barely finished kitchen, after a year without, and i felt overwhelmed with the expectations of hosting not just a guest but a parental guest of the motherly variety. i fed her good fresh bread and very good cheese but i am fairly certain i did not cook once, and i have felt guilty over it for a while. now that i have my kitchen mojo back again, it was a breeze.
the weather, which had been stunning, deteriorated sharply after their departure, and i have been cocooning inside, listening to the sound of the rain, enjoying the feeling of autumnal grayness contrasted with the warmth of our quiet home. today i baked a banana-nut bread and mr. monkey has a big pot of chicken stock percolating on the stove. life is good.
*my mother and mr. monkey have a long fraught history that seems to be mostly over, but there are flashes on occasion and it twists me into an emotional pretzel. oh, family...
**driving on the highway and having a screaming fight about my father's perceived homophobia, thereby introducing him to that endearing phrase "jesus fucking christ" is, in most likelihood, not a safe thing to do. still, we got over it rather quickly.