The Chills

My old bedroom was where the murder happened in the movie.

Who would go to Buffalo in February?  And why?  Also, why the hell was the flight so expensive?  It was all a bit mysterious and creepy.  Then I drove to my dad's house, which looks exactly like the house in the movie Amityville Horror. Creepy windows and all.  It was enough to give you the chills. And that was just the beginning.

It was the weekend before my dad's 80th birthday.  My visit was planned and I told my dad I'd love to help him do anything he needed to be done while I was there.  Then my sister called, she'd just gotten off the phone with my dad.    "I just want to give you a head's up about what dad wants you to do...."  And of all the things I was prepared to do, this wasn't one of them.

Is the pillow comfortable though?

Plan and prepay his funeral.  Which is really a loving gesture to ease the burden on all his kids.  I get that, but it's also really morbid and macabre.  Especially because February is also the month my mom died, making it extra absinthal.  But we did it and afterward we went to Canada to visit my mom's grave and the plot next to it where my dad will eventually be buried.  Although, hopefully, not anytime soon.

A drive-by sighting of Niagara Falls while crossing the border.

The temperature was unusually frigid, even for Buffalo, hovering around zero.  That's when the snow started falling fast and furious while we were still in Canada.  We drove through whiteout  conditions to get back home.  Silently, the way you do when you're panicked thinking about all the things that could go wrong and pondering your own mortality.  When we finally made it home, where we stayed for the next couple of days like shut-ins.

Featured baby is my oldest brother,  not me.

 Leaving us plenty of time to go through photo albums where I found this photo of my dad.  An aberration, because I look exactly like him.  Same long face, receding hairline, naturally bushy eyebrows and straightforward lips.  But, what was really eerie was the evasive, wallflower, expressionless look.  The one I thought I originated.   Which turns out is only a cheap imitation of the original.  

A vat of soup.

So, I made my Hungarian dad some cabbage soup to take the chill off and warm us up.  Because I grew up in America, I'm way too lazy to make his beloved cabbage rolls.  Maybe it's my American apathy that sets me apart from my Canadian dad.  Or maybe I'm a clone.