I love my father, but he and I make poor housemates. We each have spots of the house that we consider sacred and whose violation we consider sacrilege. I consider it subhuman to not have the toilet paper on the roller, he considers it a throwback to not always have a clean kitchen towel at the sink.  This week and next, he’s on vacation with my mother, his ex-wife, and the person he’s dating which all happen to be the same person.

Tonight I returned to a house empty of other people but containing a dog that a very happy to see me, a cat that saw me, and a cockatiel that was somewhat adversarial.  This house would be mine for the next 10 days and I celebrated by not changing a thing.