Father’s Day

It’s been nearly three months since Dad passed away and yesterday was a day that I spent feeling melancholy. It was Father’s Day in Australia and the first Father’s Day that I have not seen or spoken to my Dad. The trains rumbling past the apartment here in Ulaanbaatar reminded me more of him.

I painted some of my little ships to help me relax but even that went badly – a new bottle of “Golden Olive” colour spilling on the desk and the carpet resulting in an hour of cleaning up and the Vladivostok Squadron being resplendent in “Intermediate Green” instead of a dark khaki colour. Even the egg slide that mum had given me (it was Dad’s and she didn’t like it) performed badly, flipping an “over easy” egg clean out of the frying pan.

In between the bouts of melancholy three things brightened me up. One was remembering Dad and the smile that always gives me. The second was the ‘phone call I received from my youngest son – soon to be 10 – and his clear view of life and the world. The third was the nice words and warm thoughts of my favourite Mongolian family.

I guess next year will be easier, more of the smiles and less of the pain. In the meantime, today I can sit and dream of a hot shower as we approach day number 8 without hot water.