The marathon continues

My mom and I grocery shopped before catching the ferry to Lasqueti. I was moving, um, slowly.
My dad wasn't at Lasqueti. I said that to my mom before we parted and she knew exactly what I was saying. It was like he was there when we were there a while ago, but he wasn't there this time. And neither Twiggy nor Garfield came by. I interpret this to mean that he's really, really gone from here. I didn't make it out to the Finnerties. I tried to go last night but at the exact instant that I made that decision and moved the kayak out from the basement, this wind blew up and I saw that there were whitecaps in the open water and it was too dangerous a prospect. My mom said to wait until the spring, which I shall do. I'm okay with it, because it didn't feel "right" to go out to there with the remains of his ashes on this particular trip up there.
An old-timer came by the place while we were up there. He said I looked like my dad. My mom said that I'm definitely my father's daughter. We've recently been informed that we actually own another small (tiny) piece of property that is oddly situated and mostly useless that the arts society want us to donate. The fellow that came by said that it was a shame my dad hadn't known that before he died because he would have had a field day with it. He was political and controversial to say the least. My mom was asking if we should donate it and I said, "Fuck no. I want the arts society to put on a play honoring my dad and to do some interpretive dance to sway us into donating it". Then I want a big plaque saying, "This property lovingly donated by the revered and beloved Gordie R-" because it will stick in everyone's craw.
Yes. I am absolutely my father's daughter.