Time

Time is relative to Dad. Last night he wondered where I had been. I missed lunch. Even though I left at 10 and was in and out a few times with groceries and driveway cleaning. This morning he said that he would write me a letter of recommendation for making breakfast. Why was I leaving and what would I be doing all day? With a foot of snow in both driveways and more coming down, pills at the drugstore, and perhaps some personal time, the idea of me being away more than a few minutes is difficult to grasp.

Another trait besides being generous (he insisted that I eat one of his bacon slices) is that he will not say directly what he prefers. Asked by Meg if he would like her to make a pumpkin pie, he said that he would probably get one when he went out to dinner on Friday night. Then of course this morning he told me that Meg was going to make two pies today.