The Postscript: Time for Butter
My great-uncle, John, never buttered his bread.
“I don’t have time for butter!” he insisted. I never knew how much time butter took, but apparently it was more than Uncle John could spare.
Time passes so often without notice. A day seems to pass in the time it takes to butter a piece of bread. Last night, my husband, Peter, said that we met seven years ago.
“Eight years,” I corrected him. We…