February 28th 1993
Dad called last night with questions about an intake valve. At first, I thought that he had purchased some sort of respirator. Then, during the conversation, I realized that he was talking about some sort of mechanical portion of his vehicle. I took great offense to him lashing these crude jokes of my knowledge and expertise of the components that make his vehicle run properly. Then I was beside myself when I realized that he must have been groggy from a late afternoon slumber. Sometimes I worry about him.
I should visit him more often. I sure miss bonding with him while he makes verbal assaults at Maris' expense and how he complains that I know absolutely nothing about sports. And then there's Eddie. At this point in my diary, I don't have to note how his constant staring is driving me up the wall. Isn't there some sort of dog candy that I can give him that would make him fixate on pastel colors? I never wear pastels.
Perhaps I will bring Dad something. I'll have Maris heat up a store bought pie or cobbler. That is about the extent of Maris' baking ability. It still brings a sad smile to my face when I think of the time that she tried to make scrambled eggs and cheese… in a frying pan… in the oven.