Assuming the role of temporary dude, I started the week wondering about the generational echoes of missing fathers.
And Richard ended the week with a gorgeous meditation about his father that explained why he was older than the (known) universe. Take this into your weekend: if you died in 1914, your knowledge of the universe was roughly on par with a caveman’s. If you managed to time your birth to coincide with the latter half of the 20th century, you were one of the lucky few humans who can begin to comprehend the geography of the universe.
See you Monday.