My Sister Ruined My Son’s Birthday Painting — Then My Dad Dropped His Wedding Ring Into the Wine

office, or sometimes by his recliner, or tucked into his briefcase. He’d write in it on planes, during commercial breaks, at the kitchen table after everyone else had gone to bed. I’d always assumed it was work notes—calculations, project details, the kind of technical record-keeping engineers do.

He carried it to the head of the table and set it down continue reading …