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Day 162. in which there is a nudge in time.

Early this morning, my arms were elbow deep in soapy dish water when Dad took his position at the side of the sink.

"You're doing a good job there, you know," Dad said.

"Thank you. I'm very good at dishes. I am a woman of many talents," I replied.

"Well, of course you are! You're my daughter!...What are we having for dinner?" he asked.

"I'm not sure, Dad. I haven't even thought about breakfast yet. Let me have some coffee first, please..."

Dad continued to stare at me. And then he wandered off to the dining room, through the living room. A few moments later, he had come full circle and was standing sentinel by the kitchen sink. He was silent. He was staring at me.

I looked up from the sink. Dad was studying me - scrutinizing every movement I made as if he couldn't quite figure something out.

"What is it, Dad?" I asked.

"Doesn't something seem 'off' to you?" he asked, tilting his head a bit to the side and leaning in, as if he was about to let me in on something big.

"Off...? How so?"

"Doesn't it seem as if time has been...nudged?" he asked. "Like when we went to bed last night something happened and then we woke up this morning and it was half a century later?"

* * *
A 'nudge' in time.

Time for Dad is not linear. It fluctuates in a moment's time across decades, bringing together people who could not have ever possible coincided with each other in time. Dad often asks me if I remember things from his childhood, which of course, I do not and cannot.

Our backyard is a portal to the past. Our front door leads to Kingston but our back door leads to a town called 'Walloomsac'. In Dad's reality, the white shed in my backyard is still standing because of his father's fine craftsmanship. The tall tree next to the shed, too, is because of his father; he planted it himself. In my reality, his father never resided in Kingston, NY nor do I have any reason to believe he had any connection whatsoever to Ulster County.

But why tell Dad this? He finds it comforting to believe his father built the shed, planted the tree.

This nudge in time seems to be more than a 'nudge' but what is it?

Real memories have been replaced by false yet persistent memories. How could this ever be?

Epistemically speaking, it's terrifying.