As for my father, I never knew whether he believed God was a mathematician but he certainly believed God could count and that only by picking up God’s rhythms were we able to regain power and beauty. Unlike many Presbyterians, he often used the word “beautiful.”
″‘If only I knew for sure what the baby will be like’, I said.
‘Take a chance Peter,’ Dad said. ‘The baby won’t necessarily be anything like Fudge.’
‘But it won’t necessarily not be anything like him either,’ I answered.”
“And yet isn’t it strange, I though that day. Mamma never comes with me. Doesn’t she ever think it might be dangerous? Hasn’t she seen how wild and isolated is out there? No, that was the point. She’d never seen it. All of sudden two thoughts were colliding in my head.”