“Dad, I’m driving along the highway and on the western horizon I can see a really bright star or planet or something. It looks red. Do you know what it is? Ya, I can wait while you go outside to see if you see it too.”
He’s 850 km north east of me, but it doesn’t occur to either of us that my question is ridiculous or unreasonable to ask him. Of course, due to the convext nature of the earth he’s unable to see my mysterious planet. The next day I search the Internet, but it requires less ambiguous descriptions than Dad and I am left to wonder.

“Dad, I’ve just taken down a ceiling fan and I have a new fixture I’m hanging, but there’s an extra wire. Do you know what it is and what should I do with it?”
I’m up a ladder in another country, Dad has never been to my place and he’s unable to see what this extra wire might be, but that’s okay. He talks me through it, we decide it was required to run the fan and I can simply cap it off. I proceed to successfully hang my fixture.

The road under a tree canopy is last to get wet when it rains, recieves the least rainfall, yet remains wet longest. The road under a bridge receives the least weather, yet it’s usually in the worst condition. Dad would have known why. It’s been two years since he died and I still have so many questions for him.