My great-uncle John never buttered his bread. “I don’t have time for butter!” he insisted. I never knew how much time butter took, but apparently it was more than Uncle John could spare.Time passes so often without notice. A day seems to pass in the time it takes to butter a piece of bread. Last night, my husband, Peter, said that we met seven years ago.“Eight years,” I corrected him.We will celebrate our seventh wedding anniversary next month and, while the romance was quick, we had known one another for a year. We married on the one-year anniversary of the ...