When I went away to college, my father was home alone.  He didn’t have many close friends and spent most of his time reading and in front of the TV.  As my visits stretched from every few months to a couple times a year, I began to notice him developing some strange behaviors.  He had always been a bit of a creature of habit, but these routines developed into Groundhog Day rituals over time.  Same cup, same spoon, same plate—always arranged in the exact same way.  Every day of the week had its own meal, prepared exactly the same way at the same time.  We had a great relationship and when I’d visit, I was constantly calling him on it: “Dude, you’re turning into Howard Hughes!”