My much older and less attractive brother brought our elderly father over to my house for a visit, and then went out for a pack of cigarettes. “I didn’t know he smoked,” I told my dad. “He doesn’t,” my father answered. I haven’t seen my brother since. It didn’t happen exactly that way, but that’s the way I like to tell the story of how my father came to live with me. He’s in the later years of his life and has been widowed for some time now. He’s also been diagnosed pre-Alzheimer’s, but, really, aren’t we all pre-Alzheimer’s? My wife, to welcome him into our home, cooked him a 5-star dinner Tom Colicchio would be jealous of, and, to top it off, she served him a nice helping of vanilla ice cream. REAL ice cream, not the cheap stuff. I save that for my mother-in-law. Let me digress for a moment. I know some of you may have ...