A good friend

My wife's closest friend called her today, and told her that she missed hearing her voice, as they hadn't spoken in two days.

I could relate.  It's hard being separated from such a good friend, even when you're glad for their sake that they're away for a while . . .

Sibling love

A young friend posted a funny interchange between himself and his sister, the gist of which consisted of:

"I love you," she concluded.

"No, you don't," he replied after thinking he'd hung up the phone.

"Yes, I do, Buttwipe!"

Another reminder of how much I miss my sister.  We got on each other's nerves so much as kids, and were only beginning to learn to appreciate each other when she died, too young.

Today's word

Actually from earlier in the week, but I'm just now catching up:

duckboard - a boardwalk or slatted flooring laid on a wet, muddy, or cold surface -- usually used in plural

Burlesque

It's odd how the echoes of my coming-of-age bounce around at unexpected times.

Last night, the young lady I accompanied on guitar over the summer was opening for a burlesque show at a local comedy club.  Our - well, my - plan was to go hear her sing and then leave. But everyone in the group was sticking around, and it ended up being a good thing that we did, as the musicians ended up closing the show, as well.

After their first set, they were immediately followed by a couple of comedians. The first apparently wasn't able to evoke a laugh from anything except crude humor, and when that didn't work he really didn't have a backup plan. The second, who was really the first because he was the host of the program, did a much better job with his much funnier material.  Then came the burlesque girls.

Now, first of all, I was in a really tough position to watch any of the show, as the stage was at about 8 o'clock relative to how I was facing, and there was room neither to turn my chair nor to put my legs if I could have. Secondly, the "girls" - these women couldn't have been younger than 40 - did the first part of their dance routine in the aisle that was directly behind me and one table over. Still, they finished on the stage, and I was able to turn my head to take in the end of their quite amateur performance, as the more daring of the two struggled with her brassiere, with her back to us, of course, so we could see her fumbling with the rear-facing hooks - so that she could reveal her pasty-clad breasts at the end of their number.

Still, despite this, I found there was more than my spiritual sensibilities at play in my emotional response. No, I wasn't at all aroused by the performance, just very uncomfortable. It took me a while in the evening to realize that, even though the mood, the atmosphere, and the context were very different, this whole striptease evoked the uncomfortable lunches and evenings out with my stepfather, into the strip joints and porn shops of the Baltimore area.

Sigh.

So it seems I can't even process the issue of whether there was anything wrong with me being there last night strictly on its own merits. There are times when I wish that the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was real . . .

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Could the reason that we're told to rejoice always, pray constantly, and give thanks in all circumstances have anything to do with that being the only way I feel hopeful?

Not sure how I feel

So a couple weeks before Christmas, my wife attempted to communicate with our daughters a query into whether it was their desire to exchange Christmas gifts with us. I learned of this by way of my middle daughter, who didn't show me the text but shared the giIst of it with me. As I have come to expect, it was communicated without any sense of how the words might appear to the recipient, and conveyed a very different message from what (I hope and trust) she intended.

Perhaps I should have done a better job of extending my damage control efforts to our other daughters, who did not raise the issue with me, but I wasn't really sure how to broach the subject with them. I suppose I could have explained to them how I became privy to message contents that were not addressed to me, and suggested that what was meant to be conveyed was likely something very different from the message they received.  In the process, should I have also pointed out their mother's obvious inability to couch her communication in terms that do not give offense?

Having not figured out how to handle that, how do I now deal with the difficult combination of very hurt feelings and resentment I'm now experiencing?

I feel hopeless.

(So I guess maybe I am sure, after all, how I feel.)

Abjectly

I really didn't think it was possible to feel like a more complete failure as a parent . . .