Opinion

I am admittedly a slow learner. Asked on a game show to name the presidential images at Mount Rushmore, I would redden with embarrassment. Only in recent years have I been sure there are four honorees. Even now--if asked how many--I’d likely wither under the pressure of TV’s bright lights, meekly asking if the number is between one and ten.

DEAR ABBY: My wife and I have been married 47 years. Since she retired from her job, she has become addicted to her DVR. She records everything she can think of to watch “later.” She has shows she recorded from last year but hasn’t watched, and they take up 90% of her DVR disc. She uses only about 10% for new shows that she watches to make room for other programs. So, every night, we have to watch what she has recorded that day to make room for the next day’s recordings.

Where was I that I missed such a significant occasion? What was I doing that was so important? Today’s report is coming to you more than a month late, but perhaps you missed it, too. June 17 was “National Eat Your Vegetables Day.” It slipped right past me.

They say that age is just a number, so I suppose churning out my thousandth column with this writing might be comparable to a yawn, wry smile or the lame joke about the needle’s question to the thread in a nudist colony—“Sew what?”

DEAR ABBY: I retired to Malaga, Spain, after my marriage of 38 years ended in divorce. I have gone to dinner with a few men since moving here. This is a lovely community with many retired residents from all over Europe and the U.K. My problem is, after a few dates, they assume that because they bought me dinner it entitles them to sex. I am fit and fairly attractive, but I may be out of touch on dating.

DEAR ABBY: I’m a 56-year-old, married, 24/7 caregiver. My husband is terminally ill. When he was diagnosed, all I could think about was what can I do to make this as pleasant and comfortable as possible for my husband and best friend. I have devoted my energy to giving him the best home care I possibly can. It’s far more important to utilize my energy taking care of the love of my life than anything else, and I have put myself on the back burner.

In the back of my mind, I have a provisional list of my favorite shows that Brownwood’s Lyric Theatre has produced through the years. It’s a futile exercise, because every time a new show runs, the list gets shuffled.

DEAR ABBY: I am married to a man from a different country, culture and religion. We have an amazing relationship, and he is my best friend. We do everything together -- grocery shop, date nights, travel, etc. He is a wonderful husband. The only problem is he doesn’t contribute financially. I have told him time and again that this is going to be a big problem for us.

Thomas Wolf, the author who insisted that we can’t go home again, got it wrong. One can indeed do so, but “home” may hardly be recognizable, and/ or–truth to tell — noticeably improved.