Attended a confirmation on Funen, for V’s cousin Lisbeth’s son, Marcus. Very stylish event, held at the Signatur Hotel by the water-side. Probably couldn’t imagine what it’d cost them. Serves as a reminder to myself: remember to book rooms for K’s confirmation some years in advance. I’ve gotten way better at these events, over my years with V: I would’ve hated shaking hands with total strangers before I met her. Things went their usual, i.e. I mostly cared for Nicolas. But there was time for a proper meal and a chat. Seated at the ‘adult contemporary table’, I chatted mostly with her cousin Bo and his wife. They don’t look so happy and surplus-like as they have of late. Too much work and not enough fun? Mostly I’m confused about the state of family affairs, as referenced by V, versus the seemingly harmonous display of affection as witnessed on these festive occasions: the speeches, for one, are always very funny and very thoughtful. I never see the animocity. Maybe my source of information is unreliable.
Took the train home, just me, dropped by the Candy Corner to hit the sweet-spot and prepare – glucose-wise – for the day ahead. Saw ‘Rambo II’, ate most of it, went to bed. Got up, tore down the walls surrounding the upstairs toilet and – thankfully, before V got home – rebuild the walls, or at least the frames for’em, hastily clad in cardboard. Enough to keep the curious eyes out, while one drops the resumé. Was pretty fucking knackered when all was done (and dusted!) but also happy with myself; achieved lots in not a lot of time. Well done, son, well done. Now will stay away from it until the beginning of May, here V does the ferry-thing to Oslo and I’ll have Stig’s help in rebuilding the floor and walls interior. Should be fun, look forward to his company. Always get a lot of done, his work-ethics is mean. He’s a mean fellow, inside and out.
Brief chat with Dad, they did my cousin Lise’s boy’s confirmation on the weekend, too. Don’t know said boy’s name, wouldn’t be able to identify Lise if I met her in the street. Some years my senior, I was never close to those girls and their brother, Claus. By one account they didn’t have the most charming childhood. I remember going to that glorious house in which they resided, with it’s magnificient view of the city of Hobro and Mariager Fjord, to some party. Two or three times we went, and one of those were a New Year’s Eve. I remember being the object of some of those older cousin’s affection, at around 5 or 6 and what with my then curly blond hair, and of how being hugged had a profound effect on me; we were sitting on the floor in one of their rooms, the older ones were playing some board-game and I sat or was sat against one of those sisters, who hugged me like a teddy-bear, releasing loads of oxytocin. Not that I hadn’t been hugged before, nor by by parents, but I think it kinda stopped around that age or slightly before. I remember it to this day, even, it’s the strangest things one recalls. So now I make a point of touching my kids on a regular basis, whether it’s hugging, kissing, tickling, even pushing. Just, well, just because.