Dear Abby: I was invited to a small gathering of women. I arrived punctually, was greeted by the hostess and asked if I wanted some water to drink. I accepted. As I looked around the room, everyone else had a glass of wine. When one other woman arrived a little while later and joined our group, the hostess asked her if she wanted wine or water to drink.
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Dear Abby: I am a widow in my early 50s. While I was dating a prominent OB-GYN, I found out that he’s involved in criminal activity — operating a so-called “pill mill.” On our last date he asked me to join an escort service he was starting.
Dear Abby: I am happily married to a great man. I have a young daughter from a previous marriage, and my husband has two teenagers, a boy and girl, from a prior marriage. Like many blended families, we have our struggles, but one is becoming increasingly difficult to deal with.
Dear Abby: I have a friend whose 11-year-old grandson stays overnight with her sometimes on the weekends. She has only one bedroom, and I’m concerned because he still sleeps with her in the same bed.
Dear Abby: My wife used the search feature for the Ashley Madison emails and discovered an old account I had signed up for late one night, before we were together. I had forgotten all about it. When she brought it up, I panicked and lied because I was embarrassed, but immediately told her what it was. She was upset, but I explained the situation and that I hadn’t even thought about it since we have been together.
Dear Abby: I have anger issues and sometimes I take it out on the ones I love. When my fiancee recently told me we are having a child, I hoped my attitude would change. It hasn’t, and at times it has gotten worse. I hit her last night and it left a mark.
Long before the white man arrived on the shores of what is now Grays Harbor, it was home to the native peoples, which the newcomers had long termed “Indians.” They had lived here since time immemorial, living in cedar longhouses and subsisting on salmon, deer, bear and razor clams. In 1800, the Harbor tribes numbered an estimated 1,000 members before a series of epidemics decimated the population and by the 1870s only about 130 remained. Since then the numbers have rebounded and today the Quinault Nation is stronger than ever. Here are a number of stories from the past reflecting the trials and tribulations of the local native population.
In some ways, it’s a rather magical time of year: its cooler, the leaves are turning and showing off and the more future-oriented among us are even thinking about the holidays. Change: It’s what marks and measures our lives, from one season to the next, the one constant: Change.
Dear Abby: I’m a 17-year-old girl, and all my life I have had trouble accepting gifts, even inexpensive ones. I do believe it’s the thought that counts, but I have trouble expressing gratitude.
Dear Abby: Our family dog recently passed away after a year-long decline. I had grown up with him. He had reached the point where he needed daily care for his body, even though his mind was 100 percent there. Near the end, things got very bad. I got only about four hours of broken sleep a night caring for him, and no one in the family would help me. During part of his daily care routine, he had a second accident all over the freshly cleaned floor. I lost it and hit him.
Dear Abby: My situation is upsetting and I don’t know what to do anymore. My girlfriend, “Dana,” is pregnant. My ex-wife showed up at our door with terminal cancer and nowhere to go. When I told her she could stay with us, Dana moved out.
The Rev. Duke Tufty, Unity Temple on the Plaza, Kansas City: I have an acquaintance named Rupert who continually shows up at family functions, various meetings and other social occasions. I think Rupert is obnoxious, boisterous and overbearing.
Dear Abby: My husband and I have been married for 22 years. My father-in-law’s health declined and he died last year. My mother-in-law, “Babe,” and I didn’t get on well in the past, but we have seemed to patch things up.
Dear Abby: I have lived in the United States for 40 years. My first 32 years were spent in Puerto Rico, so I speak with an accent. My problem is almost everyone I meet asks me where I’m from. I usually try to disguise my discomfort by jokingly asking them to guess.
Dear Abby: My mom recently separated from her husband. They’re in the process of getting divorced, and she is already talking to another man. She has known him since high school, but they only recently reconnected again.