Wordle Essay: How I spent my summer in Twitter

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Facebook and Irish invade my dreams

Had another one of those epic dreams last night. It's what comes from reading a whole novel in one afternoon. I was staying at some resort or retreat for a few days, for an Irish language immersion workshop. (No, I don't remember if I was dreaming in Irish. It has happened, though.)

As our group was gathering for dinner, I happened to run into a friend I know from a completely unconnected volunteer group. Although Jeanne B. and her husband are a generation or so older than I am, we always find plenty to talk about; we try to sit by them at dinners so we can enjoy the conversation. In my dream, I sat down with them at their table for a bit, while the servers brought the first course.

We were quite surprised to see each other there. In fact, Jeanne had evidently invited me to join them there for a few days as their guest, and were a bit hurt that they hadn't received a response. I was unaware of the invitation; it turned out she had left the invitation on my Facebook site, which I never visit.

As we were digesting this misunderstanding, my Irish teacher came by to bring me back to the table where the class was sitting. To put the icing of awkwardness on this half-baked cake, I politely introduced Jeanne B. as Marjorie D., and couldn't understand why she was now scowling at me.

Obviously, it was time to wake up and save myself from this faux pas de deux, so I did.

I hadn't thought about it like that

When I was growing up, churches didn't have message signs; Huber's Rent-All did. My favorite dates back to when Burt Reynolds appeared as the centerfold in Playgirl magazine: "Burt Needs Reynolds Wrap."
We like to imagine that there's a newsletter for pastors that feeds them clever bits they can put on their signs. Then again, maybe pastors are wittier than when I was a kid, too.