With the finest voice I could summon, I spoke in one's ear:
part of my attempt to absolve her.

With my finest concentration, I considered one's hips:
part of my attempt to transport her.

With the finest strength of my arms, I anchored one's shoulders:
part of my attempt to console her.

(I had planned a less busy day.)

I used the wrong name only once - not at the worst time, but not a good one either. Even with that aside - in general, I was less magnificent than the situations warranted.

I don't think anyone was absolved, transported, or consoled - at best, they were less so than they deserved. But there was not any moment at which I wished myself elsewhere, when I wished for them less than my finest.

This weekend was the last full moon, the last on which I could be called "the concrete foundation of the rickety house that is our lives." My scope decreases from here, for reasons both arguably right and inarguably true. Nonetheless...

Let the record show I was pleased and proud to strive for my finest, all weekend long.