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And as a bonus, you have a headache. In a household where the strongest drug to be found would be Tylenol.

I hadn’t even had coffee when the Captain was arguing with me about the whereabouts of a small red carry on bag.

I told him it had become a First Aid Kit container and presently was residing on board Final Fling. She, in turn, was residing in a covered slip somewhere up north.

He then had the audacity, not realizing he was risking his life, to go, UNINVITED into my storage closet. Where all my “stuff” and projects abide.

And reappeared triumphantly waving a small black carry on bag. Which I use for storage.

“This will do,” he declared. “You just have to empty it.”

One would think, after thirty-seven years of marriage, the man would have realized how very thin the ice was he was skating on.

Taking my dog for a walk helped some. But then I went to wash my hands. And the mirror and lights in our bathroom are as unforgiving as they come.

“You’re old,” the mirror screamed at me. While the six overhead lights looked on, joyfully illuminating each and every wrinkle, magnifying the bags under my eyes.

“Oh, shut up,” I retorted. After all, I can’t do anything about my age.

“You’re fat,” the bathroom scale declared.

“Listen you,” I muttered, “I was on steroids for my cough and am battling to lose those three pounds. And no, I don’t know why it’s taking so long.”

“I also don’t know why that weight could not have gone to fill out the wrinkles,” I added.

“I guess the Valentine’s Day chocolates didn’t help?” that cheeky scale asked?

Well yes.

“Don’t forget you’re ugly,” a little voice echoed somewhere in my head.

And that’s when I realized serious help was required.

Down on my knees (I see so much clearer on my knees) and speed dial on the hotline.


The answer was short and sweet and very clear.

“Fix your attitude.”


Food for thought there.

  • As for being old. It has its advantages.

  • As for being fat. The weight will come off – some time.

  • As for feeling ugly. The too short hair (new stylist) will grow again. And once the surgeon stops directing lasers at my eyes, the bags will improve.

And hopefully the headaches will go.

My body, which includes my soul, is the Temple of the Holy Spirit.

1 Cor 6:19

Thus I’d better get my act together.

Mentally and physically.

And never forget to be grateful for the Captain who is walking this road with me.

Cyber hugs and Blessings All.



Photo by Alex Harvey on Unsplash

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