Holy Moly

Recovering from the shock of reality I am marinating in grief over my husband's death. About this time last year, I became enchanted with the prospect of having a mate. He is tall, with a thick head of hair. His smile is infectious and he told me what I wanted to hear. Oh, "how he wanted to learn to dance" he exclaimed as he put his arms around my waist as we sashayed across my kitchen floor. He has no children and was only married once some 20 years ago. His custom built sailboat is the type I prefer. Not only did he build it himself he built his house as well. Ay, a good looking, fun loving handy man.

The time to set off on my solo adventures arrived. But, wait, this healthy fit sailor boy offered to show me how to anchor. Despite the fact that I had 62 previous days of anchoring all by myself, the thought of having him show me was just too hard to resist. Even my friend's warning did not deter me, "you know what he wants" she asserted. My mind was made up. I heard what I wanted to hear, ignored what I did not hear, and set myself up for a relationship that ten months later has ended in heartache.

It's a story so common I shall spare the details. Suffice to say that this time when I leave the dock I will garner the courage to proceed with my solo adventuring plans. Yes, I am scared. Having just watched Robert Redford's movie, All is Lost, I am reminded to add items to my preparation list: large sheets of fiberglass, ditch bag items, and a Spot communication device to keep my friend's worry. There is just too much to do. . .

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