Yes, that's me 65 feet up the mast last spring. Stuck in Charleston for a few days while, once again, repairs were made to the boat. In hopes of saving the instruments from destruction on the ICW (they weren't), they had to be removed. Dare I do it? Well, of course, I did it. I was 71 at the time and I survived to write again.

Fast forward six months. Anyone born in 1946 (September 2, 1945 was the WWII official end date) is a member of the "oldest living baby boomer" cohort. Well, count me in because today, I'm 72 and I just can't deny or escape it any longer.

A friend recently posted this picture of women two generations apart -- our grandmothers and us. It's obvious from the picture that we're the much healthier bunch. But what it doesn't tell us is that those beautiful women probably only eat tofu and celery, never let a carb touch their tongues and exercise all day! Few of us fit that perfect "should be" picture.

Dare I say, let's get real? So, as the winter sun collapses into the western sky, I stand face forward into the chilling wind with my graying hair (which I stopped coloring over a year ago), rippling back over my mended shoulders, exposing my hearing aids and bringing into focus the wrinkles on my brow. I declare myself a card carrying "oldest living baby boomer" and am proud of it. Long live us old ladies!

Am I giving up? Dare I say, not really. So, I stand, ready, willing and fairly able to take on another adventure...but from now on, perhaps a little less lengthy and a little less strenuous.

It's My birthday...Again?

How Could It Go Wrong?