On my sixty-third birthday, my husband packed his bags, golf clubs, leather recliner and fifty-inch man-cave TV into our pontoon boat. And used it as a moving van. A twenty-two foot, six-inch pontoon holds a boatload of memories. Convenient, too. Since it was docked behind our Lake Conroe townhome.
He puttered away, and I waved . . . and waved . . . and waved goodbye.
— by Marcia Feldt
[courtesy of Substance Books – Online Book Publicity Services]