My sister had an agenda for our mother in her sunset years. She nagged her to drink more water. Eat less sugar. Walk every day. Plus she brought her those two pound weights to give her flabby arms a work out. 

I am not sure Mom liked the regiment. The weights sat on her reading table. There was no odometer on them to measure their use, but I think they mostly lay dormant. My aging mom's arms stayed flabby til the day she died.  

About the sugar. There is a joke about a man whose wife badgered him to avoid fat. Sugar. Gluten. Carbs. Since she did the cooking his diet was meticulously clean. He did finally pass away at just shy of a hundred. When he asked St. Peter about the food in heaven he was nervous. 

"Can I eat ice cream?"

"Yes."

"Bread?"

"Yes."

"Cookies?"

"Yes!"

"And to think that if I had ignored my wife I could have gotten here ten years ago."

Lately I have been noticing that my upper arms are weak. And flabby. So I am taking modest steps to exercise them. I may go so far to look at the thrift store for those annoying weights. Donated by somebody else whose willpower petered out. I find it intriguing that the strategy for stronger muscles is to use them.

Ben has been a source of strain lately. The yelling erupted before my rooster crowed this morning and continued like a siren until John gave him an extra dose of his anti anxiety meds.  I know that compassion is a good thing. It will keep our relationship healthy. But I am resistant to forgiving him on a regular basis.

Monthly, sure. Bi weekly I can muster. But every blessed morning?

I guess it is either that or stay resentful til the day I die.