That we are all destined to grow old and grey is an immutable fact of life (for now, at least, who knows what the future holds with regards to technology and science).

It doesn’t matter how much money we have, how strictly we control our diet or exercise, how much sleep we get, or what we do for a living… sure, we might age differently, but in the end we’re all headed in the same direction. It’s basic biology, and not something we can do too much about.

Which is why it’s somewhat amusing that we can still be shocked when we see the hand of Father Time working its magic. Perhaps you haven’t seen someone for years, only to be taken back by how much they’ve aged? Or you spot an old movie star you remember from your childhood, only now their hair is white, their youthful exuberance gone.

It’s an interesting thing actually, the way celebrities age. Their appearances change as they get older – just as with any human being – only their path to old age is documented for the whole world to see. Be it from film to film, red carpet to red carpet, they leave a trail one can literally follow with their finger.

Now, time for today’s not-so-subtle segway: who remembers Meg Foster?

Meg Foster over the years
Of course you do! With her captivating, icy blue eyes, piercing gaze and raw beauty, how could you not?

The American actress made her acting debut alongside Michael Douglas in Adam at 6am (1970), going on to star in numerous projects including The Six Million Dollar Man, Bonanza, The Twilight Zone and Murder, She Wrote.

Once a burgeoning talent and in-demand actress, Foster’s star has steadily shrunk from the limelight in the last two decades. These days she looks virtually unrecognizable from the woman who Mademoiselle magazine said had “the eyes of 1979”.

I mean, that’s hardly a surprise given that she’s now 76 years old, but it appears that people on the internet simply can’t grasp just how much she’s changed. We’ll be honest, some of the comments to be found are borderline cruel, while others simply reinforce the idea that the actress looks nothing like she did.

That said, we think that her decision to age naturally – without resorting to the plastic surgery that has become so commonplace in the film and TV industry – should be commended, not lambasted.

In any case, Foster continues to work within film and TV, as well as reportedly breeding horses from a large range which she owns by herself.

“You can’t just barge in and make a scene!”
The command rang through the Westbridge National Bank, bouncing off marble walls.

Heads turned.

An elderly man, clad in a faded brown polo and jeans that had seen better years, knelt on the polished floor. He clumsily retrieved papers from a scattered folder, his hands shaking with age, lips pressed in a tight line.

Hovering above him in a tailored cobalt pantsuit and stilettos was Victoria Hall, the regional manager. Her platinum hair was styled to perfection, her face unreadable, her voice sharp.

“This isn’t your living room, sir,” she said icily. “Do you need help, or do you just enjoy creating disruption?”

A few staff members chuckled awkwardly. Security remained idle by the front doors.

The man said nothing. He just kept gathering his paperwork, quietly.

Victoria spun around and muttered, “Ridiculous.”

The receptionist whispered to a coworker, “That’s his third visit this week. Always carrying that folder.”

Victoria didn’t care. Appearances mattered. Today, especially.

The CEO of MiraTech Capital, one of the nation’s most powerful venture firms, was flying in today. Her branch was on the verge of securing a $3 billion portfolio—her crowning achievement.

Nothing could go wrong.

By 2:00 PM, the executive floor gleamed. Orchids lined the windows, and fine pastries flanked lemon-infused water. Staff were told: be silent, be invisible.

Victoria checked her reflection. Confident. In control. Poised.

Then came a knock.

Her assistant entered, eyes wide. “He’s arrived. But… he’s brought someone.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see.”

Moments later, Julian Wexler, CEO of MiraTech, strode in—mid-forties, crisp suit, quiet authority. Victoria greeted him with practiced charm.

“Mr. Wexler, a pleasure.”

“Thank you, Ms. Hall,” he said smoothly. “Before we begin, I’d like to introduce someone.”

Behind him entered the old man—same brown polo, same worn jeans.

Victoria froze.

Julian gestured. “This is Elijah Bennett—my godfather. He’ll join us today.”

Victoria struggled to maintain composure. “Certainly. Welcome.”

Her thoughts spiraled. That man? How?

She pressed through the meeting. She presented the firm’s figures, security protocols, asset performance. All while Elijah watched silently, his gaze piercing.

At the end, Julian leaned back, thoughtful.

“Your data checks out. Growth is strong. Impressive, even.”

Victoria smiled slightly.

“But,” he added, “deals like this aren’t just about figures. They’re about integrity.”

He looked to Elijah.

“Mr. Bennett has something to share first.”

Elijah stood. His voice was steady, deliberate.

“I served this nation for over two decades. I’ve been with this bank since 1975. For three weeks, I’ve tried to sort out my late wife’s trust fund. Each time, I’ve been brushed off. This morning, I was humiliated.”

Victoria tensed.

“I didn’t come here for special treatment. Just basic respect.”

Julian stood beside him.

“I won’t partner with institutions that mistreat the vulnerable. If this is how you treat someone who doesn’t look affluent, how can I entrust you with $3 billion?”

Victoria rushed forward. “Mr. Wexler—please. It was a misunderstanding.”

He raised a hand.

“No. It was clarity.”

And with that, they walked out.

By evening, the deal was dead.

Victoria stood in the spotless boardroom, alone. Pastries untouched. Dreams undone.

The next morning’s headlines struck the industry like lightning.

“MiraTech Withdraws from Westbridge Over Ethics Scandal”
Sources cited mistreatment of an elderly client.

At her desk, Victoria stared at the avalanche of emails—legal, executive, HR. Her CEO’s message blinked on the screen: “Call me. Now.”

She hadn’t slept.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Elijah. And Julian’s damning words: “It was clarity.”

Victoria had built her reputation over a decade. But one act of arrogance shattered it.

At 9:00 AM, she sat in a tense boardroom. The CEO, Martin Clive, didn’t bother hiding his fury.

“Why did our biggest deal implode overnight?”

She hesitated. “I made a mistake.”

“No,” he barked. “Tell the truth. Did you publicly insult an elderly client yesterday?”

Her voice faltered. “Yes.”

A VP interjected. “Do you even know who Elijah Bennett is?”

She didn’t answer.

“He funded MiraTech’s early days. One of Silicon Valley’s key players.”

She whispered, “I didn’t realize—”

“You shouldn’t need to,” the CEO snapped. “He was a client. That should’ve been enough.”

Her suspension was immediate. Unpaid. Indefinite.

Packing in silence, she exited the building unnoticed.

Three weeks later, she lived in a modest apartment. She applied for jobs, but her story preceded her. No one wanted her.

One rainy morning, she left a café and saw him—Elijah, on a bench, reading the paper.

She approached slowly. “Mr. Bennett.”

He looked up, calm.

“I hoped I’d see you.”

She sat beside him.

“I was wrong. I judged you. I acted like a gatekeeper. I forgot to be kind.”

He nodded. “You forgot people matter.”

She whispered, “I lost everything.”

“No,” he replied. “You lost your status. Maybe now, you’ll find your values.”

She paused. “Why didn’t you pull strings to fix your account?”

He folded the paper. “I wanted to see how your bank treated the ones without influence.”

She blinked.

He smiled faintly. “Now you know how it feels to have none.”

A year passed.

A nonprofit opened downtown—offering free financial help to seniors and veterans. No judgments. No pretense.

At the front desk, Victoria wore a soft cardigan and warm smile, helping an older man with a pension form.

A plaque behind her read:
“The Bennett Center for Financial Dignity”
In honor of Elijah Bennett, who taught us that respect is not a luxury.

He visited often.
Not as a donor. But as a friend.

Every time he entered, Victoria would rise and say:

“Welcome, Mr. Bennett. It’s truly a pleasure to see you.”

And this time—she meant it.

Ryan Alden stepped into the upscale restaurant, its soft chandeliers casting a golden glow across the room. He had Vanessa on his arm—young, radiant, dressed in a glimmering silver gown. He wore a crisp, custom-fit suit, looking every bit the man of success.

“This place is gorgeous,” Vanessa said with a grin as a host led them to their reserved table.

Ryan gave a nod of satisfaction. Places like this were well within reach now—no second thoughts about the bill. It was one of the city’s most sought-after spots.

But as he settled into his seat, something across the room caught—and held—his gaze. A waitress, clad in a plain beige apron, was moving from table to table, expertly balancing dishes. Her face was turned slightly away. Then she looked up.

And Ryan froze.

No. It couldn’t be.

“Ryan? You alright?” Vanessa asked, catching the shift in his demeanor.

He blinked and forced a half-smile. “Yeah, sorry. Just thought I saw someone familiar.”

But he knew. It was her. Anna.

The woman he’d divorced five years ago to chase ambition—an ambition that had brought him wealth, luxury, and prestige.

Anna looked smaller now, her hair pulled back tightly, her frame lean. She didn’t acknowledge him—maybe she didn’t see him, or maybe she chose not to. She delivered plates to a nearby table, nodded politely, and walked off without a glance.

Vanessa kept chatting about her upcoming modeling campaign, oblivious to Ryan’s sudden silence. His thoughts were tangled.

Why is she here? She had plans. She used to dream of being a teacher. She was bright, capable, driven.

He kept watching as Anna moved about the room. There was something in the way she carried herself—a weariness that couldn’t be explained by one shift. It was the kind of fatigue built up over years of shouldering life alone.

Later that night…

Ryan excused himself, supposedly heading to the restroom. Instead, he hovered near the kitchen entrance.

Anna emerged, carrying a tray of glasses.

“Anna?” His voice was low, unsure.

She froze, then slowly turned to face him. Her expression flickered, then settled into a neutral calm. “Ryan.”

“You’re working here?”

“I am,” she replied flatly. “Did you need something? I’m on the clock.”

He winced at her tone. “I just… didn’t expect to see you. I thought you’d be teaching by now, or—”

“Plans change, Ryan,” she said softly, casting a glance toward the dining area. “I’ve got tables waiting.”

“Wait—Anna. I didn’t know you were going through a hard time.”

She let out a dry, humorless laugh. “There’s a lot you didn’t know. You were too busy climbing your ladder to notice what I was losing.”

His chest tightened. “What are you talking about?”

She didn’t respond. Instead, she turned and slipped through the kitchen door, leaving him with a knot in his stomach—and a question he had never thought to ask:

What had she given up for him?

Ryan returned to his seat, but his focus was gone. Vanessa’s voice faded into the background as Anna’s words echoed in his head: You didn’t know a lot of things.

That night, after dropping Vanessa off, Ryan couldn’t shake the weight in his chest. He’d convinced himself the divorce had been amicable—that Anna wanted something different. He had never stopped to wonder what her life had become while his dreams took off.

The following afternoon, he went back to the restaurant. Alone.

Anna was tying her apron behind the bar when she noticed him. Her shoulders tensed.

“What do you want now, Ryan?” she asked curtly.

“I just want to understand. Yesterday, you said something… and I can’t stop thinking about it. What did you mean? What did you sacrifice?”

Anna hesitated. Her eyes flicked toward him, full of things she hadn’t said. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It does to me,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Please, Anna. I need to hear it.”

She studied him for a long second. Then, maybe out of tiredness or release, she gestured to an empty chair. “Five minutes.”

Ryan sat, tension tight in his chest.

Anna took a deep breath. “Remember your first business venture? The one that almost folded before it got off the ground?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I was drowning. I thought it was over.”

“You were. Until I saved it,” she said calmly. “I sold my grandmother’s house—the only thing she left me—and gave you the money. I told you it was a loan. You never asked.”

His eyes widened. “You… you gave me that?”

“I did,” she said, her voice even. “And when the bills came in, I picked up more work. Jobs I hated. I skipped meals to stretch the money. I kept your dream alive while mine was put on hold.”

Ryan stared at her, stunned. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“You were so focused,” she said bitterly. “I didn’t want to be one more problem. And when the money started flowing in, you drifted away. You stopped coming home. Then one day you said you needed to concentrate on your future. And that future didn’t include me.”

He remembered that conversation—and the cold certainty with which he’d delivered the words.

Anna looked away. “When you left, I was still on the hook for the debts—my name was on everything. I never went back to school. I took any job I could find. Cleaning, waiting tables… survival.”

Ryan felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Anna… I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t.”

She smiled sadly. “Of course not. You were busy becoming you.”

He leaned in. “Let me make things right. Let me help now.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want your guilt money, Ryan. I just want you to understand—your success had a cost. You just didn’t notice who paid it.”

Silence hung heavy between them.

“Do you hate me?” he finally asked.

Anna paused. “No. I loved you too deeply to ever hate you completely. But I don’t trust you. And I’ll never be the woman who loses herself for someone else again.”

He swallowed hard. “I know I can’t undo the past. But if there’s anything I can do to help now—truly help—tell me.”

Anna studied him for a moment. “If you really mean that… don’t just hand over money. Do something that matters.”

He nodded. “Then tell me—what matters to you now?”

She looked around. “There’s a fund here—for staff who want to return to school. I’ve been saving to apply. If you want to help, donate to that. Help someone else, not just me.”

Ryan felt emotion rise in his throat. “I’ll do it. And Anna… I’ll make sure you get another shot at the life you put on hold for me.”

She gave a tired, almost forgiving smile. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

Arthur Sterling didn’t put his faith in anyone. A self-made millionaire, he had built his fortune convinced that everyone around him had an agenda—chasing his wealth, his reputation, or his control. Even those who worked under his roof were never free from suspicion.

One of them was Clara, a soft-spoken maid who had only been on the job for a few months. She was diligent, respectful, and almost too courteous. But Arthur had learned not to be swayed by appearances. He’d caught staff stealing in the past—nothing huge, but enough to harden his outlook. With each betrayal, his walls grew higher.

Then one gloomy afternoon, Arthur decided to put Clara to the test.

He intentionally left the door to his study ajar, the heavy steel safe inside wide open. Stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills and trays of glinting gold jewelry lay exposed beneath the dim lighting. He slipped just out of sight and waited.

The Trap Is Set

Clara stepped into the study with a dust cloth in hand. She halted the moment she saw the open safe. For a second, she scanned the room, uncertain. Arthur’s pulse quickened. This is it, he thought. No one walks away from temptation like that.

But instead of approaching the safe, Clara backed away. She gently placed her cloth down and stepped into the hallway, calling out softly:

“Mr. Sterling? Your safe is open. Would you like me to… close it for you?”

Arthur stayed silent, still hidden, his eyes locked on her.

Clara stood uncertain for a moment. “Maybe he just forgot,” she whispered. Carefully, she crept toward the safe—not with greed, but with caution, as if she feared her presence might disturb the air. She glanced at the cash and murmured, “This could solve everything.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed. Everything? What was she talking about?

A Critical Decision

She reached for a bundle of bills. A flicker of bitter satisfaction passed through Arthur. Of course. Just like the others.

But then, instead of slipping it into her apron, she turned toward his desk. Gently, she set the money down, retrieved a small envelope from her pocket, and tucked the bills inside. She scribbled something on the front:

“For my brother’s surgery—loan only. Will repay every dollar.”

From the shadows, Arthur’s breath caught.

Pain Beneath the Surface

Clara’s hands trembled as she addressed the empty room. “I can’t do this. I need the money—he might die if I don’t get it—but stealing… that would make me no better than the people who’ve taken from us.”

Tears filled her eyes. She placed the envelope neatly on the desk and stepped away from the safe, quickly wiping her face before anyone could notice.

Arthur stood frozen, feeling something he hadn’t felt in years—not anger, but something deeper and heavier.

He’d planned to catch her red-handed and fire her on the spot. But instead, he remained hidden as Clara quietly closed the safe, as if showing respect.

“You’ll figure something out, Clara,” she whispered to herself. “You always do. Just not like this.”

The Encounter

Later that day, Clara returned to finish cleaning. Arthur stepped into the study.

She jumped. “Mr. Sterling! I—I didn’t hear you come in.”

“You found the safe open,” he said, flatly.

“Yes, sir. I thought you’d left it that way by accident. I shut it for you.”

“You touched the money,” he added. “Did you take anything?”

She stiffened, her face pale. “No, sir. I just… held one stack. Just to remind myself why I’m working so hard.”

He placed the envelope she had left on the desk. “You mean this?”

Clara’s voice faltered. “You… saw?”

“I saw it all,” Arthur replied. “You had a chance to take thousands without consequence.”

She nodded slowly. “But I didn’t. I couldn’t. My little brother looks up to me. I’ve told him that no matter how unfair life is, we don’t take what doesn’t belong to us. If I break that, what lesson am I teaching him?”

The Story Unspoken

Arthur’s tone softened. “Your brother’s ill?”

She nodded. “He’s twelve. We lost our parents, and now he needs surgery. The cost is more than I could earn in a year. I’ve been picking up extra shifts, saving what I can. I thought… maybe I could just borrow it. But I couldn’t go through with it. I don’t want pity—I just need a chance.”

Her voice wavered at the end.

A Change of Heart

Arthur had run these traps before. Watching people fail them always affirmed his distrust. But for the first time, someone had passed—and it didn’t feel satisfying. It felt… humbling.

He pushed the envelope toward her. “Take it.”

She quickly shook her head. “No, sir. I told you—I won’t steal.”

“This isn’t stealing,” Arthur said. “It’s a loan. No strings. No paperwork. Just help—for someone who’s proven she deserves it.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Why would you do this for me?”

He hesitated. “Because I misjudged you. And because… once, someone gave me a chance when I hadn’t earned it. Maybe it’s time I do the same.”

What Truly Changed

Clara accepted the envelope with shaky hands, quietly repeating thank you as tears ran down her cheeks. Arthur watched her go, realizing a weight he didn’t know he carried had been lifted.

Weeks later, her brother’s surgery was successful. Clara returned to work, determined to pay back every cent. And true to her word, she left small repayments on Arthur’s desk each payday.

But Arthur never deposited a single one. He stored every envelope in the safe—as a symbol of trust, and a reminder that not everyone is out to take.

Years On

Eventually, Clara earned a scholarship and went on to become a nurse. Arthur even attended her graduation—something he’d never done for any staff member before.

When people asked why, he simply replied:

“She reminded me that wealth isn’t about what you hold onto—it’s about what you choose to give.”

And deep in his heart, Arthur knew: that moment in the study didn’t just change Clara’s life—it saved his.

I’m a home health aide by profession. Most of my clients are elderly, though I occasionally care for people recovering from surgery or living with disabilities. One morning, I received a new assignment—just a brief note: “Infant care. Temporary emergency placement.” It listed an address and a start time, but no other details.

When I arrived, a woman opened the door, barely looked me in the eye, and placed a diaper bag, a clipboard, and a chubby-cheeked baby boy with a radiant smile into my arms.

“This is Lenny,” she said simply. “You’re on duty until further notice.”

There was no background info. No file. Just… faith. Which isn’t that unusual in my field. Emergency placements are usually hectic and disorganized. I assumed the paperwork would show up later.

From the moment I held him, Lenny clung to me. He giggled at my voice, latched onto my finger like it grounded him. After lunch, I took him for a drive in hopes of helping him nap—but he never dozed off. Instead, he chattered away, pointing at everything we passed.

I took a quick selfie with him to send to my supervisor—standard protocol, just showing he was in good care.

She called me thirty seconds later.

“Where did you get that baby?”

I gave her the address and re-read the brief instructions. She went silent.

“That placement was canceled yesterday,” she finally said. “The child was never delivered. We haven’t assigned anyone.”

I looked down at Lenny, who beamed up at me like he’d known me forever.

“Then… who handed him to me?” I asked.

That’s when I remembered the diaper bag. I rummaged through it and discovered a folded piece of paper tucked behind a wipes container. My name—just my first—was scribbled hastily across the front. My heart raced.

Inside, it read:

You’re the only one I trust. Please keep him safe. I’ll explain soon.

No name. No further explanation.

I read it several times. Who even knew I was working today? How did they know I’d go to that exact address?

Lenny looked completely at peace in my arms. That’s what unsettled me the most—how natural it felt.

My supervisor remained on the line while she contacted the office. I parked under some trees and fed Lenny his bottle. He hummed contentedly, tiny hand curled around my wrist as if we’d done this forever.

Fifteen minutes later, she called back.

“That address? It’s a vacant rental. Owner says it’s been unoccupied for months.”

My mind reeled. “But… someone was there. She opened the door and expected me.”

“She wasn’t authorized. Whoever she was, she wasn’t supposed to be there.”

I drove back, just to be sure. Knocked on the same door—no answer. The curtains were closed. I peeked inside. The place was empty. Not just tidy—completely bare. No furniture. No signs of life. It was as if someone had packed up and left the moment I drove away.

I reported everything to the police. They took the note and opened a case. But what happened next only deepened the mystery: there was no missing child report. No Amber Alert. No one looking for Lenny.

I was told to keep caring for him—for now. Since I was licensed for emergency care and no one else had claimed him, I became the default guardian.

That night, he slept in a travel crib beside my bed. He woke once, around 2 a.m., just to babble into the darkness, then fell back asleep holding my finger.

I reminded myself this was short-term. Maybe a week. Maybe two. But weeks turned into a month. Then another.

Still, no one came forward.

The investigation continued—technically. But without any report of a missing child, there was nowhere for it to lead.

Strangers assumed Lenny was mine. A cashier once said, “He’s got your smile.” A neighbor waved and shouted, “Mom life looks good on you!” At first, I corrected them. Eventually, I just nodded.

Because somehow, between midnight bottles and stroller naps, Lenny began to feel like he was mine.

Still, the questions lingered. Why me? Who knew I’d show up? Who trusted me enough to take him?

Then, two months later, I checked an old email account I hadn’t touched in years. It was linked to my license and training applications, but I rarely logged in.

There was a new message.

Subject: He’s better off with you than with me.

No greeting. No sign-off. Just the body text:

Don’t try to find me. Just keep loving him. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I chose you for a reason.

Attached was a scanned photo: a young woman—maybe early twenties—with tired eyes and a proud smile, cradling Lenny as a newborn. I didn’t recognize her.

I forwarded everything to the authorities. The email had been sent from a public library in another state. No way to trace who sent it.

That same day, I noticed a watermark faintly visible on the original note from the diaper bag. It was from a women’s shelter in Pennsylvania.

I called the shelter. Shared Lenny’s name, the photo, and the note. They told me they couldn’t confirm anything without a court order. But before ending the call, the woman paused.

“If he’s safe, and you’re willing to love him… sometimes that’s all the resolution we get.”

I kept waiting—for someone to come forward, for the police to find a lead. But no one ever knocked on my door.

Lenny started walking at eleven months. His first word—“Ba!”—came when I dropped a banana on the floor. His first steps landed in my arms.

I couldn’t keep pretending it was temporary.

I hired a lawyer.

We filed for guardianship, then full custody. No one contested. The judge said it was “highly irregular,” but considering the lack of biological claims and my continuous care, she granted custody.

His birth certificate listed no father. And under mother: “Unknown.”

I gave him a full name—Leonard Miles. And my last name.

Still, a part of me always wondered what became of her—the woman who handed him to me and disappeared.

A year to the day after I first met Lenny, I received a letter in the mail. No return address. Just my name and a postmark from Boston.

It read:

He looks happy. Thank you.

Inside the envelope was a small silver bracelet. Tiny initials were engraved on it: “LMH.”

I hadn’t seen it before, but it felt familiar.

LMH—Leonard Miles Herbert. My last name.

She wanted him to carry both of us.

I sat on the kitchen floor and cried, while Lenny banged a plastic spoon on the cabinet, giggling.

I kept the bracelet in a drawer. On his fifth birthday, I gave it to him—along with a story I wrote. About a brave woman who loved her child so deeply, she entrusted his future to someone she barely knew.

Now, Lenny’s nearly seven. He asks questions, and I answer as best I can. He knows he came to me in a special way. That his first mother made a hard choice, because she loved him that much.

I still think about her sometimes. But mostly, I focus on what’s here: a boy who tells silly jokes, builds cities out of blocks, and hugs me like I’m his entire world.

No, I’m not his mom by blood. But I’m his mom in every way that matters.

And maybe, just maybe… that was always meant to be.

Hidden Picture

Can you find these hidden objects: kite, canoe, sailboat, bird, boomerang, banana.

In this challenge, you must spot six small objects listed on the side of the image in under 20 seconds. Ready?

Your time starts now!

20…

10…

9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, and 1. Time’s up!

Were you able to spot all five simple objects in this not-so-simple image?

If yes, congratulations on your keen observations. However, some of you might not have been able to solve the puzzle. Don’t worry; it can be pretty tricky.

Below is the solution image with all the objects encircled.

Answer:

Did you find them all?

If you didn’t, try again.

Still no sign of them?

That’s okay.

The answer is below.

If you want to see where they are, keep scrolling.

Or if you want to look one more time, now’s your chance to scroll back up.

Ready to see the answer?

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Answer:

Still no sign of them?

That’s okay.

The answer is below.

If you want to see where they are, keep scrolling.

Or if you want to look one more time, now’s your chance to scroll back up.

Ready to see the answer?

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Answer:

Can you find these hidden objects: spool, crayon, birthday cake, magic wand, eyeglasses.

In this challenge, you must spot five small objects listed on the side of the image in under 20 seconds. Ready?

Your time starts now!

20…

10…

9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, and 1. Time’s up!

Were you able to spot all five simple objects in this not-so-simple image?

If yes, congratulations on your keen observations. However, some of you might not have been able to solve the puzzle. Don’t worry; it can be pretty tricky.

Below is the solution image with all the objects encircled.

Answer:

The world has bid farewell to the legendary wrestling star and actor, Hulk Hogan, who passed away at the age of 71. His passing, following a cardiac arrest at his home in Clearwater, Florida, was confirmed by his manager, Chris Volo. Hogan, whose real name is Terry Gene Bollea, was surrounded by his family during his final moments.

There were murmurs about Hogan’s health condition over the past few weeks, especially after news broke about his hospitalization. However, just last week, his wife, Sky, assured fans that he was not in a coma, emphasizing that his heart remained “strong” despite several surgeries.

Known for his iconic blonde mustache and colorful bandannas, Hogan was a towering figure in the wrestling world during the 1980s. Standing 6 feet 7 inches tall and weighing 320 pounds at his peak, Hogan’s presence was both formidable and charismatic. He played a pivotal role in turning professional wrestling into a beloved form of home entertainment through his famous “Hulkamania” act and his association with Worldwide Wrestling Entertainment (WWE).

WWE paid tribute to Hogan, acknowledging his significant contribution to the sport and expressing condolences to his family, friends, and fans. Hogan was one of the most recognizable figures in pop culture, helping WWE gain global recognition during the 1980s.

Hogan’s larger-than-life persona headlined WrestleMania, WWE’s flagship event, on eight occasions. A memorable highlight was his 1987 clash against his mentor, Andre the Giant, in front of a massive crowd of 93,173 at Michigan’s Pontiac Silverdome. During his illustrious career, Hogan claimed the WWE championship title six times.

In 1996, he embarked on a fresh chapter in his career by founding the New World Order (NWO) and adopting the moniker Hollywood Hulk Hogan. He was initially inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame in 2005, but his status was temporarily revoked following a scandal involving a leaked tape in which he made racist remarks. The controversy led to a lawsuit against the publisher, which Hogan eventually won, resulting in the publication’s shutdown.

Hogan was re-inducted into the Hall of Fame in 2020, cementing his legacy as he aligned himself with Donald Trump’s “Make America Great Again” campaign. He even made a dramatic appearance at the 2024 Republican National Convention, revving up the crowd by revealing a Trump 2024 T-shirt under his iconic torn-off Hulkamania garment.

Hogan’s showmanship wasn’t limited to wrestling. He ventured into acting, landing roles in favorites like “Rocky III” as Thunderlips and movies including “No Holds Barred”, “Suburban Commando”, “Mr. Nanny”, and “Santa With Muscles”. He also starred in the syndicated TV series “Thunder in Paradise” in 1994. His celebrity status made him a popular name for the Make-a-Wish Foundation, and he frequently appeared as himself in films and TV shows such as “The A-Team”, “Baywatch”, “Gremlins 2”, “Spy Hard”, and “Muppets From Space”. Additionally, he lent his voice to animated series like “Robot Chicken” and “American Dad!”

Beyond the big screen, Hogan made a mark on television by co-hosting “Saturday Night Live” in 1985 alongside Mr. T. That same year, he took center stage in his animated series, “Hulk Hogan’s Rock ‘n’ Wrestling” on CBS. Later on, he starred in VH1’s reality show “Hogan Knows Best” from 2005 to 2007 with his family.

In the emotional wake of his passing, tributes have poured in from across the world, especially from those aligned with the Maga political movement. Donald Trump expressed his sorrow on Truth Social, recalling Hogan’s spirited speech at the Republican National Convention and extending love to Hogan’s wife and family.

JD Vance shared his admiration for Hogan, recounting their bond and wishing for one last drink together in another life. Republican speaker of the House, Mike Johnson, reminisced fondly about Hogan’s impact both in sports and the political realm, sharing personal photos from their past encounters.

Heartfelt messages continued with Sylvester Stallone, Hogan’s co-star from “Rocky III”, mourning the loss on Instagram, and Ric Flair, a fellow wrestling legend, expressing deep grief on X. True to his legacy, John Cena, mirroring Hogan’s career path from wrestling to acting, paid his respects by posting an iconic photo from one of Hogan’s matches.