It's a no-brainer. Of course the mirror is Enemy #1. Some mirrors are more forgiving than others, but they all basically suck. I mean, why subject myself to that? The answer, of course, is that one has to utilize one's mirror (to apply spackle, grout and concealer) before going out into the world each day. They are really, really cruel, though....and getting meaner every year.
Salt isn't very kind anymore either. Circa 1975, eating an entire bag of Frito's in one sitting? Not a problem. Zero puffiness. When I was in my 30's, the more soy sauce when eating sushi, the better. Eyes looked fine. 2012? No- or low-sodium soy sauce for me please. Chuck and I ate Vietnamese food the other night (my first time, and it was delicious!). I woke up the next morning, though, looking...Vietnamese.
By the way, is there salt in chardonnay? Actually, don't answer that. I'll never cut that out of my life. (And besides, it would be painful for me to categorize my beloved chardonnay as an enemy.)
And who "invented" Skinny Jeans? No need to answer that, 'cause I know: Some long-legged, lithe, lean,
I-haven't-had-a-gram-of-carbs-since-2006, young(er) thing, whose only knowledge of cottage cheese is that it's called Knudsen and that it can be purchased at Safeway.
So I went to J. Crew last Fall (I was having a "skinny day" that day, as I remember), paid the requisite $109 for a pair of their trendy, 'Fall-Into-Fall' Skinny Jeans. So as to avoid Enemy #1, the dreaded mirror, I brought them home to try them on in the comfort, darkness and solitude of my own home. Such. A. Joke...
My legs looked like overstuffed calzones, and they shortened the appearance of my already-height-challenged, 5'4"-on-a-good-day physique. I looked like I was standing in a hole. My thighs were gasping for air as I quickly unpeeled them.
I now have a $109 credit to J. Crew. I plan to buy a pretty, blousey, of-the-moment "mumu" soon.
So what/who are the other enemies? Well, for starters, that brat (see above) who invented the Skinny Jeans. And all the gals out there who have the ability to eat rich, salty, spicy food, who enjoy an adequate amount of wine and stay out past 11:00 on Saturday night, and still awaken the next morning looking all perky and rested, with bag-free eyes. It just doesn't seem fair.
As Oscar Wilde said ~ "Always forgive your enemies - nothing annoys them so much." So I guess I'll forgive them, because I'd love to know that I'm annoying them.
2.24.2012
Empty-Nesters Weekend Getaway!
A couple weeks ago our good friends Doug and Diane asked us to go with them to their time-share in Pacific Grove and to the Pebble Beach Pro-Am golf tournament (and yes, we saw Tiger, Phil, Tony Romo, Aaron Rodgers and Josh Duhamel, et al.; and yes, I get soooo excited about stuff like that.)
But my larger point here is that we had a wonderful time ~ eating, shopping, gallery-browsing, walking, and just plain ol' hangin' out, doing a lot of nothing. And it was delightful...
I wanted to share a few pics of our getaway. And here's to a wonderful weekend to you!
Love the restaurant window. Love that creeping-fig vine that covers every inch of the building.
But my larger point here is that we had a wonderful time ~ eating, shopping, gallery-browsing, walking, and just plain ol' hangin' out, doing a lot of nothing. And it was delightful...
I wanted to share a few pics of our getaway. And here's to a wonderful weekend to you!
Friday night...with husband and friends...Pacific Ocean as the backdrop. If you think that's coffee in that cup I'm holding, you're crazy!
Love the restaurant window. Love that creeping-fig vine that covers every inch of the building.
2.22.2012
Press "Replay"
Having been married for almost 27 years, Chuck and I do our share of disagreeing/debating/arguing --probably more often than is healthy, or that I care to admit. And invariably it's a discussion of the same old issues, over and over and over again. Ad nauseum.
When he starts his oft-repeated retorts, I'm quick to say, "Geez, just press the Replay button!!!" At which point he gets irritated at my saying that, which then leads to an even more heated exchange, at which time we regress rather rapidly into our junior-high selves. (Hey, at least I admit it.)
So that's one kind of Replay button in my life.
But there's another kind of Replay button that I love to push!
Reflections on my past are most often heartwarming and joy-filled, sometimes disappointing and disheartening, and always entertaining. And I bet you think I'm going to get all sappy on you now.
I mean, I could replay for you my close-to-ideal, "Leave It To Beaver" upbringing in Porterville, California -- a childhood where roaming the green, oak-studded, beautiful hills of Success Valley was the norm, where summer evenings were spent sitting on the porch with my family, looking up at the stars (and that was exactly what I wanted to do!). But I won't.
And I could wax poetic about my high school years -- where catching Porterville High School bus #21 at 7:30 each school day was the only mode of transportation; where Friday nights consisted of cheering at the PHS football game ("Orange! Green! Go Big Team!"), then going to the dance in the school gym, followed by cruising Main Street (literally) and stopping for a cherry Coke at Coleman's. And yes, that is all we did. And yes, we loved it! I shall spare you all the glorious details of Porterville circa 1975, but oh how I can't wait to some day get together again (in person!) with my Facebook-rediscovered friends from those bygone years -- Krista, Therese, Michelle, Julianne, Lezlie, Joan, Cindi -- and many more!
And heaven forbid I would brag to you about my fabulous, carefree (yet hard-working) single years, "frolicking" (kinda) on the beach in Newport (with zero COTTAGE CHEESE and no CREPE PAPER, I might add); living in Corona del Mar with a view out my rooftop balcony that rivaled that of the South of France. But I won't do that either.
And far be it for me to use this forum to blather on incessantly about my wonderful, happy and successful (so far) daughters (who too often ask us, why-oh-why did you ever leave Corona del Mar to raise us in...Sacramento?)
When I do play those magnificent parts back, though, I'm quick to press the Pause button. Because "marinating" in the great times gone by are definitely good for the soul.
I cringe, though, when I recount all the idiotic, ugly, stupid and irresponsible things that I have done, and said, and experienced. Did I really say that? Yep. I did that? Mortifying. I acted how? Oh, dear.
And it is then that I press the Fast Forward button, try to erase all that from my memory, and take inventory of the lessons learned. 'Cuz I'm movin' on...
When he starts his oft-repeated retorts, I'm quick to say, "Geez, just press the Replay button!!!" At which point he gets irritated at my saying that, which then leads to an even more heated exchange, at which time we regress rather rapidly into our junior-high selves. (Hey, at least I admit it.)
So that's one kind of Replay button in my life.
But there's another kind of Replay button that I love to push!
Reflections on my past are most often heartwarming and joy-filled, sometimes disappointing and disheartening, and always entertaining. And I bet you think I'm going to get all sappy on you now.
I mean, I could replay for you my close-to-ideal, "Leave It To Beaver" upbringing in Porterville, California -- a childhood where roaming the green, oak-studded, beautiful hills of Success Valley was the norm, where summer evenings were spent sitting on the porch with my family, looking up at the stars (and that was exactly what I wanted to do!). But I won't.
And I could wax poetic about my high school years -- where catching Porterville High School bus #21 at 7:30 each school day was the only mode of transportation; where Friday nights consisted of cheering at the PHS football game ("Orange! Green! Go Big Team!"), then going to the dance in the school gym, followed by cruising Main Street (literally) and stopping for a cherry Coke at Coleman's. And yes, that is all we did. And yes, we loved it! I shall spare you all the glorious details of Porterville circa 1975, but oh how I can't wait to some day get together again (in person!) with my Facebook-rediscovered friends from those bygone years -- Krista, Therese, Michelle, Julianne, Lezlie, Joan, Cindi -- and many more!
And heaven forbid I would brag to you about my fabulous, carefree (yet hard-working) single years, "frolicking" (kinda) on the beach in Newport (with zero COTTAGE CHEESE and no CREPE PAPER, I might add); living in Corona del Mar with a view out my rooftop balcony that rivaled that of the South of France. But I won't do that either.
And far be it for me to use this forum to blather on incessantly about my wonderful, happy and successful (so far) daughters (who too often ask us, why-oh-why did you ever leave Corona del Mar to raise us in...Sacramento?)
When I do play those magnificent parts back, though, I'm quick to press the Pause button. Because "marinating" in the great times gone by are definitely good for the soul.
I cringe, though, when I recount all the idiotic, ugly, stupid and irresponsible things that I have done, and said, and experienced. Did I really say that? Yep. I did that? Mortifying. I acted how? Oh, dear.
And it is then that I press the Fast Forward button, try to erase all that from my memory, and take inventory of the lessons learned. 'Cuz I'm movin' on...
Another Aging Beauty
Look at all those lines and dents and chips and cracks. And think of the stories "she" could tell.
Encouraging evidence, once again, that it is possible to age with grace and beauty.
2.19.2012
Face It! (The beard)
So if I were a pre-pubescent male, I would be ecstatic. I have been sporting a beard and mustache for about three years now.
It started out as the quintessential peach fuzz. And then way too many of those fuzzies morphed into long...and coarse...and ugly...and straw-like entities, especially on the chin. Oh, and let's not forget the dark nostril hair.
I know: TMI (Too Much Information). But I feel it's my duty to forewarn all you 30 and 40-year-olds (heretofore and hereinafter called "brats"). You need to know this stuff.
So, back to the maintenance. That's where my Lady Bic Shaver (and patience and anti-depressants) come in handy. Yep, gotta shave 2-3 times a month. Sad, true fact.
Upon revealing my new-found ritual to friends, many of them have expressed concern, telling me the hair would grow back darker and even thicker. So far, it hasn't, thankfully. But it certainly hasn't permanently remedied the situation.
So here's the question: Do you shave, pluck, wax or laser??? My inquiring mind needs to know...
It started out as the quintessential peach fuzz. And then way too many of those fuzzies morphed into long...and coarse...and ugly...and straw-like entities, especially on the chin. Oh, and let's not forget the dark nostril hair.
I know: TMI (Too Much Information). But I feel it's my duty to forewarn all you 30 and 40-year-olds (heretofore and hereinafter called "brats"). You need to know this stuff.
So, back to the maintenance. That's where my Lady Bic Shaver (and patience and anti-depressants) come in handy. Yep, gotta shave 2-3 times a month. Sad, true fact.
Upon revealing my new-found ritual to friends, many of them have expressed concern, telling me the hair would grow back darker and even thicker. So far, it hasn't, thankfully. But it certainly hasn't permanently remedied the situation.
So here's the question: Do you shave, pluck, wax or laser??? My inquiring mind needs to know...
2.17.2012
The Park
It's a beautiful February Friday here in Gold River. A blue-sky, sunshiney, 63-degree kinda day.
As I went by the park this morning and saw all the cute kids with their moms/caregivers, I thought back to the glory days (although I didn't appreciate fully the glory at the time) of taking my daughters to that very same park. Ahhhhh, such memories...
~ ~ Cue the harp music ~ ~
My girlies would (im)patiently wait their turn in line to go down the slide. I'd push our mellow (well, then she was mellow) Cassidy on the swings, while Julia, the wild child, would enthusiastically throw sand (too often in some other child's face). They would both shriek in delight as they jumped onto the merry-go-round. They would laugh together as they played on the teeter-totter (after arguing over who got which end of said teeter-totter). And we would all three leave the park being contented, relaxed and ever-so-happy.
Life couldn't get much better than hanging with my daughters, in the sunshine, at the park! The simple joy and sweet pleasures of everyday life....
The more mature, Empty-Nester "park," however, is vastly different than the park of yesteryear. Not better (necessarily) or not worse (certainly), just...different.
My internal "park" these days consists of hormones running amok, emotions gone wild, living life on a teeter-totter, and dealing with extreme mood swings (my poor husband) while mourning the loss of a once-semi-buoyant derriere that is slip-sliding down my legs.
My parallel "park" nowadays is dinner out with fellow EN's (Empty-Nesters), a weekend in Napa or Pebble Beach with friends, and girls-only getaways to Carmel or Tahoe. The park now is more geographically expansive; I'm hangin' with a waaay older demographic; and instead of drinking JuicyJuice from a sippy-cup while building sandcastles, I'm enjoying wine (disguised in a coffee cup) while strolling the beach.
And at this time of life, that's exactly the way it should be.
As I went by the park this morning and saw all the cute kids with their moms/caregivers, I thought back to the glory days (although I didn't appreciate fully the glory at the time) of taking my daughters to that very same park. Ahhhhh, such memories...
~ ~ Cue the harp music ~ ~
My girlies would (im)patiently wait their turn in line to go down the slide. I'd push our mellow (well, then she was mellow) Cassidy on the swings, while Julia, the wild child, would enthusiastically throw sand (too often in some other child's face). They would both shriek in delight as they jumped onto the merry-go-round. They would laugh together as they played on the teeter-totter (after arguing over who got which end of said teeter-totter). And we would all three leave the park being contented, relaxed and ever-so-happy.
Life couldn't get much better than hanging with my daughters, in the sunshine, at the park! The simple joy and sweet pleasures of everyday life....
The more mature, Empty-Nester "park," however, is vastly different than the park of yesteryear. Not better (necessarily) or not worse (certainly), just...different.
My internal "park" these days consists of hormones running amok, emotions gone wild, living life on a teeter-totter, and dealing with extreme mood swings (my poor husband) while mourning the loss of a once-semi-buoyant derriere that is slip-sliding down my legs.
My parallel "park" nowadays is dinner out with fellow EN's (Empty-Nesters), a weekend in Napa or Pebble Beach with friends, and girls-only getaways to Carmel or Tahoe. The park now is more geographically expansive; I'm hangin' with a waaay older demographic; and instead of drinking JuicyJuice from a sippy-cup while building sandcastles, I'm enjoying wine (disguised in a coffee cup) while strolling the beach.
And at this time of life, that's exactly the way it should be.
2.14.2012
1 1 0 !!
Chuck and I were invited to a fun little soiree last night. Our friends, Mike and Beth, were celebrating his 60th, her 50th, Valentine's Day and Friendship. Such a great way to usher in the new week!
Toasts were made, hugs were given, drinks were enjoyed (duh), small talk and heavy-duty conversation took place, yummy food was consumed, introductions were made. And joy and laughter prevailed!
Okay. So to set the mood for you, the party was inside a wonderfully charming store called Bungalow in Fair Oaks. If ever you are around these parts, you must go take a peek! (And then check out the equally great store two doors down called Bleu.) (And, as I am wont to do, I will post pics here later of their many beautiful chandeliers.)
But I digress...
So Beth, the honored birthday girl, welcomed her guests, and then movingly expressed the virtues of time, of age, of growing older... and wiser... and happier. She spoke of the wings (that are magnificently displayed in Bungalow's window) that were her jumping-off point, her inspiration for making the best of her 50th year, the beginning of her second half. (See my previous post.)
She has experienced some "stuff" and endured some "junk." So have I. And so have you. Not a one of us got to this point unscathed. (I mean, come on, we didn't earn these lines and wrinkles for nothin'.)
She then thanked her husband, her rock. She paid tribute to her supportive family. She gave kudos to her girlfriends, her what I like to call "personal cheerleading squad." And -- to me, the post poignant of all -- she paid homage to her choosing to take flight from those wings, to pave her own way to happiness and contentment. There was no denying that at that moment in time, Beth was front and center at her happy place. And it was a glorious thing to see...
I was reminded of this quote that I've always liked: "All we are guaranteed is the pursuit of happiness. You have to catch up with it yourself."
60 (Mike) + 50 (Beth) = 110 years of Fabulosity and Awesomeness. Truly.
What's your number? 76 (divorced/widowed)? 20 or 23 (Hi, my daughters!)?
So thank you, Mike and Beth, for a great evening.
And here's to a Happy Valentine's Day...and hoping you make the most of your number.
Toasts were made, hugs were given, drinks were enjoyed (duh), small talk and heavy-duty conversation took place, yummy food was consumed, introductions were made. And joy and laughter prevailed!
Okay. So to set the mood for you, the party was inside a wonderfully charming store called Bungalow in Fair Oaks. If ever you are around these parts, you must go take a peek! (And then check out the equally great store two doors down called Bleu.) (And, as I am wont to do, I will post pics here later of their many beautiful chandeliers.)
But I digress...
So Beth, the honored birthday girl, welcomed her guests, and then movingly expressed the virtues of time, of age, of growing older... and wiser... and happier. She spoke of the wings (that are magnificently displayed in Bungalow's window) that were her jumping-off point, her inspiration for making the best of her 50th year, the beginning of her second half. (See my previous post.)
She has experienced some "stuff" and endured some "junk." So have I. And so have you. Not a one of us got to this point unscathed. (I mean, come on, we didn't earn these lines and wrinkles for nothin'.)
She then thanked her husband, her rock. She paid tribute to her supportive family. She gave kudos to her girlfriends, her what I like to call "personal cheerleading squad." And -- to me, the post poignant of all -- she paid homage to her choosing to take flight from those wings, to pave her own way to happiness and contentment. There was no denying that at that moment in time, Beth was front and center at her happy place. And it was a glorious thing to see...
I was reminded of this quote that I've always liked: "All we are guaranteed is the pursuit of happiness. You have to catch up with it yourself."
60 (Mike) + 50 (Beth) = 110 years of Fabulosity and Awesomeness. Truly.
What's your number? 76 (divorced/widowed)? 20 or 23 (Hi, my daughters!)?
So thank you, Mike and Beth, for a great evening.
And here's to a Happy Valentine's Day...and hoping you make the most of your number.
2.10.2012
The Second Half
Okay. So Clint Eastwood weighed in on the "second half" during the Super Bowl last week. Great commentary, I thought. Inspiring. Encouraging. Good stuff. (And I personally did NOT think there was any subliminal, political message hidden in there.)
But that got me to thinking about our second half. Which we're in, I hope you realize. :) We 40 and 50-year-olders (and beyond) are pretty much beyond the halftime show, heading smack dab into the third and fourth quarters. But that's a good thing...if we want it to be.
My daughters, ages 20 and 23, are in the first half. They're all fit and flawless and frolicking about as they find their way in life. Such fun! Such possibilities! Such potential!
Me? Been there, done that. Time has been called on my first half. I've TiVo'd and played back my first half innumerable times. And sure, there are lots of parts that I'd love to replay. But that's not the way the game (aka life) works. We play each game, each quarter, each half only once.
All the good, the bad and the ugly has stuck with me, literally and figuratively, as I head into the third quarter. The good? (Glad you asked.) Ahhh, what a wonderful upbringing I had growing up in Porterville, California; raised by hard-working, loving, supportive parents. The bad? I've had my (un)fair share of bumps, bruises, lows, valleys and losses. The ugly? Duh. Take a gander at the cottage cheese stuck to my thighs and the big, fat, overweight crow's feet under my eyes.
But I am not throwing a pity party here. I suppose I've earned the right to have crepe paper eyes; and I'd like to think that fighting the cottage cheese keeps me in good cardiovascular health. :)
I mean, let's look at some people who are playing quite well in their second half. Madonna (of whom we may or may not be a huge fan) looked pretty darn good out there during the Super Bowl halftime show. My friend Darci, a new empty-nester, has taken up extreme biking, hiking and fly-fishing lessons "'cuz she can" now that her kids are gone. A friend of mine from the club, who is well into her fourth quarter, travels to distant parts of the world two (2!) times a year-- to scuba dive! My mother, who is in excruciating pain every second of every day (osteoporosis...argh), bought an iPad this summer. She is quite proficient, I'm proud to say. And she had never touched a computer before. Hats off to everyone who dares to go outside of their box, no matter their age or what their "new normal" is.
So you get what I'm sayin', don't you? We are in charge of the second half. It is up to us make the right plays and stay in the game and be competitive -- physically, spiritually, emotionally, relationally (is that a word?). It is true that, whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game that counts.
Here's to our second half!
But that got me to thinking about our second half. Which we're in, I hope you realize. :) We 40 and 50-year-olders (and beyond) are pretty much beyond the halftime show, heading smack dab into the third and fourth quarters. But that's a good thing...if we want it to be.
My daughters, ages 20 and 23, are in the first half. They're all fit and flawless and frolicking about as they find their way in life. Such fun! Such possibilities! Such potential!
Me? Been there, done that. Time has been called on my first half. I've TiVo'd and played back my first half innumerable times. And sure, there are lots of parts that I'd love to replay. But that's not the way the game (aka life) works. We play each game, each quarter, each half only once.
All the good, the bad and the ugly has stuck with me, literally and figuratively, as I head into the third quarter. The good? (Glad you asked.) Ahhh, what a wonderful upbringing I had growing up in Porterville, California; raised by hard-working, loving, supportive parents. The bad? I've had my (un)fair share of bumps, bruises, lows, valleys and losses. The ugly? Duh. Take a gander at the cottage cheese stuck to my thighs and the big, fat, overweight crow's feet under my eyes.
But I am not throwing a pity party here. I suppose I've earned the right to have crepe paper eyes; and I'd like to think that fighting the cottage cheese keeps me in good cardiovascular health. :)
I mean, let's look at some people who are playing quite well in their second half. Madonna (of whom we may or may not be a huge fan) looked pretty darn good out there during the Super Bowl halftime show. My friend Darci, a new empty-nester, has taken up extreme biking, hiking and fly-fishing lessons "'cuz she can" now that her kids are gone. A friend of mine from the club, who is well into her fourth quarter, travels to distant parts of the world two (2!) times a year-- to scuba dive! My mother, who is in excruciating pain every second of every day (osteoporosis...argh), bought an iPad this summer. She is quite proficient, I'm proud to say. And she had never touched a computer before. Hats off to everyone who dares to go outside of their box, no matter their age or what their "new normal" is.
So you get what I'm sayin', don't you? We are in charge of the second half. It is up to us make the right plays and stay in the game and be competitive -- physically, spiritually, emotionally, relationally (is that a word?). It is true that, whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game that counts.
Here's to our second half!
2.07.2012
Uh-Oh Moments
Oprah has her Ah-Ha moments. I have my Uh-Oh moments. Here are just a few that come to mind this rainy Tuesday morning:
*************
* Having to slooooowly and gingerly get out of bed each morning -- just to make sure all the appendages are working properly.
* Comparing teeth color when looking at pictures of me with my peers. Yep, mine always win the Most Yellow Award.
* Tuning out when I hear the younger moms (brats) at the club talking about their hectic day ahead: taking their kids to school, then to basketball practice at 3:15, then to the PTA meeting at 6:30. (Oh how far, far away those days seem.)
* Driving down Sunrise Boulevard one sunny day a few years ago, looking in the mirror, seeing a long blond hair on my chin, realizing it was not a stray hair from my head, that it was growing out of my chin!! I kid you not! (This ranks as my #1 Uh-Oh moment!)
* When the young checker at Trader Joe's looked at my driver's license and said, "Whoa, this picture was taken a long time ago, huh, ma'am?" (Could.have.throttled.him.)
* Looking down at my thighs and no longer seeing smooth, tanned, taut skin... and seeing instead that dreaded cottage cheese. (I can, and will, speak volumes about this. Stay tuned!)
* When I went to visit my daughter last year and seeing Cosmopolitan magazine on her bedside table. Not just any Cosmpolitan -- this one featured "Best Positions EVER!" (Oh my...)
* Facing the fact that I need Fiber-Con in my life.
* Realizing I just forgot the other Uh-Oh moments I was going to share with you today.
**************
I would love to hear your Uh-Oh moments! Do tell...
*************
* Having to slooooowly and gingerly get out of bed each morning -- just to make sure all the appendages are working properly.
* Comparing teeth color when looking at pictures of me with my peers. Yep, mine always win the Most Yellow Award.
* Tuning out when I hear the younger moms (brats) at the club talking about their hectic day ahead: taking their kids to school, then to basketball practice at 3:15, then to the PTA meeting at 6:30. (Oh how far, far away those days seem.)
* Driving down Sunrise Boulevard one sunny day a few years ago, looking in the mirror, seeing a long blond hair on my chin, realizing it was not a stray hair from my head, that it was growing out of my chin!! I kid you not! (This ranks as my #1 Uh-Oh moment!)
* When the young checker at Trader Joe's looked at my driver's license and said, "Whoa, this picture was taken a long time ago, huh, ma'am?" (Could.have.throttled.him.)
* Looking down at my thighs and no longer seeing smooth, tanned, taut skin... and seeing instead that dreaded cottage cheese. (I can, and will, speak volumes about this. Stay tuned!)
* When I went to visit my daughter last year and seeing Cosmopolitan magazine on her bedside table. Not just any Cosmpolitan -- this one featured "Best Positions EVER!" (Oh my...)
* Facing the fact that I need Fiber-Con in my life.
* Realizing I just forgot the other Uh-Oh moments I was going to share with you today.
**************
I would love to hear your Uh-Oh moments! Do tell...
2.05.2012
"Pinkberry Chandy"
It pays to look up! Discovery of yet another great chandelier.
I'm hot, hot, hot !
NOT!
I once thought that I would never experience hot flashes. I work out daily and eat healthily every day, I told myself. Hot flashes are for oooold ladies only. It just won't happen to me, I thought. But it did, and it is...
I remember Dr. Hiuga, my GYN, telling me a few years ago that the average female starts the hot flash thing at about 53 or 54. Well, I'm average then. And he was right-on. They're happening more often than I care to admit. Okay. I'll tell you: Like two or three times a day. Such.a.bummer.
I've tried blaming it on the fact it's wintertime, and the heater just came on. Wait. There's no heater outside in the Rite-Aid parking lot. Darn. That doesn't work. I've tried blaming it on a flu bug that is going around. Wait. I have zero nausea, and I could eat a horse right now. It's not the flu.
Two weeks ago, as I was taking a deposition, I felt soooo very hot. I asked the attorneys, "Is it hot in here?" They took one look at me, and at that moment, I knew that they knew. "Oh, yeah, it is! Right, Mark? Let's take a break and get some fresh air." Thanks guys.
And my husband -- who has not a clue of what is going on with me -- finally gets it! Sorta. While asleep in the middle of the night recently, he nudged me gently. "Gip? Gip?" (That's what he calls me. Don't ask.) "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I drowsily replied. "Why?"
"Because you are on fire! I think you have a fever".
As I kicked the blankets off of me, I told him I was fine, that it was a hot flash, that it would pass, to go back to sleep. "Wow!" was all he could say.
In our wakeful moments together the next morning, I went into more detail about my newly-acquired "fire from within." I still don't think he gets it. And I told him he now has his own personal, free Bunsen burner to keep him warm on a cold winter night. I think he gets that.
So, I've made an appointment to see Dr. Hiuga next month. Am I a candidate for low-dosage Estrogen? Will it help? Does this mean I am officially menopausal...or peri-menopausal...or very-peri-menopausal? Is it normal and okay for me to be quasi-depressed just talking about this? Stay tuned.
I once thought that I would never experience hot flashes. I work out daily and eat healthily every day, I told myself. Hot flashes are for oooold ladies only. It just won't happen to me, I thought. But it did, and it is...
I remember Dr. Hiuga, my GYN, telling me a few years ago that the average female starts the hot flash thing at about 53 or 54. Well, I'm average then. And he was right-on. They're happening more often than I care to admit. Okay. I'll tell you: Like two or three times a day. Such.a.bummer.
I've tried blaming it on the fact it's wintertime, and the heater just came on. Wait. There's no heater outside in the Rite-Aid parking lot. Darn. That doesn't work. I've tried blaming it on a flu bug that is going around. Wait. I have zero nausea, and I could eat a horse right now. It's not the flu.
Two weeks ago, as I was taking a deposition, I felt soooo very hot. I asked the attorneys, "Is it hot in here?" They took one look at me, and at that moment, I knew that they knew. "Oh, yeah, it is! Right, Mark? Let's take a break and get some fresh air." Thanks guys.
And my husband -- who has not a clue of what is going on with me -- finally gets it! Sorta. While asleep in the middle of the night recently, he nudged me gently. "Gip? Gip?" (That's what he calls me. Don't ask.) "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I drowsily replied. "Why?"
"Because you are on fire! I think you have a fever".
As I kicked the blankets off of me, I told him I was fine, that it was a hot flash, that it would pass, to go back to sleep. "Wow!" was all he could say.
In our wakeful moments together the next morning, I went into more detail about my newly-acquired "fire from within." I still don't think he gets it. And I told him he now has his own personal, free Bunsen burner to keep him warm on a cold winter night. I think he gets that.
So, I've made an appointment to see Dr. Hiuga next month. Am I a candidate for low-dosage Estrogen? Will it help? Does this mean I am officially menopausal...or peri-menopausal...or very-peri-menopausal? Is it normal and okay for me to be quasi-depressed just talking about this? Stay tuned.
2.02.2012
I've Lost It!
I've lost my looks -- if I ever had any. I've lost control -- of my kids, of what gravity is doing to my anatomical house, of my bladder (when I sneeze or laugh too much). I've lost loved ones way, way, way too early. I've lost control of getting my husband anywhere on time (Well, I never did have control over that, I've finally realized.) All of these things I would love to discuss with you further some day. But today I want to talk about...about...shoot, what was it?...oh, yeah...about the loss of my mind!
I often worry if I should worry about my memory, or the lack thereof. My mind is not as equipped as it once was at managing life. And I mean just the day-to-day stuff. I now become overwhelmed at the slightest change of plans, where once I was the queen of multi-tasking. Long to-do lists are one of my new BFF's, where once upon a time a mental list would more than suffice.
I'm tired of going to the grocery store, standing at the dairy counter, dazed and confused, thinking, now what is it I wanted to get here? Or, calling my Mom to tell her "just one thing", and upon her answering the phone, immediately forgetting why I called. Or, the very worst: telling a story to a friend, being sidetracked for the merest of moments, and taking five minutes for both of us to remember, rehabilitate and pick up where I left off. So darn frustrating.
How was it that I ever made it through what once was a typical day of: working out, fixing two brown-bag lunches, getting my kids to and from school and practice, going to work, taking a deposition, getting out a 63-page expedited transcript, walking our Mia dog, preparing (or microwaving/re-heating, in my case) dinner for four -- all the while planning a get-together at our house for three couples this coming Saturday night?!!!!
Huh? Answer me. I'm serious! How.did.I.ever.do.it???
I think this is probably God's clever way of saying sloooooow down, reflect, reminisce, relax, enjoy and...shoot!!! I forgot the other word (verb) I was going to use.
I often worry if I should worry about my memory, or the lack thereof. My mind is not as equipped as it once was at managing life. And I mean just the day-to-day stuff. I now become overwhelmed at the slightest change of plans, where once I was the queen of multi-tasking. Long to-do lists are one of my new BFF's, where once upon a time a mental list would more than suffice.
I'm tired of going to the grocery store, standing at the dairy counter, dazed and confused, thinking, now what is it I wanted to get here? Or, calling my Mom to tell her "just one thing", and upon her answering the phone, immediately forgetting why I called. Or, the very worst: telling a story to a friend, being sidetracked for the merest of moments, and taking five minutes for both of us to remember, rehabilitate and pick up where I left off. So darn frustrating.
How was it that I ever made it through what once was a typical day of: working out, fixing two brown-bag lunches, getting my kids to and from school and practice, going to work, taking a deposition, getting out a 63-page expedited transcript, walking our Mia dog, preparing (or microwaving/re-heating, in my case) dinner for four -- all the while planning a get-together at our house for three couples this coming Saturday night?!!!!
Huh? Answer me. I'm serious! How.did.I.ever.do.it???
I think this is probably God's clever way of saying sloooooow down, reflect, reminisce, relax, enjoy and...shoot!!! I forgot the other word (verb) I was going to use.
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