Welcome to my new blog! If you’re a young, beautiful woman with a flat stomach, perky boobs and big hair, this is not the blog for you. Go away. However, if you’re a feisty female over forty, pull up a chair and join me with a glass of cabernet. Let’s celebrate our survival to and through this exciting new adventure to midlife and beyond.This is not our mother’s midlife world. We refuse to go quietly into the parlor and knit aphgans while watching reruns of the Lawrence Welk Show. (However, I still can name every one of the Lennon Sisters and that Norma Zimmer was one classy lady.) I grew up on a farm in southern Idaho and we only received one television station. The only TV progams we were allowed to watch were Lawrence Welk, Father Knows Best, and Leave It To Beaver (which is a cause for therapy right there.)Now our bodies are going to hell, the boobs are swinging like tube socks, hair is falling off our heads and growing on our toes, we carry a sqeegee to blot the sweat from our brow, and we need reading glasses just to see our new age spots. Yes, this is our reward for not dying young. Let’s go together and review all kinds of fun topics: jobs, wine, men, wine, children, wine, health, wine, aging parents, wine, chocolate, and throw in some great recipes to go with the wine.We’ll also review the many wonderful realities of life during the second half. In my humble opinion, one of the truly fabulous facts of getting to be this old is that we get to enjoy our grandchildren. That gorgeous baby in the photo is my precious, precocious Luciya, born in April of 2007. I just love that baby.
Midlife Cabernet: A Thanks and an Apology to My Former Teachers
As teachers prepare for a new school year, I’d like to remind them that their labors are not in vain. Someday, maybe forty years from now, they will receive a thank you and/or apology from former students who have succeeded in life without serving time in jail or randomly texting photos of their genitalia.
I attended 12 years of public school in the village of Wendell, population 1,000, and some of my teachers also instructed my parents at the same school a generation earlier. My teachers taught me the proper use of “your” and “you’re,” how to find the seven continents on a map, and what practical skills I needed to get good jobs. It was common sense education without a “Caught You Being Good” award, and I’d like to thank them for their guidance and apologize for being so obnoxious.
I was that kid. The incorrigible class clown, the goofy girl making the most noise, and the jolly jester singing during exams. Instead of numbing me with medication (thank you!), the teachers, including a frustrated Mrs. Petersen, regularly sent me to the principal’s office where I told jokes until they begged me to return to class. We were graded on “Deportment” and a bad mark would keep a good student off of the published Honor Roll. I always earned honor grades but usually received an “F” in behavior. But, I was the school newsletter editor so I just returned my name to the list.
In fifth grade, Mrs. Gates daily rapped on my desk because I was staring out of the window. I explained to her that I was daydreaming about imaginary adventures, so she told me to write short stories. As a published author, I’m grateful for that assignment. In sixth grade, Mrs. Dennis would shake her head at my antics before she sent me to her husband, the principal. Mr. Webster, my junior high band teacher, once shouted at me that I wasn’t funny. I retorted that really, I was! All the students laughed, just to prove me right.
My true heroes were my English teachers. In junior high, Mrs. Coffman drilled me about how to conjugate a verb, spell correctly, and diagram a sentence. In high school, Miss Luke told me I was a good writer, and she explained poetry in terms of meter, rhythm, and iambic tetrameter. She advised me to read works by great storytellers including Mark Twain, Louisa May Alcott, and Agatha Christie. I adored Miss Luke and always wondered where she lived after Wendell.
Mrs. Lawton, the Home Economics teacher, started every class with a Bible reading. When the government changed the rules and such reverent behavior was proclaimed offensive, she began every session with a cooking lesson based on stories from the Old or New Testament. Now she freely shares milk and honey at a divine banquet.
To these and other memorable teachers, I say a hearty thank you for all that I learned from your instructions, advice, and example. And to all of those I irritated, I humbly apologize. Finally, to Mr. Webster wherever you are: I’m still funny!
Today’s blog was fueled by a 2007 Pinot Noir from the Russian River Valley and processed by Periple Winery in Garden City. I have six cases, so stop by if you’re in the area. We’ll raise a glass and salute our teachers.
An Irreverent Guide to Menopause
Here’s a taste from my latest book, Menopause Sucks, which will hit stores in June. I co-authored the book with bestselling author Joanne Kimes. I remember my first episode of perimenopause as clearly as the first time I saw the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show. I was sweating, crying, clawing at my hair, and ripping off my clothes. Unfortunately, I was 46 years old and there was no Fab Four in sight. In fact, this horrific event happened during a business meeting.Wearing my sassy yet sophisticated power suit with the appropriate accessories and ladder-climbing shoes, I was speaking to a group of Very Important Personnel. Suddenly some horrific and unknown force of evil invaded my body and mind, rendering me a breathless mass of confusion. I swear that it was similar to having a mammogram, a root canal, and a colonoscopy in a sauna while watching reruns of the shower scene from the movie Psycho. Only worse. I feared death was imminent as my chaotic mind ratcheted into panic mode. Who would care for my children? Had I paid the electric bill? Crap, if this is the end, why didn’t I have that donut after all? Yup, it was perimenopause. I assumed that peri was the Latin word for “dangerous” and menopause was the word for “crazy lady.” I learned that these symptoms were only part of the total menu of midlife maladies that could occur as I transitioned into the real mother of all body betrayals. Menopause. Wasn’t I too young, too busy, and just too perky to deal with the “M” word? I decided right then and there that yes, Menopause Sucks!Like what you’ve read so far? Menopause sucks is full of helpful hints, amusing anecdotes, and sassy suggestions for those in search of fearless facts and a cold drink. The book is available for pre-order now at amazon.com!.
Midlife Cabernet Chosen for Blogrolls on Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop and BlogHer
Potato Party Packages!
Here’s a fun party idea for your wee ones.Elaine will attend your child’s party and read from her award-winning children’s books. She’ll include 10 autographed and personalized copies of Gaters & Taters – A Week of Bedtime Stories. This book was named “Best Children’s Book of 2003” by a national reviewer and was selected for four Statewide reading lists. It was chosen for Bowker’s National Recommended Reading List for 2004 – an honor reserved for only 50 children’s books annually.She’ll also include 10 copies of The Magic Potato – La Papa Mágica. This is a bilingual coloring book that was selected by the State Board of Education for inclusion in the statewide school curriculum. The text features days of the week, numbers, colors, and key words in English and Spanish.This party package is recommended for ages 5 through 10.Estimated Value: $300 for Twenty Autographed Books and Author ReadingTo confirm date of party, contact me at elaineambrose1@aol.com or call (208) 630-4217.
Midlife Cabernet: Playing Doctor with Grandma
My grandmother’s generic treatments for our childhood illnesses were successful because we were too terrified to get sick. The potions and homemade remedies combined country folklore with whatever magic medicine was stocked in the pantry. Only sissies and townsfolk went to the doctor.
Grandma’s healing practices were legendary. If we had a sore throat, she would wrap raw bacon in a tea towel and pin it around our neck. Consequently, my brothers and I never mentioned if we felt sick. Suffering in silence was preferable to smelling like a meat locker.
Another home remedy for coughs was to smear Vicks VapoRub on the soles of our feet, cover them with thick stockings, and send us to bed. If that didn’t work, we were fed raw onions and honey. Needless to say, we held back a cough until our ears bled.
The cure for earaches was practical. Heat a green onion in the stove and then stick the bulb in the painful ear. The warm vegetable would dissolve any wax buildup and eliminate the pain. We knew not to look in the mirror or answer the door while wearing onions in our ears.
One nifty trick to remove fish bones stuck in our throats was to swallow a raw egg. If that didn’t absorb the irritating bones and flush them down, the thick substance caused us to vomit the bones and the egg. Mission accomplished.
I remember injuring my elbow after falling out of a tree. Grandma wrapped my arm in a tea towel made from a flour sack and tied the ends around my neck. I wasn’t able to climb another tree for several years and my arm is still crooked.
Back in those days, Grandma was under pressure to survive with what she had. She made soap, churned butter, sewed clothes for her children, and baked every meal from scratch. Her pantry held a cornucopia of canned fruits and vegetables. And remedies. But we all survived and lived to tell about it. Thanks, Grandma.
