Sunday mornings have a certain ritual: Greet the day with gratitude and then grind some hazelnut coffee, turn on light jazz music, and settle down with the newspaper. I read the front section first to get my fill of politics, global chaos, and local angst. Then I dig out the comics to find some relief from circumstances I can’t control. For balanced satire, my favorites are Doonesbury, Opus, and Mallard Fillmore. Then Dilbert, Non Sequitur, and Mother Goose & Grimm are next. (Today on the Mother Goose & Grimm strip, Noah is loading animals into the arc and someone asks, “Do we need extra ram?” Too funny.)But, alas! For over twenty years I’ve been reading For Better or For Worse – the realistic story about a family in Canada. Two weeks ago Cartoonist Lynn Johnston wrote that the family was going back in time to start over. She then summarized the future lives of the characters. Wait a minute! I’ve known Elle, John, April, Michael and Elizabeth Patterson for almost twenty years. How can they just disappear? They’ve probably gone to share laughs with Calvin and Hobbs, another great cartoon strip that no longer exists in my Sunday paper. In a perfect world, the Pattersons, Opus, Mallard, and Dilbert would be in charge of daily events, and the horror and garbage of the news could be written off so we could start over. Maybe next Sunday I’ll start with the comics first.
Palin Paranoia
Today I received a mass email adamantly calling for support of a group and blog called “Women Against Sarah Palin.” I won’t participate in this because we will never achieve equality with men with this sexist attitude. There never will be a group called “Men Say No Obama” or “Men Against McCain.”
Midlife Cabernet: Will Baby Boomers become Expatriates?
Every month a local group of middle-aged women business owners, former corporate executives, and non-partisan taxpayers comes together to break bread and engage in civil discourse. Our only rules are to avoid bloodshed, lawsuits, and white zinfandel. This week’s conversation took a surprising turn when one woman said she had been researching other countries as potential places in which to retire. I almost choked on my American beef kabobs, Idaho potato cakes, and Walla Walla wine.
“I’ve researched Canada,” she said. “There also are huge expatriate communities in Mexico, Panama, and Ecuador. I know millions of immigrants want to enter our country, but statistics show that at least 3 million citizens are leaving every year.”
The ensuing conversation acknowledged an appreciation for our coming of age during the best of times. We had taken advantage of opportunities and had succeeded in careers, enjoyed loving relationships, raised our children, survived betrayal and pain, and donated time, talent, and money to several charities and political campaigns. Now we wanted to embrace the last third of life on our own terms. If that meant slurping sweet drinks with little umbrellas on the beach in Belize, so be it.
The national debt was one of the main reasons for considering expatriation. One colleague noted that the US government is almost $17 trillion in debt and that debt did not include unfunded liabilities for federal employee retirement benefits, obligations for Social Security payments, and Medicare expenses. Adding those programs to the National Debt would give a debt of $215,311 to every person living in the USA.
“A country or a business or a family cannot survive under massive debt,” said another woman, the owner of a multi-million-dollar company. “I don’t want to arbitrarily lift any debt ceiling. If I want to increase expenditures, I first need to make more revenue while reducing expenses. Incompetent government leaders don’t understand that basic business concept.”
Our more progressive companion countered with an opposing view. She offered facts from economists and political scientists that said the modern national debt wasn’t a cause for worry. The experts claimed a large growth in national debt promoted a more prosperous economy. For example, the national debt during World War 11 was twice the size of today’s debt. The spending helped the country get out of the Great Depression and enjoy sustained economic growth during the 50s and 60s, an era that produced wonderful opportunities and events – including our births.
We nodded while we munched on beet salad with toasted goat cheese made from local farm products and sipped Dunham Cabernet from Washington State. During a lull in the conversation, we glanced outside and noticed the splendid mosaic of red, yellow, and orange leaves dancing to the ground in a final farewell to life. We were aware that we’ve seen more summer days than we’ll see again. We don’t have the ability or energy to save our troubled country, and we’re weary of politicians who fiddle and fight as the country burns. Maybe it’s time to plan a vacation in the tropics and study the local real estate.
Today’s blog was fueled by a 2011 Prisoner red blend wine from Napa Valley. It’s ripe, hearty, and available at Crush Wine Bar in Eagle for about $30. And, I’m only kidding about leaving the USA. I love this country and the passionate freedoms it embraces. But, a temporary stay on a warm beach would be a lovely distraction from all the political crap.
Today’s Cabernet
Today’s blog was fueled by a glass of 2003 Borolo from Italy. Yes, it’s expensive at $44 a bottle, but I just learned that a travel company wants me to host the first annual “Midlife Madness Cool Down Cruise” to Alaska next August. That’s a great reason to celebrate! I’m a bit concerned, however, that a few hundred menopausal women on one ship could cause some serious global warming and melt most of those massive glaciers. That’s a chance we’ll have to take!
How a Cool Woman Survives Holiday Hot Flashes
So you’re standing at a festive holiday party in your sassy satin dress when suddenly a hot flash makes you want to dump the punch bowl on your head. You know you’re having a Category 10 hot flash when your face resembles the famous Edward Munch painting of “The Scream.” You’ll think your eyeballs are boiling like dumplings in stew and then you receive the shocking chill that turns your sticky sweat into prickly goose bumps. Cheers! The reason for the internal combustion is that you have an internal thermostat that controls the heat in your body. It’s located in the hypothalamus, which despite confusion is not a large animal that likes a muddy pond, but rather, a part of your brain. During menopause, rapid changes in hormone levels in your blood can cause sudden waves of heat. These hot flashes confuse the hypothalamus and it perceives that your body is too hot. It starts to cool down the body, and blood rushes to the surface of the skin in an attempt to lower your body’s temperature. As a result, you sweat and your face turns red or flushed. Then you experience a sudden chill as your body temperature finally adjusts. The good news is that it’s over quickly, sort of like diarrhea.Hot flashes can last from a few seconds to five minutes. When they attack, the best defense is a good offense. That’s why it’s important to wear removable layers and carry plenty of water for hydration. You also can carry instant cool packs that you crack open and hold to your head and neck. Facial blotting tissues are easy to tuck into your pocket and come in handy as a mini-squeegee. If you’re really desperate, and who isn’t in times of great crisis, just carry a spray bottle with water and a few drops of lavender or lemon oil for discreet, refreshing spritzes.Prescriptions can be used to treat severe hot flashes, however some medications can have unpleasant side effects such as nausea or sexual dysfunction. You’ll have to decide if the menopausal systems are worse than the possible side effects. You could sweat and still have that romantic romp or be cool as a cucumber until you throw up. Decisions, decisions.
Midlife Cabernet: It was a Dark and Stormy Night for a Writer
I recently participated in a local holiday bazaar and displayed my award-winning books and sassy new calendars and offered a free bottle of wine with every $75 order. I even threw in free sweatbands. The kick-in-the-gut reality set in six hours later when I packed up my display and realized I didn’t make enough money to pay for the entry fee. I should have stayed home and played with Studley.
Many people think that writing a book will bring fame and fortune. In reality it brings that sad moment when your cart breaks and your books fall onto the pavement in the night rain. Added to the frustration is the cruel fact that the few people who straggle into a bazaar located in a hidden gym have no intention of buying a book. Not when there are necklaces made from melted spoons and scented wax that smells like Christmas trees.
The lonely event was organized to promote and celebrate local businesswomen. I brought eight titles that included a national bestseller, three national award winners, and one book that had been adopted by the Idaho Department of Education for the statewide curriculum. I didn’t sell a single book. My heart was as heavy as the boxes I lugged back to my car.
I felt extra guilty because I had encouraged my friend and author AK Turner to join me in the bazaar. We set up our tables, arranged our books, and had our Internet payment connection all ready to go. After a few hours, we realized that our return on investment was negative and our analytical husbands had been correct. Sometimes the truth really sucks.
Of course we made the best of a bad situation. We had a bottle of wine tucked inside my briefcase and sipped out of paper cups. As the evening dragged, another bottle was opened and we drowned our collective sorrow by sharing the fruit of the vine. After awhile we didn’t give a damn if anyone even looked at our books. They didn’t even deserve to look at them!
Writers have this naive optimism that the world will clamor to read their every word when in reality people would rather have some smelly candle or a lopsided pottery vase. Why buy a book written by local authors when you can wear a rhinestone bracelet made in China? Why care that a local entrepreneur spent months crafting random words into creative and clever sentences when there are burp rags selling for $2.00?
After the bazaar, it took several trips back and forth to my car to pack the table, chair, boxes of books, calendars, a case of wine, and supplies. On the last trip, my tote broke and books scattered onto the wet pavement. I fought back tears as I picked up each book, dried it on my sweater, and tossed it into the car. It was as if I were picking up pieces of my heart that nobody wanted. (Seriously, I was really milking the drama of the moment.)
I’m not bitter about the lack of sales. I congratulate the businesswomen who sold spaces for the bazaar. She made a profit. I did not. Therefore, I won’t do it again. Experience is an excellent teacher, and I’m now working on a generic book about a vampire wizard who comes in fifty shades of grey with magical powers that include funky jewelry, an incense burner, and a garden chime. That should be a bestseller.
Today’s blog is fueled by a 2011 Luna Cabernet Sauvignon from California. It’s the perfect anecdote to a demoralized mood and can be found at Crush Wine Bar in Eagle for only $22. Toss in a snickers cupcake and the world is happy once more.
