(Here is an excerpt from the new book Menopause Sucks. It’s coming soon for hot women everywhere.)Everything is going along just fine until one sunny day you jaunt outside in your best tank top and shorts and accidentally catch a glance of yourself in a mirror that’s not the kind one in your bathroom with the back lighting. Horrors! What’s happened to your once taut skin and when did your neck turn into the dryer vent hose? It seems a dingo just ate your body and left this wrinkly old mass in its place!Your skin is aging, just like the rest of your body, and the hormonal changes during menopause can cause accelerated dryness, increased loss of elasticity, and more spots than a Dalmatian parade. You could stop all the deterioration right now by signing up to have your body frozen and suspended in liquid nitrogen at the Cryonics Institute until scientists discover a way to halt the aging process. But, that option does have a downside. It costs $28,000 for the procedure and you’d miss the annual sale at Nordstrom’s.Your face is the first body part to show the physical realities of forty years of wear, tear, care, and despair. It seems that heredity, environment, diet, and lifestyle all contribute to the condition and quality of your skin, and during normal activity and conversation, the skin on your forehead and around the eyes and mouth continually moves and stretches. Over the years, sun damage and gravity cause your skin to lose its elasticity and resiliency. The skin no longer snaps back like a new pair of undies to a smooth appearance after all that frowning, smiling, and laughing. Yes, your mother was right. Keep making those faces and they’ll stay forever! And you should have listened to her about not smoking, too. Now, it’s easy to identify heavy smokers who spent a lot of time in the sun because their faces resemble the skin of a dried potato. Women who smoke have more wrinkles and lines than nonsmokers because nicotine slows the circulation to the skin and it can’t release toxic waste products of cell metabolism. There’s not enough lotion in the world to bring back their skin to make it soft as a baby’s butt.(This chapter goes on to give helpful hints about lotions, potions, and lifestyle decisions that can rejuvinate your skin.)
Midlife Cabernet: A Reflection on Rejection
I will never submit entries to the Boise Weekly Fiction 101 contest. J.K. Rowling and Stephen King won’t, either.
Personal coaches and self-help advocates often encourage people to take risks so they can face their fears, calm their critics, and win the adoration of friends and associates. That works – unless you’re a writer. Then the smallest rejection letter can cause a wave of insecurity so powerful that you’re tempted to tie your computer to your legs and jump into the nearest river of despair. Your fear of rejection becomes a bigger fear that no one will care. Ever.
Well, that might be a bit dramatic. But those who scatter words into sentences that evolve into paragraphs want readers to share the same passion that inspires writers to write. An author can devote years of arduous work to produce a manuscript that only languishes at the bottom of a slush pile. Then the form rejection letter arrives. Your talent is not good enough. Baby, you’re no good. (Sing along.)
My first national publication came fifty years ago when I was in elementary school. I’ve been fortunate to use my writing skills in career opportunities that included corporate communications, publishing, and writing for television, newspapers, and magazines. Every story, every news release, every report was an assignment written on a deadline, packaged, and presented for someone, everyone, to read. In return, I received a paycheck for validation and sometimes a writing award. Then I wrote books, and I held them like babies.
My rambling today was prompted by two recent rejections. I wrote a charming short story for a collection that celebrated Boise’s 150th anniversary. My story titled “The Gregarious Ghost of the Greenbelt” featured a sassy ghost that lived under the bridge on Capitol Blvd. I loved the story. The judges did not. My second rejection came from the Boise Weekly 101 Fiction Contest. I submitted two stories I thought were creative, clever, and mimicked the quirky samples of previous winners. Again, as in previous years, my stories weren’t chosen. But some of my friends won. That fact presents an entire new set of insecurities. They must be better writers. They know I lost. Will we still be friends?
Writers can find comfort by knowing about famous authors who also faced numerous rejections. Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell was rejected 38 times before it was published. One of my favorite children’s books, A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle, was rejected 26 times. Beatrix Potter received so many denial letters that she successfully self-published The Tale of Peter Rabbit. Other rejected writers include Stephen King, Rudyard Kipling, J.K. Rowling, George Orwell, Agatha Christie, Louisa May Alcott, and William Faulkner. I am not in the same league with the talent of those famous authors, but I can honestly say we share something in common: rejection. Then we get up again and write more stories.
Today’s blog was fueled by a 1998 Cattiglone Falleto Terre del Barolo. If you can find this wine, buy it and drink it. It’s only $17 – but one sip will send you to a quaint sidewalk café outside Florence, Italy where you’ll dine al fresco while a charming man plays the mandolin and sings “O Sole Mio.” Ciao.
Today’s Cabernet
Today’s blog was fueled by a glass of 2004 Moon Mountain from Sonoma Valley. This yummy wine is 79% cabernet sauvignon with a delightful blend of cabernet franc, merlot, malbec, and petit verdot that results in flavors of blackberry and currant with a hint of roasted coffee. It’s about $30 a bottle but worth its weight in gold after a busy day.
And The Cow Jumped Over the Moon Mountain
My wonderful, perfect 13-month-old granddaughter spent the day with me yesterday. We read books, emptied drawers, danced, crawled under tables, tumbled on the carpet, poked toys into little boxes, and played peek-a-boo with a silk blanket. I even introduced her to steamed cauliflower – so much better than the crap I used to feed my kids when they were small.I’d forgotten how busy a toddler can be. In desperate need of a toilet, I took her into the bathroom with me and it only took 10 seconds for her to open drawers and find the razor blades. These were not on her mom’s recommended toy list. Then she scampered away with a tube of lotion which she quickly squirted onto my hardwood floor before I could get my pants zipped. Just when I was ready to offer her a pony if she took a nap, she got tired and we cuddled in the rocking chair. Then she fell asleep in her little crib, and I watched in amazement and relief as she sighed and moaned her way to some mysterious dreamland. After my wonderful, perfect daughter took my wonderful, perfect granddaughter back home, I poured a glass of Moon Mountain Cabernet Sauvignon and sat quietly to contemplate my blessings. Hey Diddle, Diddle, it’s a good life.
Midlife Cabernet: When’s Your Expiration Date?
I have salad dressing in my refrigerator that dates back to the Carter administration. And there’s a plastic container in the back that’s growing a chemistry experiment but I’m afraid to look, so I just leave it there. I know when the milk turns sour that it’s time to throw it out, but I’m not sure about the eggs. How can I trust a cardboard container that tells me something fresh will last another month?
I recently rummaged through the kitchen cabinets and pantry searching for cans, boxes, and packages of food that have exceeded their “use by” date. It’s easy to toss out the old tin of unwanted sardines, but I have a difficult time parting with the gourmet pancake mix. The expiration date is 2010, but it’s a gourmet mix from a famous gourmet company that sends awesome catalogs. I’ll probably keep that mix for another five years, just in case some fancy guests drop by for breakfast.
I usually ignore expiration dates because I’m worried someone will slap one on my head. “Elaine is best before 2015.” That would be too much pressure to cram all my quality goodness and usefulness into the next 12 months. I would plead for an extension and then tap dance my way back into being relevant and valuable.
Would you want to know your expiration date? I don’t. Instead, I think we should choose to live every day to the fullest just to prove we’ve still got life and mischief. Each morning, slowly peek out of one eye to make sure you’re still alive. If you haven’t expired, you have another chance to go forth with fresh and worthy confidence that says your story isn’t over. Start another chapter.
Today’s Cabernet is not a Cab
Tonight’s blog was fueled by a glass of 2004 Trinitas Zinfandel from Bigalow Vineyard in Sonoma, California. It’s a gamble to dabble outside of my Cabernet Comfort Zone, but this wine is darn tasty and it’s only $28 a bottle. The wine offers hints of raspberry and chocolate (a great combination) but it’s not too sweet.
