Coming Soon: Featured Blog on Midlife Boulevard
Midlife Cabernet: Go Hang a Banana
The world is smoldering toward catastrophic self-destruction, so it’s only sensible that I take a brief moment of clarity to offer this lovely tidbit of advice before the final tragic calamity ignites the end of civilization. If you want to appreciate form and function, escape chaos and crisis, and experience inner peace, you should hang a banana.
I’ve survived more than half a century on this magnificent planet and only yesterday purchased a banana holder. This is not just any ordinary device; it’s a 3-piece banana hook with fruit basket! And, it came with illustrated instructions! Heaven forbid a confused consumer would tote it home and not know how to assemble the complicated design.
“Help me, Walter. Does the bowl go over or under the hook?”
“Lemme study the picture on the box, Marge. I hope this contraption came with directions.”
The 3-piece banana hook wasn’t on my Costco list, but who could resist? I wanted it. On my way to the back of the store to get my quarterly supply of 50 rolls of toilet paper, I noticed the box on the end of the aisle. The photo displayed ripe, firm bananas perfectly poised over a bowl of tempting green apples supported and enhanced with a gleaming silver hook and coordinated basket. I spontaneously added it to the cart, along with the tub of chocolate-covered almonds (also not on the list.)
I balanced my new treasures with the massive supply of toilet paper, a calf-sized pack of paper towels, and a year’s supply of detergent while I maneuvered my way through the aisles, stopping periodically to sample the bland but free samples of food. I avoided the book section because I have been known to spend hours reading through selections while family-reunion-size boxes of frozen appetizers melt in the aisle.
After paying the zombie checkout guy, I toured the vast parking lot looking for my car. I finally resorted to clicking my key alarm and eventually found it. I scurried home to assemble my new banana holder and proudly placed it on the kitchen counter. I carefully hung my bananas at the angle shown in the photograph. They seemed to be happy and perky in their appropriate position. Today, I’ll visit the local farmer’s market and buy some green apples.
For a brief but delightful moment in time, I won’t watch or read the news, and I won’t worry about all the crap happening throughout the world. Instead, I’ll make a cup of tea in the morning and open a bottle of wine in the afternoon and stare at my banana holder. That’s about all I can control right now. And if other stressed people come to my door, I’ll welcome them inside and we will gaze at the wonderful invention and smile at the balance, order, and symmetry of the simple design. Then, only after we feel at peace, we’ll eat the bananas, apples and chocolate almonds, open another bottle of wine, and sing songs of courage and glory. All will be well, thanks to my new banana hook. With a fruit basket.
“Write by the River” Wellness Retreat for Women
Imagine a fun weekend in the mountains with other women who want to focus on fitness and writing while having fun! Click on this link for information and registration details:
Midlife Cabernet: What’s So Funny?
The words “Cook in your underwear” aren’t that funny. But in the context of a speech I gave last week to the Idaho Association of School Administrators, the phrase prompted 500 people to spontaneously laugh out loud. For a speaker and an incorrigible clown, it’s a delightful feeling to say a few words that cause people to explode with laughter. That’s SO much better than instigating an audience to throw objects, fall asleep, play on their cell phones, or slink out the back door.
The above link contains a brief snippet of my talk. This excerpt includes my earnest words of wisdom and ends with the admonishment: “Want perfect children? Don’t have any.” That simple expression prompted a delightful eruption of laughs that signaled a message to my brain: “Remember this line. I don’t know why, but it worked.”
We are born with the ability to laugh, and babies exhibit the tendency at about four months of age. Audible joy is part of the human vocabulary, and all members of the human species understand the language of laughter. It occurs unconsciously, and we can’t force ourselves to produce real laughter. The emotion is within us, waiting to be stimulated. Unfortunately, many adults lose their youthful exuberance and morph into snarly old grumps. I see far too many miserable people who have no clue that their laughter option is in danger of extinction. They should tap into their hidden humor side before they lose the ability and their funny bone becomes as useless as their appendix.
The act of laughter consumes the entire body. Our facial features change, our breathing is modified, we make strange sounds, the muscles in our arms, legs, and trunk get involved, and our eyes water. For middle-aged women, we also have a tendency to wet out pants, but I’ll sacrifice the temporary humiliation for a robust belly laugh any day. I’ll just stock up on adult diapers and slapstick comedies.
Did you know there is a World Laughter Day? It’s scheduled for the first Sunday of May. The Global Belly Laugh Day is in January, and the International Moment of Laughter occurs in April. With all this attention to frivolity, it’s our duty to celebrate each charming chuckle, every gregarious guffaw, and even the most snide, snickering snort. We’re earning our laugh lines, and they make us beautiful.
Our all-too-human laughter sets us — and our close cousins, the primates — apart from all other species that roam our planet, says Robert R. Provine, PhD, a behavioral neurobiologist at the University of Maryland in Baltimore.
“Think about it the next time you walk through woods listening to the odd cries and calls of the creatures that live there: When you laugh, those creatures are hearing sounds that are just as odd and just as characteristic of our own species,” he writes in his book, Laughter: A Scientific Investigation.
I think laughter is necessary to help us skip over all the mud bogs of tragedy that ooze across our daily paths. In the movie Funny Girl, the hilarious vision of Barbra Streisand’s pregnant bride offsets the character’s personal pain. My favorite musical is Les Miserables, and the boisterous, comedy scene from “Master of the House” keeps me from dissolving into a sobbing heap after Cosette sings “Castle on a Cloud.” And in a poignant reality, through movies and recordings, we’ll always have the comic genius of Robin Williams.
Thousands of years ago in the Book of Proverbs, an astute medical prescription was written that still applies today: A merry heart does good, like medicine. But a broken spirit dries the bones. We know too many people with broken spirits and dry bones, so we should try to bring some merriment into their lives so the world has fewer crabby people to endure. Those of us who love to laugh loudly until liquids run out of our noses need to pass along this valuable life skill to those who only can muster up a trivial smile.
With so much angst and misery in the world, it’s difficult to find something to enjoy with gusto. But, I’m willing to take a chance and be with anything or anyone who can cause and appreciate joyful laughter. If that includes a challenge to cook in my underwear, I’ll take it. With an apron, of course. And the recipe better include chocolate. And wine.
Granny Goes New-Age with Ancient Mantras
After my children grew up (way too quickly) and moved on to make the world a better place, I started a morning ritual of brewing a pot of coffee and reading the newspaper. Over the years, I’ve evolved so now I insert an instant pod of coffee into my coffeemaker and read online sources. That way I can get depressed so much faster.
Lately the news makes me feel mad, agitated, and helpless. Children are beheaded in the name of religion? Neighborhood stores are looted to avenge a shooting? The Ebola virus will kill us soon? And, another tragedy reported this morning: the Aspen trees are dying across the West.
Every now and then a positive story flutters across the news like a cookie crumb. I grab it and wish for the whole cookie. But that brings another item about health issues and how we’re all going to die of obesity, unless we get Ebola first or walk into a convenience store and get shot. I’m considering exchanging my morning coffee for a Bloody Mary. Or two.
So, I switched from the news to my favorite blogs. I knew my midlife friends could add some perspective and wit to brighten my mood, but I got immersed in the Mommy Bloggers. They’re funny and edgy, but sometimes I cringe at their victimhood, and I want to retort, “Buck up, Sisters, and cuddle that screaming toddler before he packs his bag and moves out.” I’d like to remind them that they will live longer without their children than with them. And soon those perky boobs will be swinging down at their bulging waist and their tight necks will resemble a dryer hose.
My daughter knows I’m addicted to the morning news, so she gently suggested I try a morning meditation. Though I grew up during the Age of Aquarius, I chose to avoid the hippie movement and selected the path of college degree and full-time job. That decision proved to be correct and enabled my children to have new clothes and orthodontic treatments. Being still to meditate seemed like new-age silliness, and everyone knows I can’t sit quietly. Oh look, there’s a squirrel!
But today, after becoming enraged at the photo taken by a proud father of his 7-year-old son holding a man’s severed head, I shut down the news feed and enrolled in a three-week meditation course led by Deepak Chopra and Oprah. I was skeptical at first, especially when told to be still and silently repeat a Sanskrit Mantra “Ananda Hum” – I am Bliss. I almost fell asleep, but then the mantra continued to whisper in my brain. I peeked open one eye to make sure no one was watching, then I returned to the mantra. After 15 minutes – a lifetime – I was totally relaxed. I even felt sad when a bell chimed and the mediation was over. Reality set in: It’s Monday. Time to do laundry.
I’ll admit that the meditation was lovely, and I intend to repeat it tomorrow on my patio sitting beneath the little bell I got years ago in Thailand. The bell has been hanging patiently on my arbor, waiting for me to appreciate its simple significance. My goal today is to fret less and seek happiness more. And, I intend to pray for peace and to buy some Aspen trees to plant.
Midlife Cabernet: Learning from the World’s Great Chefs
Making Sand Pies (Click on this cute video)
A few years ago, I traveled on a cooking tour of Italy and learned how to make authentic dishes with acclaimed Chefs Antonia and Giulianna at the Villa Serego Alighieri near Verona. The property, surrounded by vineyards, olive trees, and fruit orchards, has been in the family of the great Italian poet Dante Alighieri (Dante’s Inferno) since the year 1353. This week, I learned how to make sand pies from chef Baby Boo in her parent’s back yard surrounded by a tree fort, miscellaneous mismatched shoes, and assorted toys. She has inspired creative recipes since 2012.
I treasured both experiences, but I must admit that the concoction presented by Baby Boo was less fattening and easier to fix than the elaborate Tuscan Cappelletti we made with fresh pasta, artisan cheeses, and red sauce that required several hours to prepare. The distinct advantage of the Italian cuisine is that the meal was paired with a luscious Amarone wine. The sandbox pies only need water and a towel. And, my son and daughter-in-law gently suggest I forgo wine while I’m tending their precious daughter.
Watching my wee granddaughters at play brings moments of delight just as enjoyable as a grand feast on a linen-covered table set in a European orchard. The little girls continually erupt with laughter as they create spontaneous inventions: a large scarf becomes a baby carrier for a stuffed owl, a wooden fort transforms into a sailboat navigating the open sea, and a sprinkler on top of a sheet of plastic causes a giggle-factory. Rumor has it that Tutu (the name they call me) is good for telling tale tales and bringing real cookies, so I’m included in the fun.
The little girls enjoyed this summer outside – camping in the Idaho Mountains, splashing on the Oregon Coast, and boating on an alpine lake. They brought along their parents just to drive and pay for everything. The girls also know how to do a Google search to download an app and store it in their personal folder on my cell phone, but they are just as happy exploring the world without electronics. For that, I am grateful.
On another cooking tour to South Africa, I learned how to use exotics spices to duplicate the rich and flavorful food of Cape Town with Chef Cass Abrahams. She taught the value of fresh herbs and spices, including cinnamon, garlic, cloves, cardamom, nutmeg, fennel, mustard seed, saffron, turmeric, curry, and ginger root. My granddaughters are just as dedicated with their creations and prefer to mix light sand with dirt, pebbles, twigs, stray bugs, and water from the hose to form a paste that is almost impossible to remove from under their fingernails. But, their devotion to their art is just as serious as that of the grand chefs mastering their cultural cuisine. I can only smile with gratitude when handed either a grilled kebab marinated in garlic and chutney sauce or a sloppy mud pie.
The vibrant chefs I’ve met love to cook, and their exquisite recipes are their gifts to their families, to the community, and to the world. They celebrate the noble feast and know that life is better when breaking bread with friends. My granddaughters have taught me the simple pleasure of making sandbox pies and mud cakes. They, too, share an exuberant appreciation for creative play and wholesome activity. They nourish my soul.
