I’ll have a national radio 30-minute interview on Monday, August 11 starting at 10:30 a.m. You can hear it by logging onto www.blogtalkradio.com/Who-you-calling-old. I’ll be discussing the new book, Menopause Sucks. Beyond the talk about profuse sweating, lusty libido, incontinence, hairy toes, flatulence, and hair loss, it should be a serious discussion!
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Midlife Cabernet: Friends and Fine Wine Get Better with Age
A group of five women over the age of fifty usually goes unnoticed in a world that celebrates youth, wrinkle-free skin, and perky boobs. The older women could be ignored as a bygone bevy of broads chattering over lunch before nap time. But for five feisty friends who met more than 40 years ago at the University of Idaho, life continues to be one grand adventure, and we have earned every laugh line on our wise and smiling faces.
The five of us met this weekend in San Francisco to attend the wedding of one of our daughters. We arrived at the Oakland airport, all wearing sensible shoes and black pants suits while rolling our eyes at the young ladies hobbling about on stiletto heels. We are seasoned travelers through life, and we tossed the heels many years ago.
As we shared coffee and laughs while waiting for the shuttle bus into the city, we planned how we would perform the Leg of Mutton Dance at the reception, just as we did back at the Delta Gamma Sorority and at every DG wedding since then. Some of the more sophisticated guests at the prestigious Fort Mason venue will be shocked at our exuberant antics, but as usual, we don’t give a rip.
The five of us met during the start of our freshman year in college. Freedom was new and intoxicating, and we discovered that the uncharted life away from our parents was best shared with good friends. Since then we have participated in each other’s weddings – two of us have had more than one and three have been married to their first husband for more than forty years. We celebrated the births of our ten children and mourned the deaths of our parents. And then came the weddings of our children and the births of grandchildren. We also worked in rewarding careers and juggled the complex challenges of life by the seats of our ever-expanding pants.
Though we’ve never lived in the same towns, we have continued to get together. When our kids were little we enjoyed family slumber parties, float trips on the river, and vacations at a mountain lodge. After our kids got older, we enjoyed women-only trips. To celebrate our 55th birthdays, we traveled to Maui, Hawaii to hike across a volcano, savor spa treatments, and watch the sun rise over the ocean.
The next five days will be mini-reunion, and we’ll laugh at the same stories, reminisce about our lives, and prove that a woman is never too old to throw off her shoes and joyfully dance at a wedding. We will eat too much good food, drink too many delightful drinks, and visit too many wineries. But we’ll also visit the gym in the hotel because we want to stay fit enough to continue to party.
We’ve known the bride since she was a baby, and our wish is that her life will be full of passion, laughter, and good friends. During the inevitable bad times, she’ll need her friends more than ever. We can be there in a few hours, and we promise to sing and dance until the sun comes up again. We know how to do that.
Today’s blog is fueled by a delightful wine tasting at the Eno Wine Bar on 320 Geary Street in San Francisco. For $15, try the flight of Italian red wines: a 2011 Rio Alba Valpolicella Veneto, a 2010 Lanari Rosso Conero Marche, and a 2010 Alovini Aglianico Basilicata. If you’re lucky, the charming host Greg will bring an excellent selection of imported cheeses, bruschetta, and chocolates. Yes, we ate and laughed until we ached, just like we did forty years ago. www.enowinerooms.com.
Today’s Cabernet
Tonight’s blog was fueled by a glass of 2005 Simi Cabernet Sauvignon from Alexander Valley. A local wine store recommended the wine and I must agree that it’s a delicious balance of blackberry, cherry and plum flavors with hints of spice. It was only $23 dollars, so I must return to the 8th Street Wine Company in Boise for another bottle…or two. It’s what I do to support the local economy in these difficult times.
Corrupting the Grandkid
My fabulous 16-month-old granddaughter comes to play with me at least one day a week. On a recent visit, I had to run some errands, so she agreed to come with me. That was mainly because I secured her in the car seat and she had no choice.I hauled her into the bank where all work stopped so the tellers could make goo-goo sounds at her. Then we went to the store and bought some disposable diapers. Her mommy wore cloth diapers and I must admit these disposable things are a lot more efficient.Then we stopped by Seasons Bistro because I had to finalize arrangements for a donation to the local charity gala. Well, of course they made me sample a tiny taste of wine that would be offered at the event. How could I refuse? So, there I was with a baby on my right hip and a glass of wine in my left hand. I felt so guilty, wondering if my daughter would walk in the door, scream at my derelict actions, grab the baby and rush her to a child therapist. Then the chef offered me a sample of some warm rhubarb-strawberry pie with ice cream. Oh, my! How I needed that pie!Only the purest organic food passes the lips of my gorgeous grandchild, but there I was sipping wine and spooning rhubarb and ice cream into her eager mouth. Such delight for both of us! It was so much better than all those fresh green beans and squash she eats! Grandma really know how to have a good time.I bundled her home and told her never to tell her mommy what we had done. After all, what happens with Grandma, stays with Grandma.
Today’s Cabernet
Tonight’s blog was fueled by a glass of 2002 Brunello Terra Rossa from Montalcino, Italy. Say “Super Tuscan” and Brunello and I’m immediately acting like the dog in those insipid “beggin” commercials. It’s a bit spendy at $46 a bottle, but every now and then you need a fabulous glass of wine to commemorate a real special occasion, such as going a day without chewing your fingernails or sneezing without wetting your pants.
Midlife Cabernet: When Public Breastfeeding is Expressed in Good Taste
I recently attended an elegant wedding at a seaside resort where the gift table and the guests were well-endowed. However, there was some engorged indignation at the reception as two perky women nursed their babies without discreetly covering the bobbing heads of the darling sucklings. One of the bridesmaids conveniently wore a strapless gown to easier facilitate the moveable feast.
Reaction to the public display of liberal lactation ranged from frothed and pumped up annoyance to flowing praise for the natural and healthy nourishment between the mother and child reunion. It sucks to be criticized for using a supply-on-demand device for its original purpose.
“Oh, my, I must warn Harold not to go over there,” a woman muttered to a group of older guests with permed hair, lace hankies, and sensible shoes. “I haven’t seen this many bare breasts since I watched a National Geographic documentary about African tribes.”
“In my day we discreetly fed our babies under a blanket, and my mother hired a nurse maid for her children,” snorted another lady. “Things were more civilized back then.”
They murmured, nodded their heads, and clucked their tongues. Meanwhile, Harold and his buddies were sneaking peeks around the corner and clutching their sunken chests as faint mammary memories dribbled into their thoughts.
The younger crowd seemed nonchalant and didn’t latch onto the uncomfortable tension that leaked into the room. They laughed the night away, draining jugs of wine until they acted like boobs. To insure that the event wasn’t a total bust, they danced through the spot so the hooters could hoot, the knockers could knock, and the stranded friends could wean themselves away from the dried up and sagging patrons. In a final tit-for-tat, the young adults pulled the older folks out of their bondage and onto the dance floor to lift and separate their drooping spirits.
By then, the contented babies were asleep and the milked mothers had a few hours to pad themselves and dance the Fandango until the cows came home. That way, they could have their wedding cake and eat it, too.
The best formula for enjoying a special occasion that involves young couples is to anticipate the appearance of at least one nursing mother. Offended people can choose to avert their attention to the drunken uncle or the pouting teenager or the Rod Stewart impersonator in the band. The public nursing only lasts a few minutes and the alternative is to hear a screaming baby and witness a swollen mother in pain.
I nursed my two babies each for a year, and it was a rewarding experience. I never walked around in public hooked up to the little buggers, but I don’t disapprove of those who do. There are far too many neglected babies who hunger for the affection and attachment of loving mothers.
After my children were grown, I cleaned out the house and found a little bottle of breast milk saved in the back of the basement freezer. My younger child was 18 years old and didn’t need it. I couldn’t throw it away so I lovingly placed the bottle into a velvet Crown Royal pouch and buried it under the rose bush in the back yard. I probably need counseling for that.
Today’s blog was fueled by a bottle of 2011 Barbera from Jacuzzi Family Vineyards in Mendocino County. I found this vibrant, complex red wine on a tasting tour after a wedding in San Francisco. It’s about $20 a bottle if you buy a case. Of course I did.
