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I frequently experience brilliant bouts of understanding, clarity, and truth after consuming a glass or two of red wine. The bolder the wine, the wiser and more enlightened I become. After a really good bottle, I am a freakin’ maharishi.

Last night I was sipping some Menopause Merlot on the patio. The delightful label was designed by my artist friend Jill Neal of Bend, Oregon, and the tasty wine was produced and bottled by Bitner Vineyards in Caldwell. The current batch is sold out, which is too bad because I wrote the back label and included my web site with details about my book, Menopause Sucks. I have a sticky note somewhere reminding me to get in touch with Mary at Bitner Vineyards to discuss another collaboration on the next release. But, I digress.

Back to the patio. A friend took a photo of me sipping wine, and I posted the photo on Facebook. Then I almost deleted the photo because it’s horrible. And ghastly. It could be copied as a Halloween mask. It shows a mass of lines around my eyes that resemble the tangled roads on a cluttered cross-country map, crevices around my mouth that are deep enough to store pencils, and bulging bags underneath my eyes that prove it’s a miracle I can even see. Yes, this photo sucks.

Blame it on the wine, but I decided not to delete the photo because I suddenly acknowledged a raw reality: I’m old.

Not old in the feeble way but old because of the rich abundance of life experiences. The lines around my eyes have been etched by years of laughter mixed with a few painful periods of tears. (There is one painful incident from 1990 that added five years.) Not even the most expensive creams can erase or hide six decades of emotions, joys, and sorrows that I carry like a telltale billboard on my face. It would be nice to hear someone declare, “Wow! That woman sure had a lot of laughter in her life!” That’s SO much better than hearing the line about “rode hard and put away wet.”

In another libation-induced moment of monumental awakening, I remembered that I’m not the center of the universe and it really doesn’t matter a twit how many wrinkles wander over my chubby cheeks. We live in a twisted world where the Kardashians are considered pretty and we’ve forgotten the glorious beauty of Mother Teresa. And, while I’m pontificating about human insanity, the two presidential campaigns have spent over $680 million dollars for a job that pays $400,000 a year (but comes with extraordinary perks.) When I don’t want to think about such profound thoughts anymore, I just pour another glass and know that wine gets better with age, and so do I.

It’s rather liberating to finally endure a photograph of me as a woman who loves and accepts her vintage laugh lines. I earned them. Every damn one of them. And today I’m alive at least one more day to go out and earn some more.

Today’s blog is fueled by – you guessed it – Menopause Merlot from Bitner. Go to their web site at www.bitnervineyards.com and encourage them to do another release of Menopause Merlot. Then join me on the patio to celebrate. (No photographers allowed.)

Warning: Over 38 million women are going through menopause, and some of them are really irritated. If you’re one of them, you know that it’s a crying shame that you could live to be 100 but only twenty of those years come with youthful vigor, shiny hair, smooth skin, multiple orgasms, and a flat stomach. To understand what is happening to your mind and body, just put down that shotgun and find a cool spot to read the book Menopause Sucks by menopausal maniac Elaine Ambrose. You’ll find answers and laughs as you learn about hot flashes, incontinence, hair loss, age spots, flatulence, mood swings, and hot sex after forty. This isn’t your mother’s medical manual.

While it is better than dying too young, living past forty often comes with unpleasant and bewildering challenges. For the most part, every single symptom of menopause is caused by one reason, and one reason alone: hormones. It seems that your body makes several different kinds of hormones that love to cavort through your body and play havoc with your sanity. Two major players are called estrogen and progesterone. In medical terms, estrogen is produced in your ovaries and acts as a chemical commander in chief, telling your female body what to do. In not-so-medical terms, imagine a teeny tyrant running through your brain yelling, “Grow pubic hair now!” “Ovulate from the left ovary!” or “Make that boob bigger than the other one!” As with most power-hungry rascals, estrogen likes to change the rules every now and then just to confuse you.

As perimenopause begins, your ovaries are tired of taking orders, so they decide to reduce the production of estrogen. “Attention All Sectors. Estrogen is leaving the body. Farewell party at noon in the pituitary gland.” Then all hell breaks loose and you start to experience symptoms of perimenopause. The fact that you live through this chaos is definite proof of your magnificence. A lesser species would have become extinct millions of years ago.

It’s a rather cruel trick of nature that you could be raising teenagers and caring for aging parents while your Generalissimo Estrogen is barking orders at your female parts, your Busy Bee Progesterones are frantically fixing up the uterus for the Sperm and Egg Combo, and your Naughty Testosterone is working your libido like a tigress in heat.

Need more sassy information? Read the book! I have some and would love to autograph one and send it to you for only $10. Email me at [email protected]. And yes, today’s blog is an excerpt from Menopause Sucks because I’m leaving town and am not organized enough to get everything done. Just blame it on my age.

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2011 McKenna Cabernet Sauvignon Napa, California. It’s available through WineShop at Home and costs about $27. Kathy Hansen is the local independent wine consultant, and her web site is www.hometastingpartys.com.

Until Tuesday, October 2 was an ordinary day on the calendar. Now it is forever recognized as Brooke’s Birthday, and we’ll celebrate the date every year with parties, cakes, and milestone achievements. And as I watch my son hold his newborn daughter, I’m filled with gratitude and joy. October 2 will never be the same again.

The miracle of birth never ceases to amaze me, and I’m grateful that I have the opportunity to see my delightful children and their charming spouses as new parents. That’s one of the many positive features about getting older. I’ll be there to help when needed, to bite my tongue at every tantrum, and loudly praise every piece of colorful artwork taped onto the refrigerator. And I’ll spoil my grandkids to my heart’s content. This grandparent gig is a lot of fun.

Three decades ago, the labor and delivery process was a lonely experience for me. I always wanted to have a waiting room full of eager relatives, similar to the movie scene in Father of the Bride II, and that’s what we shared Tuesday evening as the baby’s sisters, grandparents, aunt, uncle, and cousins gathered for the grand announcement. There was a nervous energy until my son appeared and tried to be cool and calm – except he was trembling with joy. I shed a tear because my baby just had a baby, and the world is a better place.

So much has changed since he was born, and technology has enhanced the labor and delivery scene for the entire family. Throughout the day, my daughter-in-law sent text messages:

“11:57 am – Contractions every 2-3 minutes.”

“12:54 pm – Dilated 4cm.”

“3:36 pm – Dilated 5 cm.”

“5:20 pm – Holy Cow! I’m at 10!”

Baby Brooke arrived at 6:00 pm, by 6:30 we were all in the room and I had taken a photo with my cell phone and posted it on the Internet through Facebook. Within 18 hours, the baby had been professionally photographed and a digital version was available for purchase. This little girl is coming into a world of tremendous advances and incredible inventions, and we’ll all watch her journey with amazement.

Even with all the available modern skills and opportunities, her life comes with a solid foundation that has been established from generations full of colorful characters and trusted traditions. She’ll be surrounded by a loving and nurturing family who will celebrate her life, share their stories, and watch her blossom. She joins the special club of giggling girls who call me Tutu, and I’m delighted to be their grandmother. And, because I know my son and daughter-in-law, I’m confident that this awesome child will be protected, cherished, and nurtured beyond measure. Welcome to the world, sweet baby girl. Thank you for choosing us.

Today’s blog was fueled by a lovely bottle of 2007 Cakebread Cabernet. It’s rich, robust, and worth of a birthday celebration.

Divorce sucks. I’m not proud to join the 50% of US married couples who get divorced, but it happened and I’m sassier because of it. With personal trauma and drama, I turn to humor to keep me from causing great harm to people or objects. Some people use inspirational quotes to sustain them; I use comedy.

“Marriage is probably the chief cause of divorce,” according to Larry Gelbart, the wonderful comedy writer who developed the hit television show called “M*A*S*H.”

Another astute comedienne, Rita Radner, often says, “Whenever I date a guy I think, ‘Is this the man I want my children to spend their weekends with?’”

And, one more comment for the middle-age crowd: These days, parents pray the youngest child will get married and move out before the oldest one gets divorced and moves back in.

Humor helps me from morphing into Sissy Spacek’s character in the movie “Carrie.” What woman wouldn’t love to have telekinetic powers for just one day to seek revenge on all those who had done her wrong? Especially at the prom! But I wouldn’t look good in prison orange, so I reduce the angst by writing, reading funny books, and consuming copious quantities of red wine. That works for me and it’s totally legal.

One major negative of divorce is how quickly a person comes into and goes out of a family. I don’t care to see my ex ever again, but I do miss his sister, Joanne. It’s too bad the in-law package is lawfully attached to the marriage. We’re the same age and I haven’t seen her for six years since I sang at her mother’s funeral mass. I was still married to her brother but we were experiencing our own death of a marriage.

Joanne lives in Alaska, so I don’t get to see her. I do keep in contact with her through Facebook and emails, and I communicate with her wonderful children. During the past week, we experienced similar joys as our sons and their wives had baby girls and both babies were given the middle name of Michelle. It’s difficult to describe the bond we feel as friends and new grandmothers. I don’t like the “ex” label, so I hereby officially declare that we are still sisters.

We learned this morning that Joanne’s new grandbaby has been flown to a major hospital for emergency surgery for heart problems. Her son lives in Alabama, and I can only imagine how Joanne must feel. Just once, if I had telekinetic powers, I would bring them all together, give the doctors super powers, and make the day end with songs of great joy and celebration. Yes, newborn babies trump horror movies any day.

So, from Idaho to Alaska and Alabama, here’s my unfunny and heartfelt message of hope and healing. Fight hard, Baby Girl Capozzi. Your grandmother wants to hold you some day.

Today’s blog was fueled by a 2010 Fidelitas M100 from Columbia Valley. It’s a smooth blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Cabernet Franc, Malbec, and Petit Verdot. It sells for about $28 a bottle and is a perfect wine to share with a sister.

I moseyed into the mall this week to find character models for my short stories. With detached amusement, I sat on a bench with a hazelnut latté and a notebook to watch a non-fictional feast of hapless and humorous humanity. After scribbling some colorful descriptions, I stopped to silently give thanks for my age. The visit to this crazy concentration of peculiar people provided great clarity for why I love life after 50. Here are the top ten reasons:

10. My children are grown and successful so there is no way in hell I’ll ever drag screaming, sticky kids to the mall and juggle strollers that are SO big they should have license plates and turn signals.

9. I’m maturely secure in my appearance with clean hair, sensible shoes and butt-covering jeans so I’ll never need to slouch down the hallway like a Gruesome Goth Zombie and pretend to be uber-cool because my earlobes have imbedded rings that are large enough to measure servings of spaghetti.

8. Feral packs of chattering, gum-smacking, orange-haired, nose-ringed schoolgirls won’t ask me to join them.

7. I’ve moved beyond the manic woman skittering across the floor wearing pointed, high-heeled shoes with a tailored suit, clutching a bulging briefcase, shoving a pretzel into her mouth, and desperately pleading into a cell phone about the urgent need to find Charles and upload a new presentation because the damn meeting is in one hour and ohmygod this is a crisis!

6. I’ve earned money for several decades and not squandered it on youthful indiscretions so if I want to donate to charity and/or buy a pair of shoes I can and I will.

5. The over-made-up makeup ladies at Dillard’s and Macy’s never pester me for a “quick touch-up” because this face has so many well-earned laugh lines that no miracle powder can ever conceal them in less than an hour.

4. I can laugh at the posters of voluptuous, flat-bellied models in the window at Victoria’s Secret because I know they have only 10 more years before gravity wins.

3. I don’t need to purchase tampons, baby formula, birth control pills, maternity clothes, or anything that has a Hello Kitty logo.

2. I refuse to wander aimlessly and bump into people and walls while looking down to fiddle with a cell phone.

And, the Number One Reason to Love Life after 50 (cue drum roll): I can leave the madness of the mall and go home to Studley’s loving arms and we don’t need to close the bedroom door.

Rimshot.

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2009 Cinder blend of Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot from local Snake River Cellars. It’s quite yummy to share at a festive family dinner, and at $35 dollars a bottle, it’s a great way to celebrate the fabulosity of your vintage years! Find the Cinder Wines web site for more information.