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Today I read an online article that declared women over 45 shouldn’t wear bling jewelry or jeans with decorated pockets. I read these silly rules while wearing my brilliant, dangling earrings with my favorite fancy jeans. I can only conclude that middle-aged women have earned the right to wear whatever they choose, and advice columnists under 45 should remember that.

After several decades of being told what to do, what to wear, what not to eat, and how to behave, I join a growing group of proud and loud women over 50 who gleefully proclaim: I can do what I want to do. (We can’t scream our independence because that would be perceived as being bitchy and obnoxious.) We acknowledge that lolling around in jammies isn’t appropriate all the time, but there are glorious days when we pull on the sweat pants and mismatched sweaters, curl up with good books, and revel in our ability to say “Bite me” to every young, skinny critic wobbling past on five-inch heels and toting exaggerated self-importance.

If a mysterious tornado suddenly swooped us to an alien land and some powerful wizard offered us the power to turn back time, we’d probably decline. Given the choice of being 30 and reliving the demands of young children, new careers, weak relationships, and financial problems, we’d take the chance to be our age and continue living in our sweats and enjoying a glass of good Cabernet. Really.

I do miss the energy of my youth, and there are countless times I wish I could rock my sweet babies one more time. But, now I get to spoil my grandkids. And, they love my bling.

My post today was fueled by a glass of Clos Du Val Merlot 2004 from Napa Valley. It’s a bold blend of 96% Merlot and 4% Cabernet Sauvignon and 100% delightful.

Welcome to my new blog! If you’re a young, beautiful woman with a flat stomach, perky boobs and big hair, this is not the blog for you. Go away. However, if you’re a feisty female over forty, pull up a chair and join me with a glass of cabernet. Let’s celebrate our survival to and through this exciting new adventure to midlife and beyond.This is not our mother’s midlife world. We refuse to go quietly into the parlor and knit aphgans while watching reruns of the Lawrence Welk Show. (However, I still can name every one of the Lennon Sisters and that Norma Zimmer was one classy lady.) I grew up on a farm in southern Idaho and we only received one television station. The only TV progams we were allowed to watch were Lawrence Welk, Father Knows Best, and Leave It To Beaver (which is a cause for therapy right there.)Now our bodies are going to hell, the boobs are swinging like tube socks, hair is falling off our heads and growing on our toes, we carry a sqeegee to blot the sweat from our brow, and we need reading glasses just to see our new age spots. Yes, this is our reward for not dying young. Let’s go together and review all kinds of fun topics: jobs, wine, men, wine, children, wine, health, wine, aging parents, wine, chocolate, and throw in some great recipes to go with the wine.We’ll also review the many wonderful realities of life during the second half. In my humble opinion, one of the truly fabulous facts of getting to be this old is that we get to enjoy our grandchildren. That gorgeous baby in the photo is my precious, precocious Luciya, born in April of 2007. I just love that baby.

As teachers prepare for a new school year, I’d like to remind them that their labors are not in vain. Someday, maybe forty years from now, they will receive a thank you and/or apology from former students who have succeeded in life without serving time in jail or randomly texting photos of their genitalia.

I attended 12 years of public school in the village of Wendell, population 1,000, and some of my teachers also instructed my parents at the same school a generation earlier. My teachers taught me the proper use of “your” and “you’re,” how to find the seven continents on a map, and what practical skills I needed to get good jobs. It was common sense education without a “Caught You Being Good” award, and I’d like to thank them for their guidance and apologize for being so obnoxious.

I was that kid. The incorrigible class clown, the goofy girl making the most noise, and the jolly jester singing during exams. Instead of numbing me with medication (thank you!), the teachers, including a frustrated Mrs. Petersen, regularly sent me to the principal’s office where I told jokes until they begged me to return to class. We were graded on “Deportment” and a bad mark would keep a good student off of the published Honor Roll. I always earned honor grades but usually received an “F” in behavior. But, I was the school newsletter editor so I just returned my name to the list.

In fifth grade, Mrs. Gates daily rapped on my desk because I was staring out of the window. I explained to her that I was daydreaming about imaginary adventures, so she told me to write short stories. As a published author, I’m grateful for that assignment. In sixth grade, Mrs. Dennis would shake her head at my antics before she sent me to her husband, the principal. Mr. Webster, my junior high band teacher, once shouted at me that I wasn’t funny. I retorted that really, I was! All the students laughed, just to prove me right.

My true heroes were my English teachers. In junior high, Mrs. Coffman drilled me about how to conjugate a verb, spell correctly, and diagram a sentence. In high school, Miss Luke told me I was a good writer, and she explained poetry in terms of meter, rhythm, and iambic tetrameter. She advised me to read works by great storytellers including Mark Twain, Louisa May Alcott, and Agatha Christie. I adored Miss Luke and always wondered where she lived after Wendell.

Mrs. Lawton, the Home Economics teacher, started every class with a Bible reading. When the government changed the rules and such reverent behavior was proclaimed offensive, she began every session with a cooking lesson based on stories from the Old or New Testament. Now she freely shares milk and honey at a divine banquet.

To these and other memorable teachers, I say a hearty thank you for all that I learned from your instructions, advice, and example. And to all of those I irritated, I humbly apologize. Finally, to Mr. Webster wherever you are: I’m still funny!

Today’s blog was fueled by a 2007 Pinot Noir from the Russian River Valley and processed by Periple Winery in Garden City. I have six cases, so stop by if you’re in the area. We’ll raise a glass and salute our teachers.