My Menopausal Musings

There will always be tragedy and it will always be our job to try and make things better. Sometimes it’s difficult to know just what to do or say. In recent weeks the tragic deaths of young teens have been on the news and the issue of tolerance is back on the table for discussion. It seems we have lowered the bar. Both sides of the aisle are following the anger of the media and our politicians. We are too quick to judge. Today my friend Arthur Wooten posted the most extraordinary video on Facebook. The words of wisdom from a young City Councilman from Fort Worth, Texas overwhelmed me and left me in a flood of tears. I have no words, no review, simply a request that you watch and hear every word of wisdom this gentleman from South Texas has to say. Councilman Joel Burns @joelburns joel.burns@fortworthgov.org

I was excited to see The Irishman and his daughter this weekend. To my surprise, he came over alone on Friday evening and called it quits. Despite my own fears and doubts, I confess I didn’t see it coming. “I just can’t,” he said. As it turns out, The Irishman’s steamer trunk is filled with rocks and is sinking fast. He is too overwhelmed to be in a relationship at the moment, so he wants to be my friend. What is our ‘relationship’? I was waiting to talk about it, to give it a name we both felt comfortable with; he had already named it, become overwhelmed and needed to rename it. I didn’t know it, but I had been dubbed ‘girlfriend’. His friends knew. He told his sister. He had even told his mother! No wonder his mother was eager to meet me during her short visit from Ireland last week. The Irishman brought his sister and mother over for tea. I made sure the house was sparkling and baked a picture-perfect apple pie. I loved meeting them and had a fabulous time. Before ...

It is a beautiful evening. It’s twilight, and looking out my window I can see how the remaining low light is dancing on the surface of the Hudson River making it the most remarkable color of blue, a blue that matches the top of the sky. In between the river and the top of the sky, the black outline of trees is covered by a thin layer of orangey-gold, moving to yellow to green to deepening shades of blue until you get to the top of the sky that matches the river below. I am lucky enough to see how the sky is different each time the sun sets. Even though it only takes a moment to take in the awesome changing sky Mother Nature paints for me each night, most of the time I don’t take the time to really look. Perhaps it was the tears in my eyes this evening that changed the light and made the colors more vivid. Perhaps it was the fact that I had just finished reading an extraordinary affirmation of love and life that my eyes were merely open. I watched Randy Pausch’s ‘last lecture’ ages...

Last night, as part of my pre-Oscar movie-going frenzy I went to see “Up In The Air.” I remain haunted by Ryan Bingham and the look on his face when his lover tells him he is a parenthesis. In the beginning of the film Ryan and Alex seem to be cut from the same fabric – embracing aloneness; looking for entertainment; going back to their corners. Then something happens and Ryan’s heart opens up to possibilities beyond his own private universe. He begins to fall in love. Even more, he decides to share the news with the woman he loves only to discover that she was more like him that he was. Ryan: I thought I was part of your life. Alex: I thought we signed up for the same thing… I thought our relationship was perfectly clear. You are an escape. You’re a break from our normal lives. You’re a parenthesis. Ryan: I’m a parenthesis? I’ve been on both sides of that conversation. In years gone by I have been like Ryan and Alex – cool, falsely compassionate, struggling to mitigate my own ...

How many chances do we get? Are there a finite number of times for a do-over or do we get as many chances as we make for ourselves? An endless cycle of failing, trying and succeeding constantly swirls around me. Each new turn surprises me even though there can be nothing more certain than this cycle of change. Fail; try; succeed. Fail; try; succeed. Fail; try; succeed. As I’ve gotten a bit older I’ve become more Zen about the cycles. The one thing I feel sure of is that each one is no better than the other. Each cycle offers its lesson. I’ve struggled these past few years to be more open – telling my story; exposing the mysteries of hot flashes and my tears; bearing my heart on the pages of my book. In spite of my efforts, I have not been completely honest with myself. I’ve been spinning out of control. No one knew, not even me, and so the spinning continued. Finally, realizing I was dizzy, I discovered that all I had to do was to reach out my hand and everyone that loves me g...

I've been sitting here editing pages from THANKSGIVING (the novel I'm working on) and thought I'd share the first couple of pages.... Just a little tease and perhaps a little inspiration for contributions to the Starving Artist Fund so I can finish it ;-) November 26, 2009 Rita was at a complete loss. Thanksgiving had always been her favorite day of the year and with three short syllables her daughter had driven a stake through its heart and killed the holiday forever. It was raining sideways in New York and the wind whipped between the buildings. Rain and sleet mixed with the hot tears streaming down Rita’s face. She knew where she was going and she was determined to get there before she lost her anger, but she wasn’t exactly sure what she would do when she got there. The adrenaline racing through her body was making her dizzy. Stopping to catch her breath beneath an awning at 181st Street, Rita realized she had run out of the house with her handbag but without her co...

I cried for the next two days. The night The Bartender left I cried myself to sleep. When I woke up the next morning I cried because I could still smell him on the pillow next to me. I couldn’t seem to get dressed so I thought a bubble bath would make me feel better. I surprised myself by the sound of my own sobs as they echoed against the bathroom tile – the same bathroom where he had lovingly washed my hair as we showered together. My cries came from a place so deep inside that I cannot even describe it. My sorrow is physical and I am consumed by it. I finally got myself out the door and into my office. The phone rang and it was The Bartender. He called to see how I was doing. I had asked him not to call. He said he wouldn’t call, but there he was on the phone saying he missed me and talking about how his day was going. I barely got through the rest of the day. My tears would spring forth for no reason at all and I didn’t know what to do with them. I reached out to girlfri...

It is date day. He calls me and I explain that I find myself in his home town. He offers to drive me home and to take me out in the city. Without hesitation I agree. So much for the mad planning of menopausal women. Frantically, I shower and dress while having a hot flash. It is August, and while my friend is also having hot flashes, her husband is very thin, never hot and has no understanding of why I am sweating, swelling, yelling, crying and gasping for breath. I have fifteen minutes to be ready. The solution? Teething rings left in the freezer from years gone by placed between and under each breast. I am just beginning to breathe normally and the doorbell rings. My friend and I are paralyzed. Her husband befuddled. Insisting that my friend stay in the kitchen – I know her nose was pressed up against the window as I left – I go to answer the door for my mystery date. He is exactly what he represented. He is young, cute and smart. Stepping out with my most vivacious self, I hopped in...