Since taking up my new position in the vast estate of menopause, I’ve mostly walked head first with a sense of determination to succeed at what essentially has been around longer than the archaic word for estate as a condition or particular state. It is also a period that holds a different awareness to what was and what is for all women’s lives during this time. There are several helpful books, but I feel we each come to our own “guide” based on collective readings and shared experiences. Having drawn upon both fields, I am at times overwhelmed but also embrace more opportunities to surrender. It’s an adventure, having to clear a path through a jungle that lies ahead.
Some days, I enter that jungle dragging my arms like an orangutan, and just as hairy. But hey, when you’re wading through the affects of various of hormones (or lack thereof), and being single, the amount of body hair that has grown to form a new covering in new places, doesn’t really matter. What is odd, is that new covering doesn’t seem to matter to those whom I’ve received offers for a date. Let’s just keep us in one big happy species, and call them ‘senior orangutans’. At 50, I’m not that old, so to get asked out by a grandad, seemingly Methuselah’s sibling, is simply not acceptable. I can accept some things during menopause, but not others. I can accept mail offers from AARP, discounts for hearing aids, and funeral services (it’s good to get a head start). These offers will in fact outlive me, but the offer where I was asked out on a date who won’t survive the walk from their car to Golden Corral’s $7.95 all-you-can-eat lunch special.
Thankfully, Brad showed up. Not for lunch, but in last weekend’s magazine of The New York Times. There he was, almost as delectable as a cube of milk chocolate, in a posh suit and a chunky, chain-linked bracelet to go with it, modeling what he’s always had, and always will. Mom glanced over to the page I had stopped at.
“Brad Pitt looks good in his older years,” she said.
“Too good!” I replied.
“Don’t I know it,” Mom chuckled.
It seems that neither Mom at 84 years, or I, have put men on pause. From past conversations, Mom has confirmed that she continues to have dreams “of that kind” as she once described. Her mind misfires occasionally (as does mine, more so now in menopause), but it’s never on pause. Neither are her opinions. I’m thankful. That night, there was a dream. They say our subconscious is revealed in our dreams. Well, that’s another piece of information from some guide that doesn’t apply to me in my journey of menopause. My dream did not bring Brad Pitt to me, but instead Hugh Laurie! Oh Brad! So near and yet so far from the maddening mind of menopause!
