Sacred Fire of Pele, Goddess of Hawaii Volcano, painting by Olga Shevchenko
Meet or retreat from Carine’s cast of characters in her toned down rant about “the change”
You don’t know how happy you are that I didn’t post the blog I originally wrote titled “I Hate F#*@!-ing Menopause”. I remembered just in time that I’m supposed to embrace this era of transformation, of aging with grace, etc., etc., blah, blah, blah. To be 100 percent honest, I don’t love growing old but I’ve made my peace with it. I’m even doing it au naturel—never tried Botox, stopped dyeing my hair, chucked my distaste for exercise. But, menopause? Yes, that’s me in the corner over there, waving the large white flag.
My original blog was full of anger and super dirty swear words. Aren’t you glad I reconsidered? Although, to tell you the truth, I had a great time ripping Madam Menopause to shreds. I thought I was really funny, but people who love me said to keep it to myself or forever suffer pangs of regret since the Internet is the elephant that never forgets. Or, they made careful suggestions about how to tweak it. So I shelved the report on my wide-eyed midnights spent wondering whom to yell at; and of my epiphanous threat to Mr. Flash: the intention to create a brand new antiperspirant for the ENTIRE body. HA! HA! HA! No more sweating EVER AGAIN! Read more
As if being a mother wasn’t difficult enough; Prudence illustrates what its like to be a mother of an autistic child, navigating familial relations, good intentions and bureaucratic ignorance
The popsicle stick-thin figure in rumpled pajamas who is my 16-year-old son stands in the darkened corridor in a fighter’s stance, small white hands clenched into fists. His face, lit by a shaft of light from the laundry room, is contorted with rage at being roused from his slumber—probably by me shutting the dryer door.
Casey’s eyes dart from the lit laundry room to the clothes in my arms; then to the crack of light under his brother’s bedroom door.
This could go any direction, including ones I cannot imagine, so I float a storyline: “I’m going downstairs with these clean clothes; time to go back to bed.”
“Mom? Who are you talking to?” comes from behind my oldest son’s door.
I dart a warning glance at Casey, whose free-floating anxiety wicks towards the sound of his brother’s voice. He erupts, “Shut-up! I’m trying to sleep!”
“You shut-up. You’re the one who’s yelling,” comes big brother’s voice. Read more
Recently Fifty is the New celebrated its third anniversary. Wow! Three years? Time sure does fly when you’re sharing the virtual stage with smart, witty, passionate women.
When we started out there were few, but these days “midlife blogs” are everywhere. Sometimes, when I want to throw in the blogazine towel, I find myself inspired by the writings of Carine, Connie, Christie, Melissa and Pru, such amazing women, and deeply touched by the community that supports us. Readers, both old and new, you are the reason we do this. Your warm bear hugs and smart comments keep us keeping on. We thank you.
There have been so many excellent posts in the past three years that it’s time we reached into the archives. For part one of our anniversary celebration, I’ve asked the Bloggerinas to pick a favorite post written by a fellow contributor.
Here are their selections. Enjoy the “best of” Fifty is the New… and let us know what you think!