Van Life Has Changed Me...

Van life is challenging on a good day, although I can say now after three months it's getting better. I often wonder how it will affect my life in general. Will it be a positive influence overall or will it be one big regret? Will I eventually have nightmares and nightly ruminations about van dwelling much like I have been tormented about past jobs for most of my life? 

A friend of mine recently pondered about aging and as people get older they tend to migrate toward conservative, conventional thinking and become narrow minded, stuck in their ways while lacking in flexibility and opened-minds. I pondered back, maybe as we age we become wise, knowing what we like and what we don't? I think about this and wonder how van life will change me and how it already has. Here are some of the ways I feel I have changed from this experience in just three months (I may add to the list later):

10.) Buying in Bulk No More! I used to buy in bulk to get the best deals: cases of toilet paper and paper towels, packages of toothbrushes, etc. I still shop like that if I see a sale I want multiples. There is absolutely no extra room in a van. This forces me to rethink my spending habits and hopefully adjust my mindset. I still have three gallons of Ecos laundry detergent in my van. Eventually it'll get used freeing up more space, but now that each gallon is up to $30 (I bought them for $8 each!), they stay.

9.) I've become a non-toxic laundromat assessment expert. That is my new title. Impressive, eh? Prior to living in a van, I think I might have entered a laundromat twice in my life. I now know if the laundromat doesn't have top loading washers, don't even bother as other machines are too toxic to use since the detergent trays harbor the stink of Gain and other nasty poisons. They cannot be cleaned enough to be safe. I know this. I've tried. I'm thinking if van life ever ends I'll start a non-toxic laundromat business. There is definitely a need.

8.) I'm masquerading as a dog lover. To be clear, I don't hate dogs. I hate bad dog owners. My motto, "No such thing as a bad dog only bad dog owners." A majority of van dwellers have dogs: barking dogs, roaming dogs, shitting dogs, howling dogs, smelling dogs. There is no benefit to look like you hate the people you are camped next to and looking like you hate their dog is way worse. So I am friendly as fuck. I know all the dogs' names. I call them over to me. I snuggle and give them love. Recently, I house sat for some friends. Their son lives on the property and has FIVE barking dogs. FIVE!!?? My personal hell. But those dogs came up to the front door every morning and I dutifully went outside to greet them, talked baby talk, and gave them pets. I'm convinced I am possessed by some dog demon. Who would have ever thought?

7.) No-preparation food. I currently do not have a refrigerator, however, this is soon to be remedied. For many reasons, I now prefer no-cook, no-clean up meals. Cooking is a major endeavor that entails hauling out all the equipment from the back of the van, setting up, actual cooking, then clean up that utilizes a minimum of a gallon of water. Water is precious in van life. Bottom line, food preparation is a messy harassment. It's exhausting. My old rug is evidence sporting unsightly stains, general discoloration, and burn marks. I now avoid cooking inside the van, but bad weather sometimes requires it. My diet restricts processed food, restaurant food, leftovers, besides the long list of banned products which makes feeding myself a challenge anyway, but sometimes when the weather is bad or I'm just tired, I throw all caution to the wind and opt for a restaurant meal, or any non-cookable food out of the grocery store. After a lifetime of daily and elaborate healthy food preparation, this is so different!!

Before the rug was stained and burned...see it in the background?

6.) Exercise. I exercise now more than I ever have in my life! My Bluetti weighs 60 lbs and for a while before I acquired solar power, I used to have to lug it to the side or back of the van to charge it. I'm constantly crawling under the bed looking for things or curling up to fit into tight spaces. I am up and down the side steps, climbing my telescopic ladder to wash solar panels or the van, hoisting myself into the front seat, or catapulting myself into bed which is much like the bunk beds I had when I was a kid only without a ladder. I carry heavy glass jugs of water, move supplies, reorganize totes, crawl under the van, and transfer gallons of water to buckets. Today I lifted and transported a 40 lb. bag of pine pellets from the hardware store to my van. This is not uncommon and it's never-ending. Never mind the constant reorganization of my storage unit and I still try to walk everyday. I constantly think, I am way too old for these acrobats and deep knee bends (let alone any bends!). I worry about overexertion which will trigger autoimmune attacks, but it is what it is. I am feeling fine. My muscles are stronger, I haven't pulled anything out of place, and my stamina is increasing. 

5.) I'm working on a laptop after a lifetime of working on only a desktop. I swear a lot. It tends to do what it wants when it wants, and I'm constantly having to stop and correct the problems. It's a much slower process. Besides the screen is so damn small.

4.) Starfucks. I don't have internet in my van (yet) so I am required to find it out in the wild. Starfucks is one of those places. They used to allow people to walk in without buying anything to use their stores and bathrooms which I think is very good customer service. I could sit there all day and work for free which is outstanding marketing. This is a company that makes millions in profits overcharging people for drinks that might cost them 25 cents in supplies. I would think they can afford to allow people to use their facilities because a majority of their addicted caffeine-fiends will buy their overpriced products anyway to cover for the rest of us.

4:30am...the best time to visit. So quiet!

Unfortunately, the company decided they needed more money and imposed a purchasing "entrance fee" in order to sit in their store and use their bathroom. I don't drink caffeine or sugar, but I started buying a small cup of plain coffee if anything to avoid the stink eye of the counter peons. One of those peons yelled at me one morning, "IT'S NOT SMALL, IT'S TALL!" Oh, marketing bullshit. What a waste of $2.71. (Do the math times 30 that is how much it costs a month to use their internet almost more expensive than actual internet service!) A couple times I gave the cup of coffee to a homeless guy begging at the counter or someone sitting without a drink (oh! horrors!). Then I switched to a small (TALL!) glass of apple juice that within an hour would knock me on my butt from the sugar. I finally switched to water. $3.20 for a small (TALL!) bottle of water! What a rip! But at least I can use it and because I've started buying water every morning, the peons no longer glare at me.  I never used to patronize Starfucks. My favorite location claims to be the largest in the country. I find a corner to hide in and at 4:30am, there are few people in the store. They play good music. A few hours later when it starts getting crowded from all those caffeine-fiends needing their fix, I leave. It works for now. I look forward to getting internet in my van....

3.) I have become a plastic hoarder! I never used to buy plastic Ziplock bags. Plastic destroys the environment and pollutes the oceans. I am now addicted. Everything I own in the van is plasticized in a freezer bag. I buy them in different sizes. They keep everything contained and dry. Ziplock is the best brand. I also hoard plastic grocery bags and use them for a variety of bigger things that don't fit in a Ziplock such as document containment, garbage, and poop. They don't work well for urine as most are not water-tight, but when one needs to poop, using two bags, plus a Ziplock, plus a third bag works well. Sometimes I will go into a store, buy five items and  come out with each item in a plastic bag. Other times I just grab a handful as I'm ready to leave. I worry one day Walmart security will stop me and accuse me of theft. Although most stores utilize the thin, lightweight plastic bags, some stores have really thick, heavier plastic grocery bags. However, all plastic grocery bags are sturdy enough for carrying heavy groceries and are so handy for a variety of needs when living in a van.

2.) Walmart-ness. I boycotted Walmart for years, especially during the Bush and Dump presidencies because Walmart supports the Republican Party. I find in a van I'm less concerned about politics and truthfully, I just don't give a damn what a bunch of rich people who have overthrown the country do with their time. There is nothing I can control, nothing I can change, so why should I stress over this? Now I shop at Walmart everyday. This is the store with the cheapest water refills. They also sell high priced bathroom bags for camping, those Ziplocks I'm addicted to, vinegar, ammonia, and yogurt all at a cheaper price than other stores. I don't buy food at Walmart. I'm not that crazy, but they do have some gluten-free and organic products. Walmart is everywhere so I always have a place to get supplies and I'm usually shopping at 6am when there are no lines. Most Walmarts allow vans to park in their parking lots overnight. I have never done this, but if in a pinch late at night needing a place to stay, that's where I know I can go. As a van dweller, Walmart is now my friend.

1.) One of my greatest pet peeves are people who wear pajamas in public, usually flannel, printed pajama bottoms, but I have also seen a full set of pink printed outfits with matching bunny slippers walking right down the street. I've always considered these people failing miserable at fashion and just plain lazy. GET DRESSED, PEOPLE! I am now thinking maybe all this time I have missed the point!? Maybe pajama-wearing people are the free thinkers? Those not concerned about what others think? Only caring about being exceptionally comfortable? Are they the hippies of our current day and age? I am considering as a van dweller, I should be wearing pajamas!! I love my pajamas and it's not like I get to wear them "around the house" anymore! This thinking is SO RADICAL! I have not yet gone to the lingerie-wearing dark side although yesterday I was modeling my brightly striped pajama bottoms while I was sealing up holes in the bottom of the van only because they are old and I figured if I got oil and dirt all over them, it wouldn't matter. I had a visitor!! Did I flinch or run to hide? Nope. I proudly wore my PJ pants in public. I think about it all the time and I'm close to becoming a full-time free spirit. Soon....Maybe.

I think I've become a person that just doesn't give a rat's ass about things that used to bother me, less anal retentive and compulsive, less judgmental, and less stuck in my ways? I have become an ultra free thinker and doer! I think van life might be contradicting the ill effects of aging!!

The Man Hater

MCS is isolating, as we all know. Besides the need to self-protect 24/7 and besides the constant irritability that comes with each toxic exposure, I prefer my solitude. People just drive me nuts. I have no patience for them.

However, this year I have decided I need to be less reclusive. I need to meet new people, make new friends, form alliances, and find support. This is my New Year's Resolution and I'm doing a darn good job at putting myself out there, attempting to be less isolated, and being more friendly. However, believe me when I say, it's been a challenge.

Lately I've become talkative to anyone who will listen. I force myself. How else am I to meet new people if I don't expose myself? No engagement and I am invisible. My victims are the grocery store people, the librarians, the postal workers, people on the street. It's difficult for me. It somehow feels like a violation of privacy which is a clear indication of how reclusive I've become. I'm still not friendly with my neighbors. One step at a time.

So...When my postal guy said, "I know someone who is just like you."

My first question was, "What do you mean like me?" (I really need to check my apprehension if I want to meet new people.)

"Chemically sensitive." Really? Out in the middle of no where? On the edge of civilization? Someone who is chemically sensitive? Unbelievable. (I really need to check my skepticism.)

He asked if I was willing to share my email address and he'd deliver it. (He's a great postal guy!) He told me the Man goes to his church. Church-going didn't sound like chemical sensitivity to me.  Hmmm...My apprehension and skepticism was raging. Do I listen to my instincts or venture forth for some risk-taking people encounters?

I asked, "Is the Man weird? I mean is he going to stalk me or kill me or create so much stress my life would end up in the sewer?"

Postal guy didn't think so, but he informed me the Man is an artist. Oh! OK. I'm intrigued. A new artist friend would be good, someone who would not poison me if indeed he is really chemically sensitive.

I waited for about a month, but never received an email. I thought maybe the Man decided it was not a good idea and I was fine with that because I was having second thoughts myself. I like no stress in my life. I like feeling safe. The next time I saw the postal guy I ask if he gave the Man my email. He said yes he did, and he would check. The next day I received a note card in my mailbox addressed to my first name with the address added in another person's handwriting. His note was very cryptic. Or maybe he just wasn't good at writing notes? What does, "I feel for you in this new year" mean exactly? Hmmm...my instincts flared.

I emailed the Man. Much of his writing was incomprehensible, but he seemed pleasant, and I was determined to find myself a new fragrance-free artist friend so I threw all caution to the wind. We shared how we became chemically sensitive. The Man was poisoned in an industry job. I wondered if the Man had some brain damage which made writing (thinking) (spelling) difficult. We agreed to meet at a local park on Sunday morning. I worried. Is he weird? Will he stink? Oh god, this is a bad idea!

So Sunday morning I drive to the park chanting, "Be brave. Take a risk." I could see someone sitting at a picnic table halfway across the park. Is it the Man? Why is he sitting so far away? I walked toward him. He's all splayed out on the picnic bench leaning back against the picnic table, arms wide across the table, legs apart, nose stuck up in the air, refusing to look toward me. I kept wondering if his unfriendly, arrogant, self-righteous demeanor was just because he was nervous. I was nervous. I don't like meeting new people. There is always too much at stake. He had to have seen me approach him, but he refused to look at me. I walked right up to him and asked, "Are you the Man?"

He responded without hesitation, but still refusing to look at me, "Sometimes I'm not sure."

I yelled, probably louder than necessary, but feeling pissed off at his apathetic attitude and rude insensitive inconsideration. "ARE YOU THE MAN OR NOT?!" Am I wrong to have expected him to get up off his ass and at least attempt to meet me half way through the park rather than have me grovel for his attention?

He jerked to attention, finally looking at me, and stuttered, "Oh, oh, yes, I am the Man."

I sat. We talked. It was friendly. He didn't stink. We discussed MCS. I asked him if he was following any health protocols or reading any books. No, he doesn't read because he's far to busy with life. Really? His arrogance was nauseating. I suggested a dietary plan since he was having so many bad allergy symptoms. He talked about himself constantly and he kept lying to me. About everything. I have a really good sense for lying especially when the liar keeps contradicting himself. He kept repeating how honest, respectful and moral he is. I wondered why he feels he must sell me on his honesty? After a while I started excusing myself to leave, but he'd keep stopping me with another question. Eventually I got up, said good-bye, and started walking away. He yelled after me, "OK. Now what is next?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do we do next?"

I told him, "Now we go home and the next time we email we'll say 'Hello friend, how are you?'" He seemed perturbed. Clearly he wasn't interested in just a friendship, but he wasn't taking my subtle hints and he obviously misinterpreted my emails that explained my friendship goals. I felt sick to my stomach. I probably should have again explained our relationship right there, but truthfully, I didn't think he would take it well and thought an email might be safer.

As expected, the next email he went off on how it would have been a perfect date if we had a picnic. Clearly, the Man was looking for a love connection. I made it clear this was not a date nor a love connection, but only a friendship. He became defensive. He blamed it on society for making people not appreciate his honesty. Whoa. I wrote back to him told him it was ridiculous to be defensive after he so highly values honesty and I was being honest, but more importantly, if our relationship expectations are different, then this will not work. He seemed to accept that, but then he decided he needed to send me a lengthy list of facts about himself. I thought it strange how much I know about him and how little he knows about me. He hardly asked me any questions about myself.

He began emailing me continuously with a play-by-play of his daily activities, more lies, and more justification for his perfect behavior. We argued about everything especially our impending relationship.

Since I was busy with my own life, I couldn't respond to every email. The Man emailed again stating I was going to support him with his health issues and told me he would do the diet but he expected me to supervise and pick at him to death.  Clearly he was under the impression this was my responsibility as a woman and his most-excellent new friend.

He informed me, "We've known each other for five hours."

My instincts were screaming RUN! HIDE! Amidst the feelings of suffocation and stress, like the good, well-trained man-pleasing woman I am from a generation long, long ago, I tried to second guess his intentions and his motivation. I thought about giving him excuses and blaming myself for not being more patient, understanding, and compliant. Should I be more forgiving? He's chemically sensitive, after all. Then I questioned as a reclusive, chemically sensitive person if I am the same: emotionally needy, high maintenance, demanding, and self-centered with a tendency for pathological bullshitting in hopes of manipulating someone into liking me. Is that me? Maybe? Damn, I hope not. Does he deserve my unconditionally devoted attention after five hours of talking about himself?

After lecturing him on gender roles and the archaic expectations of men in a male dominant society, I told him he was too high maintenance and he needed to find a woman who was willing to give him undivided attention. Although I didn't say this, I figured he goes to a Christian church. There must be a whole harem of subservient women there he can pick from.

He wrote eight emails in the next two hours with each email getting more hostile than the last. He whined about his inability to make a friend in the last fifteen years, then about all the losses he's had to endure as a chemical sensitive person and I have just damage him with yet another loss, then demanding a definition of friendship, then blaming society for not liking how honest he is. Am I that socially inept, manipulative and controlling? I didn't respond to him. I was afraid of what I might say.

I've been in fear the postman will give the Man my last name and my address. He might show up at my door one day. <Shiver> This is why I like being reclusive. I don't like people. Really.

Leave me alone.

I find most older male humans to be man-babies. They expect women to cater to their every need, support them unconditionally, to cook and clean for them, to shop and organize their lives. I know this is the way society has trained them as well as the effects of hormonal changes that make them mushy. The dutiful expectation for a woman is compromise, compromise, compromise. This man-baby encounter has made me ponder why my youthful self was trained to catering to the needs of men that in a society that gifts them control and power: my behavior on dates, my subservience during relationships, and my views of gender roles and marriage. I can look back now on the marriages I have witnessed and don't even wonder why I've never wanted to be "institutionalized" as Cher once referred the state of matrimony. It takes a certain kind of woman to be married. With age comes wisdom and I've pretty much discovered I'm not that kind of woman.

You'd think with feminism we would have grown out of these gender roles, but I don't think so. I met a man a couple years ago who all he wanted to do was to talk about himself and have me talk about him. He also bragged about having a whole stable of women who were catering to his every whim. I backed away from that really fast.

In addition to outdated gender roles, the older I get the more aware I've become of gender inequities. I'm watching the men in my life retire early with a bank load of money from doing menial jobs that didn't require a college education. My highly educated women friends are not retiring early. Why not?  And I've become more aware of the difference in the way society perceives and treats older men vs. women. Older men are distinguished and experienced; older women are hysterical and ugly. I supposed menopause symptoms play a role in this perception.

Last but not least, with age comes health issues. I don't want to be anyone's nurse maid. It's one thing to meet a man when one is young, grow with him, invest in a life with him, then take care of each other as the two of you grow older together, but it's completely different to meet men when they are already old, sick, and needy. I'm not finding anything attractive about it. And I cannot even imagine imposing my own health issues on another person.

I think I've become a Man Hater! Well, in reality, I've never gotten along with manipulative, controlling man-babies with entitlement issues.

I Lost My Bra...

I searched high and low. The last time I remember seeing it I was walking through the kitchen thinking I needed to take it to the laundry. It wasn't in the laundry. It wasn't in the drawer. It wasn't in the bathroom. I started searching in places like the my office, my car, the garage, the refrigerator. Did I throw it in the garbage mentally associating needs to be washed with dirty and garbage? Unfortunately, garbage day was the day before so I was out of luck. This could get very expensive.

You probably don't think losing an undergarment is a big deal. Bras are a dime a dozen. Well, not really. The last one I priced was $30. When did they get so expensive? I only wear very comfortable, 100% cotton sport bras as a rule. This was my one and only "official" bra. White, kind of ugly, straps, hooks. The typical modern torture device for women, but far more supportive (and more uncomfortable) than a sport bra. It's my fancy dress-up bra for when I wear nice clothes. Needless to say, I don't wear it often.

I'm convinced my brain is in a process of serious degeneration. Am I in some kind of downward spiral and too mentally unaware to know? Am I just now noticing?  Is it all the painting I've been doing? Is it just old age? Do others notice?

I don't feel foggy, I just don't have a memory. I can't remember what I've read. I can't remember the definitions of words and have to constantly look up their meaning so I know I'm using them correctly. I turn on the washing machine and not more than five minutes later I don't know why I can hear running water. And I'm losing things.

I bought a roll of painter's tape for artwork. After unpacking the car, the tape disappeared. Last time I remember seeing it I took it out of the bag in the car so I could use the bag for groceries and I placed it in my art tote with my art supplies. I check my art supply tote four times. I looked in the car five times. I checked the refrigerator twice. I checked the garbage. Bathroom, office, bedroom, kitchen shelves. Nope. Did it meet the same fate as my bra?

Hmmm...my bra...garbage. I checked the garbage again only this time I dug down to the before I got home and threw the mail away level. There sits my brand new roll of tape, covered in old food, thankfully still wrapped in its plastic packaging.

Today I opened a drawer I thought was unused, empty. There sat my bra. Keeping company with two old sport bras I thought I had thrown away. I had convinced myself my bra collection was getting sparse because I was throwing the old, ratty ones away. Nope, just forgetfully reorganizing.  I seem to be perpetually confused. Confusion is a brain issue, too. Hmmmm.

This sucks...but I AM finding things! I guess I'll know it's really bad when things disappear forever...unless I don't even notice it! Is this the start of Alzheimer's? God, I hope not.

BTW, do let me know if I start writing incoherently. I might not notice it.

Revelation: Older Women/Younger Men

Today I am pondering the young, gorgeous, grocery god I gazed upon at the co-op a few days ago. In my recent search for menopausal truth, I discovered many new learnings. The most revelatory was why older women are attracted to younger men.

I've always liked younger men. When I was twelve I had a crush on a nine-year old. Three-year age differences aren't a big of deal unless you are in sixth grade and he is in third grade then it's unthinkable. Although I was probably more emotionally and physically mature, sex wasn't even in our vocabulary. He was taller, stronger,  smarter, blonder and tanner. He also lived across the street so it was more of a case of proximity. We spent a lot of time together outside of school, running through fields, trail-blazing in the woods, building forts, and tormenting our younger siblings. It felt incredibly natural at the time, although at school this age difference was taboo.  I would have never bragged about it to my twelve-year-old girlfriends, yet he was far more fun than they were.

Fast forward to the future and my mid-life college years. He was twenty-one. I was thirty. Again, proximity is to blame. We had classes together, both majoring in education, discovered a mutual love of hiking right before a summer break and spent the whole summer backpacking together. I certainly didn't plan a relationship with a kid just outside his teen years. My dad called him "the twelve-year-old" just to torment me. I found the teasing not only irritating, but irrational since my dad was married to a woman half his age. He didn't see the contradiction nor recognize the sexism.

A few years later I dated another adorable twenty-something. I heard through the family gossip one of my snide relatives wondered aloud, "So, which junior high did she find him at?" Amidst the constant disrespectful teasing and humiliation I questioned my attraction and even my sanity. Some of my relatives accused me of feeling old and thinking a younger man would make me feel young. Hmmm...no. This was pre-MCS so I was feeling pretty young at the time. Younger men can be quite gorgeous and youth IS attractive, no doubt. But is that it? Am I that superficial? Or am I immature? I pondered long and hard trying to justify if all the harassment was worth it.

First, I was selective. The younger men I dated were intelligent and fairly mature as well as fun, energetic, and free-spirited. We usually shared common interests like hiking, backpacking, camping, kayaking, scuba diving, and music, and their sense of adventure made them very opened-minded to new experiences. They rarely complained of bad backs or painful joints, and they didn't have prior entanglements like ex-wives or older children that always took priority.

More importantly, I liked that younger men were less controlling. In fact, they would do whatever I wanted. I called the shots. I had the power. Older men, on the other hand, were set in their ways and incredibly manipulative. They were in charge and we did what they wanted. My opinion was of no concern. Constant fighting for a voice wasn't fun. Older men always wanted to get married, too. A more permanent state of control was expected from their generation.

Younger men didn't stink. Their natural body odor usually didn't smell badly and if they even considered wearing cologne or smelly body spray, I'd put my foot down and they'd immediately comply. Younger men also remembered not to wear anything stinky. Memory isn't a problem for a younger man and it was as if I was important enough for them to listen to me and pay attention. Telling older men they can't stink and they perceive it as a threat. There is something to be said for the saying, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks" and you can't change years of nasty habits. They would show up for the next date bathed in stink, feel miffed when I frowned, demand everything is fine, and let me know I should get over myself. I was often treated as a disappointment and my disobedience in need of retraining. I wasn't meek and subservient enough.

I found it strange that my habit of younger men was so repulsive in our culture, but an older man with a younger woman is not only sanctioned, but envied. Society just smiles and claims the man is going through a mid-life crisis. Other men nod their approval and see him as a role model. Who wants to be with an older woman when they can have a young, attractive, compliant girl?

In my twenties, I did go through a stage where I was the younger woman. At the time older men seemed more thoughtful and romantic, as well as employed and stable. They liked going to fancy restaurants and getting dressed up for cultural outings. There was a certain security in our age difference and being young and silly, I liked having someone tell me what to do and how to think. At the time too many boys my age didn't have jobs, drove barely functioning cars, and didn't want to do anything but drink and avoid taking baths so a more mature partner was preferred. Then I grew up....

Granted, times are changing. Now we have "cougars" and "tadpoles" and the idea of strong women dating gorgeous young men isn't as repulsive. Older women have income and with age this gives them power. This has its own disadvantages. However, find online articles about this age difference and the comment section still disapproves. Especially if the woman LOOKS old or isn't as attractive as the younger man then everyone is judgmental. She's obviously taking advantage of him. Youth and beauty still rule and hags are evil. In many indigenous cultures the pairing of a younger man with an older woman is standard practice and not taboo. The older woman is considered the respected teacher. The last twenty-five year old that asked me out I told him he was too young for me. He replied a bit confused, "I'm surprised age would matter to you." He was right. We did have a lot in common and he made me laugh. I was embarrassed society's opinion had taken its toll. Don't tempt me, young cute thing!

So as I'm reading various books on menopause and sexuality I'm finding information on hormones. Our hormone production declines in old age. I think most of us know that. Young women are saturated with estrogen which makes them soft, sweet, nurturing, cuddly, and fertile. Younger men are flooded with testosterone which makes them energetic, aggressive, not so fond of cuddling and always ready to reproduce. The sexual peak for young men is twenty-two. Other than the reproduction potential, the sexes are in opposition.

Older women have less estrogen and more testosterone. This imbalance makes them more energetic, more aggressive, and more authoritarian. Their sexual peak is around thirty-five years old. They know what they want. Old men, on the other hand, lose testosterone and this imbalance makes them more emotional and cuddly. Sexual role reversal with aging is our natural inclination. The age difference we seek is merely our natural tendency to match our hormonal changes and new-found personalities to new partners. Divorce rates are highest in later years because of this. Older women are more compatible with younger men, and older men are more compatible with younger women. It has nothing to do with older people seeking younger partners to feel younger. Older men and younger women like to cuddle. Younger men and older women like to, well...be energetic.

Fascinating. I'm enjoying the idea of aging more and more. It makes me feel brave. Like a cougar.

Call me Yatna...

Call Me Yatna

Welcome to my very own Happy-To-Be-A-Woman Celebration Ritual! 

 

 

 

 

It's also called The Croning Rite and can be found in The Women's Wheel of Life by Elizabeth Davis and Carol Leonard.

 

"This rite of passage is observed when a woman has completed menopause, with no menstruation for a full year. The post menopausal stage heralds the start of a new life phase, when she is to be venerated for her life experience."

 

In other words, this is my very own "Self-Veneration Ceremony" that is to encompass all previous celebrations I missed. I didn't get a Menstrual Celebration Rite which would have kicked off my gender pride initiation and I've never been pregnant so I didn't get a "So-Glad-You-Are-Reproducing Ritual" also known as a baby shower. I say self-veneration because it's really supposed to be done amongst a gathering of women friends and family of all ages so together we can share and learn from each other while at the same time honoring the initiate and her passage into old age. Unfortunately, I have neither family or friends nearby, fragrance-free or available, but that won't stop me!

 

 

The purpose of this ritual is two-fold. First, it is to explore feelings of loss, uncertainty, confusion and even anger that often accompany aging:

 

What the hell is wrong with my body?

 

Will I never be "normal" again?

 

Damn, why did I take my youth for granted?

 

Will I never be allowed to wear t-shirts with cartoons again?

 

Is life over?

 

 

The second purpose is to explore the potential of transition:

 

I can't wait to be wise and powerful.

 

Will I really become psychic?

 

If life expectancy for women is anywhere between 80 and 100, I still have half my life to live!

 

What do I plan to do with all that time?

 

 

The actual ceremony, whether in a group or in solitude, can include many decorative elements such as lighting candles (not going to happen), burning incense (nope), or sprinkling of essential oils (no way). I like the part where each woman takes a turn and shares her life learnings after introducing herself with a "Mother Line."

"I am Catherine, daughter of Charlene, granddaughter of Clara, great-granddaughter of Marie."

 

Then she tells us what she has learned in life, what wisdom she still seeks, or what she must do to complete her life's mission. I think going to a celebration like this when I was young would have been an incredibly validating experience. If every girl did, just think how few of us would approach menopause with such trepidation.

 

I've been pondering my deepest life lessons of wisdom in the last few days. What were my most important learnings? What would I share with others? What would I pass to my daughter [if I had one]?

 

1.) Don't ever have sex with any man who would not make a good father. Just think if we taught girls to be more selective. We might even eliminate unwanted children, child abuse, teenage mothers.

 

2.) Marry only for love.

 

3.) Be proud of who you are and celebrate all those unique qualities that make you different.

 

4.) Be verbally, emotionally, and physically strong enough to defend yourself against anyone who disrespects you.

 

5.) Do what you love and the money will follow.

 

6.) Don't procrastinate. Do it now in case you don't have tomorrow.

 

7.) Be healthy in thought and practice.

 

8.) Think for yourself.

 

9.) Learn as much as possible until the day you die.

 

I reserve the right to modify this list at a later date.

 

What wisdom do I still seek or how do I complete my life's mission?  Or how do I plan to live the second half of my life? I have to admit, this is like a really serious New Year's Resolution. The responsibility is overwhelming. It's a LIFE resolution and much more difficult to ponder. How can I live the second half of my life by improving on the first half? Where do I start? How do I start? This is stressful.

 

 Be brave.

 

 

That says it all. I've had life-long issues with being excessively responsible, paralyzingly cautious and afraid to take chances. It has kept me out of trouble for sure, but I think it would be more fun to get into more trouble.

 

 

After all this brainstorming, sharing, and venerating, the next part of the ceremony is the name change. This is a common Native American tradition in a culture that honors the wisdom of the elderly by giving postmenopausal members new names signifying their new, more authoritative position in the tribe. Very cool. I searched online for names at http://babynames.merschat.com/ which is a website that gives not only the meaning of a name, but it's desire and potential. My real name's desire is solitude...really?? Solitude is very much the opposite of what I want. So I searched for a new name that would fit my mission and real desire. I found Yatna which means perseverance with friendship as the desire, and specialist as the potential. Searching for wisdom is a component of the specialist potential.

 

Call me Yatna...

 

 

Next, "She-Who-Is-Venerated" goes into seclusion and returns later reborn into a new life phase. Hmmm...I don't know if I need anymore seclusion. Every time I do something people-oriented I do feel reborn as if my old life is back so I'll do something dangerous and go shopping or to a movie and call it good.

 

 

To conclude my Happy-To-Be-A-Woman Ceremonial Rite,  my imaginary friends and I would eat massive amounts of chocolate (not going to happen), get drunk on alcoholic beverages (nope), and dance naked in the moon light (maybe).

 

 

 

The Pause: Sequel to The Curse

Menopause. Another one of God's cruel jokes. This word should strike terror in the hearts of young women, but youth tends to shield us from the horrors of life as we skip along believing we are immortal and will never suffer the torment of hot flashes, homicidal rages, suicidal depression, panic attacks, and dried-up vaginas. And from what I've read, those are just of the few highlights.

Try to anticipate what one might experience in the later years and you are met with vague theories and little support from the medical community.  Surprising since menopause has been around since the beginning of human existence. Medicine has been dominated by men for most of history so this really shouldn't be a surprise at all. What I have heard is women normally go through menopause in their 50s and it normally lasts for about two years. OK, that's nice. And what about those of us who would be considered abnormal? One doctor told me he had a patient who didn't go through menopause until she was in her 80s and another told me the hell can last up to ten years. Oh, great.

I have also been told the best indication of your impending experience is your mother. Whatever her experience was, yours will be similar. This is much like the so-called hereditary factors in diseases. Is it really hereditary or is it a common diet and environment? Unfortunately, my mother died when she was 34 years old so if my longevity has anything to do with heredity, I am doomed! I think it should be part of the licensing requirements for parents that mothers must impart this knowledge onto their daughters before they die, if at all possible. If the mother doesn't survive to menopause, then that responsibility should fall on the maternal grandmother. My grandmother didn't impart any knowledge on me, but when she was alive I was young and immortal. I probably wouldn't have listened. I now wish she would have FORCED me to listen!

What are the physiological reasons for these often debilitating symptoms? Besides hormonal imbalances caused by your body disintegrating, no one seems to know. No one knows what causes hot flashes, although between 75 and 85 percent of women have them. Ten percent are incapacitated by them and that leaves about 25 percent of all menopausal women who don't experience them at all. Yet no one knows what causes hot flashes? Hormone replacement therapy is a huge, money-making business for the medical community so why would anyone care about something that might affect their bottom line?

Anytime someone tells me no one knows, my brain screams CHEMICALS! No one knows? Really? No one has figured this out in, oh, 2,000 years?

I've heard of women who go through menopause much earlier than normal due to chemical exposures. One was chemically sensitive due to a pesticide exposure. The other worked for a photocopying company and became incredibly ill due to the photocopying chemicals. Both went through menopause when they were in their thirties. I wonder about my thyroid and adrenal fatigue issues? Are these hormones imbalanced because of my chemical exposure history? That's my guess, especially since I'm already convinced autoimmune diseases are caused by chemicals and my thyroid issues are autoimmune-related.

So as I crept closer and closer to The Pause, I wondered: Would my experience be much worse because I am chemically sensitive to even small amounts of chemicals in everyday, household products, or would my symptoms be less since I avoid chemicals as much as possible. Will I be part of the lucky twenty-five percent of women who never have hot flashes or will my hot flashes be so crippling I'll need to take hormone replacement drugs? My diet is much cleaner than the average, normal American woman, too, devoid of soda pop, caffeine, and processed foods. When I first gave up caffeine all my PMS symptoms went away so maybe I won't have menopause symptoms? I also don't smoke, drink alcohol, do recreational drugs, or put chemicals on my body. I've pondered this for years, eagerly anticipating the conclusion of this life's experiment to find out if all my lifestyle restrictions will finally pay off.

Today I have not had a period for exactly one year, so by definition I am officially in the throes of menopause. My fall from grace, or rather, youth, started about a year and a half ago. First, on and off periods. One every two weeks to two months lasting anywhere from two days to two weeks. Then about six months later for three weeks I had hot flashes. Maybe one or two during the day and every time I would awake during the night. Not to bad either. Hot, but tolerable. OK! I thought,  I can do this! During the winter months I kind of liked them keeping me toasty. I prefer the hot flashes to the cold flashes. Cold flashes are really nasty, but I have only had a few.

The worst thing about the hot flashes is they made me feel damaged. Less than optimum. Hey, my body is decaying! I don't feel obligated to be happy about it just because this is a normal, natural process and a part of aging. It's still embarrassing. (I was also embarrassed about The Curse, too. Bleeding uncontrollably for a week was not my idea of a good time.) I've watched as friends and perfect strangers, grocery checkers and store clerks stop mid-sentence to erratically fan themselves and scream, "OH! GOD! OH! GOD! ANOTHER HOT FLASH". They start stripping off their clothes right there in public. If they didn't make such a huge production out of it, I don't think I nor anyone else in the vicinity would have noticed.  I don't care if I feel like I'm about to explode, I am determined no one is going to know if I have a hot flash. I'm going to ignore it and hope no one notices if I'm burning red hot and dripping sweat.

After three weeks the hot flashes went away only to return, again, four months later. Still relatively mild and most often at night. I say they are mild because I've read about women who wake up so drenched in sweat they must change their nightclothes and sheets in the middle of the night. Or they pass out. I have felt so hot it gets my attention, but at night I don't even have to strip naked or use a fan.

These new hot flashes, however, were preceded by adrenaline rushes. Have you ever had an adrenaline rush when startled? These are more intense, like a prickly, almost painful nerve sensation that starts in the middle of my body (where the adrenal glands are located) and spreads outward all the way to my fingers and toes.  If I'm not fully awake when it starts, I am definitely wide awake by the time it reaches my extremities. Thankfully, it only takes a minute to run its course. I have found little documentation and fewer theories on what causes this, but my assumption is my cortisol is low at night and my body needs to jump start itself in order the have a hot flash. The adrenaline rushes are worse than the hot flashes. They are, however, only at night and only when I wake up in the night. If I am stressed out and waking up often, I'd have them as often. On occasion I'd have a hot flash in the late afternoon, but rarely and without an adrenaline rush. According to tests, my cortisol levels are fine in the afternoon.

Eating any kind of high glycemic food tends to bring on rush-and-flash episodes more often and more intensely. I don't eat sugar, but even a handful of dates will do the trick. Does this coincide with blood sugar levels blamed for middle of the night wakings? Maybe. It makes me wonder if a high carbohydrate diet is responsible for those really intense menopause symptoms I read about. If I gave up dried fruits and rice completely, would ALL my symptoms go away?

I'm thankful I haven't experienced mood swings, panic attacks, skin sensitivities, brain fog, urinary incontinence, or palpitations. I haven't passed out either. Irritability and bitchiness...we'll that's a normal part of being chemically sensitive. It hasn't changed or intensified so I think I'm OK. Knock on wood. I think I'm getting off really easy. Is it the sweetener-free, dairy-free, gluten-free, almost-grain-free, junk food-free, caffeine-free, alcohol-free, and drug-free diet with a chemical-free life? Maybe.

Online websites and articles on menopause-symptom-relief diets suggest avoiding or reducing your intake of caffeine, alcohol, sugar, high-fat foods, high-sodium, hot foods and carbohydrates. Few advise to eliminate them all together. I think they must be afraid to state absolutes for fear the brains of junk food addicts will shut down just thinking about it. If three dried dates can intensify my experience, how can eating the above foods even in small amounts help anyone? I guess these articles are targeting those eating a typical American diet of processed, carbonated, caffeinated, salted, deep-fried, sweetened dishes and any reduction would help. No mention of chemically-induced menopausal symptoms and no suggestion to eliminate everyday poisons like perfumes or scented products.


Foods on the approved list are fruits, vegetables, good fats, calcium-rich foods, iron-rich foods, protein at breakfast, and lots of water. Sounds like the diet I'm on. Some websites also suggest eating tofu which is high in phytoestrogens which mimic estrogen, but I've always heard soy is the number one food everyone should avoid since it is genetically modified and potentially toxic. Anyone with breast cancer in their family history should avoid soy as well as those little genetically modified cells do strange things to breast cells. So creepy. Another site said to eat chocolate. As soon as I read that I lost all confidence and respect for the knowledge they pretended to have. The Internet is full of quacks.

Of course, my menopausal experience is not over. The normal two years isn't up and since I consider myself abnormal, this might be off and on for the next twenty years! Will it get worse before it's all over? I don't have a clue. Still, I'm feeling fortunate. I'm hoping to by-pass the mandatory ten pound weight gain, too. And maybe my boobs won't ever hang down to my knees? Wishful thinking.

I hate getting old.

It sucks.

"I'm Eighty-Eight Years Old!"

I have a hard time imagining myself eighty-eight years old. There are times when I get up from the computer and I'm so stiff I can hardly walk. There are some mornings I get out of bed and the pain in my back paralyzes me. There are afternoons I'm so tired I can't sit up. Some days I just can't imagine how I will make it to my senior years.

If I do live that long, what will it be like? Naturally, I imagine the worst. In a wheelchair? Frail and helpless. Will I be living alone worried how I would protect myself if someone decided to break in to my house?* Will I be living in a care center with other seniors barely able to function? With severe senility? Dementia? Alzheimer's? Parkinson's? Will anyone visit me? Will I be utterly alone and dependent? Living in a ratty old nightgown and suffering from incontinence?  Will the nurses treat me badly? Will I need to worry about walking down the street in fear of tripping and breaking my hip? Will someone view me as an easy target, unable to fight back, and mug me?**  Will my senior years be filled with fear and worry?

OR will I be energetic and healthy? Will I go for walks everyday in the park? Will I still be picking u-pick berries in the summer? Will I still live in my house, alone and self-sufficient, and plant my garden every spring. Will I be proud of my giant zucchini? Will I wear a bright, red knitted hat?

That's my neighbor, Hazel. Today she came over for a visit. I am having a garage sale in a couple weeks and she wanted to get rid of some of her books. I volunteered to sell them for her. She gave me two big bags of books and claimed they were too heavy for me to carry. So she carried one while I carried the other and escorted me all the way to my house. I kept assuring her I could carry both, but defiantly she said, "No, you can't." I know better than to argue with her. I gave her a tour of my garden and she "ooo-ed and aaah-ed" appropriately. Then she said out of the blue and full of pride while surrounded by pumpkin vines,

"I'm eighty-eight years old!"

I said, "That is an amazing accomplishment! Should I be so lucky to live that long!"

Hazel often updates me on her age so it wasn't much of a surprise, but she sounded so surprised and delighted when she said it. Her joy was infectious. She went on to explain she had no idea why she has lived so long. Out of five siblings, she's the only one left. She hopes to live to be ninety. I hope she does, too.

I do wish I knew her secret. Not necessarily how she lived so long, but how she lived so long and maintained her independence and health. I wanted to ask her questions about being afraid or feeling frail and helpless, but it felt too intrusive. Instead, I gave her kudos and applause for such an outstanding accomplishment.

Hazel's neighbor, Irene, lives across the street and they have been friends for over fifty years. Last year when I took Hazel blueberry picking she told me, "Irene is getting old." Irene is eighty-six. HA! Both ladies walk every morning around the park. Irene also lives alone and she still drives. I see her out in her yard clipping hedges, mowing lawns, pulling weeds, and painting her porch. It amazes me. Don't get me wrong, she moves really, really slowly, but she's still out there doing it. She says it keeps her young. She also has an awesome sense of humor. I always tell them both I'm available if they ever need help with anything, but neither has ever taken me up on the offer.

One day I came walking around the corner to see Irene painting her fence. Really!!?? If I asked if she needed help, she would have said no. I would have felt I was being disrespectful not to listen to her. So...I didn't ask. I turn and left before she saw me, quickly walked home, changed into my paint clothes, grabbed a paint brush and joined her.  She tried to get me to go away and I stood my ground. "Too late. I'm helping. I'm already here and working." We got it done in record time. She doesn't understand - I'm hoping some young whipper-snapper offers me help when I'm her age. I'm working on future karma.

When I grow up I want to be just like them. Full of life, active and independent. I plan to live to be eighty-nine.

* A few years ago two drug addicts broke into an eighty-year-old woman's house thinking she had money. They hit her over the head and killed her. This didn't happen in, say, New York or Detroit. This happened in my little town.

**A year or so ago I saw security camera footage of a woman in her eighties mugged. The jerk punched her in the face and took her purse in the lobby of her apartment building. That gives me nightmares.