In the podcast I recently listened to, Elizabeth Gilbert’s Magic Lessons: Season 1, Episode 11, one of the people Liz talks to — a radiant-voiced woman, voice like maple sap being stirred in a cooking pot — is ebullient with a new passion for her creative work.
At the end of her segment, we find out that she’s decided to write her first book about her mom.
When the maple-voiced woman said that, something let go of something else, inside of me. It was as though my long-still ovaries released a sudden joyful egg, cradled in a salty tear.
Too much? OK.
Anyway. I love my mom.
Last night I went to sleep trying to puzzle out what I should really be writing about. This morning I woke up thinking I, too, should really be trying to write a book about my mom.
But I have an ADD-type mind. Having mentioned ovaries, now all I want to talk(/write) about is menopause, and my mostly-wonderful experience of it. For me, it happened at the ripe old age of 42, not long after my fourth child, baby Z, which was the last child I’d planned to have. It was as though, at that time, my body was exactly in sync with my thoughts/wishes.
I still get those delightful heat waves called hot flushes/flashes, from time to time. For someone like me who dislikes cold, they are an effusive pleasure, a sudden gift that radiates from the solar plexus outward, a feverish excitement that feels better than the effects of wine.
My taste for sparkling wine has dropped, once again, by the wayside. I try a glass of it from time to time, but it’s as though someone’s stealthed a bitter pill into the liquid starshine. My tongue makes mid-palate retroflex L’s, in reaction.
I take what stardust I can gather from the ink-blue sky, above the black branches, instead.
Image credit: “Maple Leaf” By Lethutrang101 on Pixabay
P.S. Please visit Bernie’s blog. Bernie is wonderful. And she wrote about her mother.
Nadine inhales & exhales words & images from current vantage point in Zone of Emptiness, France. If you wish to contribute and/or show appreciation, please recommend/like and/or comment — or send a quick email via the contact page. Thank you for reading. 🖤