Recently, it’s as if my husband and I are standing on stage with an attentive audience as we perform an organ recital of our own that has nothing to do with emitting musical tones but rather one that barks out body aches and pains. Our knees scream out in an A minor as our backs bellow in G. Not to mention the bass vibrations resounding tones that reflect our daily loss of memory as we search for our missing keys, phones, glasses and wallets.

It appears we have crossed the mid-life mark and seem to be hobbling down a path with arrows pointing “For Senior Citizens Only” …offering great discount rates by the way!

I noticed yesterday, most of what my husband and I say to each other has to do with our physical discomforts. Now given, he did have a free pass earlier in the year as he was battling cancer, which thankfully has been eradicated.  But as of late we seem to be in harmony as we perform a constant dribble of:

“My back is out again, My neck hurts, My sinuses are flaring up, I hardly slept a wink last night, I screwed my knee up, I’m so exhausted, I lost my keys”, et al. And the ending stanza, a quiet hum that whispers, “Where have I gone?”

I made a request of my husband upon which it was agreed: No more ‘organ recital’ complaining unless it’s requires immediate attention or is an emergency.

The first few days hardly a word was exchanged between us as we held back our physical profundities. I was surprised to realize that we had misplaced the ability to share thoughts and feelings that were not linked to our aging bodies!

A month has now passed and outside of a small detour of talking about other people’s aging bodies, I’m happy to say that not only have we regained the ability to orate on subjects ranging from light banter to weightier matters, but we have also noticed the aforementioned physical aches and pains seem to have become only light background noise to our ‘soul awakened’ days!

Perhaps proving it to be true as spoken of Sir Charles Lyell in 1863, “…the improvable reason of Man himself — presents us with a picture of the ever-increasing dominion of Mind over Matter” (The Geological Evidence of the Antiquity of Man)…

…and most assuredly had we continued to perform cantatas on our biological witherings, we would have produced only dissonant chords resembling dirges for the decaying, and in turn, disabling our purpose and numbing our joy.

A reminder: Aging is what we make of it. Now go climb a mountain or a hill or just go for a walk and let these words create a melody that resound in your mind and spirit as you sing, “These are the best days of my life!”

Occasionally bumping elbows slumped one next to her donning wrinkled, elastic-waist kakis, chipped toenail polish and a stained GAP ball cap obviously hiding roots that were screaming for a touch up. With pale, puffy calves peeking out from tattered Capri’s and blending into a buttered popcorn-grease stained seat, I observed her out of the corner of my eye.

I had lost interest in the movie. Glancing sideways as if there was something worth noticing, I took inventory of this faultless reproduction of a young Cybil Sheppard crossed with a pinch of Bo Derek (name’s only my generation will recognize) while I, with popcorn kernels nuzzled between my slightly whitened teeth wondered, “What the hell has happened here”?!? And I was curious. “How does she do that…and sit up so straight and make it look so natural”?

I sat reeling in Youth as it wafted from her pores. It was like an out-of-reach dream of a time long ago when all my joints worked together holding up unyielding flesh as it bounced from perch to perch without the now, all too familiar joggle, wiggle and waggle.

So, in the glow of the big screen, I sat up a bit straighter and made a vow to myself to get back to the gym thinking for a moment that this would perhaps alter time’s cruel corporeal erosion. Instead I felt jealous and sad. And I would love to say in this moment I gleaned a morsel of encouraging insight from this unkind awakening about accepting this thing termed as ‘best time of your life’. Instead I comforted myself with the thought, “She probably can’t spell and has trouble reading the Huffington Post”…

But then again, I must admit there was a voice in the back of my mind reminding me if I do want this to be the ‘best time of my life’, all I have is the ‘Right Now’…

because the ‘Was Then’ can make me sad…

and the ‘What Is To Come’ incite fear.

And isn’t it true that adjusting perceptions in the ‘Right Now’ can bring about the most amazing gratitude?

I’ll adjust tomorrow. My “Right Now’ is still pissed and confused.

Occasionally bumping elbows slumped one next to her donning wrinkled, elastic-waist kakis, chipped toenail polish and a stained GAP ball cap obviously hiding roots that were screaming for a touch up. With pale, puffy calves peeking out from tattered Capri’s and blending into a buttered popcorn-grease stained seat, I observed her out of the corner of my eye.

I had lost interest in the movie. Glancing sideways as if there was something worth noticing, I took inventory of this faultless reproduction of a young Cybil Sheppard crossed with a pinch of Bo Derek (name’s only my generation will recognize) while I, with popcorn kernels nuzzled between my slightly whitened teeth wondered, “What the hell has happened here”?!? And I was curious. “How does she do that…and sit up so straight and make it look so natural”?

I sat reeling in Youth as it wafted from her pores. It was like an out-of-reach dream of a time long ago when all my joints worked together holding up unyielding flesh as it bounced from perch to perch without the now, all too familiar joggle, wiggle and waggle.

So, in the glow of the big screen, I sat up a bit straighter and made a vow to myself to get back to the gym thinking for a moment that this would perhaps alter time’s cruel corporeal erosion. Instead I felt jealous and sad. And I would love to say in this moment I gleaned a morsel of encouraging insight from this unkind awakening about accepting this thing termed as ‘best time of your life’. Instead I comforted myself with the thought, “She probably can’t spell and has trouble reading the Huffington Post”…

But then again, I must admit there was a voice in the back of my mind reminding me if I do want this to be the ‘best time of my life’, all I have is the ‘Right Now’…

because the ‘Was Then’ can make me sad…

and the ‘What Is To Come’ incite fear.

And isn’t it true that adjusting perceptions in the ‘Right Now’ can bring about the most amazing gratitude?

I’ll adjust tomorrow. My “Right Now’ is still pissed and confused.

Fortunately I had bought and downloaded season four of the popular TV series Mad Men as I had missed it on it’s original airing. With a double click on the  ”watch now” tab,  I walked down the halls of Sterling Cooper Draper & Pryce. I fit into the slim stylish 60′s dresses, ratted my bouffant, and even smoked a couple of Lucky Strikes. I understood at a deeper level why Joan was frustrated, Don discontent and around the 10th episode I decided that all the characters needed my help. Just a little assistance with the navigation of their lives.

Let’s start with Don. Oh Don, Don, Don. So filled with talent, potential and at the core of who you are, a genuine good heart. But could you be any more lost?? The problem is, you don’t know who you are. You think you know but are so wrapped up in the appearance of who you think you are, you have abandoned yourself. Come home Don. Come  home.

Joan, you have yet to see your true value. Such a strong amazing woman but the worth you give yourself is filtered through how other men see you. Stand strong Joan. And by the way, when you turn 60 and your back hurts, I hear breast reductions are a pretty good option.

Campbell. Why are you even in this show?

Peggy. You’ve got chutzpah to be sure. Look from whence you have come! Those bangs in season one were painful to look at and seemed to dominate each scene but your new doo and sense of style, especially in this last season, are perky as all get out. Other than that I’m not really sure who you are.

Speaking of fashion. Betty. Wow. So much like my Barbie. And just about as alive as my Barbie. Woman, what is wrong with you? Were you spoiled or neglected as a child because either one has led to and entitlement and narcissism that you so accurately display. Those are your children you self indulged ho-bag! When they are grown and gone, that’s what they are. Gone. And you will be left with YOU! Wake up. There is still time to become a decent human being you skinny, self-absorbed excuse for a mother.

And finally, Roger. I think I feel the most sad over you because of the fall you are going to take sometime in the fifth season. Pride goes before a fall. Often times people make bad choices out of good motives. My friend, this is not you. While I have shared that Don is lost, I believe you are far more so. I want to you ask yourself a question before every decision you make. “Who is this ultimately benefiting?” In fact ask yourself that question with every decision you have ever made. If the name starts with an R and ends with an r, you are a sad and misguided soul. So here’s what I want you to do. For the next two weeks, do a kind act every day that does not benefit you in any way and tell no one. Write down what you did and how you felt and we’ll meet next week.

I watched on and off thirteen episodes of Mad Men in three days. They tickled my ocular orb and kept my mind occupied from the current distresses surrounding me. Feeling somewhat mentally and emotionally assaulted in my present situation, they gave me a momentary way out that helped me enter back in. Back into the grueling fight of this new and foreboding territory called cancer.

Thank you Mad Men I’m feeling much better now.

So, discussions ensued as to the benefits of using Botox to smooth out those ever increasing epidermoid flaps and folds. Although tentative on broaching my personal experience with said topic, I would have been remiss not to share my Botox malady.

I have worked on-camera as a spokesperson and actress for several years and the advent of Botox was for me an opportunity to spend several more years as a liar…regarding my age of course.

I injected a little here a little there, playing blissfully with this new miracle of botulism like I was six again playing with my new Chatty Kathy at Christmas. I learned you could inject the Botox just above your upper lip giving it a more plump appearance. So to gain a more youthful pillowy mouth, I injected away. ‘Hoy Matey, thar she blows’ I expressed with wild abandon as within 7 to 10 days my upper lip did indeed swell to a more youthful and zestful appearance.

The only drawback I had not anticipated was that the muscles in the top of the mouth would be frozen and as I stood facing the camera ready to shoot a commercial, I was horrified when I could not form the letters m, b or p. My first line was, “Hi, Jan Brehm here with Mason Motors (name changed) celebrating this magical time of year”.  What I was able to dribble out was, “Hi, Jan reh here with ason otors, celerating this agical ti of year.” The director at first thought I was joking but his ‘ha ha’ quickly dissipated into raw frustration as camera take after camera take, I struggled to make my lips meet. I did finagle a way to move my lower lip up to meet the upper one, an accomplishment of which I was most pleased but unfortunately gave me the appearance of gurning.

Well, you think I would have learned, but a few weeks ago in preparing to shoot another commercial for a new dealership, I thought there would be no harm in Botoxing the bottom lip… again in attempts to regain a youthful lip-luster. I was fully aware that my bottom lip might be a bit paralyzed but found only the letters; f and v might be a bit strained. To my horror as I had not anticipated what the script might possibly say, I found my last line to be,  ”Come visit us. We’re just off the I 5 freeway in Fife.” and of course what my facial orifice formed was, “Come isit us. We’re just o the I i eeway in i.”

I’m gonna cool it on the Botoxing for a while.

As I walked to school that day, lunch box in hand filled with peanut butter on white bread, a browning banana and a thermos of milk, I noticed the air felt balmy, the sky gray and the Fall leaves were blown about by the wind. I had no idea on this daily trudge to our institution of higher learning, that I would end up huddled under the stairs with my family around one gas lantern.

Walking home from school, the wind whipped around us and we giggled at how the it blew our hair about and how silly we looked. I headed over to Nancy Robinson’s house to play. I remember eating cheese and playing the piano.

My mother called Mrs. Robinson and asked her to send me home announcing a windstorm was coming. I was on my way but got distracted by the fresh cookies in the kitchen when my mom came over herself very rattled and ranting on about this wind storm. I couldn’t see the big deal until I stepped outside.

As my mother held on to my hand, I was literally lifted up off my feet like a kite taking flight. My mom grabbed a hold of me as we hurried into the safety of our home.

It wasn’t too much longer the first tree fell. The sound of timber cracking and the earth shaking thuds from the weight of the trees became the background symphony for the evening.

My mother grabbed a can of Chef Boyardee spaghetti, a camp stove and a lantern as we huddled safely away from windows and under the strong supporting beams of our home. I have never felt so terrified and yet so safe as my father assured us amidst the shattering of glass from the falling trees, that we were going to be just fine. He had been a boy scout (very impressive to a 9 year old) and had inside information on how these things happen.

By the glow of the yellowing, somewhat noxious lantern, we told stories, sang, played cards as we waited the storm out. Then silence. As we stepped outside our backyard, littered with giant fir trees, looked like an unexplored jungle. It was thrilling but the excitement only lasted until the next day when we learned of the devastation and deaths.

Every Columbus Day I remember the storm but I also remember my family huddled around the camp stove eating possibly the best spaghetti I have ever had because even though outside was dangerous and unpredictable, we were safe. We had each other and we had an expert boy scout to boot!

For more information on the Columbus Day Storm see:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Columbus_Day_Storm_of_1962

I knew there was something amiss when after unhooking our cable,  I found myself carrying our small TV from room to room in efforts to view the one channel that did come in, alas to only be able to view the images behind a staticky snowstorm.

Gone were the mid-day liaisons with Lifetime Movies, reruns of America’s Next Top Model and of course Turner Classic Movies. Be it taking a break or escape, TV has been a faithful companion except when there’s power outage…

Media of all types surround and can engulf us…if we let it. I can find myself on the computer literally experiencing age related  shriveling as I jump into the pockets of those on Facebook, Twitter et al. Some posts are dull. Many fascinating. But for me, it’s often a way to postpone making that call, paying that bill or writing this blog!

Oh, and here’s a possible offspring of the over indulged integrated media-head, PROCRASTINATION: “How soon ‘not now’ becomes never”; “Procrastination is hands down, our favorite form of self sabotage”; yadda, yadda. “But wait, not now… I need to watch Mad Men first!”…I only threw that in cause I’ve never seen an episode and everyone is so jacked up about that show..

But above all this vociferous leakage, the question for me is, ” Am I able to be alone with just me…for more than an hour”? Well, I tried several days and found out that amidst the immense pressure to connect with something, someone, somewhere, I am able to sit quiet with just me and truly enjoy the peaceful solitude.

And I wish I could say that when my time of aloneness was over I floated through the following days with an air of elegance, grace and and self assurance but it was more like, ‘now that  I’m off my diet, where’s the fudge?’

Now back online, talk radio, TV galore, but now my awareness now has enabled me a bit to make more productive choices…that just sounded like my mom. Which reminds me, I need to give her a call.

Today a comment was thrust upon me that sent me into a rather unattractive altered state. I was beyond peeved and before I gave a response, I called a friend who reminded me to not do anything while I’m angry. Well I’m cooled down but still bugged and need to scratch the itch…hence this blog.

I have read numerous self-help books on how to express anger, how to avoid co-depency and how to be an emotionally balanced person, etc.  They worked great while I was reading them but putting the concepts and ideas into action? Baffling.  I so admire others who can graciously handle difficult situations with an, “I understand you feel that way, but I feel…” or “I so appreciate your opinion and I would like to share mine if that is alright with you…”. Um, just not in the realm of my personal word formations.

Rarely do my annoyingly provoked verbal responses take flight, rather they flap around in my head until I’m dang near peckered out. A very wise king once wrote, “A gentle answer turns away wrath” and I have also heard it said that the negatives we perceive in others are merely a reflection of our own personal character defects. If this be the truth, then I believe perhaps the ‘gentle answer’ might need to be to offered to myself first.

Maybe then I would have a source of grace to draw from. Don’t know for sure. Sounds good. I do feel better. Now I gotta make the call.

Entering Midlife. Wishing for sleep that’s encumbered by seemingly endless awakenings.

Beholding Spring.  Air laced with lilac as budding leaves shimmer.

Beholding Midlife.  Doubt encircling dreams as the present clouds the future.

Menopause. Who the hell cares.

Menopause Rap

I had been on the road performing in several states for a month or so leaving my two daughters behind with a nanny. The ‘guilty mom complex’ was incessantly nibbling at my gray matter and  trying to invade my already weighty heart.

I was home for one day and fortunately right on my eldest daughter’s birthday! Just coming in from the East Coast, I was to leave the next day for LA. I just had enough time to pick up a cake and make it to my daughter’s classroom for a little birthday celebration.

Somewhere between the bakery and the classroom I realized I did not have my suitcase which had all the equipment I needed for the stage presentation. This was not something that could be easily replaced and there was no way I could perform without it. I began to hyperventilate with gusto and because I was ‘PMS-ing’, I broke out into the chorus from Oklahoma. This did not help.

Leaving the school with a half eaten cake on the seat next to me and with a pulse of 250 I tore up the road careening the hi-ways and bi-ways in efforts to  retrace my steps to find my suitcase. Picture then,  the lights, siren and a really cute cop I must say…

It was all I could handle and as the officer asked for my licence and registration,  I burst out crying (verbatim), “I’m an actress and I have to be on stage in LA tomorrow and I lost my suitcase and it has this thing I need cause I don’t have the whole show memorized and it’s my daughters birthday and I just made it in time…here’s the cake and  I’m only home for one day and they have to have a nanny and…”

The really cute cop says, “Lady, I Don’t Know if You Are Telling the Truth and I Should Give You a Ticket But That’s the Best Story I Have Ever Heard and I’m Gonna Let You Go” I Hope You Find What You Are Looking For…”

Gratitude replaced my madness and at the same time I was trying to figure out how to give him my phone number or get his!

I did find my suitcase as someone had found it in the middle of the road. I guess I had forgotten to put it in the trunk, left it behind the car, backed up and pushed it into the road. A very nice man got an unexpected tip that day and I with much relief enjoyed the rest of the evening with my daughters assuaging the ‘mommy guilt’ for one more day.