Muffed my muffin mission

I zipped down the basement stairs to get a package of English muffins out of the freezer. In a bit of a hurry as I had an afternoon engagement, I stopped by the guest bedroom to check out my hair in the mirror there. Would it need washing? Could it be saved with a bit of fluffing and a barrette?

Looking good, I decided, smiling at myself in the dim light. Looking really good. I ran back upstairs, puffed with a false pride of appearance uncommon to middle-aged women in sweats and slippers.

Back in the kitchen, my husband looked up expectantly for the muffins...the muffins still safe in the freezer.

Mary Karr's menopause moment

Mary Karr, author of "The Liar's Club", has a new book out called "Lit". She was here in Denver on a book tour. A warm and witty speaker, Ms. Karr especially engaged my interest when she had the perfect menopause moment during her talk.

An audience member had asked her if she checked the details of the life events in "Lit" with others who were there at the time. She began explaining that memoirs were most importantly about the way the author remembers events, that there is no need for objective input on details. Midway through her discourse on the role of memory in memoirs, she forgot what the question was.

I just finished this book (lucky enough to get an advance uncorrected proof from Amazon!) and I highly recommend it to you. If Mary Karr comes to your city on her promotional rounds, go see her; she's a pleasure to hear.

The icing on the cake!

My family's favorite dessert, reserved for special occasions such as birthdays, was the delicious Hungarian delight Dobosh torte. A bakery here in Denver called Vollmer's--long defunct-- was the one and only source of this cake so rich the hairs would stand on the back of one's neck. The end pieces were completely encrusted with chocolate sprinkles and were reserved solely for the birthday celebrant.

My niece Miranda texted me recently "OMG i just found vollmer's dobosh tort at king soopers!" A perfect treat for all of us during a most difficult week as her mom/my sister-in-law was coming to the end of her life with ovarian cancer.

Elaine had been refusing much more than a few mouthfuls of broth or a few swallows of diluted juice for weeks. When the dobosh torte arrived, she had a sliver, and then another. As the end drew near, Elaine said "It may be gilding the lily, but I think I'll have a piece of dobosh torte."

We gave her the end piece and she ate the whole thing--her last request, her final meal!

Put a lid on it!

In the scheme of menopause moments, this was just a little menopause oversight, annoying but no serious consequences.

I spotted the stupid laundry, let it sit awhile, added the detergent and set the cycle. Then I headed out for the day, expecting to initiate dry and fold upon my return. Well, the soak's on me! Stupid laundry sat all day in soapy water because I forgot to close the washer lid before I left.

How's that for airing my dirty laundry?

The irony of the egg

In an ironic but menopausal moment, I no sooner finished my last post but I headed downstairs. Cooking smells filled the air, and my first conclusion was that my husband, uncharacteristically, had decided to start in making brunch.

Imagine my surprise and dismay to discover the eggs I'd put on to hard boil prior to heading up to write bumping wildly about in what little water remained in the pot. The chronicling of one menopause moment leads to another.

Is this a new app for IPhones?

I grabbed my blue fleece jacket after exercise class, thrusting my hand in the pocket to make sure my IPhone was still there. Reassured by its familiar shape, I pulled it out to check for messages. My first shock--it no longer had a cover. The second? My photograph of autumn leaves was gone, replaced by the original "earth from space" wallpaper.

My brain whirled, trying to figure out how a phone could transform completely in an hour. Only then did I come up with the alternative--and correct--conclusion that this was not my blue fleece jacket; mine, in fact, still hung from its hook.

The times when my first explanatory pass at a menopause moment is completely absurd are those when I feel most in danger of impending dementia!

Aging attorney flops at the courthouse

This is a good moment from Miss Trial here in town:

I think I’ve seen the wearing of slippers to the office covered in your blog, but today I wore my flip flops to court! Didn’t notice until I was putting quarters in the meter, dropped a quarter near my feet and saw them. There was no time for turning back.

So, I flip flopped my way along the sidewalk to the courthouse, went through security and as the flip-flop sound echoed through the hallways I truly did notice people looking at my feet. I shrugged my shoulders and smiled weakly (very). In the courtroom I was able to position my briefcase so my feet didn’t show, and when I walked up to the podium I waddled in a way that the flip-flopping was minimized.

I think it’s time to carry a spare pair of dress shoes in my trunk!

Did Freud see this coming?

Being very hip and New Age, I was having a texted conversation with a friend who is going through treatment for a serious illness. We were extolling the virtues of daughters at the bedside, and her daughter, appropriately named Georgia, has been a perfect peach. Here was my final word on the subject:

Who will take care of the aging parents who only have sins?

No offense to my own Freudian slip of a son, but I can kinda' see where that came from!

I must've been loaded...

I've always pretended, as I performed that loathsome chore of unloading the dishwasher, that the exercise of sorting silverware would enhance my IQ. Apparently not.

I unloaded the plates and silverware, then put the dirty dishes from the countertop in the rack before tackling the cups above. I needed a break, so I closed up the dishwasher (I tend to walk into it, leaving my shins all abruised) and wandered around the kitchen sipping coffee and musing.

Back to the task at hand. Opened the dishwasher and thought, with satisfaction, ah hardly any plates left to unload. It was only after I placed the last slightly greasy dish in the cupboard that I realized that I had just put away the dirty plates I'd loaded up not 10 minutes before.

No increased IQ points for me!

Chewing out hubby

My 50-something year old patient complained of irritability and impatience.

"I'm not myself," she said.

"That easy irritation, easy frustration, is common at this time of life," I assured her. "Snapping at your husband for the way he chews and stuff like that."

Her eyes widened with surprise and recognition. "Did I tell you tell you that?"

"No," I laughed, "I know about that because I hear about it from a lot of women our age."

"I feel so bad," she said, laughing harder than I was, "asking him how does he make an olive sound like a piece of celery."