Jaki Jean & itchy, bitchy, sweaty, sleepy, bloated, forgetful & psycho women

 

My friend, Caryn, whom I love & adore & admire & thank for correcting God’s one mistake & making me a redhead, posted the above on Facebook.

And it gave me a pause for a bit of thought on the subject of women’s reproductive cycles.

Specifically, my own reproductive cycle.

As amusing as this post is, menopause is not a condition, but an event. 

 

It is the last menstrual cycle, the last period, of a woman's life.  Just as the first period of a young woman's life is called a menses.  

Older women are either perimenopausal (entering the years before the final event) or postmenopausal (the years after the final event). 

Menopause is the final event.  The last period of a woman’s life.

I waited until I was fifty-five to experience menopause.  

Believe me, it was not for want of wanting to cease my position as a potentially viable reproductive body.  (That thought constitutes the subject of a horror movie).

I simply was tired.  And after all, I had contributed two lovely male specimens & thus fulfilled my duty (in a patriarchal sense) to the gene pool. 

Because I am terrified of anything that involves sedation or a knife, I went through years of treatment that involved estrogen & progesterone therapy. 

Then one miraculous day, after I had stopped the therapy, I had my final period.  It was only a year later that I acknowledged it as my menopause (just to be safe).

Women should have parties to celebrate menopause.  It is liberating on so many levels. 

The fluctuation & absence of hormones causing the symptoms experienced during the years building up to a woman’s final period & following her final period are very real

.

I understand that.  But we have options to counterattack the loss of hormones.  Diet, the judicial use of a fine skin cream, supplements, meditation, yoga, praising God, taking joy in being alive. Sex.  Celebration.  Attitude. 

The whole concept of a women being "menopausal” or that menopause is a prolonged state of being defies biology & reduces what can be a very difficult experience & adjustment to a simplistic subject for humor. 

Sometimes women are just itchy, bitchy, sweaty, sleepy, bloated, forgetful & psycho by nature. 

Or by choice.  

But most often, women soar.

 

Jaki Jean & the Quest for Parsnips

My friend Cate Poe & her consort Tejano are about to embark on a year-long adventure, exploring Southeast Asia. 

This past weekend, I embarked on an adventure of my own.

A search for parsnips.

Now, the search for a simple root vegetable may not appear to be as adventurous as embedding oneself & one’s significant other in Southeast Asia, but trust me.  In my neighborhood, the search for a simple root vegetable can be challenging & fraught with mystery.

In years past, I have had to leave my neighborhood for other simple, ordinary things.  One year it was shallots.  In what alternate universe is there a cuisine that does not benefit from shallots?

I discussed my frustration at the lack of access to shallots with Mr. Hollywood (yes, that was his real name & he looked the part), the manager of our nearest grocery store,  Randall’s #22.  In fact I discussed it so much that he gave me friend Barry Morrison an application for a position on Randall’s Consumer Advisory Board & asked Barry to give it to me.

Another year, it was frozen phyllo dough.  I have never attempted to make phyllo dough – I watched Martha Stewart do it & decided that the frozen version would work just fine for Jaki Jean.  That particular year, when I wanted to bake ratatouille in phyllo dough, it mysteriously disappeared from the freezers at Randall’s #22.

Seriously, who does not use phyllo dough?

I won’t even go into the drama surrounding Weight Watcher’s Tuna Noodle Casserole or Stouffer’s Corn Soufflé.

A few weeks ago I ran into a neighbor & friend from the days when we were raising our boys, Terese Hostetter.  She was with Ryan Kercheval, who went to The Walden School with my Omega son Sam & always insisted during those years that she & Sam would get married one day. 

Terese was in search of Mango Chutney.  When she sent Ryan to ask the manager where it might be, Ryan returned with the announcement:  He says it is a seasonal item.

 

Chutney is a seasonal item?  Seriously?  

Last year, Randall’s #22 carried parsnips during the Thanksgiving & Christmas seasons, but this year it seems that October is too early for parsnips (but not cranberries or tinsel) to make an appearance at Randall’s #22.  

Horseradish roots, yes.  But no parsnips.

So, like any seasoned adventurer, I mapped out a flexible strategy.  

Knowing that the second closest grocery store, Foodarama (where I get all my peppers & onions & greens & Mexican cheeses & tortillas & Bruce’s Sweet Potato Pancake Mix & Blue Bell ice cream for $1 less a gallon than Randall’s #22) did not have parsnips, I decided that I would have to venture far out of Meadows Place for the desired root vegetable.

First, the Signature Kroger on Sweetwater in Sugar Land.  If that failed & I could not imagine that it would, I would have to check out the HEB on University at Highway 6.  If that failed (unthinkable ! ),  I will dare to go where the brave dare not go without adequate funds:  Whole Foods in Sugar Land.

So, I arm myself with a Breast Cancer Awareness shopping bag (because I really try to shop green) & announce to my brother that I am embarking on the quest for parsnips.

(As I quite often make similar pronouncements he says simply:  Good Luck.)

As I leave the city limits of Meadows Place, I half hope that Kroger & HEB will not have the object of my quest so that I can wander throughout Whole Foods.

I know, I am easily amused.  I love wandering through grocery stores.  I also love sidewalk chalk & confetti & bubbles.  And the idea of dancing in the streets.

And then, my entire adventure plan is disrupted by the reminder of the Wal-Mart on the corner of Airport & the Southwest Freeway.

Directly across the freeway from the borders of Meadows Place.

And I remember how Wal-Mart had pomelos when Jean & I were researching why a grapefruit is called a grapefruit & why a pineapple is called a pineapple.

And I remember that Chutney is not a seasonal item at Wal-Mart.

And that Wal-Mart carries shallots & frozen phyllo dough & tuna noodle casserole.

So, I take a chance.

And find parsnips.  I bought two bags.

And went home & proceeded to make what I am convinced is the best Root Vegetable Plus Stew known to woman or mankind.  Parsnips, carrots, turnips, potatoes, garlic, leeks, butternut squash, a small acorn squash, lemon, honey, slivers of sun dried tomatoes, chicken stock & white wine.   Served, of course, with garlic bread.

My adventures are different than Cate’s, but still substantial.  Just of a different moment in life cycles.  I love reading hers – I love living mine.

While Cate & Tejano are experiencing Southeast Asia, I will follow Cate’s blog connectingwithcate.blogspot.com/.‎ I urge any of you interested in intelligent, thoughtful, sensitive observation to check it out.  She is a wonderful writer.  And an amazing woman.

And I will plot how to create an adventure that results in wandering the aisles of Whole Foods.

And perhaps, throwing confetti.

 

Jaki Jean & the Chupacabra, Part II

After doing some research, I have determined that the legend of the Chupacabra is fairly recent.  Having witnessed its devastation, I can tell you that its reputation as a goat sucker is well deserved, but limited.

The Chupacabra here in the swamp does not suck the life out of goats, but attempts to suck the life out of food bearing plants. 

It eats the leaves of Serrano pepper plants & green & red & yellow red pepper plants & jalapeño pepper plants & habanera plants & cherry tomato plants. The remains are nothing more than a skeleton of green stems.

Chupacabras here in the swamp even eat okra & budding Serrano peppers.  

But not basil or rosemary or thyme or oregano or sage or tarragon or cilantro or parsley or Mesculun greens.  

Apparently the Chupacabras in the swamp are picky suckers.

For months, I have watched the attempted annihilation of my pepper & cherry tomato plants.  The attack upon the okra growing amid the basil is fairly recent.

And then, as the last of the leaves on the Serrano pepper clung for life, I saw the Chupacabra eat them, devouring their leaves from the stems of the plant.  

 At last, the monster revealed.

The Chupacabra responsible for my loss of hot peppers & okra & tomatoes is:

Yes, a squirrel, that ruffle tailed rodent that people find so endearing until they have lived with generations of the plant sucking & seed stealing Chupacabras.  This villain & all of his / her relatives & ancestors have haunted me & attempted to destroy all food bearing life forms in Jack & Jean’s yard for thirty years.

But they are not winning.

The stems of my hanging Serrano pepper plant are producing new growth in spite of the assault against their productivity.  How long this will last as the weather in the swamp changes, I don’t know.  But I will encourage the growth.

As I plant our fall & winter garden, I am armed with a new weapon against the Chupacabra Squirrel Menace – Cayenne Pepper.  .  .

Of course the Chupacabra Squirrels on Dorrance Lane eat Serrano peppers.

But they have not yet been exposed to the power of leaves diligently & consistently drenched in Cayenne.

Unfortunately, the Chupacabras will not move on to Cayenne-free zones.  Once they mate in your yard, they return to mate again.  I have been witness to this insidious insistence at reproducing more ruffle tailed monsters for decades now.

Perhaps, the Chupacabras will enjoy a nice taste of an Oleander bush, free of Cayenne.

A woman can dream . . .