Wigs and Horn-Rimmed Glasses

By: Red Hot Mamas

Published: February 12, 2016

Contributed by Liz Allen- Red Hot Mamas Financial Expert  

February tenders up some of the best-loved days of the calendar year that we look forward to – Groundhog’s Day, Valentine’s Day and the ever fun and free-wheeling President’s Day! This is also the month when Aquarians celebrate birthdays and I always think about songs from The Fifth Dimension. Okay, at the risk of sounding self-indulgent, yeah, my birthday occurs in February too. Now this is not a pitch for attention; my menopause symptoms generate plenty of that! I mention my birthday because, as I evolve (I don’t say “age” anymore), my own birthdays have become increasingly less important to me. It may have something to do with how the number keeps climbing up – in one direction. – mercilessly. At least with the concept of dieting – we can relish fluctuations in the numbers – hopefully down – but at least the possibility exists that the numbers can always go in other directions. Not so with time.

Ummm. Relish. I want a hotdog. With mustard.

Sorry, word association and appetite caused a momentary detour in concentration. I’m good.

So time soldiers on despite our efforts to slow it down or trick it. I care less about my birthdays as a celebration of my own arrival and more about how my mother felt that day. In reality, I did nothing but coast. Mom did all the work. And in the case of my Mom, childbirth was probably the hardest job she ever had. Thank goodness it never lasted more than a few hours. Mom hated work. The point I’m getting to in a round-about way (I loved that Yes song) is the older I get, the more I truly appreciate my mother. And I miss her.

Radiance passed away 23 years ago, before I had the first pangs of perimenopause, and before I could ask her what her experience was like. I remember some of the weird, senseless arguments and her random crying jags. I remember her episodes of memory loss and leaving her keys in new and exciting hidden locations like the crisper bin in the fridge. And I remember how lost she said she felt. It never occurred to me she was in menopause, nor did she announce it or seek help. I wish I’d been more understanding and patient with her. I wish we’d laughed more. I wish she’d met her granddaughter. I wish we’d had more time. But there are great memories. And for some reason, I remember her wearing those crazy Eva Gabor wigs and horn-rimmed sunglasses (in the ’60’s and ’70’s).

So this Valentine’s Day, if you’re still fortunate enough to have your Mom, ask her to be yours.

She earned it.