The Goddess Speaks
The Goddess Speaks
There’s no way
to avoid the yearsThere's no escape. Everywhere we turn there is a reminder of our chronological age. No matter how many tucks and lipos we invest in, Frankie Avalon will still be using Preparation H, Julie Andrews will probably be suffering from arthritis and our best friend will still be having hot flashes over her nonfat latte at the mall.
We run into the bathroom and look in the mirror. We stick out our tongue. Should we be taking more calcium? Are we candidates for osteoporosis? Is our hair dye giving us cancer? Should we be drinking a glass of red wine every day for stress or blood building? Only Oprah knows ... or was that Deepak?
We fear eating pizza or Ben & Jerry's ice cream because we may have a stroke from clogged arteries while plopped in front of the TV set watching "Frasier." Now we are hearing that heart attacks and cancer result from hostile attitudes, suppressed emotions and poor self-image. Ladies, please go hug your Howdy Doody doll for your inner child.
It seems like just yesterday that we were doing the twist at our junior high school gym. Where's Chubby Checker? He's still alive, isn't he? Let's hope he's taking his Metamucil.
Remember when your high school boyfriend was protesting the Vietnam War? Mine decided to go to med school out of fear of being drafted. He's still in school.
WHERE WERE THE Internet, skateboards and malls? How in the world did we meet our husbands (or ex-husbands) without these modern human-bonding technologies? OK, so we had bowling alleys and skating rinks -- but did you marry a bowler or skater?
My girlfriend's 12-year-old granddaughter visited from Seattle and talked about getting spammed and Sweaty Nipples (a band). She talked to her watch and for the rest of us, might as well have been speaking Klingon: "Calling Earth, calling Earth ..."
What happened to playing jacks, hopscotch, Tootsie Rolls and Pig Latin? As I peered through her three-tiered, pink-tipped haircut, she took a flat, round silver disc and slid it into a little box. Strange music blasts from it.
No, wait. It's not so strange.
"Wimm a wep, a-wimm a wep ..."
I remember that song!
Maybe I'm not so old after all. They're still playing my song!
Monica Lewis is a freelance writer, futurist and member of the Romance Writers of America, Hawaii chapter.
The Goddess Speaks is a Tuesday feature by and
about women. If you have something to say, write
"The Goddess Speaks," 7 Waterfront Plaza, Suite 210, Honolulu 96813;
or e-mail features@starbulletin.com.