I met a wonderful woman the other day.  She came by my blog because she is a tomato, just like me.  She goes by Queen Jaw Jaw, which refers to her “sassy mouth,” which she claims to have retained throughout the red hair and fiery temper fading.  I like that.  My sassy mouth is much in gear too – some things are just too precious to let go.  At any rate, with a name like that, I had to check out her Web site.  And I loved it instantly.  At first it was the art, then it was the content.  It is just a great place to be. 

Queen Jaw Jaw is the self proclaimed Queen of Experiences.  I can relate to that, but I don’t think I’ll make a run at her throne. You absolutely have to love someone who won’t take advice from her son because he believes Elvis is really dead.  (It must be a Northern Alabama thing – I don’t know – but she was raised there so it must be something of an explanation.) 

The Queen has a link at the top of her site called, “Lunch Hour Specials.”  It is a short take that she writes about her outlook on life.  Thus I know about her son who lives in his delusion.  Her “Guest Writer” page is currently featuring an interview with Nancy Mills, Founder of Spirited Woman.  The interview is great; I have a theory – I won’t say a word about blondes, but redheads are known for – well you know what they are known for; we are just a handful.  Brunettes seem to be deep, intelligent, and insightful.  (We are too, we just feel a need to hide this to an extent to not overwhelm others with our depth.)

Now don’t miss “Trixie’s Page.”  Not every boxer has her own page.  (Aren’t boxers the dogs known for having a real problem with excessive gas?  Don’t tell Trixie I said that.  Don’t tell her owner either.)  But it’s Trixie’s writing gig and she has letters from her own readers.  An African grey parrot wrote her recently and… well, you can read the “Dear Abby” of dogs giving advice.

Queen Jaw Jaw also has writing contests.  This would be fun!  She publishes on her site the top three winners.  Probably with Trixie’s approval.  And she has a page of links to a lot of wonderful sites!  (Hey – how do I get in there?)

But the best part is Queen Jaw Jaw’s book, A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Throne.  Now I have been using her ‘net name, but when you are talking book, it is time to get serious.  (I don’t know exactly HOW to do that, but I’ll give it a shot.)  Queen Jaw Jaw, known in reality (whatever that is) as Georgia Richardson has a book that I am hoping to read very soon.  I’ll tell you all about it then.  At this point, I am sure it is going to be a great look at life with a woman who has learned to not take herself terribly seriously.

Georgia Richardson is the Alabama Representative for The National Association of Women Writers, Humorist Expert for The National Association for Baby Boomer Women, and has had a monthly humor column for The Monthly View.

Not only is she gorgeous, talented, funny, and intelligent, she knows her stuff.  And deserves that throne!  Don’t EVEN think about touching it.

Queen Jaw Jaw

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Throne

Images used with permission of, and copyrighted by, Georgia Richardson

Okay, now this isn’t funny.  First the medical profession tells us we can be free of hot flashes and the joyful and celebratory symptoms of menopause with HRT.  Then, they all start hollering that it isn’t safe (it probably is safer than rushing to the drugstore in a panic to replace our Premarin prescription and getting into a car accident on the way, however).  And in an abrupt about-face, the steely faced physicians who resist natural treatments as though they were a self-performed root canal, start recommending Black Cohosh for us poor “girls” enduring “The Change.”  Make up your minds guys, and let me explain hot flashes to you, because I don’t think you get it.

A hot flash isn’t just feeling like the room is a bit warm.  It isn’t wondering if the air conditioning stopped functioning quite up to snuff.  It isn’t even like a fever.  It is like having a sunspot suddenly take up residence somewhere in the middle of your chest and spreading all the way up to your face, turning it bright red, and then back down to your waist, following the trail of perspiration that trickles down your back.

When you are having a hot flash, nothing else exists except that particular moment of imminent spontaneous combustion.  There is nothing so all encompassing as the degree of heat that a woman feels in the midst of one of these things.  My furnace should work so efficiently.  All I know, is that at the time I am feeling the heat build, and can tell the point-of-no-return has been reached and the hot flash is inevitable, my world narrows considerably.

I have grabbed paperback books and fanned myself with them.  (I don’t recommend heavy ones – Stephen King’s books are far too thick and if you lose your grip from the sweat on your hands, you can get a concussion when it smacks you in the temple.)  I have tried to slyly sneak over to an open window, (mowing down anyone in my way is less than subtle but hey – A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, right?)  to feel just the slightest flicker of a breeze.  I am always shocked when people yell at me.  “Hey, are you nuts?  Shut that window!  It is five degrees below zero out there!” 

I have had hot flashes so bad my glasses fogged up.  I have envisioned myself getting into a fender bender and trying to explain to the officer why my seat belt is stuck to me (I have broken out in a full sweat) and that the whole thing happened because of steam on my lenses.  “I didn’t see the 18 wheeler in the fog, officer,” and I am sure that would get me locked up at worst, and a really huge ticket and insurance increase at best. 

I have had hot flashes so bad I am sure heat is radiating off of me.  I am glad smoke detectors don’t work exclusively by temperature.  I could set one off if they did.  I know I must look like a mirage with the wavy lines shimmering around me, as I wonder if I have reached the point of breaking a mercury thermometer.

I thought Black Cohosh was the plan.  I did notice something that I originally thought was just hormone fluctuations within my own body.  Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t.  In fact, it is questionable if the Black Cohosh is really Black Cohosh at all (and if it isn’t, what the heck is in that capsule?) 

But now I find out the FDA doesn’t regulate herbal remedies because they consider them a food supplement, not a medication.  Well, of course.  Silly me!  I often sit down at night with a good movie and a bowl of herbal pills to snack on.  I also find this disturbing because that means that God knows what is in my food – they aren’t really regulating either one of these things. 

So my red-faced, overly warm sister in misery - it’s not in your head.  The Black Cohosh does work IF you can find one that truly is Black Cohosh.  I suppose we could grow it.  Does anyone know how to grow this stuff?  Is it legal to grow?  Would I need to put black paper and tape on my basement window and buy those funky lights to grow plants that are somewhat questionable just to keep from ripping off my clothes in the middle of an office building elevator?

I wonder if men experienced these hot flashes if they would be so ho-hum about the whole herbal issue.  This is a so-what issue for the FDA it would seem, and the makers of the various Black Cohosh supplements don’t seem to worry about it much either.  I wish, in one of those corporate meetings, that just one woman would have a hot flash at that very moment.  Would they would all pay attention as she held them at gunpoint demanding a treatment that works?

Could this be why men object to the idea of a woman president?  I mean, if something really got her irritated and she had the unfortunate timing to have a hot flash at the moment she had her finger on the red button, could we really propel ourselves into a thermonuclear war?  I wouldn’t think that to be such a huge issue – the temperature would be cooler anyway!  Perhaps hot flashes are the root cause of discrimination against women.  It makes sense.  Women get, as do men, completely irrational when they are in a comfortable temperature and then are suddenly, with no advance warning, thrust into an environment that closely resembles a blueberry muffin’s birthplace.  Get real.  350 degrees is no big threat.

What I don’t get is why they don’t all seem to be more worried. This is not just a matter of comfort.  It isn’t a matter of health.  It is a matter of personal safety (remember the fogged up glasses), sexual discrimination, and potentially world peace!

Black Cohosh Supplements With No Black Cohosh

Adelle Tilton

Have you seen “Fried Green Tomatoes?”  I love that movie.  It is the story of several different women at different stages of their lives and in different periods of time.  The main focus of the primary story is the main character, a woman going through the change, as she redefines herself, becomes more assertive, and finds meaning within the life she is leaving.  Much of her struggle, pre-HRT treatment, comes from feeling old.  Kathy Bates plays this character to the hilt.  I love her.  She is so funny in this movie and says without uttering a word at times, an entire message to women who are 50-something.

Much of the point of the Kathy Bates character is coming to a peace, and not just a peace, but to a total joy with the idea of being menopausal, post-menopausal, or at least 50-something.  She fears her husband has lost interest in her, she worries that she has nothing left to contribute, and she struggles with her loss of self-image. 

Through the stories of another woman, who is more like 80-something (played magnificently by the late Jessica Tandy) she finds that what she has to offer is still fresh, alive, and although not young, a whole lot better than anything youth has ever offered. 

Do we need to be young to offer something to the world?  To our families?  To our friends?  And what is young anyway!  There is something about knowing your feet are solidly planted on the ground.  About having security and knowing what your life is all about.  There is something about not being 30-something and still trying to figure out who you are.

My favorite quote from the movie?  It occurs in the scene where Evelyn (Kathy Bates) is becoming a whole lot more sure of herself and how she plays into the world around her.  She is faced with a couple of slim-hipped, hot looking, smart mouthing 20-somethings in a minor dispute over a parking place.  They zip in around her land yacht and steal the place away with their little snazzy VW bug.

Evelyn Couch: Hey! I was waiting for that spot!
Girl #1: Face it, lady, we’re younger and faster!
Evelyn rear-ends the other car six times (deliberately and quite forcefully, I might add)
Girl #1 (Screaming frantically): What are you *doing*?
Girl #2(Screaming equally forcefully and frantically): Are you *crazy*?
Evelyn Couch: Face it, girls, I’m older and I have more insurance.

When someone tries to make you feel like you are substandard or have nothing to contribute; or when they try to convince you that you aren’t in the running anymore and too old to play the game, remember you can afford to lose.  You’ve paid your dues.  You bought your coverage.  “Face it girls.  I’m older and have more insurance.”

Hair color is a huge issue for women.  When you are in your 20’s, it is a matter of choice.  If you are brunette, you want to be blonde.  If you are blonde, you want to be a redhead.  If you are a redhead… well, that’s different.  We redheads never want to change our hair color.  We gripe about curls or lack of them, and that’s another topic.  When you get into your 30’s, color begins to dim a wee bit.  It still isn’t a huge problem but then the 40’s arrive.  Decisions are looming on the horizons. 

At 50?  Hair is an issue.  It is probably turning grey.  It may be a lot grey.  You could be really lucky and like me, turn silver and grey, and have not one hair of your original color before you turn 50.  Now the dilemma begins.

Do we keep the silver or grey and do the dignified woman thing?  I tried that.  I kept my hair, which was 75% bright shining silver and 25% grey.  I had a really snazzy style cut – a real precision cut.  I did the sophisticated woman thing.  I oozed class.  I looked like money.  I looked in the mirror and screamed.

Who the heck is that looking back at me?  Maleficent (Sleeping Beauty?) didn’t have silver hair.  She obviously went with L’Oreal Black.  Either that or india ink.  Either way, part of her feeling she might win this whole competition with Aurora was based on looks, and silver hair was not part of the picture.  And the same with Corella De’Ville – of course she did have that one streak of white, which was obviously induced by an extreme shock (probably brought on by her eccentric behaviors and was her own fault anyway), but she seemed to have an attitude that the majority of her hair not being silver kept her in the game.  I don’t even want to think of Ariel (The Little Mermaid) as growing up and being anything but a redhead.

So who was this stranger looking back at me in the mirror? 

I tried blonde.  It went well over the silver and as far as the hair went, it was quite lovely.  I couldn’t quite jive the blonde with who I was though.  I just wasn’t able to pull off the whole “California Girl” thing – besides the Beach Boys are drawing retirement now and it was ludicrous.  So how about a light brown?  (Don’t ask me why I didn’t return to my own red initially - I don’t know.)  That worked pretty well.  But geez, how boring could it get?  I looked less tired, more youthful, and totally disinterested in anything that had to do with dynamic living.

I guess I had to find myself.  And this job was going to take a professional.  Coloring it back to red, over silver and grey, is not the easiest thing to do.  Brassy is a word that comes to mind.  I tried.  I failed.  So the professional it was – and now it is pretty darn close to what it was before this silver invaded my head… it apparently invaded my brain as well.  I should have just listened to my mother and started fixing it before it became a major overhaul and my hair became a test laboratory for a variety of hair colors.  I guess I should be thankful it didn’t turn out green or something.

Yes, it’s a pain.  I have to do it regularly or these nasty little roots start showing up.  They are, I notice, getting more and more silver.  But it is a worthwhile inconvenience.  When I look in the mirror, now I know who is looking back.

Adelle Tilton