Monday, May 15, 2006


Old Ladies Shouldn't Sweat

This isn't the post I meant to write tonight. I was going to write a nice post about how salmon in the wild lay 2500 eggs, only 375 of which make it even to the point of hatching, and how we went to a hatchery yesterday. In the hatchery, 2250 of those eggs make it to the hatching point, and we got to go and get our very own salmon, maybe six inches long, and name them and then release them into the stream.

Eleanor's was named Rainbow Tail and mine was named Gertrude. Rainbow tail seemed a little lethargic and confused but swam off gamely enough when released. Gertrude was a fireball, trying to get out of the ice cream pail of water long before we hit the stream, and literally FLYING out into the water to start her (or possibly his) new life the minute he hit the water.

We said our goodbyes, let them go with love and hoped that they would be around in a couple of years so that we could kill and eat them which doesn't seem very fair but hell, that's what you get for being a fish. Choose something less tasty in your next incarnation, all right?

Oh Gertrude, we hardly knew ye. But we'd certainly like ye to come over for dinner.

Anyhow, the cute fish post aside, something in my head went *boomf* today.

It was unseasonably hot, the first hot day of the year, and I was driving along, minding my own business, being a respectable middle-aged housewife in a minivan and I started to sweat.

I have no objection to sweating. In general, if one has a fairly decent personal hygiene regimen, sweating is a desirable thingie in fact, but it's certainly nothing I spend a lot of time thinking about.

But as I was driving, feeling the moisture form on the back of my neck and between my breasts (which are pretty much healed, although I only have about 2/3 of one on the left side and thank you for asking) all of a sudden I was nineteen again.

Nineteen, newly out of college, beautiful (I may not have been as hot as I remember, but the reviews certainly support my recollections) and totally on fire.

Nineteen, rolling languidly in the damp heat of a Toronto summer, licking the oily sweat off a stranger's burnished abs, so fucking wired on chemicals I was damned near incandescent. Even the lightest touch a welcome scream along hypersensitive nerve endings.

For a brief, bittersweet moment, I could actually taste the beautiful chemical bite on my tongue (if you've never done a lot of speed or cocaine you have no idea what I'm talking about here) and just for an instant I was waiting for the start of that delicious subdermal hum, that quake that nobody else can see, starting somewhere around the base of my spine and spreading through my belly. The tingles on top of my head, running my hands through my own hair for the sheer joy of it.

A mouth, bruising mine. My own bruises being delivered in return. Days without sleep. Writing chapters I would prefer not to relate to my mother (or my daughter, oh god, don't let her find this blog if I'm still doing it in ten years).

All of that time, or at least as much as I remember of those years, suddenly back in the here and now.

Just from a little sweat.

I turned up the music and drove too fast for a while and I'm much better now. I wouldn't have those days back for love or money ... but for a few minutes there I would have sold my soul.

I should likely get air conditioning in my car. Ya think?

Eek. I don't know what to say. But I bet Dolores will.
Wow -- those are the thought processes you go through when you sweat? I simply think "F-ing hot flashes -- getting old sucks."

I just got up and some how, now, that first cup of coffee has made me feel extra, specially wired.
I'm with Wendy on this one.

Hormones! Raging out of control.

Last hurrah, so to speak.

Welcome to the world of Women of a Certain Age.
Why, oh why, can't my hot flashes and night sweats evoke that memory for me? The potential is certainly there.

How do you make a hormone? Don't pay her! Ba dum bum!
Wow...I wish I got that "hot" when I start flashing.......... Maybe I will think of YOUR memories next time!!! LOL!!!!

Loved the salmon story... I hope I don't come back as something tasty the next go 'round.....
I'm so glad that we're selling the minivan (just waiting for the cash from the buyer)...I'll never be able to drive it again after your post!
Honey chile, after that post I need a cigarette, and I don't even smoke.
Menopause porn. Whoa...
I love the salmon story...just seeing that little guy jump for his life is endearing enough. But then you through in the magical mystery tour - what a treat! Would love to see the hits you get from Google on that keyword search.
Dang. I'd like some of what *she's* having.
There are a few songs that do that to me. Not as delicious as yours, but still, it makes me want to ditch everything and everyone in my life and misspend what time I have left. My youth wasn't nearly misspent enough.

Sometimes it's very tempting to just. Keep. Driving. And then the song ends and you're back to reality.
Nothing like a Grand Mal hot flash to set you off and running.

Hate the damn things
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