Tag Archives: women’s laughter

A Snap, then a Cackle and a Pop!

By Sharon Nesbit-Davis

I celebrated my fifth decade by performing a one-woman show entitled “Mime in Mental Pause.” I wasn’t there yet. But I was ready. Unrelenting pain, blood clots, and ruined panties were not fun, no matter how I adjusted my attitude. Sometimes the universe hears and is kind. Soon after my 50th birthday my periods diminished with barely a moan. I think it was the soy.

I do not regret being past child bearing age. I’m content to view it from afar…or close up when my daughter pops the babies out. I thought it would bother me to see her in pain, but it doesn’t. I might be slightly sadistic. Or just gloriously happy to have grandchildren. But not once did I wish to trade places.

With the perspective of a few years free of “Auntie Flow” there is something I miss. I miss the power of “PMS” (Pre Menstrual Sinfulness) I did not need to announce I had it. My husband was on the watch for it. There were times I cried easy and long and hard. When asked what was wrong my tongue jumped out and slapped him upside the head. Never mind what happened when he didn’t ask.

After I said we would all be dead in three days because I detected a shift in the earth’s orbit, so we didn’t need to renew the life insurance policy, my husband asked if my period was coming. I chastised his sexist remark and he apologized. Two days later I hid the tampon dispensers at the bottom of the trash. He caught me with a heating pad under the blanket. He’s a good man and never said “I told you so”, but he isn’t perfect. He smiled too much.

A couple years ago my daughter-in-law invited me to a women’s gathering. I was the only post menopausal woman there. The topic was our periods. We shared how we learned about it, our first one and embarrassing moments. The stories were funny and sad and what I expected until a young woman said she loved her periods. Really. Just loved them. She felt a oneness with all women. She meditated on this life giving essence and was thankful for her role. She felt creative and spirit filled during this time. She did not mask the pain. She welcomed it. Other women nodded. I laughed. A lot. Then told my stories of fainting and trips to emergency rooms and my gratitude to be done with them. They politely listened and exchanged glances I recognized from my youth, when I respected elders but knew they didn’t understand. And never would.

They were wrong. I do understand. What this woman expressed is the way it once was. Thinking about it almost made me want a “do over”, but only if I could have my own moon lodge.

In Native American tradition there was a special lodge for women when it was their moon time. Other women cared for their children and cooked for their husbands. They brought her favorite food, then circled the lodge and prayed for her. She was free from work, could rest, talk with the spirits and create. She returned with new songs and geometric designs and renewed energy. Western observers surmise the women were involuntarily isolated and considered unclean. It was never that. When asked the medicine men explain women have a “built in” purification process. Men put themselves through sacred ceremonies to attain what women have naturally. Women in their moon cycles do not participate in sacred ceremonies. Their power is too strong. It’s been known to send spirits running and crashing into things.

Without periods my life is balanced and calm. Maybe a little too calm. I miss not knowing what thoughts may scream their way past polite filters. Sometimes the power of that made me feel beautiful. I knew I wasn’t. I had mirrors. When pimples erupt on a middle aged face you don’t claim outer beauty. But there were moments I felt like a warrior woman. And she was magnificent. I wish I had honored her more, instead of reaching for the Pamprin®.

Of course there is still time. My warrior woman didn’t die with PMS. She morphed into Big Fat Mama: Post Menopausal Juicy Crone. No one knows what that means, but with a perfectly executed head snap, and a cackle then a pop from any number of bodily regions, it’s scary enough to have some fun.


Filed under Menopause, menstruation, PMS, Post Menopausal, Sharon Nesbit-Davis, story

A Furious Woman

by Sarah Tyson

Every woman that I have ever bared my soul to has been furious.  Not in the angry, mean kind of way but in the intense roaring, raging wind kind of way.  You know this kind of woman who blows into a room and inspires you or rallies you to her cause of injustice or her plight of burnt salmon or her saga for being done wrong by this one or that one.  This woman’s laughter can be heard down the block and the music of it fills the room with color, vibrant yellow and magenta.  Her joy, as well as her sorrow, is long and deep and full.  She will give you advice even if you don’t ask for it and it’s almost always what you needed to hear.  She knows when to speak loud or whisper, when to hush up and just listen.

I could list you out, you furious women in my life.  I would begin to write and the paper would roll out long and bounce across the floor like the lists on the movies do.  So many of you have marched in just in time and others of you have melted away over the years.  Some of you have died and the memory of you picking up hitch hikers and how the Avon lady called at your house and all your jewels and weathered photographs, they linger and thrive furiously in my soul.  Some of you live too far away so I settle for you in doses and it’s always a delight to be in your furious presence.  And a handful of you are a treat that I indulge myself in, some weeks more than others.  When we are together, merry and content, we gather around the dining room table to feast and celebrate being alive, to clip coupons and solve all the problems.

To have known or become a furious woman is a gift to the world.  We need your intense clanging and banging while you put away the clean dishes after dinner.  We need you to say the thing we were all thinking, the inappropriate thing that sometimes only you can say.  We need you to swoop in and save us with your chocolate chip cookies, to eat ice cream cones with us before dinner.  How would we survive without your hair care tips, your child rearing wisdom, your knowing sigh to a day gone long and wrong.  The world needs you furious woman!


Filed under friendship, story