The Best Kept Secret Blog - Pass the Oil of Olay Please

A Christmas gathering. Reasonable wine, homemade Hors d'oeuvres, and talk of holiday plans, Conservatives versus the Liberals and the couple on the corner who never shovel their walk. An ordinary Canadian slice of life.

I saddle up to a group of party goers, idly wondering how much damage one more shortbread could do to my hips. Catching the finish of one of the woman's sentence I hear, ".....I'm 42."

There is an instant murmur. "No way." "You don't look 42." "I thought you were in your 30s."

Another neighbour gleefully adds his two cents, telling the group, "I'm 39. I must be the youngest here."

Then, almost as if rehearsed, they all turn to me and someone asks, "How old are you Karen?"

Now, I used to like that question. And on that night, I still was naive enough to think it was a good question for me.

"I'm 46," I announce and prepare to bask in my own chorus of murmured exclamations. But there are no murmurs. The most I hear are three of the women starting a discussion about the guacamole. As my eyes scan the small crowd, all I see are polite smiles and nods.

I've reached the point where I look like my age.

"Keep them guessing, with Oil of Olay" went a jingle from my youth. I think I need a bucket.

There comes a point in a woman's life when she looks her age - her middle-age. And that point is 45.

The 40th birthday seems like such a milestone and everyone gets giddy. Women look in the mirror and say, "Darn I look good for 40." Everyone concurs. And they do look good. Things don't change suddenly just because the clock struck midnight.

But changes are starting. The metabolism slows, the wrinkles emerge, the skin starts to sag. Little by little it happens until one day, you're 45 and people would rather talk about mashed avocado than how great you look.

There are a variety of options for dealing with this dilemma.

Denial - Buy the highest heels, shortest skirt or tightest top you can find and flaunt what you've got. People may talk about you behind your back but at least you'll have some new clothes.

Medical Model - Get thee to a dermatologist and pharmacist. Freeze, fill, exfoliate like a woman possessed. Not necessarily bad unless, of course, you're deluding yourself into thinking you'll now rival Angelina Jolie.

Embrace The Granny - Wear no make-up, trim your own bangs and wear pleated jeans that taper at the ankle. Looking one's best is highly overrated.

Redefine - After a suitable period of grieving for your youth, be the best you are now, whatever that means to you.

Personally, I'm working on the Redefine but I am thinking of adding a couple of other techniques. Hanging out with elderly people is one. Oh, and if anyone knows where I can get a deal on Oil of Olay, please e-mail me.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Generation X, They Say The Darnedest Things

Young people these days. They say the stupi.... oops, I mean darnedest things.

Exhibit A

Last Tuesday, the Globe and Mail newspaper ran an article on "push presents". It seems that the new normal amongst 30-something moms is to expect a gift when delivering a baby.

In my day, a husband may have bestowed upon his wife some token to celebrate the birth of a child but rarely did we expect or demand such an item. But now a days, it seems it's becoming the norm. As one mom put it, "I expected one, and if Adam hadn't got me one, I might have been upset."

Well what was she going to do? Cross her legs until he got himself down to Birks?

And honey, if you think getting that kid out was the hardest thing you have to do, wait until you've spent a rainy day stuck inside with a two year old, three cans of Play Doh and a Raffi CD, only to have your husband phones and tell you he's going for drinks after work with some people from his office.

Exhibit B

In a recent Sweetspot "Ask the expert" column, one young professional asked, "My office holiday party is coming up. Do I need to be on my best behaviour?"

And what is the expert expected would say? "No, of course not. Drink like a fish and sleep with the boss. Enjoy, it's Christmas!"

Exhibit C

This summer, again in the Globe & Mail, I learned about the trend among young mothers to hire night nurses to help with their newborns. No night feedings for these new moms. After all, they need their sleep.

One young mother complained that she had no idea how tiring it was going to be – the baby actually wanted to feed every two hours and she was exhausted.Well duhhh . . . What did you think it was going to be like?

In my day, we all walked around like zombies, leaking breast milk and wondering what we had gotten ourselves into. It was a right of passage and the tougher it was, the better our bragging rights at the playground.


If the 30 somethings get push presents, then we need menopause mementos, a little something for surviving the hormonal ups and downs of our 40s and 50s.

Our husbands certainly have an incentive to get us a little something. Unlike the younger husbands who present their wives with a bauble for a baby and the accompanying sleepless nights, dirty diapers and years of stepping on Lego, we can persuade our guys that a pair of, say, diamond earrings might be just the thing to ease us through the hormonal mood swings. Or maybe we wouldn't have to sleep with the windows wide open to cool down that hot flash if only we get the right kind of "ice".

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Giving Back

"Can you come for drinks next Friday night?" I asked my good friend C. last week. With the Christmas season upon us, I was trying to arrange a little festive get together.

"Well," she hesitated, "I'm supposed to feed the homeless.... But they can wait until January. Yes, we'd love to come!"

Now before you begin worrying how the poor homeless will keep from starving between now and January, you should know that C. volunteers in the Out of the Cold program at our local church. She is one of a team of volunteers and surely one of the others will step up and hand out an extra pie or two to make up for C.'s absence.

It's not uncommon for people to remember the less fortunate this time of year but when I think about it, finding meaning in giving to others is not a seasonal thing for midlife women. For a good many of us, this stage is about giving back and making an impact in the world, however big or small.

I must say that since turning 40, I've definitely cranked things up a notch or two when it comes to charitable endeavours. . .

November 2001

Buoyed by memories of working as teenage candy striper, contact three local hospitals and announce am ready to help out. Given current age and experience, prepare to pick and choose amongst managerial style volunteer positions that will surely be offered.

Am informed about five year waiting list to be considered for a volunteer position cleaning garbage cans.

January 2002 - May 2003

Sweet talk way into position at Sunnybrook hospital visiting residents in the Veterans wing. Enjoy many an evening playing bingo and singing "Roll Out The Barrel". Decide to leave after having derriere "accidentally" patted one time too many.

November 2004

Volunteer at daughter's Guides of Canada Christmas Craft Extravaganza. Mistakenly believe am in for old-fashioned mother daughter fun. Quickly find self dressed like a reindeer with sizable sales quota that would intimidate most professional marketers.

Catch brief glimpse of another mother from the school who tearfully pleads with me to get her out of "the hell hole they call the pizza serving kitchen". Torn between closing sale of popsicle stick picture frame or helping a comrade, I hesitate too long and last see her blowing nose on oven mitt as scary guide leader pulls her back into kitchen.

January 2005

Attend "Chili Tsunami Dinner" hosted by dear friend who really does understand true spirit of giving. Donations are graciously accepted for survivors of December 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami during an evening of chili, wine and good conversation.

December 2007

Contemplate youngest daughter's upcoming birthday party. Decide that this year's gift giving will be meaningful - unlike last year's debauchery that saw 15 craft kits opened, used and dumped in course of one afternoon.

Am pleasantly surprised to discover ECHOage, online service that turns your child's birthday party into an environmentally respectful and socially mindful celebration. Gift money is pooled with half going to birthday girl or boy and half going to charitable cause.

Suggest ECHOage extends their offerings to birthday parties for midlife women but have second thoughts when I realize some would consider us both the birthday girl and the charitable cause.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - The Art of Grooming

When I was fourteen, my best friend L. and I got our hands on her older sister's copy of The Art of Grooming.

L. had been "a mistake". This meant that not only was her older sister much older, so were her older sister's books. Having first been published circa 1957, The Art of Grooming was a "how-to" manual for young ladies in their teen years.

When we got past the pictures of teenage girls demurely sipping Coca-Cola while cardigan wearing teenage boys strummed guitars in their midst, we learned, among other things, to:

• always keep our fingernails clean;
• use a little Vaseline for lip gloss;
• never, under any circumstances, indulge in heavy petting.

Apart from the fact that we weren't quite sure what heavy petting was but it sounded good and smutty, The Art of Grooming was a guide that helped us through our adolescent angst.

I thought of The Art of Grooming several times in the past few weeks as I spoke with some of the fashion mavens who contribute to The Best Kept Secret website. According to them, looking good over 40 is all about grooming.

“Being well groomed is key at this age." Or “Forget the trendy clothes. Put your time and money into grooming.”

I nodded sagely, hoping that this morning’s application of Vaseline hadn't worn off my lips. But deep down inside I wasn’t so sure what this really meant. What does a well-groomed midlife woman look like and what does she do to get there?

I needed an Art of Grooming For The Midlife Woman. A how-to manual for the mature woman that has pictures of cougarish 40-somethings knocking back martini’s while paunchy middle-aged men in mock-turtlenecks try not to pass gas in their midst.

Sadly, such a tome does not exist. But were I to write one, I don’t think things would be all that different from the 1957 version. For example, among other things, the midlife woman should:

• always keep her fingernails clean. Dirty nails will call attention to the crepey skin that reminds us so much of our grandmother’s hands;
  
• use a little Vaseline for lip gloss – it helps get the swelling down after a collagen lip injection.
  
• never, under any circumstances, indulge in heavy petting. If you’re already married, your husband will think you’ve run up the Visa card again. If you’re not married, you’ll risk missing Grey’s Anatomy. (Come to think of it, if you’re married you’ll miss Grey’s Anatomy and get in trouble for running up the Visa card.)

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Speaking Our Minds

When I was in university I had a roommate whose mother seemed totally nuts.

Or at least so we thought. She'd drop in on a whim, make uninvited comments about everything from our clothes to our love lives and just generally speak her mind.

One of the other girls in the house hit the nail on the head when she described this woman as having no edit mode.

At the time, we were 19 and 20 and when I look back, I think we were stuck in edit mode. It was all about finding the "right" boyfriend, choosing the "right" career and looking a certain way.

But as I've moved into midlife, I'm sliding the other way to the point where I find it increasingly difficult to even get into edit mode.

And it's not that I'm consciously exercising a new found liberation that makes me think I have license to tell it like it is. It's that I am losing my ability to suck up, do what I "should" or not be honest.

I think it's my hormones. I mean, if I'm having trouble these days remembering where I put the keys, how do you expect me to remember to bite my tongue?

I can cite several examples.

My friend A. spent a small fortune on a new purse while we were shopping recently. She requested that I tell her husband, should he ask, that it cost half of what she actually paid. I said no. I didn't want to lie for her. And besides, she had spent too much.

When R. asked me what I thought of the new guy she was seeing, I told her she could do better. Hmmm... I haven't heard from R. recently.

I've told my children their school work wasn't up to snuff, the hairdresser that he wasn't listening and that's why the colour was wrong, had the neighbour women in for coffee when the house was a mess and yelled at the dog.

For some of you, these may seem like ultra tame examples but for this midlife woman who seems to have spent her adult life channeling Mary Richards, I'm on a roll.

In fact, it scares me sometimes because I don't know what will come next. Telling the book club that this month's choice sucks? Telling my shopping buddy "Yes" when she asks if her pants make her look fat? Outing friends who have confided they are having affairs? I don't know. I just can't seem to keep my mouth shut.

I take some comfort in knowing that I'm probably not alone. In her book The Female Brain, doctor and author Louann Brizendine explains that the hormonal changes that accompany midlife are to blame. As she explains it:

"What had been important to women - connection, approval, children, and making sure the family stayed together - is no longer the first thing on their minds. And the changing chemistry of women's brains is responsible for the shifting reality of their lives."

So there you have it. I'm not a bad person. I'm just the victim of my gender.

And by the way, that colour is draining on you.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Those Darn Wobbly Bits

There is a scene in the second Bridget Jone's Diary movie where Bridget (Renée Zelwigger) is attempting to discreetly dress before her lover, Mark Darcy (Colin Firth) wakes up.

When he does roll over and sees her awkwardly wrapped in a sheet, struggling to pull her clothes on, he asks what she is doing.

"I didn't want you to see the wobbly bits", she replies.

He smiles lecherously, pulls her into bed and informs her that he likes the wobbly bits.

If Bridget had been 45, I'm not so sure things would have turned out the same way.

My husband got me thinking about wobbly bits this week. His wobbly bits are causing me many sleepless nights these days. (And no, I don't mean in a good way.) They're in his throat. He's middle-aged and the muscle tone in his throat is decreasing, causing him to snore and causing me to either bunk in with one of the kids or set up for the night on the couch.

He's not alone. We all suffer from wobbly bits as we age.

My friend E. is terrified of "bat wings" - the look our upper arms get as they lose their tone. "Wear a sleeveless top?!" she screeched on a recent shopping trip. "Are you crazy?"

Another acquaintance that I met at a networking function confided she was shocked when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror while blow drying her hair. With her head leaning to one side, she noticed that her face had kind of slid and her cheeks, eyes and mouth were now puddled together. Totally freaked out, she quickly popped her head back up so her features could, more or less, assume their proper positions.

I had a similar experience this summer when I was working out. Laying on my side while doing leg lifts, I happened to glance at my stomach. Instead of seeing the taut six-pack that I'd been working so hard to achieve, there was a lava flow of flesh making it's way toward the floor. Switching sides only gave the fitness nuts on the other side of the gym their own view on my Mount St. Helen's gut.

And no discussion about wobbly bits would be complete without talking about our eyes. That's right. As we age, the ability of our eye's lens to focus on near objects decreases. Why? Because it becomes, you guessed it, wobbly.

This is why I must get my children to thread needles for me and why I can't read the directions on a their cold medicine bottles to save my life. "Sure, I think it's fine to have four tablespoons at your height and weight. But here, just thread this for Mommy first in case you pass out."

So Bridget Jones, you get out of that sheet. There's nothing to worry about now because, honey, you ain't seen nothing yet.