Hot flashes. I had a whopper of one last night. I think it was more like a night sweat and a hot flash combined, which then drove me sweating so profusely, that I had to change my clothing. Nothing like drenching your night gown from the hormonal monster to send you almost over the edge. My question is: What did woman do to deserve such a beast of a middle aged curse?.
My best friend Kris has taken up Zumba Classes in Los Angeles. I have several friends who have been telling me about Zumba, and how you "sweat like a pig, while burning calories, and having fun"... so, for me to hear sweating like a pig - I pause and think to myself; I'm already doing that, and its called Menopause. The only thing missing from my hot flashes is some hot looking Latin guy (or Tom Selleck) and some Latin music (or Toby Keith's country). I do have to hand it to my friend Kris though. She, being the same age as me, and facing the same menopausal disasters, has taken to the gym (disguised as a church meeting room), and started Zumba-ing. Apparently, she loves it as well. So, good for her, I say.
As the snow is falling outside my living room window, I am looking up towards the mountain, and unable to see the gondola through the shroud of fog and heavy snow. Usually, I can catch a glimpse of the gondi cars, making their way up the mountain, packed with skiers, who are no doubt, enjoying this latest round of white stuff. However, on this day, the snow gods have given us some love in the way of snow. As I have mentioned before, I am no longer someone who skis; rather someone who finds folly in tourists who don crazy looking ski outfits, and pay up to $100 a day for a lift ticket. I'm more inclined to look at the snow as a way to a cozy camping night, around a fire, in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of summer! If the snow drought had continued, camp fires would have banned again in the state.
So, what does Zuma Beach have to do with all of this? The other night, in the midst of massive sycophants lamenting about yet another celebrity possibly overdosing, the Grammy's featured the reunion of the Beach Boys. Hearing Good Vibrations, I was suddenly transported back to the days of my youth, a tan, warm winds and a beach. Zuma Beach, which sits just north of The Colony in Malibu and Pepperdine University, on PCH (Pacific Coast Highway) was quite the playground when I was younger. During summer, my best friend and I would tag along with her older brother and head to Zuma Beach. Where you went to school, or ranked in social status directed you to a particular lifeguard shack. 1-10, if I recall. Zuma 1 was closest to the "nude" beach, and south entrance of the state park. If memory serves me well, I think we were somewhere in the middle of strip, and spent tremendous amounts of time worrying whether or not cute beach boys were in the vicinity.
Now, in a perpetual state of hot flashes and weight worrying, thinking about the boys of my summer seems miles away. This isn't to imply that I have lost the desire, but seem temporarily distracted from those happy memories. Getting old hasn't been quite what I thought it was going to be like, but like everything else in my life up until this point in time, I am taking it in stride, and maybe even a few Zumba steps on Zuma Beach this coming summer. Now THOSE are some good vibrations.