(I did not write this; but I thought it was worth passing on. Good for a laugh. Or a cry.)

Each year the staff at Beloit College in Wisconsin puts together a list to  try to give the faculty a sense of the mindset of this year’s incoming freshmen. Here’s this year’s list:

The people who are starting college this fall across the nation were born in 1989.

They are too young to remember the 1st space shuttle blowing up.

Their lifetime has always included AIDS.

Bottle caps have always been screw off and plastic.

The CD was introduced the year they were born.

They have always had an answering machine.

They have always had cable.

They cannot fathom not having a remote control.

Jay Leno has always been on the Tonight Show.

Popcorn has always been cooked in the microwave.

They never took a swim and thought about Jaws.

They can’t imagine what hard contact lenses are.

They don’t know who Mork was or where he was from.

They never heard: “Where’s the Beef?”, “I’d walk a mile for a Camel”, or “de plane, Boss, de plane.”

They do not care who shot J. R. and have no idea who J. R. even is.

McDonald’s never came in Styrofoam containers.

They don’t have a clue how to use a typewriter.

Almost everyone I know is doing National Novel Writing Month. It seems odd to me, perhaps because even if my life depended on it, I couldn’t write 50,000 words in a month. In six months, perhaps, but even that is stretching it. Where do all those words come from? If writers have such a well of words in them, why haven’t they been pouring out all year?

And why the push to write a novel? I could understand if all those thousands of people were setting November aside for something important — volunteer work in free clinics, perhaps. But a novel? The world is already awash in novels that don’t sell. Almost two million novels are written every year. Every single year. Two hundred thousand are published (which means that at any given moment, two million books might be on the market) and half of those are self-published. Seventy percent of all published novels sell less than 500 copies. Eighty-five percent sell less than 1000 copies. Sure, a few people who do NaNoWriMo manage to get their novel published, but if they needed NaNoWriMo to give them the impetus, what kind of writer are they?

Perhaps it’s the challenge. I do understand challenge, but like Gregory Peck in The Big Country, I prefer to keep my challenges private.

But still, for whatever reason, people by the thousands are churning out words by the thousands. I planned on writing this month, but I’ve never have liked going along with the crowd. I know a clinic that needs help. You can find me there. 

Now that cooler temperatures are here, I can’t help thinking of the coming winter. I dread the frigid temperatures, but I no longer have to worry about the depressions I used to get, because I discovered a way to minimize the effects. I steep myself in color, using bright comforters and afghans, set out large bouquets of silk flowers, and spend time outside to get the benefit of the natural full spectrum light. But mostly I eat a rainbow every day.

Eat a rainbow? Impossible, you’re thinking. But what is a rainbow? Refracted light. Color. Energy. Color is energy, so by eating color we eat the color’s energy. And the best way to eat a rainbow to eat a salad. Not a few wimpy iceberg lettuce leaves with a few croutons sprinkled on top, but a robust salad full of color and life and energy.

Edible Rainbow:

Red: tomatoes, radishes, red bell pepper
Orange: carrots, orange bell pepper
Yellow: yellow squash, yellow bell pepper
Green: leaf lettuce, zucchini, broccoli, green bell pepper, olives, celery, avocado
Purple: red cabbage

Blue is missing, but if you serve your rainbow on a sky blue plate, you will have your rainbow, a rainbow that nourishes the body, nourishes the mind, nourishes the soul.

After menopause, many women begin to favor the color purple. For some, it might be a rebellion against the conformity in dress they had to adhere to during their younger years, for others it represents a move to a more spiritual time in their lives

Purple is associated with spirituality, enlightenment, and transcendence of ordinary reality. As young adults, we all — men and women alike — tend to avoid purple, suggesting a lack of spiritual dimension in our lives. As we get older, our minds turn to thoughts of life and death. What is it all about? What is coming? Did our lives have meaning? And with this new spirituality often comes a fondness for the color purple.

Besides this spiritual aspect, people who like purple are intuitive, imaginative, and highly creative. They have a greater sense of the intangible than most people; they don’t have to see it to believe it. Purple people are easy to live with and hard to know; sometimes their friends don’t even understand them. These characteristics often show up in older people, especially women after menopause. Their families are grown, and they have time to indulge their inner lives. They begin writing that novel they always wanted to write, take up painting or other artistic ventures, read books that help them find the answers to life.

It is this striving for meaning and purpose that gives us an affinity for purple.

There are two faces of purple. When it as on the reddish side, it embraces sensuality; when it is on the bluish side, it embraces spirituality. Trying to balance those opposites is one of the reasons purple people are so enigmatic. Just when someone thinks they have the exciting red side of them figured out, the tranquil blue side colors their lives. It has been said that because of this balance, purple is the ideal color. If so, then purple people are at the pinnacle of life: sensual and spiritual, exciting and tranquil, warm and cool.

So, if after menopause you find yourself gravitating toward purple, embrace it. You earned it.

Memorial Day weekend is more than barbecues, hot dogs, and drinking too much cold beer. I know. Came as a shock to me, too. But it’s a time of reflection, of remembering, of thinking about what comes next for us as a country. (Perhaps this article would be more suited to the fourth of July, but by then it could be too late. And anyway, I already wrote it.)

So what does come next? The red, white, and . . . purple.

The colors of our flag came directly from the British. This new country wanted to be separate from the old one, but not too separate. How else to explain our reverence for all things British, especially their nobility? Sir Elton John. Sir Paul McCartney. Right, that nobility.

I have no objection to keeping the red. Red is for passion, and nowhere are we more passionate than in our opinions. Not a bad thing, really. We all have the right to be passionate, no matter how wrong we are.

Nor do I have any objection to the white. White is the color of innocence, of naiveté. I can already see you shaking your head, but it’s the truth. We have the naïve belief that our president is the leader of the free world. Does anyone else but us think that way? Of course not. Ask the French how they feel. Still, that naiveté is part of our charm.

What I do object to is the blue. Blue is the most popular color in our country. Comfortable, calming, soothing, blue gives us a sense of well being and complacency. We talk of change, but what we want is the status quo with a lot more status and a bit less quo.

So what’s the answer? Purple. Purple is a color favored by older women because they have found a higher purpose in their our lives. It is the color of understanding, of quick perception, of keen observation, of wisdom and high ideals. Our country would be a lot better off if it were governed by purple power. By wise old women. (No, I am not endorsing Clinton for president. I said wise old women. What part of wise don’t you understand?)

The only drawback to this plan, is that wise old women are too wise to get involved in politics. But still . . .

Hooray for the red, white, and purple.

I’m still trying to find a good place to publish articles and perhaps make a little money from them, but I haven’t learned much. I looked into HubPages, but I didn’t like the idea of having to sign up for google adsense and all those other payment sites, so for now I’m going to try Squidoo, which pays through Pay Pal.

I looked into Associated Content, but the site is too slow, and I’ve heard that most of the writers don’t get paid for their work.

I notice that Helium also pays through Pay Pal, but I don’t really know much about them. Does anyone know how they compare to Squidoo? Is it possible to make money at Helium? I’d appreciate any input.

Have you ever used Squidoo? I am still new to the internet and am exploring different things to do on the information highway. And perhaps make a little money along the way.

If you have used Squidoo, do you have any suggestions about what to do or what not to do? Is it hard to break in? Do the people who have been around for a while make all the money? Have you used similar websites? Is it possible for the average person to make money on the internet? Is it better to sign up on several sites? If so, which ones?

Recent research indicates that melatonin supplementation is safe, but that except in rare cases such as the blind or nightshift workers, it is not an effective sleep aid. Controlled trials showed no difference between melatonin and placebos. (Isn’t it interesting how placebos work at least in a small way for so many different ailments? Maybe scientists should stop perfecting drugs and start perfecting the placebo. It would be safer, cheaper, and perhaps more effective than many of today’s drugs.)

I found the study interesting because I take melatonin, and it does help me. I suffered from insomnia for many years. I’d toss and turn, sit up and rearrange the pillow, and then toss and turn again. I don’t know if it was the nightly exercise or the lack of sleep that exhausted me, but either way, I was tired all the time. Then I heard about melatonin and decided to try it. To be honest, I took it as an immune system enhancer because I seemed to get more than my share of colds. Interestingly enough, it didn’t help noticeably with my immune system, but I started sleeping better.

Melatonin does not work like a sleeping pill. Basically, it sets the biological clock and lets the body know when it’s time to sleep, which is why it’s good for jet lag. I take it an hour before bed, and it helps me fall sleep, but it does not promote deep sleep. Although I still wake up often, I can lie comfortably and eventually fall back asleep. I would not recommend melatonin in place of a sleeping pill for those who need it, but it does work for me, at least most of the time.

Melatonin is a hormone, and like all hormones, it diminishes with menopause. The decrease in melatonin in turn increases the effects of aging. The body repairs itself during sleep, and if there is not enough sleep, the body can’t repair itself, and so the body ages. And the more the body ages, the more melatonin and all other hormones diminish. The cycle of life.

So, even if melatonin works for me because of the placebo effect, I’ll continue taking it. I need whatever sleep I can get.

This morning, before the snow and sleet, it rained; a timorous promise of spring. 

Spring doesn’t speak to me the way it did when I was young. The winds blow away the gentle voices of hope and rebirth, leaving only the harshness of a world struggling to overcome the ravages of winter. But this year, I am looking forward to spring — the winter has been long and bitter, and I feel as if my new life has been on hold.

A friend told me that the worst thing about aging was the people you lost on the way to getting lost yourself. I thought “getting lost” was an apt way of describing the aging process. Everyday, it seems, vital parts disappear or begin to fade out, and you no longer know who you are.

After I went through menopause, I felt as if I were reborn, a new moon rising after the old one had set. Those missing parts no longer seemed to matter; they belonged to someone else, someone I could barely remember. Now that the cocooning winter is almost over, I am again wondering who this new person is, the one I am becoming. In the youth of my old age, in this spring of a new year, I realize that there is still some hope left in me. Perhaps success will still come my way. Perhaps new friends are on the horizon.

Perhaps my moon is still rising.

I don’t have the answer to the question posed in the title; I was hoping you did. Menopause has been fairly easy for me, but perimenopause (the years preceding menopause) was horrendous. The depression, the painful vaginal itching, the bouts of tears that continued for hours at a time made wonder if nature was punishing me for not having done my genetic duty.

I’m certain the handful of supplements I take every day help with my menopause symptoms, and so does walking, which is a great way balance hormones. Also, once the depression lifted and the tears dried up, I felt so good that anything would have seemed easy by comparison. But the question still rises: is my easy menopause a result of my efforts, or did nature finally realize that I was past child-bearing age and give me a break?