The Seven-Year Itch

Portugal, Pickleball, Hokas, and the "what now?" question

In 2011, out of a combination of boredom and self-preservation, I started a blog called Slice of Midlife. An outgrowth of essays in my book, Ruminations from the Minivan: musings from a world grown large, then small, which I published in 2013, in the blog I grappled with classic “sandwich generation” stuff — caring for aging parents, the shock of my aging body, career ambivalence, teenage daughters, fish-out-of-water cannabis encounters, and more.

Because cookbooks are my second favorite thing after traveling, the blog also featured recipes, still a relatively new phenomenon then. Slice of Midlife was a wonderful creative outlet with a small, but devoted fan base, including my 90-something year-old aunt and an old lady from my hometown who knew my grandmother.

At Sixes and Sevens

Human development researchers and astrologers believe life progresses in seven year cycles.

My blog ended on July 1, 2018, fittingly at the time I traded my battered 18-year-old minivan muse for a gray Honda CRV, a vehicle someone quipped was the favorite ride of white women of a certain age (this was before the Tesla craze). How I loved that beautiful clean car, with its smooth suspension and Apple Play.

The next years were eventful - we traveled, I cooked, I joined a women’s bootcamp, we joyfully became empty-nesters, there was a global pandemic, and the kids briefly moved back in. I had my fifteen minutes of fame:

LOL. I was surprised to see this in Marco Rubio’s Twitter feed.

One year after my brush with cancer, my body had more surprises in store for me. Thank you, Sari Botton, for letting me talk about ostomy bags and orchid mantises in Oldster, an experience which helped lead to the resurrection of this blog.

60 is the New…?

A few months ago, when I was teetering on the edge of I didn’t yet know what and our city was bracing itself for snow, I smashed the tailgate of my beloved Honda on a fire hydrant, while attempting to turn around and find parking on a narrow street so I could meet friends at a gin bar. I admit, I was frazzled and too in my head to pay attention to the backup camera and warning beeps.

Baby’s First Dent

I guess this portends the end of another era.

My youngest daughter just graduated from college; the dog we got for her 5th grade graduation is slowing down with a heart condition, which made me appreciate this beautiful essay on old dogs; I unexpectedly found myself out of a job; we have fervently embraced the pickleball craze; like the writer Anne Lamott I am obsessed with my feet; and we are headed back to Portugal, where we had a delightful vacation last year and are now experimenting with what it would be like to live there.

I have lived in the same house for 27 years. Walking in this neighborhood can be like a time warp - you run into the same people walking the same route, year after year — shit happens - they are older, grayer, wider around the mid-section - changed, yet somehow still the same.

The other day I was taking my old dog for a slow walk when someone on a bike said hi. It took me a minute to recognize the mother of my older daughter (now 24)’s pre-school friend, a woman I haven’t seen for years. She works for the coolest literary agent in town. “I remember your book,” she said. “If you ever have another book in the works, I’d love to take a look.”

Boom - the kick in the ass I needed to restart this blog and return to the joys of writing.

I hope you will join me and help spread the word.

P.S. I’ve been cooking a lot from Alison Roman’s delightful new book, Sweet Enough. Stay tuned for foodie posts from Portugal!