Connection to the Land

I find myself saying that I belong *to* the Land, but I don't know what I mean. The preposition ‘to’ implies that the Land owns me...

In one of her posts on Sense of Place, Sterling also says that she belongs ‘to’ the Land. She suggests that she was brainwashed by Jewish day schools. I didn’t attend Jewish day schools. So what is the source of the connection I feel?

The absolute least likely reason is reincarnation, but I do have a strange story to tell.

Years ago, a friend and I decided to see a hypnotherapist for past life regressions. She was a believer; I was agnostic about reincarnation, but wondered what story I might tell.

The therapist struggled to get me to remember something. She kept taking me further down in her metaphoric elevator. Finally we found something.

Scene One: I was a man, a math teacher, in a small town in 1930s Germany. The boys I was teaching wore lederhosen. I was afraid of them-- one in particular-- because they all knew I was Jewish.

Scene Two: I lived in a single room in a brick building. My landlady cooked one meal a day for me. Sometimes, when sitting by my window, I’d see her hanging clothes out to dry.

Scene Three: I was wearing a grey coat and walking down an empty gray street in a city. (My body, the one in the therapist’s chair, felt huge, as if it had been inflated.)

Scene Four: I was lying on the deck of a large ship, very sick. It was daytime and a man was leaning over me. Someone shouted that he could see Palestine and men rushed to the side of the boat. I tried to sit up, but couldn't. I died a moment later, without even catching a glimpse of the Land.

After the hypnotherapist woke me, I thought, “It didn’t feel true.” And certainly, looking at the details, it couldn’t have been.

Did boys still wear lederhosen in the twentieth century? Would a Jew have walked down a German street during the World War II? Could a ship of refugees have approached the Land during daylight when the British had set up a blockade to prevent Holocaust survivors from reaching Palestine?

I couldn’t find any connection between my subconscious and the story I had told. (Of course, the nature of the subconscious is that you can’t really know it.)

Whatever the source of that story, it evokes strong feelings in me now.

Immaculate Conception and Anti-Semitism

It seems that many people, even some scholars, do not know what the term "Immaculate Conception" means. It does not refer to Mary's supposed virginity.

You may think this is an odd pet peeve for a Jew to have, but stay with me.

The Christian belief that Mary was still a virgin when she gave birth to Jesus is called virgin birth.  Immaculate conception is an entirely different concept, one that is a necessary result of another Christian belief: original sin.

Early Christian theologians invented the doctrine of Original Sin and based it on a Jewish story to explain why it was necessary to worship Jesus rather than practice Judaism, a temptation apparently still faced by some Christians in the early Church. The doctrine asserted that, before Jesus, no one was "saved."

Christians invented the idea that the disobedience of Adam and Eve had caused all successive generations to be born with an ailment called Original Sin. They claimed that worshiping Jesus was necessary for one to be worthy of heaven. According to them, the Hebrew prophets, patriarchs, and matriarchs were dwelling in hell. Only people living after Jesus could have this original sin washed away. It required baptism... by a Christian priest, of course.

This new idea, Original Sin, created a problem in the minds of some Christians. Since Mary must necessarily have been infected with Original Sin, how could she have given birth to the son of god?

Christian theologians solved this problem with another new idea called Immaculate Conception. When Mary was conceived, god made sure she didn't catch the disease from her parents. Why god couldn't have done this for all people remains unexplained.

All these ideas were sufficiently convoluted to prevent most theologians from asserting their absolute truth. It wasn't until the middle of the nineteenth century, when the near-divinity of Mary was widely accepted by Catholics, that a papal bull commanded "all the faithful" to believe that Mary was conceived "without the stain of Original Sin."

So, the term Immaculate Conception does not refer Mary's chastity. It is the end result of one more idea that was invented to invalidate Judaism.

_______

As an aside, I must admit that I rather like statues of Mary and appreciate the inclusion of feminine imagery in religion.

So for a more complete and more sympathetic explanation of the concepts of "virgin birth" and "immaculate conception," as well as an appreciation of the divine feminine in Christianity, I'd like to point you to this article.

Person of the Year

Mr. Snowden, you are my person of the year. Thank you for sacrificing so much for the sake of freedom. May your courage always bring you the best of everything. 

 

Yasher koach, may your strength be straightened.

nedjeljnikomentar.files.wordpress.com

Why People Have Weddings

Weddings have always puzzled me. They are grand, elaborate events that seem to stress everyone out more than they bring joy. I’ve attended fewer than a handful, but my one experience as a Maid of Honor was nothing short of a comedy of errors.

Marriage itself seems to be a bit of a mystery to many people today considering it occurs so infrequently. Despite the significance of weddings, they often seem to be more of an attempt to mirror medieval pageantry than to celebrate a relationship. Planning a big wedding is a nightmare, and let’s be honest, has anyone ever said, “I had so much fun at their wedding!”

In 1992, my college friend, Vicki Flowers, asked me to be her Maid of Honor. I was flattered, but little did I know the rollercoaster that awaited me.

During that same call, she told me “We didn’t know who to ask to be Best Man and Maid of Honor. We just realized that we don’t have any friends!” I assumed the nervous bride had misspoken; surely she meant that she didn't have close friends locally.

The Friday evening before I was supposed to drive down to Monterey to help Vicki shop for bridesmaid dresses, a “little” disaster occurred, and I sadly called to cancel my trip. Vicki shopped with just her mother. She had promised that her bridesmaids wouldn’t wear silly costumes, but without supervision, she changed her mind. (Note: If you’re ever asked to be a bridesmaid, start saving immediately. Those dresses cost a fortune!)

I was looking forward to fulfilling the Maid of Honor’s most important job: throwing the bridal shower. However, Vicki told me that her future sister-in-law had taken charge of that. I didn’t receive an invitation and although Vicki didn’t know the precise address of the restaurant where it would be held, she assured me, “You can’t miss it.”

After a very long, early morning drive to Monterey, I could not find the restaurant. It wasn’t in the phone book, so I called her father. He didn’t know any more than I did. I drove around aimlessly for hours. Eventually, I gave up, took the gift to her father, and drove back home.

The wedding day finally arrived. There were tedious hours spent posing for pictures. The other guests clustered in their old high school cliques, while I smiled a lot and tried to start conversations with reluctant strangers. Vicki looked beautiful and seemed to be having a wonderful time until she noticed the hem of her dress had turned black from swishing across the dance floor.

After all the wedding, I never received a postcard from the Hawaiian honeymoon or a picture from the wedding. I assume her parents let her know that I called several times, but I never heard from her again. I wonder... Is she still married? After all that went into the wedding, she damn well better be!

Perhaps that is the true purpose of weddings: to get everyone so invested that they make the marriage succeed, no matter what.

The Secrets of Dr. Taverner

Fun and engaging, Dion Fortune's short stories seem perfectly suited for adaption into a PBS television series filmed in England's misty countryside.

Dr. Rhodes narrates these tales of an unconventional doctor. He is Watson to Taverner's Holmes.

This collection of stories, published in 1936, begins shortly after World War I. Dr. Rhodes has been honorably discharged from the British Army and accepts a position as a medical superintendent in Dr. Taverner’s nursing home.

The large, old manor and its full, colorful garden are a refuge in the middle of “wild and barren country,” reminiscent of the moors near Baskerville Hall. The nursing home is a sanctuary for patients who might otherwise have been abandoned to mental institutions.

Dr. Taverner is a healer of souls who takes in patients other doctors of his era simply label insane and lock away. His method of healing is based on esoteric and magical knowledge.

You can curl up with this book on a cold night and get your fill of Halloween spookiness: the ghost of a vampire, a changeling, a spiritual con man, a mermaid, secret societies, reincarnation, mind control, and the Wild Hunt of the Faeries. Ooooh-oooooooh. I had no trouble suspending my disbelief and enjoyed every story.

Until the stories are produced for television, you can read the book online.

Just remember, there are only twelve stories, so don't read them all in one night!

Nothing to Hide – Airport Security

The last time I left Israel, guards at Ben Gurion Airport stopped me. Familiar with U.S. airport security, my heart instantly started racing.

I had waited in line to check in for my flight while young women, looking delicate and harmless despite their military uniforms, politely questioned passengers with almost Japanese sweetness. When I had reached the front of the line, I put my suitcase in a large, inelegant machine that looked like it belonged in a 1950s movie. As luggage moved along the short conveyor belt, it was scanned for explosives.

When my suitcase came out of the machine, a security guard claimed it and directed me to follow him to a nearby table. I was very nervous, but another young woman in an IDF uniform quickly put me at ease. She asked me if I spoke English and joked with me when I answered in Hebrew. Then she asked, “Do you have honey in your suitcase?” I did. She watched my face carefully when I told her where I purchased the honey and that I had packed my suitcase myself. Then she simply handed me my suitcase and I walked to the ticket booth to check in for my flight.

It had never happened before, but on this occasion, a woman, not in uniform, stopped me just before I boarded the plane. She was matter-of-fact when she stated that she needed to pat me down. It was quick and inoffensive, unlike the pat downs I've received from Homeland Security officers.

After I arrived in the U.S. and was waiting in the “Holders of U.S. Passports” line, I could see a Homeland Security official opening his booth for the “holders of foreign passports.” A young woman, perhaps of Indian descent, approached the booth. The official was immediately aggressive. He took her passport and she nervously answered the questions he barked.

Hoping not to gain the attention of anyone in Homeland Security, I cautiously looked at another American in line next to me. I caught her eye and then moved my chin slightly to indicate the scene.

“She looks really nervous,” the woman whispered.

“I would be, too,” I murmured, trying not to move my lips.

“Well, if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to worry about,” she replied sanctimoniously.

The official continued his interrogation. Then he had the young woman put her eyes up to an impressively modern machine so her irises could be scanned. I could see her legs trembling. The official returned her passport and she walked into the baggage claim area.

After my passport had been stamped, I hurried on, hoping for a chance to speak with the young visitor to my country. She was just picking up her bag. I apologized for what had happened. She was still upset and we spoke for a little while. She was meeting a college friend for dinner in the airport before catching a connecting flight to visit some of her relatives.

I claimed my bag and then waited in another security line. The sanctimonious woman I’d spoken with earlier was ahead of me in the line. When her bags went through the x-ray machine, they attracted the attention of security. She was pulled aside and a guard began unwrapping all the gifts that had been in her suitcase. She was shaking.

Our eyes met and I hoped she could read my mind, “If you’ve got nothing to hide...”

* * *

I was unhappy with U.S. airport security, its tone and its effectiveness.

At Ben Gurion, the young, female guards had obviously been trained in “good manners” and in searching facial expressions for lies. They didn’t resort to intimidation. (Two Europeans who were in line near me at Ben Gurion had acted suspiciously. Red flags were raised even for me, but the IDF girls never raised their voices. Eventually, the two passengers admitted to being a couple and to speaking one of the languages that the guards spoke. I was curious about why they had behaved so strangely, but when Israeli security let them on the plane, I wasn’t worried.) The guards had been polite but persistent.

U.S. Security is harsh and, I worry, less effective. Once years ago, after being pulled aside, searched, frightened, and then released, I realized that that the U.S. security guards had not confiscated my bottle of water. Despite their show of testosterone, they’d let me pick up and openly carry a potentially lethal weapon.

I have less experience with Israeli airport security guards, but they seem more interested in catching terrorists than in bullying innocent travelers.

Reading Tarot Cards Is Easy

Many of my tarot students tell me that they have owned a tarot deck years ago but could never use it. I suspect this is because they turned to the words in a book instead of relying on the images in the cards. Since tarot is a visual medium for accessing our intuition, we need only focus on the cards' images.

In my short, introductory class, I begin the morning by asking everyone to exchange readings with the person across from him or her. People who had been certain they couldn't read the cards find themselves offering brilliant insights into the tarot images. Beginning students always teach me something about the cards.

Relying on your intuition is the best way to read the cards. There are set meanings for the cards, but relying solely on those interpretations is less fruitful than relying on your own feelings and life experiences. Many excellent tarot books are available, but you should not turn to them during a reading. You know your own answers, you just need to listen.

Have you ever had an intuition or premonition that came true or that you wish you'd relied on? The more you rely on your intuition, the more often it will speak to you.

Always respect the first impression you have when you see a card, whether you're looking at it for the first time or the fiftieth. Here are some guidelines for reading the cards that will help you get to know them.

• Remember that tarot is a visual medium for accessing your intuition; resist the temptation to rely on the words in a guidebook. 
• Discover your own interpretations of the cards. Develop your own relationship with them.
• Trust your first impressions and any ideas that just pop into your head.Play with the imagery as a child would. What is happening in the pictures? Why? What does that story tell you about what is happening in your life now?
• Note what emotions the image evokes in you.
• Describe the card literally, using lots of adjectives. This process will help you uncover its meaning.
• If an image reminds you of something, explore that association further.
• If one of the details of the image jumps out at you, take especial note of it.
• Look for details and colors that appear in several cards.
• Make connections between the stories you see in the cards.
• Go with the flow of your intuition; if you don't understand what a card is saying, move to the next card and come back later.
 •Do not ask the same question over and over again. Be open to hearing what the cards and your intuition have to say to you. If you stop listening to your intuition, your intuition will stop speaking


You don't need much tarot knowledge to read the cards.

It's useful to recognize the different types of cards in the deck. The twenty-two cards Major Arcana cards represent significant influences in your life; they are lessons we learn as we go through our lives. The fifty-six Minor Arcana cards are divided into four suits; each suit has ten numbered cards and four face cards.

The numbered cards may represent day-to-day events. Face cards may represent people, attitudes, or advice.

Not all decks use the same names for the cards. What are the names of the four suits in your deck? (Wands, Cups, Swords, and Pentacles?) What are the names of the face cards in your deck? (King, Queen, Knight, and Page?)

The four suits of the Minor Arcana can represent different aspects of our lives:

• Earth - physical and financial issues (this suit is often called Pentacles)
• Air - ideas and challenges (this suit is often called Swords)
• Fire - passion and work (this suit is often called Wands)
• Water - emotions and relationships (this suit is often called Cups)

That’s really all the information you need. You can rely on your intuition for everything else.

If you are new to tarot, do you recognize any of the images in your deck? Do you have a strong reaction to any of the cards?

Reading tarot cards is easy. Start doing readings regularly and trust yourself. Do readings with a partner so that you can share ideas. If you don't have a partner, pull a card in the morning then, in the evening, look at the card again while reviewing your day. When you need a particular energy, meditate on a card that seems to represent it.

Get to know the cards and what they mean to you.

Why Am I Dreaming of Kerrville, Texas?

Stonehenge II, Kerrville, Texas, USA

Last night, I kept dreaming the same two dreams in succession. In one, I was in Kerrville, Texas. In the other, I asked everyone, “Why I am I dreaming of Kerrville, Texas?”

I’m not certain, but I may have been in fifth grade when we arrived in Kerrville (pronounced cur-vl). I don’t remember where we lived before that, but my parents had heard that Kerrville was a nice town and they wanted to settle down there. (It was my first trip to Texas and we’d been driving around for quite a while... or was that some other trip, some other time?)

The morning after we arrived in Kerrville, my parents enrolled me in school. The old, WPA building was the most beautiful structure I’d ever seen. Four girls immediately befriended me. It was a tough place, they said, and I'd need friends to look after me.

The classes were neither strange nor too easy; they were fun. I’d never seen a gymnasium before; the floor was shiny and I wondered what playing basketball would be like.

Each class was held in a different room and I liked walking down the tall, dimly lit hallway. I remember the English teacher smiling at me as I sat in the back of the class next to the ceiling-high windows late in the day.

After school, my parents were waiting in their car in front of the green lawn. I climbed into the car with all my textbooks and talked non-stop about my new friends and the classes. Back in the hotel room, they told me that we weren’t going to stay.

Of all the places we lived during my childhood, I only let myself cry when we left two of them. This time, I was very dramatic; I wanted to convince them to stay.

My father said he would take my books back to the school the next morning. I insisted he take money for the girl who had loaned me some when I hadn’t had enough to pay for my lunch. (I still worry about whether he did.)

We left Kerrville behind and, a short time later, I started school in Abilene. The first day of school, I wore the same clothes I’d worn the first day in Kerrville. “Why do you dress like that? You’re weird!” There were three groups of kids there and I didn’t belong to any of them.

My parents bought a house right away, but in no time, they hated Abilene. My father ended his retirement yet again and found work elsewhere. My mother and I stayed in Abilene a few more months, in the snow and ice, while she tried to sell the very large, very odd house, and directed all her fury at me.

It's a few decades later and I have a choice: Prescott (pronounced press-kit) or Jerusalem (pronounced yuh-roo-sha-ly-yeem). I don't know whether to trust myself to make this decision or what criteria I should rely on to make my choice.

안녕하세요! 감사합니다!

Hello and thank you to my readers in South Korea.

It turns out that my blog has a dashboard. I just discovered that several comments were left over the last year.

The dashboard also keeps track of my blog's "stats." Apparently, my blog has been viewed by quite a few people in South Korea.

As Spock would say, "Fascinating."

Autumn at the Gyeongbokgung Palace in South Korea

The Nocturnal Chef

I was surprised to see that it has been seven months since my last post! I did find some unpublished drafts, but nothing complete enough to share. So here's a little snack to tide you over until something meatier is ready. 
(“Tiding over” was originally a seafaring term that referred to floating with the tide before dropping anchor.)

* * * *


At four in the morning, cats play with their toys and chase each other around the house. What can humans do at that hour?


Make Mexican food.

BRO'S RED SALSA
1 onion, chopped and diced

4 cerano peppers, sliced

3 tomatoes, diced

2 sprigs cilantro, chopped

juice of one lime

Leave out in a covered jar overnight, then refrigerate

BRO'S GREEN SALSA
10 medium tomatillos (remove papery husk), wash and boil until soft

2 or 3 cerano peppers, sliced

3 sprigs of cilantro, chopped

put in blender with a pinch of salt, liquefy

add juice of one lime

Leave out in a covered jar overnight, then refrigerate

GUACAMOLE
2 avocados (per person)

1 tbs. finely chopped onion 

juice of one lime

1 tsp. of salt

2 cloves of garlic



When finished preparing these items, two questions remain. How long until your guests arrive? Is there any hope that you would fall asleep if you went back to bed?

Click

No Insomniacs Permitted Near the Laptop

Whoops!  I accidentally published the bare beginnings of a blog post.

My apologies to those of you who are subscribed and received a copy in your inbox.

And thank you so much for subscribing!

A Sense of Place

I wrote this after an online acquaintance mentioned that no one had responded when she asked for guest posts for her new blog, A Sense of Place. It did not fit in there (too personal and not quite smart enough, perhaps), so I'm sharing it on my blog-- and stealing the great title-- because the question is important to me. 
 
*    *    *
By the time I was sixteen years old, I had lived in thirty-one different places and would soon spend the summer in a thirty-second place. There is one surprising result of a peripatetic childhood: it makes first dates difficult.

The stock question for first dates is “Where are you from?” An inability to answer that question to your date's satisfaction pretty much derails the date.

Most people have trouble comprehending the words, “We moved a lot.” (That sentence is in English, right?) They repeat the question relentlessly as if I haven’t answered.

On first dates, there seemed to be no way to change the subject. He’d persist, asking where I was born, and would look puzzled that I didn't know anything about that town. Then he’d ask where I went to high school and look painfully confused when I named three places. I would tell him where I went to college, and then he’d say… you guessed it… "But where are you from?"

An outright lie invariably backfired. Twice I said, “I’m from here,” and each time the response was, “Me, too! Which high school did you go to?” The clumsy back-pedaling might have been funny if I hadn’t been the woman on the bike. (Once, I named my dad's hometown—a place I've never visited— but that Jewish-geography-thing caused me trouble.)

Sometimes, I’d try to beat my date to the punch by asking where he was from and trying to grill him about the place and his childhood memories. Apparently my interrogation technique was poor, because it never worked. He would dodge answering my questions by asking me The Dreaded Question.

I seriously considered making up a town. Since I'm a poor liar, I figured it wouldn't help me—and why did I need help? My answer seemed perfectly valid to me: we moved a lot. Simple.

People’s obsession with the question is still bewildering. If you tell me that you are from a particular place, what have I learned about you? When I meet people, I want to know what they like to do, what books they've read, how close they are to friends and family, and what they are passionate about. I seldom ask anyone, "Where are you from?" Honestly, if you don’t have an exotic accent, I won't even think to ask.

One time, though, I did get a hint at the importance of being from somewhere. After college, I lived in one place for seven years. I left briefly, and when I returned, I was stunned at my reaction to streets and buildings and parks. Each held a different memory. Everywhere I looked, my physical eyes could almost see ghostly images of past events.

Maybe that’s what it feels like to be from somewhere. But I still don’t know why anyone else would care where I am from. 

Photo taken in Katzrin, where I immediately felt at home

.

The High Priestess and The Hierophant

The High Priestess is one of the most recognizable and well-liked cards in the tarot deck. The attractive image of a mysterious woman, gazing at us compassionately is appealing.

The High Priestess asks us to pause and listen to our own souls before we proceed on our journey. She has found her right path and knows we can, too. She is silent and doesn't try to impose her answers on us, because her ego doesn't require that she be a respected authority. As a guide, she is receptive to our needs rather than being authoritative.

The Rider-Waite deck places her between two pillars symbolic of hierarchical, organized religion. In contrast, the Gaian Tarot frees her from man-made structures and places her in Nature. The somatic experience of being outdoors and feeling Nature's rhythms helps us connect to our intuition and our souls. The Priestess knows that we can become our own best guides.

Another religious figure in the tarot is The Hierophant, who is also seated between two pillars. The personality of this guide is very different than that of the High Priestess. In the Robin Wood Tarot, he is a tall, corpulent man gazing down sternly at two young children. He is an authority figure in a negative sense of the word. Maintaining the hierarchy has become his paramount concern and he is unwilling to engage, in a meaningful way, those who turn to him for guidance. His arrogance has stunted his own spiritual growth and he doesn't expect to be held to the same standards of behavior that he imposes on others.

In the Gaian Tarot, Joanna Powell Colbert changed the name of this card from "The Hierophant" to "The Teacher." Joanna's teacher sits on the ground, inviting us to join him. (Or is it her?) A teacher cannot teach without understanding his or her students, without trying to be at their "level." The Gaian Tarot's Teacher wants to help, but does not believe that she is superior to her students.

At his best, The Hierophant may indicate the wisdom of tradition, the experience of previous generations, or practices that will help us grow. How can we know which teachers to trust with the profound, spiritual moments of our lives? Too often, we hear of narcissistic, religious leaders behaving in self-serving and unethical ways.

Each card in the deck signifies a range of qualities from negative to positive. The Hierophant card can represent anything from reliable guidance to spiritual tyranny. The High Priestess card can indicate the search for spiritual truths or aimless superficiality.

We may turn to traditional teachings or communities to avoid the self-reflection and inner work that the High Priestess asks of us. However, The Hierophant also reminds us that self-discipline and effort are part of the spiritual journey. When we are attracted to the less rigid forms of spirituality that the High Priestess implies, we may also abandon clear thinking and hard work as we pursue passing attractions to superficial fads.

When either of these cards appears in a reading, you are facing a transformative spiritual lesson. Be sure you are following your own path and attending to it diligently.

Paws of the Moon... because the moon never pauses

Menopause may be right around the corner for me and I don’t know what to expect. I’ve heard laughing comments about hot flashes and several times my mother whispered quickly that I should never take any hormone drugs. She said that all her friends who had taken those drugs had died. That’s the extent of my knowledge.

I didn’t know what my period was when it arrived. I would like to know what menopause is when it arrives. Why is there no cute, little book about what to anticipate? Something like, What to Expect When You're Expecting Menopause.

Amazon has books by medical doctors. It also has books with chilling titles like, Menopause Sucks: What to Do When Hot Flashes and Hormones Make You and Everyone Else Miserable.

You can also find books with discouraging titles like, The Menopause Makeover: The Ultimate Guide to Taking Control of Your Health and Beauty During Menopause.  For goodness sake! Can’t we just become gray and wrinkled gracefully and gratefully?  

I did find one happy title: Menopause 52 Brilliant Ideas, but then the subtitle disappointed me: Relief and remedies for the symptoms of menopause. Will I really need to “balance” my hormones, or will this be the new balance?

It would be good to have a little bit of medical information. What I really want, though, is to learn from other women’s personal experiences.

If I asked, what would women say it was like for them? Is it a discrete period of time or is it the rest of your life? Would they share a lot of information about their bodies, or would they talk about their lives? Would they focus on physical symptoms or about meaning? Is the experience different for women with children than for women who never had children?

For some reason, I expect to hear that this is an exciting time and that I’ll have a sense of renewal and new possibilities, but maybe I’m being unrealistic. I hope to nurture a wonderful, new life, but if menopause is just a physical ailment, what can I do to be healthy?

Am I the person who should write that cute, little book?  Do you think many women would be willing to talk to me and let me publish their experiences?

_______________

Addendum: Originally, seven women agreed to be interviewed, but in the end, only two let me interview them. I may not get too far on this project.

_______________

September 1, 2013: Look what I found online! A cute, little book about menopause!