Signs and a Duck in the Hot Tub
By Bev Woodruff


“Farewell Aunt Flo,” was the message on the sign that greeted me when I arrived home on that auspicious day.

It was not a drab sign. No, this was large. And neon pink with red, white and blue streamers hanging from it. And it was posted at the intersection of two roads and directly across the road from our nearest neighbor’s house.

There was no question where the sign came from. Two of the three “wise bitches” were at it again. They placed the sign there to commemorate the one-year anniversary of my last period. The question for me, the third wise bitch, was whether to leave the sign up or take it down.

I was the lone one of the three still dealing with unwelcome and unwanted monthly periods. Later, they became bi-monthly periods, then quarterly, then bi-annual, and finally, no more.  

I was afraid someone would think an aunt had passed away and show up at our house with a casserole. I left the sign in place for a few days. Later, I took it down and stored it away. I plan to bequeath it to either my daughter or daughter-in-law. One day they will understand and appreciate it. I hope the person who does not inherit the sign will not try to overturn my will in an effort to take possession. To avoid a family squabble joint custody may be the best option. 

Friendships between women over 50 exist in a separate and very satisfying realm of reality for those who are lucky enough to have them. Fortunately, I am one of those women.

A few years ago I was drawn into a friendship with two over 50 women. Today, when I look at the interesting and sometimes silly and insane things we do, I wonder how I stumbled along through life before I became friends with them. 

I came to know these women through my work at a newspaper. We formed a friendship that has helped us through everything from the everyday bumps in the road of life to health issues, serious illness and death. 

My friends are 54 and 65, and I am 57. Earlier in our lives, our age differences would have kept us from relating, but now it’s not a problem. We are vastly different but, we have one thing in common: We’ve reached the point in our lives when we just don’t care what the rest of the world thinks. 

Two of us are married, one is widowed and we all have grown children and grandchildren who are very important to us, but our friendship completes each of our lives. Our families love us, but they don’t understand us. They don’t understand bladder control issues in adults. Or celebrating with joy and silliness the first anniversary of the last monthly period, or laughing at one another until bladder control becomes an issue. No, our families don’t understand any of these things, but we do. And we find ways to make what might otherwise be upsetting or embarrassing times in our lives into hilarious events.

The “Aunt Flo” sign is not the first time something unusual appeared at one of our homes. The oldest of the three of us lost her husband a few years ago. After spending the last several months of his life caring for him she declared she was taking a trip.

She planned to take a trip to the mountains to get away and think. Because we were concerned about her, and because she has the least travel experience of the three of us, we informed her we were going along.

It was during this trip our friendship really gelled. It was also during this trip we dubbed ourselves the three wise bitches. Although it was never openly discussed we all understood at this point, our lives were much more than half over. That meant it was past the time we should begin to do as we pleased and the hell with what the rest of the world thought. Beginning with that trip and ever since, we have made a serious effort to do as we please regardless of what other people thought. 

Many people buy souvenirs to commemorate special trips, but we were different we took a souvenir. At least two of us took the souvenir, and the third now has possession of it. Although we don’t make a habit of taking things, the item appeared from who knows where and it cried out to go home with us. 

During our trip, we stayed in a mountain chalet. Each night was spent time on the deck, discussing any subject imaginable and at some point in the evening we would take a soak in the hot tub.  

The second night, when we went for our soak a plastic mallard duck was floating on the water. The duck seemed to prefer to nestle closely to the newly widowed friend. Several comments were made about the duck’s obvious preference for one of us over the other two. Eventually, we named the duck F.A.D. We tell polite people and our grandchildren, F.A.D. stands for “Found a Duck.”

When it came time to leave our mountain retreat, two of us thought it would be a shame to end the affair between F.A.D. and his new love. We sent F.A.D.’s new friend downstairs on an errand. We covered F.A.D. with a coat and stowed him in the car. A couple of weeks later, with the help of a couple of family members, F.A.D. was found floating in a tub in his new friend’s yard. F.A.D. now winters on a shelf in her bedroom and spends the rest of the year in her garden fountain.  

Maybe all this sounds silly and juvenile, but when you are sliding rapidly down the back side of life, it’s healthy to fill your life with laughter. We are serious about laughing our way to good health.
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