The MAD Goddess writes out loud with candor and humor about the changing landscape of life for women with retired husbands,
adult children, and grandchildren. It's not always a pretty story,
but it's usually pretty funny.

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Thursday, December 24, 2009


 I haven't done any holiday baking yet, 'cause - you know . . .in our midlife and beyond house, sugar, butter,chocolate and taste have all taken on a four letter pseudonym - EVIL.

Did you ever notice the connection between evil and devil (or good and God for that matter?  Think about it.).

Anyway, these things are evil in our house, the devil incarnate that makes my hips blossom and fills my hubbie’s already clogged arteries with more plaque.  They are taboo, forbidden, off limits . . .  

 . . . tantalizing little temptations promising to delight my taste buds and satisfy my tummy in a way that indulgences of the non-food variety could never do.

Oops.  Sorry.

But it’s the holiday’s right?  We need to indulge a little.  If my husband croaks any time soon, I guess you can blame me for taking a week or so off from my food-police duties.

I'm beginning to get an idea of how Eve felt, branded throughout time as the inadequate mate who fed her hubby the wrong thing and cast him into abject misery outside his happy little life in the garden.   Uh, he heard the Word too.  Think he might have been capable of saying, "No thank you, Eve.  I'll pass on the apples."

This afternoon, I’m whipping up some of my Aunt Mug’s (Margaret if you must) Toffee Squares.  Auntie Mugs was a Buxom Babe.

A few days ago I started contemplating the word buxom.  While it technically refers to a womanly part of the anatomy that lies above the waist, I believe it’s general implication is of a shapely women in the Reubanesque style.  Let's face it, for the most part, assuming nature is the underlying architect, if the womanly figure is full up top then chances are good she's shapely at the belly and hips as well.

What’s not to love about that?
(FYI, Mattel leveled a "cease and desit order against that ad campaign)

Or this?

Finally, a wonder woman archetype to which I can live up - uhm, out? (I didn't find any information of Marvel Comics requesting a cease and desist on this one.)

And since I’ll be parking my buxomness in Florida soon, for a whole month of decadent deck lounging . . .

how about this?
I like her, she reminds me a lot of the Queen of Cups card in my Tarot deck.
(click on the pic to see more beautiful, one of a kind creations at the artist's website)

This Goddess is growing weary of the pursuit of perfection to be had in a size 8 mini skirt.  I think for the new year, I’ll resolve to embrace by rubenesqueness  (I made that derivation up.  I like the way it sounds) and free the buxom babe I am meant to be.

Now, that's a plan I can wrap my mind around, if not my arms.

. . . . . . mid
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Tuesday, December 22, 2009


Truthfully, I don’t have to check this list twice. The only name on it is mine and I know I’ve been a good girl all year long.

Furthermore, I’m not counting on some old fat guy with a white beard to navigate a sleigh full of treasures to me, no matter how jolly he is. I’m letting my fingers travel over the keyboard to some of my favorite shopping haunts – the places that carry all the things a Mad Goddess woman like me could dream of.

Every Goddess needs a good pair of ruby red slippers and these are my choice. Don’t be jealous, just keystroke over to and snatch up a pair for yourself.

While you’re at it, you might want to wander over to for this way out shoe rack – high heels easily accommodated.

This seemed like a good hat to add to my collection.

Not too showy, neutral colors. I think I could wear it for everyday trips to the village market. No sense now in trying to convince the locals that I’m not a tad eccentric – but that’s a story for another time.

For chilly nights by the fire, this cozy cuddler will keep me toasty warm and, unlike my prissy pure bread feline companions, it won't shed.

The hat, rose throw and the sign below can all be had from

Don’t ask me why, but I’ve developed a desire to label my bathroom door. I’ve bypassed many a “powder room” plaques and now I now why. This beauty is far more elegant.

And while we’re on the subject of signs, this little gem from was a must have been made for me. A Goddess has to have somebody’s feet at which to lay the blame.

I can’t get enough sparkling, dangly ornaments to hang from my ears. These little gems are just quirky enough to suit me.

Made from recycled depression glass, get them while they last at

While there, you might want a sign like this one, stating that the Supergirl cape is in the laundry. I know that’s where mine is.

Of course, while I’m waiting for the cape to come out shiny clean and dry, I can drape this orchid ostrich feather boa from around my shoulders . . .

 . . .while I sip my coffee on chilly winter mornings from this perfectly befitting cup (

wearing my red power shoes . . .

. . . with my favorite plaid flannel nighty.

The santa living in this house ought to appreciate that wake up call.

. . . . . . mid
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Wednesday, December 2, 2009


My thighs are rubbing together when I walk . . . again.  I don’t know about the rest of you middle aged (and plus) chics but I’m getting fed up with this whole weight issue. 

After numerous months of struggling to tip the numbers on the scale below, uhm, a number you don’t need to know, about eight weeks ago the excess bulk started coming off.

And about two weeks ago, I noticed it creeping back on.  Yesterday, after my shower, when I felt that familiar friction of the skin above my knees I knew before stepping on the scale that I’d gained back every ounce.

Okay, so I indulged over Thanksgiving.  Yes, not on – over.  Over the entire week that I sat home on my butt enjoying a bit of leisure in my otherwise overscheduled, over-worked week.  That was my first mistake.

And maybe I’ve been hitting the chocolate again – second mistake.  But do I have to live on salads and whole grain crisps for the rest of my life just to keep squeezing my ever-bloomin’ ass into a pair of size twelves?  Really?

I’ve been wearing the same size jeans for close to twenty years now and something isn’t computing, because I certainly haven’t weighed this much for as many years.

It’s the dreaded back fat.  My sister warned me about this.

Back fat?  Back fat?!  Now I have to deal with more fat on a part of my body that I can’t exercise, even if I want to?  I’m not saying that I want to, but still –

Exercise – that E word. Not getting enough E.  Need more E.  Are you getting your recommended dose of E every day? 

“Pat, can I buy a vowel please, an E?”

“Vanna, do we have any E’s?”  (DON'T even get me started on Vanna)

“Is there an F, Pat?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, there is no F.”

Exactly, No F in’ exercise!  That’s what’s missing.

Seems I lost out in life’s wheel of fortune when the great metabolism I was born with went bankrupt. Gone are the days of eating a whole bag of potato chips with a container of dip.  Gone are chocolate malts, chocolate brownies, chocolate candy bars . . . straight shots of chocolate from the Hershey’s Syrup bottle (although, if you check the label it’s fat free).

I suppose I’ll have to make the E word part of my daily vocabulary if I don’t want to blow up like a beached whale.  So, I hit the road for a brisk thirty-minute walk yesterday. Then, last night before bed, I uncorked a bottle to celebrate – a bottle of extra-strength pain reliever to ease my Arthritic feet, bad hip, aching shins and stiff back.

Later today, if I can hobble to the grocery store, I’ll stock up on lettuce and some more of those cardboard crackers.  I wonder if they’d taste any better with a shot of Hershey’s on them?

. . . . . . mid
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