Driving had always set the creative juices flowing. Was it some law of metaphysics — or, something else?

Heading home from an egg pickup in the outlying county today, I let the local “oldies” station cue up Cher. Setting aside her familiar anthems and dance tunes, they chose a real antique:

“The Way Of Love.”

Translated from the French (“J’ai le Mal de Toi”, by Jacques Dieval, English lyrics by Al Stillman), Cher hadn’t been the first, to record it; Kathy Kirby had done those honors – in 1965.

As the lyrics unfolded, carried by Cher’s throaty moan, and the music swelled into its sweeping, orchestral fill I realized that five months of estradiol and progesterone had finally hit their Full Monty stride. That long, surely lost connection between the popular song and blood flow to the groin had come roaring back. I was, in a word, flushed .

About a year ago, my older friend Sally had urged me to resume bioidentical hormone therapy. And, she’d said, go whole hog – get the full formula. Recent studies had shown that, for women over 65, the bone loss halting benefits of estradiol greatly outweighed any overblown health risks cited by one, since discredited, paper.

But, she forewarned. I’d feel so good, she said. And, my drive? Ohboy. Yep. That.

Now, so many months into the trek toward Mojo renewal this song didn’t just bring back remote, abstract memories of a first crush in Kindergarten. No; this time, I was embodied.

By agony.

Oh, hadn’t I missed that agony.

Hormones make longing for the object of your heart an aching pain for which you yearn uncontrollably. They capture all your senses, and render you jelly in the fetal position. They send you, raving, out into the public like a pimply fourteen year old screaming in the front row of a Beatles concert. You are utterly un-repressed. And, you love every minute of it.

I’d been remembering those decades past, when the body was still producing hormones naturally. Always heavy on testosterone (still), at the low end of the progesterone scale (convenient birth control), when the estrogen ran hot I was a hyper nympho. Add to that a determination to remain the last virgin (and, failing), one might have regularly witnessed any number of spontaneous if cyclic emissions from any physiologic orifice. Had I a whale’s spout, only the Queen of the Deep would have surpassed my combustive, projectile power.

But, this all came (npi) with immense frustration. Having only rare release for a relentless rush to the cadence every month, there were sprints of manic obsession (with men), episodes of sobbing into the full length mirror and, facing professional deadlines, near catatonia until the last monthly trickle brought those few, precious days of regulating relief.

Once menopause had closed the cervix for good, years of comparative peace ensued. I loved looking at men, and feeling, well, nothing. The occasional exception being the one in a hundred “drop dead” stud I’d give him at best a fleeting, ironic glance, merely remembering the power he would have had over me, now grateful to be free of its clutches.

But, Time, father of the Mona Lisa smile, eventually found me wanton.

On cue, I’d taken the bait.

Now, you’ll spot her a mile away. Overdressed, including boots, at every event. Freshly made up at midnight, the newest additions to that kit the eye lash curler and waterproof mascara. No matter the discovery of 500 ppm of aluminum in the dark brown Henna used to mask encroaching grey; now, she wears her salt and pepper locks like a boss. She is me. Welcome to Shangri-la.

I’m in drive. Either move, or stand and receive.

The law of attraction rules this road, and I have a destination to reach before the big sleep.

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Copyright 11/26/24 Ruth Ann Scanzillo * originally titled “Hormoaning.” 11/25/24. All rights those of the author, whose story it is and whose name appears above this line. No copying – in part; whole; or, by translation – permitted without either direct request of the author or by blog sharing exclusively. Thank you for respecting individual intellectual property rights.

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