Menopausal Stoners
Who is a Menopausal Stoner?
Anyone who watched body bags coming home from Vietnam while they ate Swanson TV dinners qualifies as a Menopausal Stoner, with men being known as Manopausal Stoners. Most of us were born a little too late to count as Baby Boomers and were still in elementary school when our older brothers, cousins, friends and relatives were in danger from the draft lottery. While we ourselves may have escaped that threat, we did emerge from that time convinced we would be graveyard dead before we ever saw the age of 25. Substance abuse – either current or historical – is not a requirement. All you need is a healthy dose of outrage and dismay at America’s sociopolitical climate.
The Genesis of Menopausal Stoners
Menopausal Stoners came about because several girlfriends - all over 40 - happened to be on Vicodin at the same time due to medical conditions. It also just so happened that these girlfriends had all started smoking weed again after years and years of restricting their substance use to alcohol. Moms often feel compelled to quit smoking weed which is probably a good thing overall, but once the kids are gone half the time there's no reason not to get high every now and then - unless of course you can't find any weed.
Discussing the concept of a Menopausal Stoner with random folks I met anywhere from on the bus in the city to a microbrewery near Plymouth, VT where an enchanting creek runs beside the deck showed conclusively that lots of people were getting high. And, except for the legalities involved, as long as we are as responsible with smoking as we are with drinking -- why shouldn't we?
Additional research showed that Twenty Something clerks at convenience stores were particularly amused by the idea that some fifty year old women were not simply dumb or dingy customers – the old broads were high. Apparently, these youngsters thought they were the only ones who got high. That impression had to be instantaneously corrected.
About this time my 16 year old son came home stoned with a couple of friends. Since he had clearly made his choice in this area, I figured I could come out of the closet with the weed. There is no communal bong in the living room, and no minors are allowed to smoke weed in my apartment. That is my privilege since I pay the mortgage. Further, my kid and I agreed that getting high together would be entirely too weird. It's a boundary thing . . .
I do, however, consider it my duty as a concerned and attentive parent to provide good munchies. Between bursts of goofy laughter, the guys enjoy treats from Trader Joe’s. They like those crunchy little organic chocolate chip cookies, especially with ice cream, and the chocolate almond tart. It really is a lot like June Cleaver’s or Donna Reed’s TV house – except the mom and/or the children are occasionally stoned. Also, I never bake my own cookies since that generally ends badly, and I’m a single mom since my former husband, Buzz Kill, had to be sent back to his mother. But that’s another story.
Not long ago, I was reading about the status of medicinal use of marijuana in the state legislature when the man-child entered. I looked up from the New York Times and said, "Son, I have concluded that it behooves us as a family to work towards the decriminalization of marijuana." He quickly warmed to this topic - going straight for legalization and his plan to package spleefs to sell vending machines like the ones in Japan. A boy can dream.
Decriminalization of marijuana is not merely a project for the young. Menopausal Stoners will be working on this task as soon as we put down the pipe and figure something out. For the moment, I'll continue to listen to Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young with a new ear. Our generation must Get Back to the Garden (yes, I know Joni wrote it) at least figuratively in order to stop this country from going to Hell in a Hand basket. Anyone with a brain can see it's been thoroughly screwed ever since Ronald Reagan told all the white people to quit with the social justice stuff, move to the suburbs and shop. That's why we smoke weed for crying out loud. Granted, loosing the 60's was depressing, but we owe it to our children to mobilize. Hence, Menopausal Stoners.
Welcome.
Patricia E. Nolan
Anyone who watched body bags coming home from Vietnam while they ate Swanson TV dinners qualifies as a Menopausal Stoner, with men being known as Manopausal Stoners. Most of us were born a little too late to count as Baby Boomers and were still in elementary school when our older brothers, cousins, friends and relatives were in danger from the draft lottery. While we ourselves may have escaped that threat, we did emerge from that time convinced we would be graveyard dead before we ever saw the age of 25. Substance abuse – either current or historical – is not a requirement. All you need is a healthy dose of outrage and dismay at America’s sociopolitical climate.
The Genesis of Menopausal Stoners
Menopausal Stoners came about because several girlfriends - all over 40 - happened to be on Vicodin at the same time due to medical conditions. It also just so happened that these girlfriends had all started smoking weed again after years and years of restricting their substance use to alcohol. Moms often feel compelled to quit smoking weed which is probably a good thing overall, but once the kids are gone half the time there's no reason not to get high every now and then - unless of course you can't find any weed.
Discussing the concept of a Menopausal Stoner with random folks I met anywhere from on the bus in the city to a microbrewery near Plymouth, VT where an enchanting creek runs beside the deck showed conclusively that lots of people were getting high. And, except for the legalities involved, as long as we are as responsible with smoking as we are with drinking -- why shouldn't we?
Additional research showed that Twenty Something clerks at convenience stores were particularly amused by the idea that some fifty year old women were not simply dumb or dingy customers – the old broads were high. Apparently, these youngsters thought they were the only ones who got high. That impression had to be instantaneously corrected.
About this time my 16 year old son came home stoned with a couple of friends. Since he had clearly made his choice in this area, I figured I could come out of the closet with the weed. There is no communal bong in the living room, and no minors are allowed to smoke weed in my apartment. That is my privilege since I pay the mortgage. Further, my kid and I agreed that getting high together would be entirely too weird. It's a boundary thing . . .
I do, however, consider it my duty as a concerned and attentive parent to provide good munchies. Between bursts of goofy laughter, the guys enjoy treats from Trader Joe’s. They like those crunchy little organic chocolate chip cookies, especially with ice cream, and the chocolate almond tart. It really is a lot like June Cleaver’s or Donna Reed’s TV house – except the mom and/or the children are occasionally stoned. Also, I never bake my own cookies since that generally ends badly, and I’m a single mom since my former husband, Buzz Kill, had to be sent back to his mother. But that’s another story.
Not long ago, I was reading about the status of medicinal use of marijuana in the state legislature when the man-child entered. I looked up from the New York Times and said, "Son, I have concluded that it behooves us as a family to work towards the decriminalization of marijuana." He quickly warmed to this topic - going straight for legalization and his plan to package spleefs to sell vending machines like the ones in Japan. A boy can dream.
Decriminalization of marijuana is not merely a project for the young. Menopausal Stoners will be working on this task as soon as we put down the pipe and figure something out. For the moment, I'll continue to listen to Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young with a new ear. Our generation must Get Back to the Garden (yes, I know Joni wrote it) at least figuratively in order to stop this country from going to Hell in a Hand basket. Anyone with a brain can see it's been thoroughly screwed ever since Ronald Reagan told all the white people to quit with the social justice stuff, move to the suburbs and shop. That's why we smoke weed for crying out loud. Granted, loosing the 60's was depressing, but we owe it to our children to mobilize. Hence, Menopausal Stoners.
Welcome.
Patricia E. Nolan
posted by PENolan at
12:20 AM
2 Comments:
Trish - The idea of you comparing yourself to June Cleaver makes me smile. June must have SOME pre-Ward history!
Say, your son's not going to be reading this, will he?
Good Luck, lookin' good.
He won't be reading this - too busy with his own sixteen year old life.
As for June, I doubt we really have that much in common since she was always saying, "Ward, you were awfully hard on the Beaver."
I would never say that ;)
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