Here in America, the winter holiday season is in full swing, which means full-on decorations everywhere you look. Some of this is alright, but most of it, to my eyes, is insane. How many strings of blinking LED Christmas lights do you need on one house? And does your rooftop Santa need to be wearing a pink Hawaiian shirt under his red jacket? Why do his reindeer need to carry clumps of tinsel in their mouths? Are they not already burdened by the excess of neon sleigh bells blinking on their backs?

In its purest form, holiday cheer is meant to bring people together and inspire community goodwill (although it could certainly have the opposite effect on the many people who don’t celebrate this particular holiday, serving only to make them feel unseen and isolated. We need more cultural recognition of diverse holiday traditions!). I don’t love Performative Christmas as a mandate, but I admit that it can be fun to take a stroll down a sparkling holiday street in the dark of winter. Yet I find myself tuning out the big neon CHEER shit and searching for something else, something genuinely powerful: charm.

I could make a good case that charm is simple, elegant, and uncluttered. A single Christmas ornament can hold infinitely more charm than a stacked tree. But I’ve seen some fully decorated trees that are abundantly, undeniably charming. For that matter, someone might have put that Hawaiian shirt on Santa deliberately, feeling that its charm would increase tenfold. It’s entirely possible that charm is in the eye of the beholder.

I truly believe that charm is inherently quiet. It doesn’t grab and shake you like thunder. It floats into your consciousness like soft perfume, a vibe shift that brings you to a sweeter, kinder place. Its spellcasting power is enormous, but gentle. Quite often it sneaks up on us when we least expect it, but we are always grateful for its arrival, and might even do things to try and generate more of it. If your tree is decorated with individual, hand-made or even hand-chosen ornaments, then chances are you already know what I mean.

To state the obvious, charm is emotional. Its opposite on the emotional color wheel is awe, which is a feeling of being dwarfed by the bigness of things. When pondering the ocean, the mountain range, the galaxy, we feel small and humble in comparison. Charm illuminates the bigness and richness of our inner world. When something charms us, it has usually triggered a deeply personal association, often tinged with nostalgia, delight and even wonder. When we are charmed by another person, the same elements are usually in play. This distinctly human response to charm is evidence that we contain multitudes.

Charm is a great blessing of the human experience. My theory is that we’re hard-wired to recognize it, and even to seek it out, because of its unlimited power to uplift our mood. Under its spell we are more open and grateful, and more inclined to treat others that way. For that matter, isn’t charm the thing that we want our gift-giving to inspire in the people around us? Who doesn’t get a thrill imagining someone we love opening a truly charming gift?

But our radar for charm has been compromised by the conditions of modern living. We are constantly overwhelmed by everything everywhere all at once, and it’s hard to locate charm in the cacophony. This holiday season I hereby declare that we must not lose our connection to charm. It’s too important, too sacred and powerful.

What’s your single greatest source of holiday charm, and why?

Leave a comment

Share

Subscribe now

This month our staff is on a mission to help you source fantastic woman-owned gifts for everyone on your list.

Our celebrated Beauty Editor is serious about the products she picks for her devoted clients, and we’ll let her take it from here (check out her fav foodie gifts at the end!)

“Danessa Myrick’s Beauty is a cosmetic company that offers gorgeous textures, colors, and long-wear solutions to your makeup needs. For a light-weight, not-too-heavy finish, try the Glow Serum and then follow with Yummy Skin Serum Skin Tint. If you want to gift something really useful, anyone would want the My Yummy Brush Collection: Starter Edition! This complete brush set would round out anyone’s brush collection or jump start someone who is just beginning their makeup journey.

If beautiful skincare is a safer bet for the people on your list,Le Mieux makes astonishingly gorgeous skincare. I recommend the Iso-Rose Mineral Toning Mist. Get the cute 2oz. Size and pair it with the Bio-Cell Rejuvenating Cream.

To review my picks from Image Skincare, here is a video I shot for the company. A lot of GREAT suggestions in that video for practically everyone on your list.

Let me pivot away from beauty and focus on another passion of mine: FOOD. I just started ordering tinned fish from Fishwife. When I tell you I have never had anchovies that tasted as good as these do! I love their collaboration with Fly By Jing (another woman-owned condiment company). The smoked salmon with chili crisp is delicious and would impress any foodie in your life.”

Will you share your favorite woman-owned businesses with us in the comments?

Leave a comment

Share

Subscribe now

Hello to all our readers in 26 countries around the world! It’s me, Alicia, founder and Editor-In-Chief of Womancake Magazine, a platform for women over age 40. Today is my birthday and I’m full of sass, love, rage and hope (that’s pretty much how I’ve always been, as demonstrated by the pic above).

I want to thank you for being a loyal reader of the mag! Can we normalize paying for the media that you love? Paid subscriptions are what keep us going and help us grow. Please consider upgrading to a paid subscription at our current 25% discount, and you can also send a woman in your life a gift subscription to Womancake.

Now I’m going to focus on HOPE and share some GOOD NEWS for midlife women, so let’s get into it!

The Menopause Society published a thorough and compelling White Paper addressing many controversies, including those about HRT!

Hoo boy, there’s so much to learn from this thing that they should offer a class for healthcare providers and patients. If nothing else, it will deeply validate your symptoms, and help reframe your mindset on them, as outlined in the document’s conclusion:

“Whilst the recent focus has been on empowering women to proactively manage their distressing menopause symptoms, it is also important to promote a positive view of menopause as a natural stage in a woman’s life and an opportunity to re-evaluate and address current and future health concerns.”

There is a brand-new book imprint exclusively by and for midlife women!

Friend of Womancake (and my colleague at the Institute for Women’s Futures) has started an indie printing label under her fantastic brand The Empress! The books will be short form and packed full of wisdom, anecdotes and educational information. I’ll let her describe it in her own words:
“The Empress Project is a new imprint for midlife women's voices, to bring them to the fore, and to not be subject to the kind of old gatekeepers who would perhaps not publish these voices. We want to [publish] more nonfiction and fiction by midlife and older women, and have [authors] keep more of those royalties and rights. The first book from the imprint is a nonfiction book about sexuality by Dr Heather Bartos, [an MD and menopausal women’s specialist]. Women need to remember that it can be wonderful! That’s why I feel like it's so important that we do this book, and that we make it digestible chunks that women read over time.” GET ON THE WAITLIST NOW. PS it’s also Alisa’s birthday today, HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALISA!

Compelling new evidence about lowering cholesterol with diet lifestyle changes!

It now appears that women with elevated “bad” cholesterol can lower our levels with diet (especially fiber) and exercise changes. I’ve already been incorporating more beans and whole grains into my meals. I also love this organic split-pea soup, which is filling and easy to zhzuzh up with some spices. Another change I’ve made lately is increasing the amount of mid-intensity exercise (which, according to the article linked above, helps “sweep” bad cholesterol from the body) in my workouts.

[NOTE: The information contained in this Womancake Magazine article is intended for informational purposes only, and is not intended for the purpose of diagnosing, treating, curing or preventing any illness. Before using any products or following any advice referenced in this piece, consult your healthcare providers, read all labels and head all cautions that come with the products. Information received from this piece, or anywhere in this magazine, should not be used in place of a consultation or advice from a healthcare provider. If you suspect you have any adverse conditions, please consult your healthcare providers immediately. This magazine, including Alicia Dara and any other writers or editors, disclaim any responsibility from any possible adverse effects from the use of any information contained herein. Opinions of any guests or contributors in this magazine are their own, and the magazine does not accept responsibility for statements made by guests or contributors. This magazine does not make any representations or warranties about a guest’s qualifications or credibility.]

Midlife women are kicking major ass in music and media!

Neneh Cherry and Kathleen Hanna just published memoirs. Our Music Editor, the one and only released a gorgeous record this year. Tori Amos has a new record. Joan As Police Woman has one, too. Joanna Coles and Sam Bee started The Daily Beast podcast. Stacy Abrams has a great one. Julia Louis Dreyfus’ “Wiser Than Me” podcast, in which she interviews older women who are legends of entertainment, politics, and media is amazing. Our Travel Editor, created a thriving Substack. Our Beauty Editor, wrote a fantastic post about Gen X beauty for Womancake that is one of our most loved essays of the year.

What are your favorite books, podcasts, products and media by midlife women? (Feel free to include the ones you make :)

Leave a comment

Share

Subscribe now

Economic power is a crucial part of women’s autonomy. Gifting season is a great opportunity to shift our consumer habits to a more conscious mindset, and put our money where it can make a real difference in the lives of women everywhere.

We want to add to your list of woman-owned businesses, so we’re sharing some of our favs. Gift-giving doesn’t have to be hard, just grab the list and get going!

First up, our Travel Columnist loves a fantastic book store with a great selection of excellent and unique titles (check out her selections in the pics below):

“Sunbelt Books is owned and run by four women who've spent many decades in publishing. They carry 1000s of books on everything related to California, the Southwest US, and Baja. Find gifts for everyone: gorgeous coffee-table books; plant, bird, and animal guides; herbs and natural medicines; native pottery and baskets; rare gems and minerals; and fun and educational children’s books. Many discounts too.” www.sunbeltbooks.com

Will you share your favorite woman-owned businesses with us in the comments?

Leave a comment

Share

Subscribe now

A single thought kept repeating in my brain while I watched the new Martha Stewart documentary on Netflix last week, and I’m still wrestling with it.

There are so many ways to examine the phenomenon of Martha. For one thing, she was an undisputed master of the domestic sphere. The world couldn’t get enough of her back in her heyday, but she was repugnant…

Read more

Two things I told , Womancake’s Editor-In-Chief, when I signed on to be the Music Editor: I don’t want to do ‌music or concert reviews, or artist interviews. That said, there was a perfect trifecta of ‌recent happenings that prompted this snack-portioned version of my column. In the spirit of this quarter’s theme, which is “The Li…

Read more

Today I read something that threw me—women lose 30% of the collagen in their skin in the first five years after menopause. Here I am, a Gen X woman, 4 years post-menopause, and dealing with the effects of gravity. I’m not handling it as well as I would like.

I’ve been a pro…

Read more

Most days after lunch I take a quick walk through my neighborhood. There’s a lot to love about the part of the city where I live: tall pines stand sentinel on every street, and the birdlife in their branches is spectacular, not to mention the cats, squirrels, raccoons and buns who populate the bushes and ivy closer to the ground. 

I don’t wear headphones…

Read more

If you like this post please tap the little ❤️ above, it will help Womancake grow!

When Russel and I got married, there weren’t many big things we didn’t know about each other. We’d known each other for 14 years before we got hitched, after all, and though we’d only dated for a year during that time, we had all the basics down—we shared a philosophy of life that pretty much boiled down to “seize the day,” we were liberal democrats, we grew up in California (though Russel was born in Iowa, his family moved to Oceanside when he was 5) and we both loved the ocean. We also shared a fondness for live theater, movie musicals, big dogs, and seventies rock music. What we did not have in common was sports. Russel liked baseball and I loved baseball. And I especially loved the San Francisco Giants. That’s a long story which I won’t go into, but suffice to say that I was a pretty rabid Giants fan.

 Russel was happy to indulge my passion but he was a bit worried when I came running out to the dock shouting when I couldn’t get game 2 of the 1989 World Series to come in on his little tv on the boat. I was pissed off, to hear him tell it, and it took finding out there’d been a devastating earthquake to shut me up. In 2002, Russel started to get pretty excited when the Giants won the Pennant and went to the World Series. By the time 2010 rolled around, he was almost as big a fan as I was and we got even more crazy when the Giants did it again in 2012. That fall was a magical one, with the Giants winning the World Series and Barack Obama winning a second term.

Then, in 2014, my beloved husband came up with an idea to celebrate our 25th anniversary—why not take the boat up to San Francisco, stay a few weeks, and see the Giants in person at their ballpark? I was over the moon, of course, and we proceeded to put his plan into action. We sailed north up the coast, stopping at Santa Cruz Island and Santa Barbara and then jumped up to Morro Bay for our actual anniversary in late May. We planned to cruise on up to SF and catch some games in June or July, before heading south in early August. But Monterey was as far as we got.

It happened like this: we left the gorgeous protected anchorage at San Simeon in the late afternoon, as we often do when making a long passage. There’s no where for a sailboat to safely stop in the miles north of San Simeon, until you reach Stillwater Cove, the lovely bay that the Pebble Beach golf course and resort wraps around so scenically. The 92 miles would take us about 18 hours, but we’d take turns being on watch, so the other could sleep. We waved goodbye to Hearst Castle as the afternoon sun warmed the rolling golden hills of San Simeon, a place we’d come to love on previous visits. The Pacific swell was only moderate, coming as always from the northwest along the coast, meaning right on our nose, and we settled in for a long spell of motoring. At seven o’clock, our dinner eaten, I volunteered for the first watch, knowing there was a Giants game coming on that I could tune in to on Sirius Radio—listening to that would keep me awake while looking around and staying alert to any potential problems.

Russel went below and tried to rest, but two hours later, off Big Sur, he popped up saying he was “too interested to sleep.” We both watched awhile as the boat crept along the towering rock cliffs, then we took turns going below and lying in the v-berth, but sleep eluded us both.  I took my turns in the warm bed but couldn’t shut down my mind, and Russel had the same problem; we each slept an hour or two out of the fourteen we’d allowed for sleep and watches. The motoring went better than the sleeping and we got to Stillwater Cove before it was light, not a good time to come into a shallow, rocky, kelp-filled cove that we’d never entered before. We decided to press on to Monterey, knowing we could anchor off the marina and not have to deal with docking in our sleep-deprived state.

I have always been able to “maintain” pretty well on little or no sleep, thanks to many years of working long shifts in restaurants and bars, followed by doing acting rehearsals, classes, or performances. But I was pretty tired by the time we rounded the big peninsula that wraps around the big bay of Monterey to the west and south. Russel was lying quietly below and, hoping he was sleeping, I kept steering through the quirky but beautiful approach to the harbor. The houses along those few miles are some of the most beautiful in the world, and their waterfront settings are world-class too. When Russel came up, he was happy to see we’d arrived, but we were both unhappy to see that the swell was also wrapping around and heading into the bay, making the anchorage as full of swells as the open ocean.

Admitting defeat, beaten by the elements, we called the marina office and they said they had a slip for us, so we powered on into the dock, exhausted and with the stress working on our final nerves. Once we’d pulled into the slip and safely tied up, I walked up to the office to check us in and pay for the slip, and Russel got the boat straightened up—passages always cause things you thought were fastened to come loose and by the end of 18 hours, there were plenty of things strewn about or hastily stuck in odd places. The rest of the day was spent in the v-berth where, even though I still couldn’t fall asleep, I was more than content to read and relax in the still and quiet boat while Russel snoozed.

The next day we looked at the charts for the next leg of our passage up to San Francisco and decided that we’d “prefer not to.” Better to stay put in Monterey and go up by car. We rented a slip for a month, enjoying daily walks filled with sightseeing around the historic city.

In late June, almost a month after my birthday, we rented a car in Monterey and drove up to SF for a couple of days, planning to eat some great seafood, see some baseball, and do a little city-by-the-bay tourism. The cioppino at the renowned Tadisch Grill was delicious—it always is—and we enjoyed walking around the city—we always do—but a few little things got in the way of us having our dream vacation.

I’d chosen our hotel based purely on the fact that it wasn’t too expensive, and was right on the train line to AT&T Park (we’d decided that public transport was the smart way to get to the ballpark, which is still true). That night we took the train over to the ballpark, taking in the sights at the glittering Embarcadero. Unfortunately, the Giants got soundly beat by our hometown Padres and we got back to the hotel late and bummed out. We were asleep at midnight when the loud partying started next door, and the noise kept us tossing and turning for hours. At dawn I got up to take a morning walk, and found a nearby cafe that served excellent coffee and buttermilk donuts. Russel was able to sleep in once the party animals retired at four, so he wasn’t feeling too bad. The fresh donuts and strong coffee (and a full refund from Hotels.com) made us both feel much better.

That day we drove over to Sausalito, the charming village just over the Golden Gate from SF. We’d been advised to try The Spinnaker for lunch, which lived up to its billing on waterfront views as well as great food, plus the Bloody Marys were spicy and strong. Full as a tick, I wandered back from the ladies room past a bar where the Wednesday afternoon Giants game was on. I stopped to watch a moment, only to discover that Tim Lincecum was pitching a no-hitter against the Padres. I called Russel over and we spent the after-lunch hour watching baseball history be made, just a few miles away. I tried to take it well, but of course I was kicking myself. Why hadn’t I chosen the day game? Luckily, it was a gorgeous afternoon to enjoy Sausalito, so we wandered the streets and happily window shopped before heading home, worn out from the ups and downs of our long-awaited Giant visit to the big city.

Leave a comment

Share

Its effects are wonderful, expansive, powerful, but it does not behave the way you might think. For one thing, it doesn’t always respond to hard work. You can put your back into it, armed with your best intentions, but to no avail. For another, it tends to reject attempts to fake your way through it, although there are people who seem to get away with t…

Read more

Read more

Hello, beloved readers. It’s me, Alicia, the Founder and Editor-In-Chief of Womancake. I’m sure you know what today’s essay is all about. In the wake of the election results, I’ve been feeling alternate waves of grief, rage, anxiety and fear. It has felt like a death, and although I knew it was possible, I hoped with all my being that it would not take …

Read more

Madison Square Garden and I have some history together. Wanna hear that story?

OK But first — let’s talk about today. 

This week, I woke up to news about a rally at Madison Square Garden —18,000 people gathered in the interest of electing candidates to our government whose promotion and tolerance of violence, racism, vengefulness, res…

Read more

Womancake’s current quarterly theme is, “The Little Things.” Enjoy this original piece from , which inspires us to adopt a more joyful mindset about The Big M!

Read more

Gentlemen, come hither and harken to my advice about some MIDLIFE CISWOMANSTUFF (this is a euphemism for perimenopause, and don't overuse it!). 

As a member of this particular population who is married to one of you, I have deep compassion for your sitch. We all do! It’s not easy hanging with us as we rock and roll through the changes that Nature (that b…

Read more

I always returned under the radar,
drove past places familiar and 
vivid with story.
What I mean by that is
land-mine memory

I would sneak into town 
into safe houses,
accept clandestine welcome.
What I mean by that is
I avoided “home” at all costs

This time I wanted to walk boldly
in the comfort of middle …

Read more

Hi, Kim! Welcome to the Womancake interview. Let's start here, how is your work day going?

It has been really good. I keep myself from being bored by keeping a couple of little contract jobs, and then I work on my business, and I also help with family stuff. So I've had a little bit of all of that today. 

Nice, sounds like a great day. Will you talk a lit…

Read more

It’s crow o’clock. Every night at dusk all the crows in our neighborhood take wing and fly in a diagonal line across the sky. They flap and caw and shove right through the clouds, and although I’m a life-long bird lover and bird observer, I’ve never seen anything like it. Recently I learned that our house sits right underneath the crows’ “roosting route…

Read more

I look over and see my aging dad grimace in pain.

“Dad? You okay?”

He nods as he absently rubs his leg.

“It’s just this damn knee. It feels like it’s on fire.”

He has just arrived for his visit, and already I find myself fretting. Is this knee thing new? Did he bring a cane? I take a mental inventory of the preparations I have already taken: a frame for around the toilet to make it easier to stand, chairs placed strategically to help him tie his shoes. We should be okay…I tell myself, trying desperately to self-soothe as I feel my anxiety spiking. Take a breath, he’s 81.

My fretting over him should come as no surprise; this has been our pattern for the past forty years.

Him, head bowed over the steering wheel, sobbing after my mom left him. Me, age five, consoling him. “It’s okay daddy, you still have me.”

Amy Hollan as a child in the 70s

Him, standing by as I cook dinner, a pre-teen with a second-hand cookbook trying to make something besides a microwave meal.

Me, calling the sports bar at midnight, one AM, two AM, asking the bartender to tell him to come home.

A pattern of constant worrying and fretting that is woven so tightly it feels impenetrable, binding us together and slowly suffocating me, the comfort and pain so intrinsically connected that it is hard to know where one stops and the other begins.

I pull the car out of the airport and onto the freeway, pointing us towards my home, wondering if this was all a terrible mistake. I practice my deep breathing and listen as he recounts his flight woes. I try to tell him something and he listens for a beat before jumping in, interrupting with a non-sequitur that has become his norm. “You know, in 1985 I met this guy…”

I fade in and out of listening, and as usual, he doesn’t seem to notice. I am simply a lacuna, there to receive all his stories, to listen and nod quietly. He looks so much older, I think grimly to myself. It is as if my dad, ever the tough guy, is crumbling in front of me. The man who at 45 took a kick to the mouth from our giant thoroughbred Artie, sawing his chin in half and dislodging several teeth. There were no tears. There were no dramatics. He simply took a dirty rag out of his toolbox, pressed it to his face, and drove himself to the hospital.

It is as if my dad, ever the tough guy, is crumbling in front of me. The man who at 45 took a kick to the mouth from our giant thoroughbred Artie, sawing his chin in half and dislodging several teeth. There were no tears. There were no dramatics. He simply took a dirty rag out of his toolbox, pressed it to his face, and drove himself to the hospital.

Then this tough guy would disappear as he became consumed by the darkness that lurked inside him, rendering him catatonically depressed. I would spend my parenting-plan assigned weekends with him, begging for his attention. “Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad.” I would shout into his ear, his gaze never breaking at some unknown spot in the distance, mumbling to himself. In these dark times, my latch-key kid persona only deepened: it was me making dinner. Me trying to break him out of it. Me worrying, worrying, worrying…just hoping that he would stay alive in between visits so we would see each other again.

This parentification, where the child takes on the role of the parent, only deepened in my adulthood. Bossing him around (eat some vegetables! Take vitamins! Get some damn exercise!) became the theme of our calls and visits. He never seemed to mind. He would chuckle and agree, enjoying being parented, enjoying someone caring.  

In return my dad was always there, ready to listen, when my own depression crept up. He understood, deeply, and would sit on the phone with me, without judgement or advice. It was as if those moments of support that left me feeling heard, seen, and understood almost made up for the moments where I was swallowed whole by the tidal wave of his own depressive episodes.

Then this tough guy would disappear as he became consumed by the darkness that lurked inside him, rendering him catatonically depressed. I would spend my parenting-plan assigned weekends with him, begging for his attention. “Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad.” I would shout into his ear, his gaze never breaking at some unknown spot in the distance, mumbling to himself... Me worrying, worrying, worrying…just hoping that he would stay alive in between visits so we would see each other again.

Almost.

We arrive at my home and work on getting him settled in. I heft his giant suitcase onto the luggage rack I have purchased specifically for this moment, something waist high since bending is now a problem for him. He is 81, I remind myself, gently calming myself down before I mentally start to reprimand him for not taking care of himself. He is 81.

Watching him age comes with the crippling fear I hold in my heart about my own mortality, the two tangled deeply as I see myself in thirty something years, grappling with an aging body and mind. What will I be like? I wonder as I feel the anxiety clutch my heart. This is a particularly harrowing thought as a proud Childfree by Choice woman. I hold few regrets when it comes to the decision to not have children. While it was the correct choice for me and my husband, we did not land on the decision lightly. There were years, years, of discussions, musings, and concerns as we wrapped our heads around this choice to not procreate. And while I am happy with this decision, in these moments with my dad, witnessing him slowing down, falling apart, growing older, I cannot help but wonder, who will take care of me in the end?

 Amy with her father.

That fear-based thought can be easily squashed after one twelve-hour shift in the Emergency Room I worked in for years. Witnessing the end for so many people was a brash wakeup call that no matter how many children you have, there is no guarantee you will be surrounded by those you love when your end comes. I sometimes reflect on this when I am feeling the most charged, the most scared, the most lonely, and it soothes me. I reflect on my decade as a family therapist and think of what it takes to parent, and know, with certainty, that life is not for me. It is so much work to parent, so much push and pull in shaping the young to become productive, healthy, and happy members of society. It is an honorable path, certainly. Just not the path for me.

Instead, I am left parenting my parent, knowing that I am doing this out of a mishmash of love, obligation, and guilt. Years ago, I spoke to a Rebbetzin, or Rabbi’s wife, about my frustrations with my father. She reminded me that in the Torah we are commanded to respect, love, and honor our parents. She pointed out that we are not commanded to love our children. “That’s because loving our children is easy, it’s inherent in us. Loving our parents can be hard, so we are commanded to do so.” And so, I march forward, following this commandment. Pushing through and finding the internal strength and fortitude to show up, give love, and expect absolutely nothing in return.

My dad is sitting on the couch, looking at his iPad. “Aim,” he calls to me in the kitchen, “can you help me figure this thing out? It isn’t connecting.” Amy Holan: Daughter. Cook. Tech Support. I sit down next to him to figure out why his bank password is not working. He takes this moment to remind me where his paperwork is, when he dies. He shares all his passwords, so I can notify all institutions of his passing when he goes. A macabre conversation, but one we have been having for the past twenty years. I used to roll my eyes at it, and now I listen attentively, knowing that we are closer to that day with each passing moment. I feel my stomach drop and tears well in my eyes just thinking of it. For no matter how complicated our relationship is or has been, I know just how much I am going to miss him. My heart lurches and I take a deep breath, trying to hold onto this moment, grateful for this time with him. “Dad,” I start, looking over at him, wanting to say how much he has driven me crazy, grossed me out, made me uncomfortable, made me feel safe, made me feel heard, made me feel prized and like I mattered.

He looks at me, taking me in. “Have you heard the one about the guy who needed a push?” He smiles and turns toward me, happy for a brief moment of reprieve, a brief sigh of relief as age and mortality fade away and we get one more moment to laugh, together.

Thank you for reading Womancake Magazine. This post is public so feel free to share it.

Amy Holan (also known as Havi Zavi) is a Licensed Psychotherapist and writer who publishes Havizavi.com, a synthesis of travel essays, art, culture, and adventures. She is also a contributing columnist at Womancake on Substack, a publication serving large slices of wisdom for women over 40. When not traveling the world, she splits her time between the desert and a small, rugged island in the Pacific Northwest. A proud Childfree by Choice woman, she is delighted by the other honorariums she holds: wife, auntie, sister, cousin, friend, dog mom. You can find her on Instagram @havi_zavi.

The information contained in this Womancake Magazine essay is intended for informational purposes only, and is not intended for the purpose of diagnosing, treating, curing or preventing any illness. Before using any products referenced in this piece, consult your healthcare providers, read all labels and head all cautions that come with the products. Information received from this piece, or anywhere in this magazine, should not be used in place of a consultation or advice form a healthcare provider. If you suspect you have any adverse conditions, please consult your healthcare providers immediately. This magazine, including Alicia Dara and any other writers or editors, disclaim any responsibility from any possible adverse effects from the use of any information contained herein. Opinions of any guests in this magazine are their own, and the magazine does not accept responsibility for statements made by guests. This magazine does not make any representations or warranties about a guest’s qualifications or credibility. 

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Share Womancake Magazine

Hello to all our new readers around the world! I’m Womancake’s Editor In Chief, Alicia Dara, welcoming you to the magazine. Today in America it’s Indigenous People’s Day (formerly known as Columbus Day). Last year I published this list of great Indigenous artists and providers you should know, and I’m updating it today. Know someone we should add to the list? Use the comments below.

It’s a great time to celebrate the work of Indigenous women, and here are some that I love:

Singer Samantha Crain is a member of the Choctaw Nation and has been making heart-breakingly beautiful, acoustic-based music for more than a decade. Rumor has it her upcoming release is going to be her breakthrough, so get ahead of the crowd!

Cheekbone Beauty is one of the first Indigenous makeup brands, and by far the best, with bold, vivid colors and creamy formulas. Founder Jenn Harper says her vision for the company came to her in a dream, and she cares about sharing it with her community and the Earth (they’re a certified B-Corps!)

Sonoma native Ada Limon was named one of Time Magazine’s 2024 Women of the Year. Her poetry has been celebrated all over the world, and it’s great to see her get this recognition. Start with this book.

Métis painter and activist Christi Belcourt’s work takes my breath away with its tiny, meticulously rendered dots that are inspired by traditional floral beadwork. Her themes include concern for the environment, human spirituality, awareness of Métis culture and the majesty of Nature. While these are heavy subjects, her images radiate a calming, centering, and somehow aligning force, as if all your internal pieces are coming together into perfect harmony. The images appear simple but are wonderfully complex, and new things are revealed with every viewing. I dare you to come up with a more stunning and beautiful work of art than the one above, which is called simply, “Joy”.

Fashion designer Bethany Yellowtail hails from the Apsáalooke (Crow) Nation. Her company B. Yellowtail makes silky, gorgeous clothing, scarves and accessories that reflect her cultural influences. How pretty is this silky bathrobe, and how bold and catchy are these big hoop earrings?

Years ago, while I was a touring musician, I played a show in Taos, New Mexico (extraordinary things happened on that trip that I’ll write about later, in keeping with this quarter’s theme, Travel Adventure). Something I remember vividly from traveling through that region is the gorgeous, hand-made silver and stone jewelry that was everywhere. One artist caught my eye, a Hopi woman named Jacqueline Gala, whose pieces are simple but bold. I especially love these sterling bracelets, and these long bead earrings. 

Lastly, there is something else on the subject of Indigenous women I want to bring up. Here in the US and in my home country of Canada, activists are working hard to draw attention to the epidemic of violence that Indigenous women and girls are facing on an ongoing basis. If you want to learn more about the #MMIW and #MMIWG movement, you can start with this organization, which shapes policy, conducts outreach, and offers help finding services for survivors and others affected by this issue. You can also donate to their work. It’s taken decades for people to wake up and see what’s been happening to Indigenous women and girls, but in 2021 Secretary Deb Haaland created the US government’s very fist #MMIW Unit, which (among other things) offers a list of resources for survivors and families.

I am continually astounded by the strength of the activists on the front lines of this issue, who are faced with obstacles along every step of their path. They are a flame that cannot be extinguished, pulsing bravely inside the roaring dark. Indigenous women deserve our support and recognition. The fire of their power can grow stronger if we continue to help them advocate for justice.

Leave a comment

Share Womancake Magazine

Subscribe now