Kate Forest's Blog

I’ve been eating my mooshoo and collecting more fortunes that are disturbing and cause me to be concerned about the people in the fortune cookie factory. Let’s send help.

Someone has pulled a double shift all week and needs a break. That conveyor belt of cookies is starting to wear him out.

This was written by someone who is losing their patience and likely exploring their fury-side.

The end is nigh. Don’t bother to repent, just try to eke out a few moments of joy before the world implodes. Maybe you dreamed of being a writer and instead you’re at the fortune cookie factory trying to create meaningful phrases for tiny slips of paper. 

A glimmer of hope. If humans can’t be a source of comfort, turn to the written word. Even small written words on bits of paper folded into cookies.

This was clearly written for me. And by whoever was in that factory longing for a more complex medium of expression than a slip of paper shoved into a gummy cookie.

Perimenopause, the physical and emotional stage of life, has recently been getting the attention it deserves. When I asked my mother at what age did she start perimenopause, she answered, “Oh we didn’t have that back then.” What she meant was, it wasn’t talked about, or recognized as deserving of discussion. A few months ago, I polled my friends for songs they would include on a perimenopause playlist. I thought a playlist would be a conversation starter, a way to understand what’s happening without all the medical gobblygook. Sometimes art is more accurate than science. I found the songs fit into three categories 1) Songs that describe the physical sensations of hot flashes. I could’ve guessed this one, but it was super fun to see people chime in with “Hot Legs” by Rod Stewart and “Hot Blooded” by Foreigner. But the winner in this category is “Girl on Fire” by Alecia Keys. Not only can you make the obvious reference to hot flashes, it also speaks to the pressures women experience and handle with expert grace. Runners up in this category include: “Heat Wave” by Martha and the Vandellas , and “Too Darn Hot” by Ella Fitzgerald. 2) Songs that speak of the emotional rage that can accompany “the change.” Mood swings and even depressive episodes are common for women. And there’s nothing like a chemical surge to mess with your brain chemistry. A tie in this category with “Bitch” by Meredith Brooks and “Ironic” by Alanis Morisette. If you can’t control the hormone floods in your brain, at least celebrate them. 3) Freedom. So many women mentioned the freedom and power of owning the moment and the process. It doesn’t even have to speak to the physical process, but the act of aging and finding power as a mature confident woman. Winner is “It’s My Turn” by Diana Ross. Runners up are “Think” by Aretha Franklin and “You’re So Vain” by Carlie Simon If you need to strip down to your comfy but cute cotton undies and dance around the house, go ahead. You’ve earned it.

Purim is Jewish Halloween—sort of. Everyone gets dressed in costumes, the kids eat cookies (many made with prunes so don’t get too excited), and the adults d...

For the past ten years, I have worked as a dating and relationship coach. I’ve ushered people through the process of identifying their relationship needs and then finding a life partner. It’s a powerful experience to walk with someone on that journey and I am continually humbled by the transformation my clients go through. Frequently, people say they want to find a partner who “shares my values.” But what they really mean is that they want someone who agrees with them on issues. While this can be an asset to a relationship, it isn’t completely necessary. But sharing real values is a requirement for a strong sustainable relationship. The obstacle most people face in forming relationships is they are not living their values. The majority of my work with clients is values clarification. First, it’s deciding if having a long-term committed relationship is really the most important thing. It doesn’t have to be, and no one should be judged for prioritizing other goals. But if having that special someone is truly the one thing you would sacrifice other goals for, then you must live your life according to that value. I don’t mean “settling” or giving up your career. But it might mean giving up the all-women book groups and the monthly silent meditation retreat in order to spend time dating. It means making room in your life for someone else. If you want to be prized and held in high esteem, then show the person you choose that you will prize them and hold them in high esteem. That they won’t come in second. Being in a relationship is about a balance between intimacy and independence, connection and autonomy. If you value small gestures—a cup of coffee brought to your bedside, the dry cleaning picked up during a busy day—then perform those small gestures. If you value words of affection—love notes, whispered endearments—then start writing and learning poetry. Clarifying your values, your relationship needs and goals, these steps are critical to finding “the one.”

The secret to giving the perfect gift is to buy something completely random and pitch it as “I saw this and thought of you.” The recipient will be so touched that you were thinking of them at random times they won’t care that they have no use for, nor space for, the most bizarre thing they’ve seen.Etsy is the best place to find gifts with no relevance to any human.Someone please purchase this Golden Girls clutch bag. If for no other reason than to validate the Etsy artist who made it.



And someone will want these decorative skulls for their home. Won’t they?



I promise to scrub the toilet that I find next to this toilet paper holder. This is a gift in search of a recipient.



Monthly club subscriptions are great gift options. If you can find the unique monthly gift that keeps on giving, you’ll show that person you understand what makes them special. I’m not talking about Wine of the Month, or even Cheese of the month (real thing).I mean Soup of the Month. Which I got for a friend once, who says her favorite food is soup.


There’s a Sock of the Month club, for people with…feet, I guess.And the monthly box subscription for the person who thinks the end of the world is comingand they need to clean their own urine to drink. My only question is what happens when the end of the world comes, but I still have like five more months on my subscription? #ApocalypseProblems(Dang we have a balance on our apocalypse box subscription)

But you can never go wrong with a book. (Shameless promotion)

From time to time, I’ve posted pictures of fortunes I’ve extracted from those gummy, slightly almond, slightly orange flavored cookies. I used to have to wait months until I amassed enough interesting fortunes to write a post. Evidence shows that I’ve been eating way too much Chinese food.Here’s the latest batch:



If Werner Heisenbergwrote fortune cookies and was messy with the garlic sauce this would be what he produced. I guess the uncertainly principle applies to cookies. I can never truly measure change, not that I was trying to measure change. I was simply trying to change my state of hunger without cooking.



I’ve thought long and hard about this one. Just kidding, I spent about forty seconds sussing it out. Some might claim it’s purely circular logic. But if you take it along with the change-y nature one above, it means you can never measure the difference anyway. Mic drop.



This one was clearly written by the care manager at my health insurance company, at least based on my “explanation of benefits” statement. (Spoiler alert: “explanation of benefits” means they will explain how unbeneficial your plan is).



This one requires a degree in archeology to decipher the words. But even without that, I think we can Dead Sea Scroll our way through this. The top line is the second half of a fortune that seems to say that we can only change our life though change and not to depend on chance. The bottom one starts, “Your luck is about to change…” Contradictory messages on the same slip. Which are we to believe? How can I possible plan my life goals if the fortunes aren’t clear? Ambiguity, just like the Dead Sea Scrolls…



Well at least I have an almost perfect day to look forward to. Maybe my luck will change and my insurance company will pay the doctor. But as soon as I try to measure the amount of perfect my day is, I’ll change the amount of perfect. I’d better eat some more dumplings.

Last month I listed some signs that I am aging. Upon reflection, I realized that there are plenty of things I do to stay young. To keep myself active and in the game. To stay connected to the community of the world and up to date on everything that goes on around me.Haha. No, just kidding. I’m a clueless middle-aged woman who, if I didn’t have teenage kids, would be completely cut off from the zeitgeist that is now. But here are some attempts of mine to stay relevant.



I watch the Daily Show with Trevor Noah and take notes. Sometimes I have to turn up the volume and replay a part. I learn how the young folk view the important issues of the day. Trevor uses all the “hip lingo” so I can understand young folk. The fact that I used the terms “hip lingo” and “young folk” shows I have learned nothing from my efforts.Craft beer. Blech. I hate beer of any kind. But craft beer comes with an aftertaste of pretension. No less than 4 new microbreweries have opened in my little suburban neighborhood in the past few years, and I have been to them all. I drank flights of varying shades of beer from urine specimen sized glasses.And I made appreciative noises like “Oh, this one has body.” And “The hops in this one comes though.” Or “I get notes of chocolate.” This is the biggest lie. Chocolate is way better than beer. No contest.

(looks like pee, tastes like socks... where's the Proseco?)

I have a sticker on my laptop. It’s of Gritty the terrifying mascot of the Philadelphia hockey team the Flyers. He’s so awful he’s wonderful. With horrendous googly eyes and shocking orange fur, he is the stuff of nightmares. But more importantly, he’s in sticker form. And stickers are the new thing. Stickers used to be the old thing. I had a collection of them in a three-ring binder with photo album pages in them (Remember photo albums? Oops, showing my age)


(The sticker on my laptop. Gritty celebrates Shabbos)


Texting. I have mastered the group text, muting the group text, and the use of emojis. After some instruction from my offspring, I think I’m a master. (Turns out the kissing one is a romantic kissing one and you shouldn’t send it to your offspring. But this is hard to tell without reading glasses). I’m texting birthday messages to my friends with dancing cakes. I’m dashing off responses with abbreviations like LMK and IKR. I’m in tune with modern forms of communication.I listen to the alternative rock station. Yep. I’m that mom who can identify all the bands and artists that are playing music that reflects the sentiments of today’s generation. Their struggles in an uncertain world, facing economic and climate threats. But only when my kids are in the car with me. As soon as I drop them off, I switch to the oldies station that plays 80s pop. Because those songs reflect the sentiments of yesterday’s generation. Because nothing speaks to the struggles my generation coped with more than the Go-Go’s.

Soon, I’ll be turning an age that ends in a 9. That’s worse than turning an age that ends in 0. Because in the 0 birthdays, they throw you a party, there are mugs, and special plates at the party store. Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather get older than the alternative. They say it’s how you feel on the inside that counts, but my insides are the parts that don’t feel so great.Here’s a list of things I do that show my age:



Eating plain yogurt for breakfast. PLAIN yogurt. Like without fruit or sugar. This is usually accompanied by plain oatmeal. PLAIN oatmeal. Sign me up for the early bird special. I’m clearly ramping up for when my teeth no longer work.I bring a little cardigan with me everywhere I go. Even in summer, because you know some places have too much air conditioning and it could get chilly. This is offset by random waves of producing more sweat than any human should be able to generate. (That’s a topic for another post)

(well hello sweater dude)

Sleeping late. HAHAHA. Just kidding. I haven’t slept late in years. Despite having kids that are teens and no longer wake me in the morning, I cannot sleep past 730AM. I used to be the queen of sleeping late. I could roll over and stay cocooned in the sheets until noon or later. Now, even if it’s not a bladder call, my eyes pop open at 730 and my brain says, “You’re old. If you don’t get up and enjoy one of your last days on earth you’ll miss out.” So, I get up and do the old person shuffle to the coffee pot.Only I don’t go to the coffee pot because I drink tea. YEP. Chamomile. And yes, it goes with the yogurt and oatmeal. But even more horrifying is that I have in my purse no less than three wrapped tea bags. Because they might not have chamomile where I’m going. You know, the place that might be chilly. They also might not have the tea I like.

I

bought loose fitting workout pants with pockets. It was the pockets that sold me. And these pants aren’t even for a good old-fashioned jog. Nope. They’re for a fast walk with my other old friends. And guess what we talk about on our walks. Yep, sweaters and breakfast. Those pockets are essential because we park our cars and need a place to keep our keys and phones. And pockets are an old person’s best friend. I can fit my tea bags in there.

Growing up on the ninth floor of an apartment building, I didn’t have a yard to play in. We would roller skate up and down the long hallways until a neighbor popped his head out and yelled. We’d take the elevator down one flight and repeat the process. With seventeen floors we could get in a full day’s activity.But now I live in the suburbs and I own land. By land, I mean the smallest yard on the block. But there’s actual grass and foliage. I have never tended to any of the green stuff outside. It’s dirty and prickly and often there are bugs. My husband is from Wyoming and California. He drove a tractor and a harvester for his uncle on the family’s tomato farm. It’s a no brainer who is in charge of our tracts of land.



(this isn't me even when I'm not mowing the yard)

A few years ago, the giant, one-hundred year old maple tree that was in our front yard fell down. It didn’t just fall. I’ll set up the situation. We were returning from a trip to California (yes to visit that side of the family) and when we got to our car at the airport, it wouldn’t go. AAA said they would be 2-3 hours. It was already almost midnight. Husband took the kids, rented a car and started for home. I waited until about 2AM for the tow truck. Meanwhile, husband’s cell phone was running low. The car charger was with me. The PA Turnpike was closed and they could barely eek out enough juice to keep the GPS app open. They basically kept shutting the phone off to preserve the battery. Upon arriving at our house, they discovered two things. One, the mighty maple had fallen into the street, taking out 3 cars and the power line to the entire block. Two, I had the house keys. They slept in the rental car until I arrived in the early morning.This is all to say that we needed a landscaper to fix the front yard. We called an eco-friendly company who dug everything up and made our front yard look like the Gaza Strip. It stayed like that for months. We had to wait for whatever was there to die off before they replanted. Replant, they did. And now the front is the Versailles of suburban Philadelphia.



(somewhat exaggerated image of our front yard)

As often happens, when you fix one part of your house, you notice how crappy the other parts look. The backyard had become an overgrown Amazonian rainforest. So a few years later, we again called the eco-friendly company who had since become much more successful and well known and the prices had risen accordingly. Unwilling to pull the progeny out of college to afford the landscaping, husband has taken on the backyard work.This involved something called a French Drain (which involved a ditch, a tube, and lots of gravel).He planted two gum trees (no kookaburras have nested in them yet). One tree is named Truth because the hole for its roots had filled with water and it looked like Truth emerging from the well to shame humanity.



(Don't mess with Truth. Painting by Jean-Léon Gérôme)

The other tree is named Jimmy Hoffa because of the deepness of the hole it required. He also planted five spice bushes, named the Spice Girls, in hopes of attracting bees. Because attracting bees is a good thing, apparently.



Meanwhile, I’m staying on the back porch sipping a drink and watching the progress. There’s no need for both of us to have bee interactions. Besides, I’m moving back to the city where it’s safe.

We were so fortunate to visit Sweden and Denmark last month. We spent time with friends we hadn’t seen in a long time, and visited countries filled with warm people, rich culture, and delicious food. Important food fact: Danish, the pastries, aren’t Danish. They’re Vienna Bread (wienerbrød) because they were first made in Denmark by Viennese chefs. Still amazingly great with a cup a coffee.



I promise not to bore you with pictures of me pointing a famous landmarks. You can google those landmarks and get better pictures of them, unblemished by my presence.But I do want to discuss the Kronborg Castle in the city of Elsinore, Denmark. This is the model for the Shakespeare play “Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.” We were lucky that when we visited, actors were stationed around the slot (which is castle in Danish, and it makes me giggle to say it) enacting scenes from the play. It really brought the experience to life and we had a great time.Nothing I am about to say should in no way be taken as a slight against the slot (hee hee) or the people who preserve the history, or even about Shakespeare. But let me state that Hamlet, the play, isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.Don’t get me wrong. I like Shakespeare plays. And having an offspring who is a theater kid, I’ve seen a lot of productions, professional and amateur, and I enjoy them. But Hamlet, although considered one of Shakespeare’s best, if not the best, sucks.

(so moody)

Here’s the basic outline. Hamlet’s dad was poisoned by his uncle who marries his mother. He learns this from his dad’s ghost. This makes Hamlet sad. Also Hamlet likes Ophelia, who as far as I can tell is the weakest, most boring character Will S ever wrote and I was relieved when she drowned herself (spoiler, she drowns herself after Hamlet accidentally murders her dad).

(even more moody)

Plenty of Shakespeare’s plays have twists and turns and plots that keep you riveted. But this one is seriously dull. Even the big “Oops, I killed the wrong guy” scene isn’t that great. We all know Hamlet’s going to kill the wrong guy. We saw him hide back there.

(not so shocking)

Still, if you have the chance, go to Denmark, go to Elsinore, eat the Vienna bread. And you might as well see the play. It is the thing after all.