Author: Peri Winkler

Aging in the Age of Social Media

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I tried to ignore it for as long as I could. But no matter how hard I tried, it slapped me dead in the face every time I looked in that damn mirror. I was aging. Not gradually, not subtly—but undeniably. The crow’s feet, the pesky bunny lines, the unwelcome age spots all conspired against me. But what unsettled me most was something harder to name. My entire countenance seemed to be changing. The longer I looked, the more unfamiliar I appeared. It was as if I were turning into someone else. Then one day, it hit me. There, between my sagging jowls, drooping brows, and receding hairline, I saw my grandpa Archibald staring right back at me. The realization landed with a mix of panic and disbelief. Suddenly, I had a flashback to the Brady Bunch episode when Jan Brady discovers she’s destined to look like her wacky, old Aunt Jenny—only this wasn’t a sitcom; it was my real-life reflection introducing me to someone I wasn’t quite ready to meet!

Throwback Thursday: Old School Summer Fun

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I was born in the Bronx in the late 1960s, and although I only lived there until I was five years old, I still have such fond and enduring memories of my years there, like when my father gathered everyone on the block to watch my older sister “look-both-ways” before crossing the street. Only in New York City would learning how to cross the street be considered a rite of passage—a time-honored tradition that all my friends looked forward to and something I sadly missed out on once my family moved to the burbs.

“Can You Repeat That…Again?”: Tips for Easing Brain Fog in Perimenopause

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I had it all figured out. Anytime I entered a room and forgot why I walked in there, I’d go: “Gosh, has anyone seen my car keys?” Or if I lost my place mid-sentence while in a meeting at work, I’d say something like: “Hey guys, don’t forget to play the Mega Millions tonight!” And if I really embarrassed myself, like the time I pulled the house phone out of my pocketbook—I’d blame my damn kids!

Take Me Back To Aruba

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Short of returning to paradise, I can’t think of a better way to endure another deep freeze in New York than reminiscing about our family trip to Aruba last summer. With its deep blue skies, crystal clear waters, and perfectly predictable temps, Aruba is one of those islands that beckons your return and never lets you down. Come see why we always find our way back to the beautiful island of Aruba.

A woman in perimenopause crying with lots of emotion

Surviving Perimenopause, One Day at a Time…

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5:38 AM It wasn’t unusual for me to wake up weeping, and that morning was no different. The tears cascaded down my face as I finished making the kids’ lunches. Jack reminded me that I’d given him Olivia’s pasta instead of his chicken nuggets the day before, so I took my time making sure I got it right, otherwise, Mr. Particular wouldn’t eat. Sure, they were old enough to make their own lunches, but being a full-time working mother meant I wasn’t as involved in their lives as I wanted to be, so getting up extra early to prepare a hot lunch was not just an act of motherly love, but an apology.