The lynch pin in uber feminist author Betty Friedan's "The Feminine Mystique" was the mysterious "Problem That Had No Name." The Problem That Had No Name stole in like a vampire and siphoned the life out of older housewives back in the 1960s.. So therefore, Ms. Friedan reasoned, they must be in want of a job. Well, I got news for you Ms. Friedan. The problem has a name. A couple of'em. Try Empty Nester. Or how about just aging? One day you've got this teeming household full of kids and pets, with sports games, PTA, piano lessons, orthodontist appointments. There are birthday parties to plan and holiday meals with the grandparents. Then it's over. The pets die. The grandparents die, or maybe just one. The other is senile and in a home. The kids are gone. You're alone except for...who is that old guy over there? Yikes, it's my husband. And haven't you looked in the mirror lately? You're looking a tad long in the tooth yourself. Beg to differ, Ms. Friedan if you can read this from the other side now that you too have made the climb to the cemetery in Grover's Corners. The problem has a name and no job will help fill the emptiness of what was once brimful. Like overcooked spinach, it's bitter and I say the hell with it.
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