I think I’m getting ruminative in my menopausal fugue — solidly on the other side of divorce, career reinvention, and starting over in a new place with a new love. I have almost all new friends now, at 51. The ones I spent so many years with — bound together by our children’s friendships and lots of school potlucks — scattered like dandelion seeds to the wind when my first marriage ended. Only Ebola instills more fear of contagion than the divorce of a friend whose marriage seemed perfect. Read more…