Just When I Thought I'd Dropped My Last Egg

Overview

As one of America?s most recognized faces, Kathie Lee Gifford has been a part of our morning routine for more years than she cares to count. And that?s why it may come as a surprise to hear that there are still sides of this fiftysomething (!) devoted mother and dedicated television personality yet to be revealed.

Just When I Thought I?d Dropped My Last Egg is Kathie Lee?s triumphant, laugh-out-loud celebration of forging ahead with gusto, even long after we?re old enough to ...

See more details below
Audiobook (CD - Unabridged)
$26.95
BN.com price
(Save 10%)$29.95 List Price

Pick Up In Store

Reserve and pick up in 60 minutes at your local store

Other sellers (Audiobook)
  • All (6) from $1.99   
  • New (2) from $8.99   
  • Used (4) from $0.00   
Sending request ...

Overview

As one of America’s most recognized faces, Kathie Lee Gifford has been a part of our morning routine for more years than she cares to count. And that’s why it may come as a surprise to hear that there are still sides of this fiftysomething (!) devoted mother and dedicated television personality yet to be revealed.

Just When I Thought I’d Dropped My Last Egg is Kathie Lee’s triumphant, laugh-out-loud celebration of forging ahead with gusto, even long after we’re old enough to know better. Over the years, Kathie Lee has learned a lot about life and about herself. Age, for instance, isn’t a number, it’s a state of mind, and being fertile isn’t just about having babies. Perhaps most important: Our quality of life is sustained by our passions–how we express, define, and even reinvent ourselves at any age, through our careers, interests, friends, and beliefs. It’s never too late to set new goals for yourself and strive to meet them, to dust off your childhood dreams and pursue them again, to wake up every morning hoping to learn something new.

In this riotous collection of musings, observations, and life lessons, Kathie Lee shares her thoughts about marriage, parenthood, friendship, faith, pet peeves, senior moments, and how to extricate oneself from potentially hairy situations with self-deprecating wit. Writing with the candor of a friend who knows where the bodies are buried, Kathie Lee reveals the truth every woman of a certain age knows but won’t admit: that we love our kids every second of every day but are counting the minutes till they’re ready to go off to college, that even though gravity is a constant force, not all parts of our bodies droop at the same rate, and that life and show business share one simple rule: “Don’t sit by the phone and wait for a man or a job.”

Full of warmth, humor, down-to-earth wisdom, and more than a little bit of dish, Just When I Thought I’d Dropped My Last Egg is a delectable read for grown-ups of all ages.

From the Hardcover edition.

Read More Show Less

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
“From her head down to her gnarly (no longer!) toes, Kathie Lee is pure dame. And she’s served up a cocktail of wit and wisdom with a decidedly salty rim!” —Meredith Vieira

“I’ve been through a couple of calamities with Kathie Lee and nobody handles them better. You could blow her up, cook her and hang her out to dry and she will still survive and have some laughs doing it.” —Regis Philbin

“Kathie Lee has always entertained me with her humor, wry wit, and penchant for pinpointing all of our very human foibles with great accuracy and hilarity. Now she does it again. This charming memoir filled with amusing anecdotes about herself and her family, friends, and colleagues brought a smile to my face but also touched me. Her insight is as remarkable as she is.” —Barbara Taylor Bradford

From the Hardcover edition.

From the Publisher
“From her head down to her gnarly (no longer!) toes, Kathie Lee is pure dame. And she’s served up a cocktail of wit and wisdom with a decidedly salty rim!” —Meredith Vieira

“I’ve been through a couple of calamities with Kathie Lee and nobody handles them better. You could blow her up, cook her and hang her out to dry and she will still survive and have some laughs doing it.” —Regis Philbin

“Kathie Lee has always entertained me with her humor, wry wit, and penchant for pinpointing all of our very human foibles with great accuracy and hilarity. Now she does it again. This charming memoir filled with amusing anecdotes about herself and her family, friends, and colleagues brought a smile to my face but also touched me. Her insight is as remarkable as she is.” —Barbara Taylor Bradford

Read More Show Less

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780739383353
  • Publisher: Random House Audio Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 4/14/2009
  • Format: CD
  • Edition description: Unabridged
  • Product dimensions: 5.90 (w) x 5.10 (h) x 1.19 (d)

Meet the Author

Kathie Lee Gifford is best known for her fifteen-year role as co-host of the nationally syndicated Live with Regis and Kathie Lee. She recently returned to television as a co-host of the fourth hour of the Today show. In addition, she is writing and producing a number of stage musicals. She lives in Connecticut with her husband and children.
Read More Show Less

Read an Excerpt

Eggspectations

Since the beginning of time the same question has been asked over and over again: What came first? The chicken or the egg? Well, I’m happy to say that I finally have the answer.

It’s neither. The chicken’s mother came first.

That’s right. The mother dropped an egg and the first chicken was hatched.

And that’s what we chicks have been doing ever since.

So, if you’re reading this, I have obviously not dropped my last egg yet.

Oh, sure, I dropped my last reproductive egg a few years ago. But my fertility eggs? Fuhgidaboutit.

I’m Fertile Myrtle now. I’m back to a daily grind on the Today show after an eight-year hiatus from television, I’m producing my fourth musical for the theater, I’m in development for two screenplays to be made into films, I’m halfway through writing my first novel, and I’m under deadline to finish this book by Christmas.

In other words, forget about a pig in mud. I’m more like a pregnant pig in placenta!

I share none of this information in a bragging way—on the contrary, I am so overwhelmed with gratitude that I still find joy and wonder and inspiration and challenge each day that I want to encourage everybody else to understand that the same sense of creative fertility is possible for them.

For years our society has perpetrated the perverse notion that once nature is done with us—especially women—we’re done, too! “ONLY THOSE WHO OVULATE ALLOWED!” But it’s a lie, and we don’t have to cooperate with it. Who says we have to hoist our beefy carcass onto the gurney and disappear into the sunset? Not me. Because you know when we’re really done? When we drop dead, that’s when. And even then it’s a whole different discussion about where we go from there.

But until that day comes, I believe we can experience creativity far beyond our wildest expectations. We can give birth daily to something beautiful and meaningful in ways we’ve never dreamed. Because when we’re older, we are free from raising young kids, building careers, and managing households, all the while battling Midol headaches. I don’t bloat anymore! Now it’s just fat, but that’s another essay. Think how much money we’re all saving because we bypass the feminine hygiene shelves at the drugstore. Okay, you argue, but what about all the hormone replacement stuff and edamame we need now?

You’re right, nothing’s perfect. But that’s really my point. Our lives stopped being perfect the moment we slipped out of the womb and got our heinies smacked.

Right then we should have realized that those days of sloshing around safe and sound in that amniotic fluid without a care in the world were over.

But, no. Then society started reinforcing that other ridiculous lie: that “happily ever after” crap.

We’d no sooner finish reading those fairy tale books when we’d start dreaming of our own Prince Charming, riding up on his Harley and carrying us away.

Oh, he rode up and carried us away all right. To a life of cooking, cleaning, birthing, and diapers. But we didn’t mind, did we? We were doing what we were created to do AT THAT TIME in our lives.

But none of the books we were encouraged to read ever mentioned that Prince Charming might end up being a jerk or a lousy provider or even, unfortunately for some, gay, which is indeed problematic in a traditional marriage.

So even if he was a sweet, loving, hardworking heterosexual prince, chances are his breath stunk, or he was a slob, or he ate too much or developed hair in weird places or liked to play with his putter more than he liked to play with his wife. And if we women are really honest, we might even admit that we were no “picnic in the park” either. More like a “bologna sandwich in the backyard on a hot day with a storm coming.”

Truth is, if you live long enough, you’re bound to be disappointed and you’re bound to disappoint others in return.

For me it’s been a matter of coming to grips with reality. Sometimes life doesn’t march on; it limps. Sometimes it’s on a walker and sometimes it’s on an IV drip in the ICU. What’s for sure is that we’re going to have ups and downs, good days and bad, triumphs and tragedies, shock and awe, and everything in between no matter what the fairy tales told us.

How we deal with it is ultimately what makes the difference between a life well lived and a life, well, . . . lived.

S’Age

I’m so tired of reading the word “aging.” Not because it’s a bad word in itself. A bottle of wine, a savings bond, certain cheeses, antiques, these are all examples where “aging” is considered an asset.

So why isn’t that true of people? I mean, the opposite of aging is not aging. Therefore, if you’re not aging—call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure you’re dead. Now, I don’t fear dying, but I don’t particularly love the idea of being dead. It’s just so final-sounding.

The problem I have is that the word “aging” is almost always attached to a celebrity of a “certain age.”

Example: Madonna, the aging rock star; Clint Eastwood, the aging actor/director; John McCain, the aging presidential candidate; Kathie Lee, the aging . . . Well, no need to dwell on that. You get my drift.

Okay, what about Paris Hilton? Am I missing something or is she not aging at the exact same rate that all of the above are? So why isn’t she referred to as “the aging celebutard”?

Scientifically, we’re all aging one second at a time, day by day, year by year.

Thus the adjective is being used, really, to say something else. But, what exactly? That someone is beginning to show their age? Maybe, but that’s not true of Madonna. She’s fifty but she’s got the body of a twenty-year-old. Granted, Clint Eastwood looks like the Rock of Gibraltar, but I think the Rock of Gibraltar is beautiful. John McCain? I think after five and a half years in a Vietnamese prison camp and cancer, he looks amazing. And Kathie Lee? She doesn’t look a day under sixty.

Hey, it’s not complicated. Every day has twenty-four hours in it. The richest person in the world gets the same allotment that the poorest person gets. The difference is the poor guy is better off. He’ll never have to read “Bill Gates, the aging billionaire . . .”

Lucky schmuck.

Da Agony of da Feet

If your eyes are the window of your soul, what the heck are your feet? It’s frightening to think what my feet say about me. If genetics are the “sole” determinator then my feet say that I am a hard-loving, hardworking (by hooker standards), much traveled, extremely gnarly person.

Oh, and one more thing, each of my big toes lives in a different zip code from the rest of my foot, so I bet that suggests a sort of schizophrenic existentialism. I don’t have a clue what that actually means but it felt good writing it.

Anyway, back to my feet. Because they are fascinating. I remember my mother telling me about her grandmother and the horrendous pain she suffered from the crippling arthritis she had in her feet. My mother can be incredibly descriptive when she wants to be, and the picture she drew of Great-Grandma Florence Kathryn’s feet succeeded in making me pray that I would never live to be that old. But I have. My mother’s mother died of tuberculosis when my mother was only two years old, so Mom never did get a good look at her own mother’s feet. But I have a sneaking suspicion they looked a lot like my mother’s.

Now, my mother, Joanie, is a gorgeous woman from her ankles up—I mean, Miss America beautiful—but her feet wouldn’t win an honorable mention in the Most Beautiful Pig competition at the county fair. They have more than their fair share of bunions (the size of Delaware and Rhode Island), corns, calluses, neuromas, hammertoes, and various and sundry other ailments. And just like our great-grandmother before us, my sister, Michie, and I inherited the feet from hell. We really shouldn’t call them feet; they’re more like hooves. Even in my baby pictures you can already see the beginning of a small growth beside my big toe. So it was inevitable that I would also someday have wicked-stepsister feet even if I did nothing but sit around on my lard butt all day wearing orthopedic shoes.

But noooo, I had to choose show business. Ta da! Two shows a night, on a raked (angled) stage, and grueling choreography—all in four-inch Manolo Blahnik heels. See? I was stupid long before Carrie Bradshaw was. Forty years stupider. I would show you these feet I’ve just described, but I’m not able to. Nope. ’Cause I don’t have ’em anymore. At the age of fifty-four I took a good long look at my face. Then I took a good long look at my feet. And as much as I thought I could use a face-lift, it was no contest. Hands down, the feet won.

I was tired of my feet telling me where I was gonna go, what I was gonna do, and how long I was gonna be able to do it. So I made an appointment with a Zimbabwean surgeon (don’t ask), and on November 16, 2007, I had both of my feet completely redone. I spent the next week in abject agony, and I spent the next month contemplating the murder of a certain Zimbabwean surgeon. Then, all of a sudden, miracle of miracles, the stitches came out, the pins came out, the ugly boots came off, and the Zimbabwean surgeon became a genius. I am now a veritable born-again, back to life Ginger Rogers. I’m seriously considering Dancing with the Stars, running the New York marathon, and becoming a Rockette, all the while moonlighting as a foot model for Manolo Blahnik himself.

So the moral of the story is: Reach for the stars, baby. But make sure your feet are up for the trip.

Now, about my face . . .

Cheers

Recently I was invited to a very chic, very sophisticated birthday party for my friend Barbara Taylor Bradford. Barbara is the celebrated author of twenty-four books worldwide and a fabulous woman. The magnificent private room at Le Cirque restaurant in New York City was filled with maybe thirty women of various ages, backgrounds, and interests. You would recognize most of them by name if I mentioned them, but I’m trying hard to keep from offending more people than absolutely necessary, so they shall remain nameless.

Anyway, after a delicious lunch it was time for the birthday toasts. The first to clink her glass and rise to speak was Edwina Churchill. With her elegant bearing and lovely English accent she began, “My grandfather Winston [yes, that Churchill] was a man of . . .” and she went on for quite some time about his accomplishments, which as you know from history were pretty remarkable by anyone’s standards.

Finally, as Edwina came to a close, she lifted her champagne glass even higher into the air and said, “And so, my dear Barbara, my grandfather Winston Churchill would have loved you.”

After we all said “Hear, hear” and took a sip, a deathly silence filled the once cheery room. I guarantee you the thought every one of us was thinking was “How the hell do you follow that?”

But being the fool that I am and always will be, I clinked my glass and stood to speak. (Hey, somebody had to!)

Looking lovingly at my friend, I said, “Barbara, my grandfather Meyer Epstein was a bootlegger, a snake charmer, and a carnival barker.” I paused for dramatic effect. “And he would have loved you even more!”

Everyone laughed except Edwina, who has never spoken to me since.

What’s the point of the story? I’m not sure, except to make note of the fact that our families are our families and each one of us has to come to some place of acceptance about that eventually. The sooner we do, the sooner we’ll come to a place of peace about our own purpose in life.

Right, Edwina?

Cheers.

King Charles, the Omniscient

Most women go crazy over George Clooney.

Me, I’m in love with Charles Krauthammer. Oh, calm down. Frank knows all about it. Every time he turns on the Fox News Channel, there Charles Krauthammer is, and Frank immediately says, “There’s your boyfriend.”

I make absolutely no attempt to persuade him differently. Why you may ask. Why do I love Charles Krauthammer? Because he is the single smartest man on the planet, and knowledge is power. That’s why.

So, if knowledge is power and Charles Krauthammer is the smartest man on earth, then Charles Krauthammer is the most powerful man on the planet. And we all know that power is the greatest aphrodisiac on earth.

P.S. I’m sure this is going to crush George Clooney, but he’s just gonna have to get over it.

Mutt’s Up?

There is such a huge debate in our country over immigration. It’s interesting to me on a deeper level than politics because we’re all, in essence, immigrants of one kind or another. Except for the Native Americans. Now, they really got the shaft. Think about it. Only the ones that own casinos seem to have gotten a piece of the American pie.

I’ll admit, my ancestors didn’t come over on the Mayflower. I’m no pedigree. My dad’s father, Meyer Epstein, came over on a steamer from Saint Petersburg, Russia, right after the turn of the century. That would be the century before this one—around 1900.

He was a Russian Jew and he married my dad’s mother, Evelyn, who by all accounts was a full-blooded Native American. So we nicknamed Daddy “Sitting Shiva.”

My mother Joanie’s parents had completely different heritages. Her father was from a distinguished publishing family in Toronto, Canada, directly descended from the brilliant writer Rudyard Kipling. Her mother came from Brooklyn, born of German stock. Joanie’s nickname was “Cuddles” Cuttell. Apparently Mom was very popular, but she won’t tell me why.

So, Sitting Shiva and Cuddles fell in love as most human beings are wont to do, and they started a little dynasty of their own. Right off the bat they had David Paul, Kathryn Lee, and Michele Suzanne. Three little Epsteins, just like the Three Little Pigs, but more like three little Russian Jewish German French Canadian Indians.

In other words, “American.”

From the Hardcover edition.

Read More Show Less

Customer Reviews

Be the first to write a review
( 0 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(0)

4 Star

(0)

3 Star

(0)

2 Star

(0)

1 Star

(0)

Your Rating:

Your Name: Create a Pen Name or

Barnes & Noble.com Review Rules

Our reader reviews allow you to share your comments on titles you liked, or didn't, with others. By submitting an online review, you are representing to Barnes & Noble.com that all information contained in your review is original and accurate in all respects, and that the submission of such content by you and the posting of such content by Barnes & Noble.com does not and will not violate the rights of any third party. Please follow the rules below to help ensure that your review can be posted.

Reviews by Our Customers Under the Age of 13

We highly value and respect everyone's opinion concerning the titles we offer. However, we cannot allow persons under the age of 13 to have accounts at BN.com or to post customer reviews. Please see our Terms of Use for more details.

What to exclude from your review:

Please do not write about reviews, commentary, or information posted on the product page. If you see any errors in the information on the product page, please send us an email.

Reviews should not contain any of the following:

  • - HTML tags, profanity, obscenities, vulgarities, or comments that defame anyone
  • - Time-sensitive information such as tour dates, signings, lectures, etc.
  • - Single-word reviews. Other people will read your review to discover why you liked or didn't like the title. Be descriptive.
  • - Comments focusing on the author or that may ruin the ending for others
  • - Phone numbers, addresses, URLs
  • - Pricing and availability information or alternative ordering information
  • - Advertisements or commercial solicitation

Reminder:

  • - By submitting a review, you grant to Barnes & Noble.com and its sublicensees the royalty-free, perpetual, irrevocable right and license to use the review in accordance with the Barnes & Noble.com Terms of Use.
  • - Barnes & Noble.com reserves the right not to post any review -- particularly those that do not follow the terms and conditions of these Rules. Barnes & Noble.com also reserves the right to remove any review at any time without notice.
  • - See Terms of Use for other conditions and disclaimers.
Search for Products You'd Like to Recommend

Recommend other products that relate to your review. Just search for them below and share!

Create a Pen Name

Your Pen Name is your unique identity on BN.com. It will appear on the reviews you write and other website activities. Your Pen Name cannot be edited, changed or deleted once submitted.

 
Your Pen Name can be any combination of alphanumeric characters (plus - and _), and must be at least two characters long.

Continue Anonymously
Sort by: Showing all of 4 Customer Reviews
  • Posted June 6, 2009

    I Also Recommend:

    A nice, light read

    I wasn't expecting this book to be a deep or inspiring piece of literature. Kathie Lee Gifford is honest and quite self-depreciating, but always full of surprises, and has no problem laughing at herself. I thoroughly enjoyed this book for what it was...a little insight on growing older and wiser and being able to chuckle along the way. As a 50+ year old woman, I can relate to a lot of what Kathie Lee shares in this book.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted June 6, 2009

    Kathie Lee is strikes again!

    Kathie Lee's book(I purchased the CD) is honest,funny and an inspiring book on what it's like to grow older. Her writing is witty, sometimes I found myself laughing out loud, along with her original songs, helped past a lot of boring times in my car driving here and there.

    I highly recommend Kathie Lee's book to any pre and post menopausal women who want to have a good laugh and to share what life on the other side of 50 is like.







    '

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted April 24, 2009

    Last Egg is the Best Egg

    I read this on an airplane and after so many "bursting out loud" and giggling the gentleman next to me finally asked me what I was reading! The book is full of heart and joy.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 15, 2009

    No text was provided for this review.

Sort by: Showing all of 4 Customer Reviews

If you find inappropriate content, please report it to Barnes & Noble
Why is this product inappropriate?
Comments (optional)