Timing a Midlife Crisis

It is going to be a busy spring and summer, and with my 46^th birthday fast approaching in May, I wondered if it weren’t time to pencil-in my midlife crisis.

I have heard so much about them bantered about in cocktail conversation, but they usually involved men and hot red Corvettes that are barely street legal and the occasional mistake of female arm candy. What do women do?

I believe I am hitting enough life milestones this year to qualify to HAVE a midlife crisis:

-  Jim and I are celebrating our 20^th wedding anniversary.

-  My parents are celebrating their 50^th wedding anniversary.

-  My mom turns 70 this year.

-  My daughter will officially be a teenager on June 9^th.

-  My son is graduating from elementary school.

-  My flower girl is getting married early this summer.

-  My daughter will be a junior bridesmaid in her wedding, and my son will be a junior groomsman.

-  My nephew is entering high school in the fall.

-  Our best friends’ baby girls start kindergarten in the fall.

-  Other friends’ children are driving themselves to school and visiting college campuses.

-  My age will make me closer to 50 than 40.

None of these life events depress me by any stretch of the imagination; however, they give me serious pause that time is flying by much too quickly. Was this the female definition of a midlife crisis?

Oddly enough, when I put this list of life events to paper, it was exactly one year since I had written my last blog entry. Again, another mark in time that may have slipped by yet somehow was brought to my attention by a quirk in the universe.

I’m not sure why I stopped writing because God knows I will thankfully never be short of material (two preteens under one roof, please). All I know is the words wouldn’t flow, and my writing felt forced, trite, pedestrian. If I didn’t enjoy writing it, I was pretty sure people would not enjoy reading it.

And it certainly wasn’t for lack of encouragement – friends and family kept asking where my stories were, and I kept answering trapped in my head.

I kept great notes but they never fleshed-out to full stories that anyone could read at their leisure.

A wise friend finally pointed-out I spent my last year in my own version of a midlife crisis, doubting my ability to work and over-thinking the thoughts that normally would flow easily from my warped yet entertaining mind.

Maybe all those milestones were niggling around in my mind, leading me to somehow become tripped up on the words and thoughts that had not changed, just my way of looking at or processing them.

I remember staying up late one night talking to my mom a few months before my wedding; not a serious discussion, but laughing about the silliness of napkin colors and matchbook cover designs. But as I laughed I noticed she started to tear up. She quickly wiped away the tears and explained her emotional confusion – how could she have a daughter old enough to be getting married when her brain felt the same youthful, funny way it did when she was married? Of course time had passed and she was older, but inside she felt she had not changed.

And over the last year, as my life’s milestones began to quickly fall into place, my mind must have somehow been subconsciously fighting back the speed of the passing years.

So, my epiphany squarely in place, I realize I can scratch midlife crisis off of my list of things to do, just as I tick off life’s milestones as they pass, and remind myself to pause and enjoy each and every one of them.

Volunteer for heart, not pay

A note to readers of the Zen Shark: This morning I was given the most amazing gift - an entire essay written by my daughter Jordan on my behalf. I still do not have the words to express how proud I am of her. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Thank you, Jordan, for your beautiful words.

Since my mother has not written a blog for the past 3 months, I’ve decided myself to do it for her. Let me tell you, I’m her daughter, a pretty good writer and I can already tell writing a blog can be on the tough side until you actually think of something to say. But this morning, Saturday, October 29, I have a great topic for you to think about…

Volunteer work is as easy as it sounds. But it depends on what you volunteer with. It can be as simple as raising a hand to answer a question in class, or helping someone build a house or a mansion (a little carried away.) But the labor we work for isn’t hard. Nor easy. It is the volunteer work that makes you want to come back everyday. Of course, you probably don’t get it yet, but for me, it’s volunteering at animal shelters.

Yes, for the past 3 months me, my little brother, and my mom have been going to my local animal shelter!  And it’s every Sunday.  (For those many Sundays) And may I say this just to make a point. Girls and boys at my school ask me “ Is it disgusting? I bet it is” or even “How can you deal with the fact there are so many sad faces?” Answer to first question “ No, it's not, the smell might bite you in the butt, but it's rather easy to work with 50 cats.” Answer to question 2 “ I deal with the cats in such an easy way, I know if they are sick or dying they’ll go to a better place. When I know their nervous, you take them out in play, the next day you come see them there dying for attention.

As of working there for three months, I have become like a vet assistant. I help hold the cats for shots, micro-chipping, even giving medicine. But it’s very cool to work with good people surrounded by you. For example. Margaret, she is the person I’ve worked with from the first day I came in to help. I soon found out from her she was the ONLY one who worked there on Sundays, so I told her this “ I promise on my life I will come here every Sunday until I go off to college.” And ever since then I go… Three months later people were hired and we get done a lot faster than anticipated. And to this day, Oct. 29, 2011, Margaret and I are now Facebook friends and talk all the time.

From the time I’ve worked there I’ve seen some good and bad things happen. And even heart breaking. I’ve seen kittens born, mama cats feeding newborns, I’ve seen dogs jump on the cage's metal doors to get a kiss or be pet! But most of the time, I see what a little water and food can do. I’ve seen newborns die; I’ve seen mommas kill her babies because she doesn’t know what to do. I’ve seen death, dog aggression; I’ve been bit myself. But nothing keeps me from always coming back.

 I have loved animals my whole life, and I'll keep it that way. Just remember:

“ An animals eyes have the power to speak a great language” – Martin Buber

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When you’re done reading this, go play with your pet/pets and tell them you love them, they really DO deserve it.

Another Outdoor House Guest

We had just finished putting the dishes away after dinner when Jim stopped dead in his tracks, and started to signal to me from across the kitchen.

“Laura, come here! This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life!” Jim whispered excitedly, creeping closer to the back kitchen door. “Hurry, before it goes away!”

I quickly but quietly moved in front of where Jim was standing and looked out the window. Sitting in the middle of our deck, four feet from our back door, sat a teeny-tiny baby rabbit, sized somewhere between a furry tennis ball and a golf ball with ears.

“Oh my God,” my heart melted, as I flashed back to the time I was in sixth grade and I brought home a hutch-full of baby rabbits whose mom had been killed by a riding lawnmower. “Oh shit, Jim, Alle’s out there!”

What Jim couldn’t see from his angle was our family cat, Alle, sitting two feet in front of bun-bun. Oddly though, she was sitting calmly, almost maternally, watching the baby in a protective stance. But the last thing we wanted to do was take a chance: We had to somehow get Alle back inside and baby bunny someplace safe.

As I quietly opened the kitchen door, Jim moved towards Alle and I moved toward the bunny. Neither flinched nor made any attempt to move.  Jim and I exchanged a quick look as he slowly bent down and scooped up Alle, who then contentedly sat in his arms. As the bunny made no attempt to move, I gingerly picked him up and cupped him against my tummy. After some minor protests, the bunny seemed to notice he was in a warm, quiet place, and I could feel his body relax and get comfy in his new location.

As Jim put Alle back inside, we sat down on the gazebo’s stoop. “We can’t show the kids,” Jim argued laughingly. “Jordan will want to nurse it back to health and we’ll have another house guest on our hands.”

“We can’t not show the kids,” I told Jim, and handed him the little cuddle monster as I walked back into the house to call Jordan and Jamie to meet our little friend.

“Jordan! Jamie! Come out on the deck right away and bring a camera!” I yelled up the stairs. Thundering footsteps sounded from opposite ends of the second floor. “What is it?” they both asked almost simultaneously.

“Just come downstairs and hurry, Dad and I want to show you something,” I answered, and walked back outside to catch Jim talking to our new friend.

The moment Jordan heard the word “bunny” she shot directly back into the house in search of a box and towels to place it in, formulating her argument as to why we would need to keep and raise bunny as our own for his own good.

At some point Alle our cat made it back onto the deck, and primly sat behind Jim on the gazebo, quietly observing him holding her new friend. Again, her manner was calm and relaxed. She was definitely mellowing in her advanced age.

“Do the neighborhood animals have some sort of network system – stay at Casa Dralle, they’re really nice people?” I joked, noting that this little creature had to climb seven stairs to reach our back door and hop an additional fifteen feet.

As Jordan droned on and on in the background about dead rabbit mothers and orphaned babies and being lost forever and starving to death, Jim, Jamie and I looked around the base of our gazebo for a safe place to release our adorable little visitor.

As we all agreed to a covered area where the deck steps met the sides of the gazebo base, Jim carefully placed the baby in the higher grass at the edge of the deck. Instead of bolting away, as we expected, the little guy took his time, finding a bit of clover to nibble on before he made his way under the deck and quickly out of sight.

Give our regards to the possum, I thought, as we made our way back inside for the evening, debating what we would name him if he returned tomorrow night.