Somehow, the days have slipped away… and in the days since I last blogged, I had a birthday. Didn’t notice? That’s okay… I was pretty low key about it this year. 41 seems so… mature. Grownup. Serious. Old. I wasn’t all about the birthday this year, though I had (and am still having) a lovely birthday. There were all sorts of goodies and cards and flowers and chocolate… I still have Birthday Week gifts to open and perhaps a few more lunches, dinners and outings to celebrate the occasion. So, it’s not as if I went into seclusion for my birthday. I just didn’t announce it every day for a month as I have in previous years. 
It seems as if I spent years thinking about what I would do for my fortieth birthday-- as if that magic number took forever to roll around-- and here I am at forty-one. Solidly in my forties, though I rarely feel like it. I have friends who are a decade younger and I don’t feel like they can out-anything me. But I am definitely 41, not 31. I am now the target of those life insurance commercials (If you were born between 1928 and 1968, call us for more information... ). I have an IRA and think about where we will retire almost as often as I think about becoming a mother in my 40s. The two thoughts seem at odds with each other… and in other ways, it seems to make complete sense for me.
Birthdays always make me more contemplative and turning 40 wasn’t quite what I thought it would be. I expected adventure and a new sense of freedom, and there was some of that. But I lost a lot in the past year-- more than I could have imagined. Forty became a year of letting go… of realizing that I can’t change anyone, fix things beyond my control or help people who don’t want to be helped-- and sometimes not even then. I also learned that I reach the point where I no longer wish to try because it takes more out of me than I care to give. I discovered there comes a moment when time runs out and hope dies and time sometimes heals old wounds and some hurts will never, ever go away.
Forty was a year of opportunities and learning; unexpected joys and startling sorrows. I put a lot of pressure on 40 to be spectacular, and it wasn’t. Not entirely. It was a year of self-discovery. Or the continuation of self-discovery. I don’t know what 41 will bring, but I don’t think I’m finished learning just yet.
When I was a kid, I thought fireflies (or lightning bugs) were myths, like unicorns and dragons. Seriously. You see, I grew up in south Florida and I never saw a firefly. As far as I know, they don’t live in south Florida. I never saw snow until I was eighteen, but for some reason, I believed it was real. Not so the little firefly. The first time I saw a firefly was in Tennessee after Jay and I had gotten engaged and I’d gone to meet his family. I saw these flashing lights in the trees and wondered aloud what they were. He probably thought I was nuts, since I was 23 years old and certainly old enough to know fireflies were real. (He married me anyway.) I was as delighted to see my first firefly as I was to see my first snowfall. How awesome to watch these tiny little bugs flash-flash-flashing against the dark night sky.
Each year since then-- because since getting married I have always lived where there are fireflies-- I make a wish on the first firefly of the year. Kind of like shooting stars, I suppose-- which is what I sometimes think I’m seeing out of the corner of my eye. I still marvel at them and when one gets in the house, I make sure to catch it and release it outside, watching it flash in my hand the entire time. (I have a catch-and-release philosophy for all bugs that get in the house, except ants and roaches, but none mesmerize me like the firefly.)
I saw my first firefly of the year about half an hour ago and I made my wish. It’s a smaller wish than wishing on a star. After all, fireflies are so much smaller than shooting stars, but it was a nice wish.
I believe in fireflies and I believe wishes can come true.
Rainy Days and Mondays
Talkin’ to myself and feelin’ old
Sometimes, I’d like to quit
Nothin’ ever seems to fit
Hangin’ around
Nothin’ to do but frown
Rainy days and Mondays always get me downWhat I’ve got they used to call the blues
Nothin’ is really wrong
Feelin’ like I don’t belong
Walkin’ around
Some kind of lonely clown
Rainy days and Mondays always get me downFunny but it seems I always wind up here with you
Nice to know somebody loves me
Funny but it seems that it’s the only thing to do,
Run and find the one who loves me
(The one who loves me)What I feel has come and gone before
No need to talk it out (talk it out)
We know what it’s all about
Hangin’ around
Nothin’ to do but frown
Rainy days and Mondays always get me down
Combine a rainy, chilly Monday with a husband who deployed this morning for six months and a vet appointment this afternoon for Wilbur cat who has gone suddenly blind, and you could say today has definitely got me down. I’m trying to regroup-- sitting in Starbucks, drinking my iced mocha and looking over my extensive to do list-- but I think today is a lost cause.
I’ll be okay, it’ll just take a little time and getting back into a routine. It’s not as if I don’t have a hundred things to do in the next few days, weeks, months. There are some good things on the horizon, too. I can only feel sorry for myself for so long before I get tired of whining and get back to writing and making plans.
But probably not today. Today, I’m feeling sad and watching the miserable rain.
My dirty little secret: I skipped my screenwriting class tonight so I could… work. Sigh…
I know that in about six weeks I’m going to be panic-free and wondering what all the fuss was about, but right now-- crunch time-- I’m wondering how I’m going to get it all done. Lectures to write for Mythology class, photocopies to make, a final exam to write, tons of essays to grade for English Comp, that damned screenplay that is in my head but not on the page, eight-- nine?-- writing deadlines (a couple of which I’ve committed to and don’t even have ideas for), appointments to make and keep (new glasses tomorrow, finally, and my car is out of the shop today, hurrah!), a husband to ready for deployment-- and his birthday to celebrate… and more, much more.
I’m not to the point where I can thrive on the madness-- I’m kind of in the panic mode, which is only enhanced by the impending deployment in three-- THREE-- short weeks. Ack.
I am promising myself a peaceful, happy summer with a trip (or two). That is what is keeping me motivated right now, rather than pulling out my hair (or all of my hair, rather). Summer will be quiet… a little lonely, maybe, but peaceful and creative…
Until then… I skip class to work. I’m pathetic.
Civilian Married Couple vs. Military Married Couple:
Civilian Married Couple:
You complain that you haven’t seen your spouse all week because you work opposite schedules.
Military Married Couple:
You mention that you haven’t seen your spouse in months because you live in different places.
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Civilian Married Couple:
You take a call from your spouse even though you’re busy… just because.
Military Married Couple:
You take a call from your spouse even though you’re busy… because you might not get another chance for a couple of weeks.
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Civilian Married Couple:
Your spouse goes away for three days and when you’re together again you have reunion sex.
Military Married Couple:
Your spouse goes away for six months and when you’re together again you have reunion sex… for three days.
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Life. Love. Writing. Friendship.
Sex. Books. Movies. Travel. Politics. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Rants. Raves. Chocolate. Lots of chocolate. Some names have been changed, some stories have been embellished. Thanks for stopping by and beware of the dog. Read more...
