-by MOTHER

My mid-life crisis started as I popped my eyes open the morning of my 50th birthday. I realized what day it was, climbed out of bed and staggered to the mirror. I felt it was appropriate to start such a momentous morning with one of those look-in-the-mirror-meaning-of-life soliloquies that you read about in the more literary type of book. I struck a pose: back of my right hand to my forehead, eyes downcast, left hand to my heart. I clear my throat. I began. "There you are, O Woman. Stuck in Suburbia at the age of 50. Where is the adventure? Where is the quest? Are you all that you can be? Do you want to join the Army? Are you channeling a TV commercial in the middle of your soliloquy?" I stared at myself in the mirror. There I was, short and dumpy, topped with a head of wild hair that could generously be called brown, except for the gray streaks that my glasses were an excuse to ignore. Little gray eyes made even smaller by thick bifocals. I considered how boring my life was: housework, carpools, a dull job as an office clerk, PTA, League of Women Voters. "What?" I declaimed. "What are you going to do to make this one and only precious life more exciting?" I needed thrills, the jolt of adrenaline, the tingle of being alive. I had played it safe and cozy too long. It came to me in a flash. I decided to take up para-gliding. Now there aren't many cliffs or high points here in the flat Midwest, but we do have a water tower in town right behind the grocery store. So I went to the used sports gear store to stock up on day-glow spandex, and I got a great deal on a rainbow-paneled parachute that the man told me had only been used once by a little old lady to convince her son she was too spry to be put in an old people's home. Come Saturday afternoon I got dressed up in my new bicycle shorts and sports bra, buckled up the harness and loaded the parachute on my back. Bubbling over with enthusiasm I drove to the grocery store parking lot, picked the lock on the security gate around the tower, and clambered up the rickety metal scaffolding to the top. I had brought my mother-in-law along to drive the tow-car. She had a hard time seeing over the top of the steering wheel, but she's pretty game for an 88-year-old. With one end of the towrope tied to the rear bumper, and the other end hooked to my belt, I waved her off. Of course, she couldn't see me clearly, what with the cataracts and all, so I gave a yell and another yell and another yell, until the cars backed up behind her in the parking lot started honking real loud and she took off with a jerk. With that jerk I was airborne. I fumbled for the pull cord and deployed my parachute! I was maybe forty, fifty feet off the ground and sinking when a breeze caught me. Then, suddenly I was soaring. What a feeling! I detached the towline just as my mother-in-law hit the fire hydrant. And I must been flying really high, ‘cause I hardly got wet from the gusher at all. So there I was, sailing over town, the wind at my command, just like a balloon in the Thanksgiving's Day parade, looking down on the groundlings. I soared, I swooped, I did jelly rolls. I played tag with the butterflies and hung a louey off the steeple of a church. I was really getting into it, when gravity asserted its claim. I realized I was losing altitude. Gliding above the pharmacy, frantically looking for a likely place to land, I I felt a jolt and heard a rip. I came to a painfully dead stop, still in mid-air. I looked down at the ground, twenty feet below me. What the...? For Goodness sake! I had wedged myself in the notch of the W of the big red Walgreen's sign. My head and shoulders had passed through it, but my hips got stuck. Slowly the whole parachute settled over me, and I hung there like a punctured balloon. The more I twisted and turned, the tighter I became wedged and the more muffled up in the parachute. The W was pinching my waist and the cords of the chute were cutting into my arms and legs. I yelled and flailed but to no avail. I could hear a crowd forming and laughing at me! Laughing! That's how they treat the adventurous in this narrow-minded small town! After a while -- what seemed like an awfully long while -- I heard sirens. A fire engine pulled up, extended the ladder and a big guy in slicker and boots edged out along it until he was even with my trussed-up body. Now this was not a case for the Jaws of Life; I was just twisted up in a bunch of nylon. But, apparently, fire engines don't carry scissors. The fire chief ended up working the crowd trying to mooch a pair. Eventually, a Boy Scout volunteered a Swiss Army knife with a scissors folded into it, and the fireman was able to begin the job of rescuing me. Do you have any idea how long it takes to cut apart a parachute with a one-inch nail scissors? Well, you know, of course it started to rain, water dripping into my eyes and nose from the gullies of the twisted nylon. Guess what? The dyes in that damn rainbow chute weren't color fast, and as I hung there, marinating in all the colors of the rainbow, the poor fireman stood on his ladder, doggedly snipping away at the cords and wiping rain drops off his eye glasses. When the chute was finally cut away, the fireman started tugging at my arms, to pull me lose, but I was stuck fast. He tried shoving me back through the W, but that didn't work either. A second fireman came up the ladder and side-by-side they tugged and pushed and tugged some more. No luck. Finally, they gave up, scurried down to the street, and held a hurried conference with their chief. I watched them whispering, nodding their heads, shaking their heads, whispering some more. They got on their radio and talked, through all I heard was the static snapping and popping. Finally they gave a shout and high-fived all around. I looked down the street, and there came a construction crane from a building site up the block! They hooked it into my flight harness, hauled me up and out of the notch. Loud cheers broke out among the crowd as I was lowered to the pavement, and, I swear, I blushed as red as the Walgreen's sign, in those places where I wasn't tie-dyed from the parachute. That evening, as I sat in the tub scrubbing the dye off various parts of my body, I realized an adrenaline high was not what I needed to cure my mid life crisis; I thought some more and prayed for a second flash of inspiration. As I was scrubbing my elbows it came to me: chocolate! Chocolate and romance novels! Chocolate and romance novels and comfy sofas! Yep! Chocolate and romance novels and comfy sofas, I think that's just what my midlife crisis demands... and maybe a bottle of white wine.