Monday, July 5, 2010

Of cucumbers and mid-life crises.

I've felt cramped lately, like I need to escape my life.  Wonder if this is normal?  I am after all, 35.  Isn't it time for a mid-life crisis?  Is this where I'm supposed to make some dramatic change to keep up the inertia that will take me to 70?

Pickle season is nearly over.  The cucumber plants are slowing down, but justifiably so since they've born hundreds of cucumbers.  They are nice long round pretty things.  I held one in my hands the other day and marveled at just how pretty it was.  Sarah had an especially gigantic one in her lap the other day, a little cloth wrapped around it.  I asked, "what are you doing?"  She replied, "Mama of course I'm holding my baby's baby."  Duh.  I suppose her actual baby doll off to the side had given birth to this here plump cucumber, one side cream-colored toward the sun.

My job is wonderful.  I am working too many hours, which I think is the reason for my hum-drum, but damn what a satisfying job I have.  Too bad I cannot write about it here.  The range of emotions I feel in a 12-hour shift would jolt most of you for days.  It did me at first too.  But now I thrive on it if it doesn't kill my spirit.  It's a delicate balance, you see.

My child is growing up too fast.  When she was a baby I dreamed of the day when she'd be big enough to do things own her own, and now that she mostly is - the whole thing scares the shit out of me.  I threaten to go off to college with her.  Hal gives me weird glances.  He knows I actually could do that if I wanted to.  I could get some job at her college and watch over her there but I won't.  And besides, that's 13 years away.  But the first 5 flew by.  Especially those dark and dreamy nights when I just held her in my arms and rocked her to sleep; the smell of her soy milk breath wafting under my nose.  Her baby sighs.  Gosh.

And marriage.  Isn't that a hard one to figure?  The yo-yo up and downs of life that you try to pull through together.  Sometimes our bond feels like cement, other times it's more like silly putty.  Perhaps that is the way it was meant to be.  No one can be head-over-heels in love 24/7 forever.  I am, but I'm not.  He is, but he isn't.  We are, but we cannot be, not all the time.  Sometimes when he sleeps I run my fingers through his hair and kiss his forehead but he doesn't know it.  Sometimes I stare at him and envy the fact that he can sleep so easily, but I cannot.

In a few hours I think I'll take off somewhere.  Blow off some steam.  Lick my wounds, chase my tail, and just drive like a bat out of hell.  Perhaps to the ocean.  Maybe I'll even jump in.

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