The Middle Lane
The middle way, the middle eight, the middle of the road, middle-aged, stuck in the middle, the middle lane…an apt title for a mid-life gal like me. Shall we not celebrate the mundane? Should we not re-examine, reinvent the delicious full body text of our lives? Let’s start by highlighting new words and terms, like blog, middle and gal… I can’t be afraid of this supposed black void life presents (a developmental stage with no road map or archetypal fairy tales to cling to, just inevitable disappointment and opportunities to deepen one’s honesty or cynicism.) I am too aware of the ironies and indignities with which I’m presented in my female 40’s. What do I even call myself now? - I like to bring the word “gal” back in to use, as “woman” connotes the serious. “Girl” = diminishing, trite, suitable for ten year-olds. And “Lady”. Where do I start? She is somewhere shopping for purses and panties, or perhaps stuck in her bustle in a Victorian salon. “Gal” is the best our vernacular offers at present. The feel of the word makes me smile when sung by my Kingston Trio-listening Dad, or our Greatest Generation members. It just swings with some Doris Day enthusiasm and extra chromosomal intelligence. I imagine Rosie the Riveter was a “gal”. Gloria Steinem, too. So let’s go.Two weeks ago, this gal awoke to screaming smoke alarms after midnight. The first thing I did after stumbling out of bed, ears decibel-bleeding? Bash at the smoke alarm. But then I smelled smoke. It emanated from my daughter’s bedroom. (Of all places) My extra chromosomal information kicked in as the ancient, wise, female body instructed my quickening mind. I purposefully went downstairs to the wood stove, looked up at the chimney and viewed spectacular lapping flames licking the ceiling and floor to my daughter’s bedroom. My mind exploding in fright, I called 411 to hear those five little bells. (#$@!!) I then reported our 911 situation to the fire department as my darling partner lept upstairs to carry out our daughter, who was terrified, in fetal position - partially asleep, partly in shock. I was told to get out of the house, so I gathered my cat in a bag, my heart-of-life daughter and shuffled to the car. I watched from the garage, through the windshield, as my partner stood on a chair heroically spraying all of our fire extinguisher contents at the red beast, which only grew. We waited for the trucks. We held our fear.
