Hitting 40

I blew my emergency $50, the one I keep stashed in my wallet for car wrecks and natural disasters, on junk food. This is a kind of emergency; I plan to spend the next 36 hours eating only stuff that isn’t good for me. In 36 hours, I will be entering middle age. I will be 40.

I like adventure. I moved to New York when I was 16. I joined the Army at 18. I became a cop at 21. I traveled through war torn areas of Europe when I was 30. I was on a security detail in Atlanta when the bomb exploded at the Olympics when I was 32. And I like to live on the edge. I tore the tag off my pillow when I was 10. I replaced my windshield wipers when I was 27. I wore lacy bras on patrol in case the paramedics needed to rip my shirt off to save my life. I ate my first Jujube when I was 39. So, when everyone asked what I wanted for my 40^th birthday, I decided to jumpstart my transition to middle age. Rather than be inundated with silly gifts, I decided to ask for donations for my skydiving fund.

The best things in life aren’t things. I already have enough stuff to dust. At my age, it’s time to make a little change, nothing huge, just a slight turn off the path, a couple of errant steps to alter my destiny. I like to travel and experience different cultures so skydiving seemed appropriate. I can fly to Paris any day. It’s time to experience the culture of the mid-troposphere.

I’m not an idiot. I remember the lesson I learned about gravity while climbing trees as a child. I learned it well enough to break two collarbones. But, at age 40, I figure, what the heck? At my age, I can put all my eggs in one basket, and dance in traffic, if I choose. I can throw caution to the wind. It’s either that or rent a limo with some girlfriends and watch naked 20-year-old boys dance at a women’s club.

Most people reacted to my birthday wish by saying, “Why jump out of a perfectly good airplane?” Well, why do astronauts leave a perfectly good Earth? Why did the chicken cross the road? It’s the journey, not the destination. Most people go to their graves with their music still inside them. I don’t want to be one of those people. And I want to step into 40 instead of running away from it. There are very few things in life that can’t be undone – stepping out of that plane will be one of them. Besides, how many opportunities will I have to be securely strapped to a thrill-seeking hunk? Not many, unless I take my handcuffs out of retirement.

My friend Cheryl has been dodging this year since the day after her 35^th birthday. She once said, “You’re my best friend but I’m not going over a cliff for you.” When I announced my skydiving plans, she told me I have “thrill issues” and am “crazy”. When I explained that I had my physiatrist’s permission to jump, she thought I said “psychiatrist” and rushed to the conclusion that I really am insane. How’s that for a best friend?

 I argued that falling at 100+ mph could work better than a facelift, raising our eyelids to our hairlines. Then I suggested that she wasn’t young enough at heart to take a chance. After some soul searching, she decided to jump with me, 45 days before her own 40th. I’ve promised to push her out of the plane if she hesitates. I understand the risks. If I jump after her and she vomits, I will be drenched in it. But I’ll take the chance because I’m a good friend. And just think, if we splat, we’ll be put into the same trash bag by burly men with shovels. Best friends forever.

My little brother, Jeff, is coming, too. Our Mom vacillated for about a week. She has always made us promise to push her out of a plane if she ever becomes old and cantankerous. Well, she’s old (64) so this is my opportunity to keep that promise. She’s going with us.

People think we’re nuts for wanting to jump out of a plane. Life is full of decisions - what to eat, what to wear, when to move forward and when to back up. It’s not the decision you make but that you make the decision. If my destiny is death by deceleration trauma, then I want to enjoy the ride down. And if I jump on my 40^th birthday, my tombstone will be nice and tidy.

I read somewhere that a parent’s advice to a child should be, “In life, you will come to a great chasm. Jump, it’s not as wide as you think.

Geronimo!

Jill Wragg is a retired police officer in Massachusetts.
She can be reached at JKWragg@yahoo.com

Turning 40? No Problem

I spent New Years Eve in the broadcast studio of a local radio station with my friend Cheryl. She was doing a live, all-request show to count down the last hours of the year. At midnight, she made the mistake of opening my microphone and asking for my thoughts on the New Year. I took it as an invitation to tell her listening audience that she and I would be turning 40 in the new year. It was the second time in our friendship that I’d seen her at a loss for words.

She’s not happy about turning 40. I have no problem with it. For the past 30 years, I’ve looked forward to 40 as a time when I would be established, when I’d feel completely grown up and comfortable in my own skin. As 40 approaches, my friends say the only thing missing in my life is a man. I’m not sure one is necessary. I just spent more money on my new mattress than I spent on my first car. I don’t plan to share it with just anyone.

Whoever said that revenge is a dish best served cold must have been married. I’ve discovered that dating is a dish best served piping hot, like McDonald’s french fries which, once cooled, become chewy, greasy and decidedly unappetizing. The few guys I’ve dated cooled off, and became unpalatable, very quickly. I can tell a date is going nowhere when the dinner conversation starts to sound like grown-up talk in an animated Peanuts cartoon.

 I don’t think that my standards are too high. Almost any tall, well-educated man with a dog would do. But it’s becoming increasingly difficult to meet the type of man who won’t hide behind me in a bar fight. And now that I’m retired from the police department, I can’t wear the shirt that says, “feel safe, sleep with a cop.” I can, however, still remind them that they have the right to remain silent and that anything, no, everything, they say or do will be held against them. So far, they’ve all taken the hint.

When I was a child, people didn’t ask little girls if they wanted to be astronauts. They asked about the man the girls wanted to marry. Prince Charming always seemed like a reasonable catch. He was tall, good-looking, with a promising future as King. He also had a nice house, a horse-drawn carriage and enough money to buy me a dog. But now I have my own house, a nice car, a decent income and a great dog. My CD collection is organized just the way I like it. My attic and basement are gadget-free. The toilet seat is always down. My television is not the size of a Volkswagen. I don’t guzzle Budweiser. There are no unfinished projects on the dining room table. I always know where my shoes are. I don’t leave towels on the floor. I take out the trash. I don’t yell at the dog when I trip over her. I don’t need Prince Charming anymore. I’ve become the man I wanted to marry.

Still, there’s a certain pull toward the opposite sex that I can’t deny. Men are fun to be with. The things they do and say can be an endless source of amusement. And it’s nice to feel warm and safe and loved in the arms of a man. How hard can it be to find a man who makes me feel that way? So I turned to my friend Aimee, the dating guru. She said something about finding a needle in a haystack and pointed me towards the online personal ads. She enjoys meeting men that way but it isn’t my style, especially after I realized that I already know the first two men the service offered to contact for me!

It would be easier to buy a magnet to search the haystack for that ever-elusive needle. Maybe I’ll get a portable microwave for when things start to cool down. Then again, maybe it’s time to start renewing childhood dreams.

 I wonder if Prince William is spoken for…

Jill Wragg is a retired police officer in Massachusetts.
She can be reached at JKWragg@yahoo.com

The Milestone

I was never quite sure when it would happen.

As a child, I always thought it would be the day I got married. At other times, I assumed it would be the first time I was intimate with a man.

But it wasn’t.

And it always changed as I got older.

At one time, I believed it would be when I got my first apartment. Then I absolutely knew that it would be the day I graduated from Army basic training.

It wasn’t.

Perhaps it would be when I accepted my first “real” job. Or the first time I made a decision based on what I needed rather than what I wanted. Maybe it would be the day that I signed the papers on my first house.

It wasn’t.

Not only did it keep changing, it became more and more elusive. The day eventually did arrive. It arrived without fanfare but I knew it when I saw it.

It was the day that my mother asked me to help her change the dressing on her breast cancer surgery incisions.

That was the day that I realized that I was a grown up.

There have been many times in my life when I’ve passed a milestone, when I’ve decided that the person I was yesterday had been a child, and that the person going into tomorrow would be an adult. Yet, each milestone was replaced by another, and another, making me wonder exactly when the innocence and dependence of childhood ended and the wisdom and confidence of adulthood took over. Making me wonder exactly when the music changed, when the bunny hop faded into a waltz.

That day in my mother’s bedroom, as I lifted the layers of gauze from her bare midriff, I saw my past and my future entwined. My past - a rebellious, inquisitive child - sat at my feet. My future - a poised, independent adult - stood by my shoulder. The child gazed up at her mother, admiring the strength and character of the woman who had guided her, loved her, and protected her. The adult gazed down at her mother, admiring the strength and character of the woman she planned to guide, love and protect.

The little girl of my past and the confident woman of my future touched fingers as I gently applied a fresh bandage to my mother’s body.

The child wept for her loss of innocence. The adult accepted her new responsibilities.

Yet no scepter was passed.

In that moment, I understood that there is no point when my childhood will end and my adulthood will begin.

In that moment, it was clear. It was clear that my past and my future will always dance together. It was clear that a child will always be behind the adult, urging her to play with one more puppy, and that an adult will always be present to remind the child not to spend her last few pennies on candy. It was clear that the child who trusts strangers will be protected by the adult who understands danger, and that the adult who mourns a death will be comforted by the child who understands nightmares.

And it was an encouraging thought. It was encouraging to know that I can still climb trees, and lie on the grass watching clouds take the shapes of animals, and stick my finger into the frosting on my brother’s birthday cake. It was encouraging to know that I can make my own money, and travel abroad alone, and forgive people who make me cry. It was encouraging to know that I don’t have to give up my past to attain my future. It was encouraging to know that there is a balance in everything.

The challenge comes in maintaining the balance, in keeping my past alive in my future and in reminding my future of my past. The challenge is to assign some wariness to the naiveté and to give some experience to an impulse.

But I like challenges and I think I have his one covered.

Just this week, I watched The Lion King while I balanced my checkbook, ate Oreo cookies with an expensive Porto, and wore my feetie pajamas while I did my taxes.

Maybe next week, I’ll share some caviar with my dogs.

Jill Wragg is a retired police officer in Massachusetts.
She can be reached at JKWragg@yahoo.com