sed to come with a do-over option. But when my husband of 20 years packs up and heads for greener pastures, and my son heads away to college, that's exactly what my midlife becomes.

A do-over.

This time, though, I plan to do things differently. Age is just a number, after all, and at 40 I'm ready to carve my own path.

Eager for a fresh start, I make a somewhat unorthodox decision and move to a tiny town in the Sierra foothills. I'll be taking care of a centuries-old house that called to me when I was a kid. It's just temporary, I tell myself. It'll just be for a little while.

That is, until I learn what the house really is: something I never would've thought possible.

As my new life begins, a couple of things become immediately clear: Forty isn't too old for adventure. Not by half. It is too old to take crap from anyone, however, or care what people think.

I had no idea how incredibly freeing that could be. Or how dangerous this new life would become.

I have a chance to start again, and this time, I make the rules.