Today

WiseWoman, from Alleged to Official

When I looked up "Crone" in Wikipedia, the very first thing it says is, "The crone is a stock character in folklore and fairy tale, an old woman...marginalized by her exclusion from the reproductive cycle."

I've heard her described as a wise woman, sometimes cantankerous, sometimes magical.

I once watched an episode of the Oprah show on which Tyne Daly described celebrating her fiftieth birthday as entering the age of the Crone, (I'm not sure exactly what she said, but I hope you get the gist), by cutting her hair and refusing to further dye it, and other celebratory events. I was moved by that, because we are close in age, and I was approaching my own fiftieth at that time.

I stopped coloring my own hair during my thirties, when I started finding a few stray silver ones, that would not "take" the dye. I'm now almost completely silver, and I can't imagine putting yucky chemicals on my hair... Or face, for that matter.

What stared out as vanity (when I was in my forties someone told me I looked better, and younger, without make up...so that was all I needed!), has become a habit of trying to keep my body clean...within limits. I use store bought toothpaste, mainly because I still have an unopened tube in my drawer. I remember my parents using a mixture of table salt and baking soda on their teeth. My plan is to start that habit once the tube is gone. (FYI, both of my parents died at 88 and 91 respectively, with most of their own teeth in their mouths!)

I have a stick of Tom's deodorant in that same drawer, but my fabulous DIY-er of a daughter-in-law made me a stick and I alternate using them with equal results.

I have not used store-bought shampoo or laundry detergent in over two years.

On the other hand, I use creamer in my burr-ground, French Pressed or Cold Brewed coffee. Milk just doesn't do it for me. Sorry.

I have an app on my Chinese manufactured, designed in the USA smart phone that tells me if I need to boycott a GMO using food brand, but on some favorite things, I don't want to know, and after some research I determined that an egg is an egg is an egg, whether from a free range chicken, or one in a cage. I guess I'm not a Vegan-minded meat eater. And really, aren't all hens vegetarian, anyway?

I no longer care so much if I'm a little fat. I no longer worry so much about what I see in the mirror, wrinkle-wise. My husband, who never fails to remind me that he is one-year-six-days younger than I am, tells me I am beautiful every single day, and after almost sixteen years of marriage, that seems to be enough for me!

As I wrote on my last blog, I'm pretty content all around, with aging in general. I guess I am, as my mother used to say, aging gracefully. Being what Bette Davis allegedly described in her famous quote, "If you want a thing well done, get a couple of old broads to do it." It's mostly okay with me.

What all the above chatter has been about is mainly an affirmation, of sorts, for my own darn self. Yesterday the manly spouse noticed something on my chin. The light caught it just right, and he noticed it. I plucked it out, surely it will return. It was more than silver, it was pure white. It did not make me happy, and I am not dealing with it well. It was about an eighth of an inch long.....oh gosh, I can barely bring myself to type the word, much less say it out loud. Okay, here goes. (I just actually took a deep breath as I typed this!)

A whisker.

I have officially entered my own Age of the Crone. It is only mildly comforting to know that I am indeed a WiseWoman.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Omaha, NE

Perspective

I started to title this post, "what I like about growing old". But when I thought about it, I realized its all about perspective.

In 2007, I walked away from a job that paid well, and that I sort of liked. Office politics, my own stubbornness, and other factors all came together and I thought, "no problem, I can get another job quickly..." A recession, my age, and a series of interviews where I was told I was overqualified, proved me wrong, wrong, wrong.

I spent the three next years painting old furniture (and some new), and selling some of it at my Etsy shop.

It was fun, but I stressed about the lack of health insurance in my late fifties, so I kept up the job search. On a whim, and not without a small sense of desperation, I applied at the Big Box Super Store, and within an hour, they called, and within a day, I was again gainfully (sort of) employed.

After six months, I qualified for the group health insurance plan, and started breathing again. I also started enjoying retail work. It's fun; it's easy, and the folks I work with are mostly a joy.

Ninety percent of my co-workers are in their twenties. Young, fresh faced, smart...so smart! Many are students, some still in high school, most in college... even the "executives", college graduates who are earning their first real paychecks, learning the ropes, and having the time of their lives.

But when you're nineteen and twenty there is Drama. There is a lot of Drama.

One of my sweet girl colleagues calls it being all about the "boyfraaaaaaand", with a wry grin and a certain youthful wisdom.

I can remember this. In fact as I chat with my young friends, whether she is the wise girl above, or the young mother dealing with her small children, I am aware of the great blessing of growing old. Because I remember this.

It is a blessing that they share with me their joys and sorrows. It is a blessing that I can share with them, if they ask, what I have learned from the vantage point of my years.

I have the perspective gained from my own joys and sorrows. I'm so very grateful for all of it.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Omaha,United States