When I was younger I heard about Crones; aged women who were well respected and who knew things. In some stories, she is disagreeable, malicious, or sinister, and often associated with having magical or supernatural powers. Pictures of crones show wrinkled faces and often long, grey, unkempt hair. Some pictures show a gentle smile, while others depict a haggard woman with a wart on the end of a long, crooked nose. Now that I am getting closer to the age of crone-ism, I discount the later description and prefer to aim toward the former. I want to be respected for the knowledge that I have learned over the years and at the same time, I want to retain some of my former looks, not that I consider myself a raging beauty, but I don’t really think I resemble a witch. The other “itch” word, maybe.
I appreciate knowledge attained over long years of experiences. When I was in my teens I didn’t have the time to listen to my elders. While I was appreciative of the message, I was intolerant with the messenger. I still am to an extent if that messenger is one who repeats themselves continually and who smells bad. I hope I never get to that point.
But as I have gotten older I have been increasingly uncaring of how people perceive my message. I suppose I am getting to be like my mother who I have often joked views others as being entitled to her opinion. So if I rant on this blog, take it as my view; raw, uncut, and uncensored. I make no apologies for them and appreciate your time in reading them. I hope they spark thought and perhaps action.