Musings of a Crone
by Avian CorVeen
January always seems to be the coldest, cruelest, and longest month of the year. Even though Yule has passed, the Wheel has turned, and the days are getting longer, January still feels hopeless and despairing. Everyone catches a glimpse of their own mortality now, but we Elders are compelled to look it squarely in the eye.
It's common knowledge, of course, that everyone born will eventually age and die, but there's a big difference between knowing the truth and living the truth. When I get out of bed in the morning, I have a well-founded suspicion that the creaking and popping I hear isn't coming from the cold floor boards. It's the same with lowering myself carefully into bed after a long day – the grunts, groans and small yelps that celebrated conjugal enthusiasm 35 years ago sound exactly the same now as they did then, but the reasons behind them are entirely different.
Nevertheless, I clench Hope in both hands and willfully declare that my best days are still ahead of me; I didn't get this far just to give up now. A sense of humor helps, too; it's been well and truly said that sometimes we have to laugh to keep from crying. Besides, there are certain advantages to being a crone, even though I do keep my tongue jammed firmly in my cheek as I list them.
(1) I can say what I think, secure in the knowledge that those who didn't listen to me because I was young and immature, still aren't listening because now I'm old and irrelevant.
(2) I can wear what I please without being cat-called or assaulted; society views young women as sex objects, old women as disgusting. So now that I've finally gotten up my courage to wear gold eye shadow, purple lipstick and blue hair simultaneously, I'm definitely going for it.
(3) I'm free to follow my dreams. I can save the whales, replant the rain forest or join the Peace Corps --- yes, they take people over 50. And if I don't want to go overseas, there are plenty of needy people and animals right here in the good old US of A.
(4) I can finally dance naked in midnight rituals --- the combination of sagging fat, wrinkled skin and goose-flesh is guaranteed to send the most pervy peeper screaming into the night. Besides, all my rituals are solitary …. well, at least they all end up that way ….
(5) Sexual license --- nobody cares what crones do …. and quite often, that includes the crones. A while back, I realized my license had expired and I had never got around to renewing it. Oh well, there's always tomorrow … or next week … or ---- oh, forget it.
So there you have it, crones and sages; we, as an age group, have finally arrived at the height of our experience, intelligence and power. Time to polish up our wands, stir up the brew --- for a cup of tea --- and accomplish world peace, egalitarian conditions for all life forms, and the equitable distribution of prosperity. Go ahead and start without me; I need a nap.