Crone-The Apocalypse

So, there I was, minding my own business and a crone told me to revisit "The Crone". I am not the least bit happy about this concept, and revisiting a old topic required me to get your attention.. So, like any money making movie mogul-- CRONE-THE APOCALYPSE.

Bits of me that ache now when the weather changes. I can hearing popping sounds when I stand up. I can sit still and be reminded of something I did yesterday, just by which joint aches. I have two pieces of titanium where part of me used to be. There are parts that fall asleep when I lay down, long before I can, because now I have to readjust, to improve circulation. I have parts that have been disconnected. I have parts that are slowing down - a rhythm that was once like clockwork. I have parts that used to be up here, and are now located a bit further south. I have a special part that gets fingerprints, nose prints, baby prints and have to be cleaned a few times a day, because I can see some things up close, and some things far off, but I just can't see very well at all without them.

Skin that is more visible in its imperfections, my hands, my face, what was a laugh line, is there all the time now. And what's with the brown spots, like freckles on steriods? I use a cream in the shower, and a gel after, and an oil too. I wash my hands a thousand times a day and they feel like a pair of shoes I once threw away. I have some skin as soft as the back of Grandma's arm used to be.

My hair and I have had a long and painful relationship. It's red, you see. So I was sort of a standout in a hispanic community. Well, it was red, and in the early 80's I wrestled with blow dryers and hot rollers and no matter what, I could not look like Farrah. I've pushed the shade from time to time with a box, or a very expensive visit to a salon. About a year and half ago, my daughter convinced me to dye it red, because I was going so gray. I thought we had a fade out variety-oh, no, we did not. We had a 'covers black dye great' box of dye. I had a head of hair that looked like Lucille Ball for nearly two months. Last year, on my birthday, I paid for a trip to the salon, I got lots of blonde shot through it, and now, as that is fading out, my new silver curls are popping in. They add to the 'wisdom' look of me, but they are coming very quickly. Soon, I'll be Valerie the White.

The stuff I know and the stuff I have seen should make me a wise crone, of sorts. But I feel like a box of rocks, dense, heavy and dusty. I have seen cruel, calculated things that make no sense whatsoever. I have seen stupid things that should go in the Darwin Awards. I have seen careless acts go ever so devastatingly wrong. I should have good advise, like 'happiness depends on ourselves' and 'one swallow does not make a summer'. But I am no Aristotle. I stumble and fall too. Life is messy, they say, and I don't want to be the person that has to clean it all up.

I am not even sure this is a mess. Perhaps I have put too much emphasis on being in control of my life, afterall.