Sunday Evening Art Gallery Blog — Crowns

 

russian crown jewels

The Crown Jewels of Russia

The sparkle of diamonds and pearls and rubies and sapphires tease us mere mortals of a life none of us will ever experience.

imperial crown of india

Crown of India

With one stone we could buy a car. A house. With a handful of precious stones we could buy the world.

Crrown of Iran

Crown of Iran

The power behind the symbol is also something us mere mortals will never fathom.  How many lives were lost in the name of the crown? In the name of the monarchy?

the minor imperial crown of russia

The Minor Imperial Crown of Russia

The dreams of tomorrow sparkle like diamonds in the crown. Every sparkle a new facet of life.

Henry VIII crown

Crown of King Henry VIII

But have heart, princesses of the world. Our wealth is not in rubies and emeralds and solid gold trim. Our wealth is in our heart. Our princess heart.

Imperial crown of holy roman empire

Imperial Crown of the Holy Roman Empire

Our wealth is in the love we feel, the words we share. Our determination to not give in. Not give up. Even in the face of adversity.

france Crown of Louis XV, France

We are all princesses, queens, and kings, all children of royalty. Daughters of farmers and tool and die men and accountants, sons of waitresses and postal carriers and fishermen.

I must admit, though, I wouldn’t mind wearing one of those crowns — being Queen for a Day.

What a day that would be…

You Didn’t Read Which One??

With the Madness of Summer burning the bottoms of our feet, there is not often much time to do any deep reading. A news headline here, a gossip column there, is about all one can squeeze in between State Fairs and Renaissance Faires and Italian Fairs.  So I thought I’d make it short and sweet this time around…come along and check out some of my oldies-but-goodies and see for yourself how fun managing the madness and magic and middle age can be!

Sharpening the Tool  — https://humoringthegoddess.wordpress.com/2012/03/10/sharpening-the-tool/

I hate it when people say that many middle-aged people “aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed.” It’s condescending, insulting, naive and just plain wrong. What I hate even more, though, is being one of those dull tools. Alas, there are times when I feel I’m struggling to stay in the shed, period.

Dancing in a Too Tight Tutu — https://humoringthegoddess.wordpress.com/2011/10/15/522/

I was sitting around the other day with my gal friends, sharing tales about the weekend. We all seemed to have gone through the same delightful experience, albeit in different ways. We all were relaxed, having a good time, and probably drank a little too much, for we all said, “I’m too old for this.”  One sat with friends and sipped with friends all day, one went to an outdoor concert, and I party hopped.  I’m sure the situations were on the same astral plane as many others “my age.”  Time flows, excitement and comfort wraps around us, the atmosphere make us feel good, and before you know it we are waking up the next morning with a headache, saying, “I’m too old for this.

Dinner With the Queen https://humoringthegoddess.wordpress.com/2011/06/22/dinner-with-the-queen/

In the mundane throng of your very predictable life, don’t you now and then want to just break out of the box and do something different? Now that you have the experience of all those years behind you, don’t you want to make that experience mean something? Don’t you ever want to be bigger than life? Just for a day?

The Importance of Unicorns and Bratwursthttps://humoringthegoddess.wordpress.com/2011/06/01/the-importance-of-unicorns-and-bratwurst/

The Importance of Unicorns and Bratwurst. This is one of those ethereal, out-of-body titles that try to connect the cosmic to the ordinary, the magical to the mundane.  I was hit by this title some time ago, not having a clue as to what it meant or what I would eventually write about.  Even now, as my fingers hit the keys, I have no idea where this storyline is going.  But isn’t that so much like our everyday lives?

Merlot at the Lake House — https://humoringthegoddess.wordpress.com/2011/11/15/merlot-at-the-lake-house/

Quick.  Name a handful of your favorite movies. Not the “great” ones that are in your library ― the ones that define you. The ones you don’t admit entertain you time and time gain.  Are you what you watch? Are you big enough to admit that you are what you watch?

Need a New “C” Word

I bet I caught your attention, talking about the “C” word, didn’t I? There are many words that make me shudder these days, many words that give me the willies, many of which start with a “C”. But today’s word is “crone.”  That word has been abused and twisted so much through the ages that all that comes to mind is a bent-over ancient woman dressed in long, flowing black gear, leaning on her cane, cackling with laughter.

 What is the definition of “crone” anyway?  My handy dandy desktop dictionary defines crone as “an ugly, evil-looking old woman.”  Wonderful.  I find it interesting that the older I get, the more personal this dispute with linguistics gets.   Why do so many of us hesitate to use that word to define who we are? Is this who we are?

 The world has changed so much through the decades.  In the 1800s the word “old” defined those around the age of 40 or 50.  Sixty was ancient, 70 unheard of.  Yet a hundred years later those in their 60s are as vibrant — if not more so — than their 40-year-old counterparts.  What is the inspiration that changes the perimeters of what passes for matron/mother to that of elder/crone?

 I found that once I passed the 40-year-old mark, a whole new world opened up to me.  Memories of when I first got married, of babies and trips to the park and painting Snoopy on my kid’s bedroom wall.  Now the babies are married or in college, my wild dating life circles around a quick bite at China House with my husband of 30 years, and my job has swirled from downtown exclusivity to small town camaraderie.

 Yet so many times I feel that I am that same person — that if only given a chance, I could stay up until dawn, work the PR circuit, jog a couple of miles, keep up with toddlers, dance on tables, and laugh and be crazy as if I were 20.  But then I bend over, my muscles aching, and look at the clock, wondering if 8:30 is too early to go to bed, feeling a whole lot older than the 20-year-old I want to be. Is this what being a crone is all about?

 This constant glancing (or, in some, focusing) on things in the past tends to slow us down in moving forward. I believe all human beings use the past as a means to the future. Obviously time and experience move only one way. Forward.  But does this constant glancing backwards confuse us more than save us?  Do we spend too much time doing the spin-a-roonie that all we get for our efforts is a stiff neck?

 I have too much mind chatter to begin with, and when I dip into situations and experiences long gone I do nothing but mix past judgments with present ones, mistake past insecurities for present ones, and begin to catch faint wisps of where I could have turned left instead of right, paths I could have taken, and friendships I could have saved.

Being a crone does nothing more than extend one’s sight backwards.  In a perfect world we would use this hindsight to blaze our path towards a successful future.  In some cases this is true.  If I hadn’t taken a chance on starting a bed and breakfast in Wisconsin I would have never found my home in the county, my son would never have met his wife, nor would my other son be a star on the high school baseball team.  I would have made different friends and owned different cats.

 But so what?

 We think we would be different “now” if we had made different choices “then.”  And what I am realizing as I float, stumble and stomp into my crone years, I’m no different than I was 20 or 30 years ago. I know that I still have a choice of turning right or left, but now I understand that the choice is not as dramatic as it once was.  I will always be moving forward ― time won’t have it any other way.  And I will still choose the direction that brings me the most pleasure.  It might not always be the wisest choice, the most prudent choice — but it would be the same choice I would have made 20 years ago. 

We all tend to choose a world that best suits our needs, our souls.  We manage to leave the most painful memories behind, covered in that dark grey mist that manages to cover without destroying, and we tend to paint our present and future in the rosy tones that possibility brings.  We use the experiences of our lives to teach ourselves and to teach others. 

 If that is what being a crone is all about, I’ve probably been one longer than I care to admit.  And if the benefit of age is understanding a little more about the universe outside and inside, we will all be lucky to be a crone sometime.  I just wish popular culture would find a different word.  Crone sounds like something creepy and crackly.  I need to do is find a new word for women such as myself — something catchy and vibrant and airy fairy.

 Maybe — maybe the world just got the word mixed up.  It should be Crown — not crone. For that’s what we deserve after having lived this long to talk about it.