Fairy Tales, Glass Slippers, And Big Foot Women
Once upon a time in a land east of the sun and west of the moon, lived a whiney old crone named Drizelda. She sat outside the golden gates of the Queen’s Palace, wailing over fate’s misfortune. Beautiful in her youth, according to her mother, at least, she’d dreamed of slipping her foot into that glass slipper, marrying the prince, raising perfect children, wearing the finest of clothes, partaking of the richest foods, and living happily ever after.
But, alas, the dang slipper had been too short, and her foot too long. Her one consolation was neither had the shoe fit her sisters.
The winey crone sniveled, wiped her nose on the sleeve of her filthy, ragged garment and bemoaned the cruelty of her years.
“Whence came all the wrinkles and this thin mousy gray hair? Not to mention my ever-enlarging nose and ears, and the few scraggly hairs on my chin. Even the widow maker treats me unfairly, refusing to give me back my tiny waist, regardless of how tight they pull the laces. My back aches. No one ever calls and my sons no longer come around—the ungrateful lot.”
One bright sunny day, while in the midst of her whining, an even older crone approaches with a spring in her step and a glow on her face.
Which, of course, really pissed off Drizelda.
A situation that could not be worse, became just that when the older crone stops to speak to Drizelda in a pleasant, melodic voice.
Jealousy flared inside Drizelda’s gut. It reached her face and then into her eyes, turning them bright red.
“Why do you whine, my dear sister, and why are your eyes so red? Do you not know this is the best years of your life? Too bad you did not well prepare yourself, else your step would spring and your voice would sing.”
“Give me a break,” Drizelda whined. “What’s so great about getting old, ugly and feeble? My back hurts, no one calls or comes to visit, and dare I venture out, men pass me by as if I am invisible—looks like that good-for-nothing fairy godmother cast a spell and made me disappear.”
Whine. Whine. Whine.
“It is because you spend your day in front of the mirror that you whine, my dear. For mirrors only reflect the outward you, not giving chance for inward reflection. You give insult to the name of crone. For a true crone does not whine. Instead, she fills her days with wisdom learned and practiced over the years, wisdom such as—purpose, humor, courage, compassion for others, and vitality.”
“Vitality?” the whiney crone spat. “I fight to get out of bed every morning. How in the queen’s name am I to find vitality?”
“It takes years of work, my dear, and you are way behind. You’ve wasted your years regretting each one. You fail to feel empathy or compassion, or to use your energy and power wisely. As a consequence of such, you have not earned the joy a wise crone discovers with the passing of years.”
“Okay, smarty pants. You know so much. Tell me what you did that is so different than me. For you, too, longed to wear the glass slipper and failed. You, too, have aged, yet I see young and old men sit at your feet, eager to learn what you know. Why is that—tell me, old crone.”
“Dry your eyes, wipe your nose, and lend me your ear.”
The whiney crone did just that.
“First off,” the beautiful older crone said, “is to stop that infernal whining. You must let go of the idea that if the stupid glass slipper had fit your big foot, your life would have been perfect. The shoe didn’t fit. What is—is. Get over it.”
“Okay, Ms. Smarty Pants. Just tell me how in this world am I supposed to do that?”
“Stop thinking about what didn’t work. To dwell on anything for which we have no power to change is a useless exercise. We end up getting more and more depressed, and we spend our days whining about what might have been.
“The more you whine, the more you stay stuck in the past—a past you can’t fix. The end result is you stay mired right at the moment the prince tried to put that silly glass slipper on your foot. That’s truly over and done with, but because you keep whining about losing out, you’re still caught at that moment in time. As a result, you end up finding even more to whine about.
“That was then—this is now. Whining makes you dry up into an old hag. Look in this mirror. Do you see one juicy thing about you?”
The whiney crone looked. She didn’t like what she saw. “You mean to tell me, if I stop whining, these wrinkles might go away?”
“No, it won’t make the wrinkles go away, but they’ll soften. You’ll have more energy—a passion for life. Get involved, care about something, grow interested in something outside yourself. That will take your mind off of you and put it on others. Find something funny to laugh about—every day, without fail. If you can’t find it, create it—go find a young lover or something.” She laughed.
“Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen.”
“You never know—but this one thing I can assure—it’ll put a spring in your step.”
“So, that’s all I need do?”
“Goodness no. There’s a lot more to life than that. Grow something. Crones are good at pruning, weeding.”
“You mean like a garden? I can’t do that, for my back is too stiff and my joints, they ache like a son-of-a-gun. Every time I kneel, my—”
“There you go, whining again. Growing something doesn’t mean it has to be plants, my silly sister. It can be, but other things need to grow, too. Nurture something—whether it be a garden or people. Find something—or someone—vulnerable—like a child that’s lonely, or a young mother who can learn from your wisdom. For, despite your whining, you have learned a few things over the years—and that is the wisdom of the ages—otherwise known as Women’s Intuition. Trust what you know deep down in your bones. Let that wisdom bubble to the top. Share it with those open to receive it—those who look for the wisdom of the ages. Learn to practice patience—then teach it to the impatient.”
“Is that all?” Drizelda wondered how she could remember all these lessons, let alone do them. “I should’ve been taking notes.”
The wise, juicy old crone smiled, for she knew the secret of the HOW.
“By finding your voice, my dear. For silence equals consent. Crones like you and me? We speak our minds. We tell ’em how the cow ate the cabbage—that the emperor’s running around outside naked. That’s how. Find your voice, use the wisdom of the ages, grow something, let go of the past, stop your dang whining, laugh—and learn the beauty of having a big foot.”
The End—or is it the Beginning?
How do you react to the word Crone? Why? Does the winey old crone remind you of someone? Who? Why? How about the even older crone? In what way does she remind you of yourself or others? Where is the old crone stuck? What is one thing you can do when you feel ‘stuck.’
How does this benefit you and others?
If you haven’t guessed by now—I am that older crone. I am 80 years old and by the time you read this I will be 81…or more…or less.
Seems impossible. I was always the youngest—even that goes too. However, along the way I learned much—and as that older crone, my desire is to share a few things I’ve learned along the way.
I beg your patience and commitment to stay with me as our journey goes deeper into the HOW. It is only fair that I let you know, much truth is found in story.
