Recent Posts

Crotchety Crone: Signs of Renewed Life

July 10, 2026

The following post was written as a reflection upon this meme:

As one of the few remaining World War II babies (born 1942), I actually, personally, remember the contaminated atmosphere of our world in total shit way way before I started to consciously recall that it went to shit. Remembering it before it went to shit is likely the Boomer generation’s experience. The ’50s, especially, when comfortable middle class family life stabilized the (pulsing) center between the rapacious way-too-rich, and the ghastly way-too-poor.

But then of course, as everything changes, stabilization turned into stagnation, finally wrenching the culture in the opposite direction: what the few remaining my age and boomers now remember, nostalgically, as “the (turbulent, free-love, do your thing) ’60s.”

Yes, I remember World War II, the F.E.A.R (False Evidence Appearing Real) her husband (my father) would not return, how it paralyzed my mother, so that she was unable to emotionally nourish me, much less to breast feed me. That stopped the very day he left home, and I seem to recall her own mother recommended that she wean me to a cup rather than a bottle. No wonder I was addicted to cigarettes for so long!

I know I’ve detailed this before, here, ad nauseam!  And no wonder. This was my PTSD imprint. What was yours? Because we all have one, some experience, or ongoing situation, or both, when we were very young and impressionable, that stamped us for life, rigidifying attitudes, values, etc., unless and until we begin to “process” what happened to us. And even then, there’s no way to erase. Rather soften into spaciousness as much as possible.

Personal Processing

 

BTW: her mother, my grandmother, never let her children meet their grandparents, even though they lived in the same town. Why? Because they were obviously “Jewish.” Not that I ever knew this, while growing up. Our Jewish ancestry was successfully hidden for me, until a few years ago! Jewish meant “bad.” Jewish meant contaminated.

So, you might say, the world has been going to shit forever! And resurrecting, regenerating, forever!

And it’s not just generational, racial, cultural wars. How about those drat “flock” cameras? Our current city council finally got word about the flock cameras having been introduced to Bloomington, and they started a local movement to have them removed! YES!

https://bloomington.in.gov/news/2026/04/15/6521

Bloomington is by far not the only town. At least 85 towns across this nation have NOT renewed their flock contracts.

Meanwhile, some contrarians don’t bother to wait for legal means.

It may be that flock cameras, and other applications, technologies, of the AI driven technocratic state, will be the trigger that unites us all, to finally see and feel beyond our increasingly polarized left-right divide.

Bah humbug to all that! We are all human beings, deserving of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

 

(Suddenly) GRATEFUL CRONE! and here’s why

July 8, 2026

Two photos tell the story in a nutshell. Elisha, whom I call “boss lady” in the garden, sent this photo via our Group Me early this morning, with a note: “Adorable ‘thank you’ notes I found on the farm stand!”

I guess she found the notes early this morning. She always works early morning in the garden, and usually we have summer’s abundance to share with neighbors.

Here’s what’s there now, by the road. Likely be gone by this evening.

Seeing that first photo she sent flipped my crotchety mood instantly.

Suddenly (thanks ,Uranus!) I was returned to my much more customary state, radiating a penumbra of intense gratitude for all that life continues to shower upon me, including this tiny three home village inside a suburban neighborhood in Bloomington, IN.

greenacresvillage.org

 

I post on that site once a week, tracking both weekly Sunday morning Work Parties (I document, but do not join) and twice a month Thursday Community Dinners (which I host, alternating with Elisha, either on the patio or in one of our houses). Both regular occasions are open to one and all, not just those who live here (seven total, currently), and I send out an email notice to a still-growing list the Tuesday beforehand.

This tiny, potent place, and these already long-standing traditions (15 years now, one half of a Saturn cycle!) that have gradually seeded, grew, continue to blossom after I moved to this town, this neighborhood, this street corner, in 2003, to nourish both me and others (natal Jupiter 23° Cancer, being currently crossed by transit Jupiter!) feels wonderfully dynamic, alive: like a tree, my welcoming home base centers me, spine rooted into earth and lifting to the sky, branches waving, welcoming one and all.

And yet, as usual, I see what I have created in in Bloomington over the last 23 years, as an experiment, just as my life is itself an experiment. This one, not just abstract and philosophical (Sun, Ascendant, Mars in Sagittarius), but located in the material world (natal Moon in steady, grounded Taurus), its dynamic pulsing center encouraging both individuals and community in a psychic and sociological blending of both as a polarized pair. Lean too much one way, and the result is competition, anarchy, even chaos. Lean too much the other way, and the result is hive mind, commune, collectivism.

And, for  this extremely energetic double Sagittarian, who gets easily bored without ongoing challenges, of course I’ve enjoyed/endured other experiments. You might say experimentation is my middle name!

Experimentation with ignition and nourishment of all sorts of structures and processes, and these include living in many different kinds of communities inhabited by other contrarians like myself!

Example: “Munchkin House,” back in Twin Falls Idaho, my home town, where I returned to marry my high school boyfriend in my very early 30s, and then divorced, lovingly, two years later. “Munchkin House” was owned by a rich boy friend, gifted to me for my use. I quickly gathered lonely contrarians in that conservative town and started a volunteer local magazine, Open Space, which soon took over both living room and basement. (Sorry. Lousy picture. Took it just now on the fly. You get the gist.!)

OPENSPACE IS A VERB

In any case, I’m aware today that my crotchety attitude of the past two days stemmed mostly from being pissed that my thumbs no longer work the way they used to; that I now have to make sure I hold on to railing with both hands when descending steep basement stairs; that my sleep is even more sporadic the older I get (oops, I mean the older I grow). In short, I’ve had to pay attention! Slow down lest I fall! Damn it!

Rather than going gently into this good night, I instinctively rage at the first discernible traces of the inevitable dying of the light inside me. My fiery spirit wants to just continue on, forever, here on this beautiful planet, doing what I’ve always done, stirring up all sorts of attitudes, blessings, controversies, both inside me and out.

Of course, they say, “growing old is not for sissies.” — Though that phrase really annoys me. . . Of course it does! Probably because I was NOT the one who invented it. Ego still rules, way too much of the time. And ego wants what it wants, now. And when that nut butter jar is just too much for me to open, requiring me to ask someone else to do it — well, I get pissed, rather than empathize with my dear body, and how it has carried me through all sorts of perils and panaceas, for going on 84 years.

Here’s an interview that reviews another one of my ignitions, again a community formed through a magazine, that one to unite and celebrate older women (1989-2001) as individuals.

THE CRONE CHRONICLES EXPERIMENT

Let’s face it, Ann.

YOU are the one who needs to live up to the intense, archetypal value of the Crone stage of a woman’s life that you helped to introduce to this culture when you were only 46 years old.

Getting ahead of myself back then?

And now, looking back at myself?

But still here, still kicking

(though with less force)

— and usually,

intensely grateful

for every single risky adventure

I’ve had the temerity to,

or had been forced to,

undertake.