Crones get shit done...

Me, a control freak? 

If you asked me to count the number of times a businessman dismissed me during a meeting, I would need to borrow your hands.  I started working when I was 17 and didn’t stop until I was 60, so call your friends, I might need their hands too. 

In the 1990’s my old boss once had the balls to ask me, “What’s the matter Di, are you on the rag?”.  I remember feeling stunned and unable to respond.   I didn’t have the know-how or power to handle a comment like that when I was a young woman.  And some 15 years later, the same boss and a colleague of his laughed in my face during an important meeting when I encouraged them to cancel a buying trip to Asia because they were overspending.  I left the company and a year later the company was nearly bankrupt, and he was forced to sell the business to prevent the family’s financial ruin.  Guess who the new owners called to “get it done”?  

Hard to ask for help

Over the years my own husband, bless his well-meaning heart, has accused me of needing to “control everything”, but I’ve learned that the best response to that kind of snide remark is, “Well, somebody’s gotta do it.”  Decades of experience forced me to be independent and do things for myself, so forgive me for being capable and willing to step up when nobody else does. 

Most women have a natural ability to organise and multi-task which makes us great managers.  And as Crones, we have a lifetime of experiences that help us see how we can make a difference in a world of problems and solutions, and how to make the most of possibilities. The system, designed by and mostly ruled by men, should be afraid that a union of Crones could change everything with the touch of a million fingers. I mean, there are 87 million Crones living in the UK, US, and Canada alone!!!  Dismissing us is not a good idea.

For shits and giggles, let’s talk about all the homework we do over the course of our lives. Awake before dawn, getting the kids and partners ready for school, packing lunches, arranging birthday parties, grocery shopping, washing the dishes repeatedly. My housework is never done and even if I manage to have everything clean at the same time, one cooked meal and the kitchens dirty again.  

Where’s my damn cape? 

How many showers have I scrubbed? How many Hershey smears have I sprayed?  How many bills have I paid?  How many booboos did I soothe? How many meals did I take out of the freezer? How many appointments have I made and attended? How many times did pick up the pieces?  I did all those things plus I worked a full-time job, helped with homework, filled out hundreds of forms, going to practice, and finding time to see friends. It was never ending!  I’m not a control freak; I’m a fucking superwoman!!  Where’s my damn cape?

My husband is a retired British Army veteran who was taught to use a system called SMEAC, and he often suggests I use this structure when there's a task at hand. It stands for “Situation, mission, execution, administration, and commands and signals.”  When tasked with a job, they want you to formulate a plan using the SMEAC technique.                                                                                                                          

• Situation – What’s the current situation?
• Mission – What am I trying to achieve?
• Execution – How can I get it done? 
• Admin – What and/or who do I need to get it done?
• Commands – How will I communicate the plan to others?  

SMEAC is a great way to approach a big project, but it’s not much help when the internet goes down again and you need to spend an hour on the phone, frustrated and holding your pee. It’s not effective for a change in dinner plans because someone is unwell, and it certainly won’t help to resolve issues with family or friends. It’s not going to take medicines out of the carrier, and it won’t reduce the number of birthdays I need to remember or lists I need to make. 

Which brings me back to the ridiculous argument that I’m a control freak. 

Happy to turn it over 

I’d be happy to turn over the grocery list, and though he’s more than capable of bringing home the bacon, he’d blow our budget because he just wants it in the basket no matter the price. Maybe he can take over filing our taxes.  That would be a dream! Not having to worry about gathering all the documents, making all the calculations, finding a method of filing whose criteria we can meet, and then, after 3 hours of working to get it done, discovering the software won’t accept our filing and now the paperwork needs to be mailed to the tax man. I wonder if he’d cry in frustration like I did.

Don’t get me wrong, my husband is a gem who does the dishes without asking and manages the trash and recycling. He’s always been very helpful around the house and if I ask him to help with something, he doesn’t hesitate to jump right up (unless his team is about to score). But like most men, he doesn’t have much patience so he’s damn lucky to have a competent, capable Crone who can manage the stressful obstructions of modern life. Somebody’s got to do it.  

Skills to brag about

It’s important to remember that everyone has skills, but our education and life experiences mean that we also have different skills. I like writing and I’m a decent photographer, but don’t ask me to knit a blanket or grow roses in the back garden. I’m a terrible person to have around when there’s an emergency, but my sweet husband has skills that keep him calm and thoughtful about how to help in high-stress situations.

I enjoy cooking and have enough skills to make an amazing orange cake, and my pepper hash is a favourite with local friends, but don’t ask me to rewire the table lamp. At my age, I know what I’m good at and what skills I’m lacking, and I don’t beat myself up over not knowing things. That negative talk is no good. And honestly, there isn’t much we can’t do these days. A little google action and you learn how to rewire a lamp. 

Here are just a few skills I’ve developed over the last 60+ years. 

• I can cook, clean, and give blow jobs
• I can read, type, make a spreadsheet, calculate, and create
• I can get angry without getting violent
• I can love so hard it hurts
• I can organise group trips and write honest stories
• I can drive a car, dance, grow plants, and roll a joint
  

When is the last time you took inventory of your skill sets? Can you milk a cow? Are you multi-orgasmic? How’s your apple pie? Ok, ok, I can’t milk a cow, but I’ve milked other things and I’m thinking a cow can’t be much different. My apple pies are pretty good though. A few years ago, I was asked to write a CV/Resume’ and I was genuinely shocked to see the number of skills I had gained over my work career. And my skills around the house seem to be endless too. 

And to prove my point, our TV went down a couple hours ago during one of Sammy’s shows. When I saw the screen go black, my very first thought was, “Oh shit, now I’m gonna have to sit on the bloody phone with the cable company for a friggin hour.”  He rebooted the system and jiggled a couple of wires on the cable box, but it didn’t help. The handsome highlander doesn’t have the patience to deal with the provider in a productive way so of course I need to handle it.

Move over babe, I got this.

See. I’m not a control freak, I’m just a Crone that gets shit done.