Inspired by our stories in the 50^th class reunion book, class president Bea Szekely hopes to get vibrant conversations going on the class blog about our current lives and issues.   She asked if I would begin with some thoughts about my research into roles older women play in literature and how that might illuminate our journeys.  Please join in these reflections with your stories and thoughts!

I’d started work on a Ph.D. in my early 30s, but life intervened and I got derailed.    In my early 50s, this unfinished goal was still gnawing, so I began again at the University of British Columbia in nearby Vancouver, B.C.  My field is comparative literature. When I was deciding on my dissertation topic, I was in what is now styled “’early middle age.”  So, I thought I’d explore literary roles for older women, since I was well on my way to becoming one.  I could mine French and American literature for clues and earn a doctorate, too.  The result is academically known as The Crone: An Emerging Voice in a Feminine Symbolic Order.

In a nutshell, I found roles for old women more or less fell into several categories:  The mythological Crone, representing the last aspect of the female life-death-life cycle, and the Hag or Witch, a magical bridge between human and supernatural powers.  More strictly “human,” are the Elder, a guide or wise woman; the Matriarch, a strong family leader or clan head, who combines the female reproductive with the male provider/decider role – usually because the male figure is absent in some way;  and the Grandmother, who signifies generativity, nurture, connectivity and traditions.  And then there is the abject Old Woman, infirm, powerless, in the winter of life.  From the perspective of role models, the elder, matriarch and grandmother offered the most attractive advice for real life.

Twenty years later, I am definitely an older woman, firmly entrenched as a matriarch ( having developed a career and supported my family,  I call it being a Founding Mother), a grandmother, and hoping for the wisdom of an elder.  I have three women friends in their mid-70s who are joyously getting married again this summer after being widowed and some who are dealing with cancers and other acute illnesses. Another has published two books on caregiving as a result of her own experience caring for her husband during his final illness.  Most are retired, exploring painting, writing, hiking, languages, traveling, volunteering and more.  Everyone is in a book discussion group, engaged with community boards, going to charity dinners and enjoying theatre, symphony and opera.   Conversations turn to whether to downsize or “age in place.” We form care circles to support those of us going through illness.

For many of us, it is a full, rich life – fostered by three important criteria which the fortunate circumstances of our times and place of birth have made possible:  good health, good education and access to funds of one’s own.  For the most part, we live in relatively safe communities, in touch with family and friends, with time to ruminate on “the deep questions,” including finding meaning and pattern in our own life’s journey.

As I researched elderly women’s lives in literature and history, possession of these three gifts has by no means been predictable or possible. Most damning has been systematic disregard for the individual lives of women, especially once they can no longer reproduce or be useful. Exclusions from education and access to money have been major obstacles.   From developing countries to Europe and North America, literature and folklore are filled with “crone” characters, who are poor, dotty, infirm and possibly malevolent. I’m deeply grateful to have lived in these times and in this place, to realize that my present good life rests upon the strong shoulders of many who came before me.

In the forefront of those women who have made our lives better is MHC alumna Frances Perkins (1902), President Franklin Roosevelt’s Secretary of Labor, the first woman U.S. cabinet member and the person largely responsible for the 1935 Social Security Act, which provides older workers with basic retirement income.

I’ll close these thoughts on the note of gratitude.  Join in this conversation with your own experiences, reflections, perhaps creative work such as a poem. Contribute what you’d like; it’s the sharing that counts.  Lynne Shangraw  Masland, ‘62