Wearing Purple and Red

“Warning!”
Jenny Joseph

"When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me,
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple."

When I am old I would like to be one of those old ladies who can go up to a couple of punks and laugh in their faces at their multi-colored harstyles and multiple piercings and freakish clothing. I would like to be one of those old ladies who knows how to dance and is the life of every party, including those filled with cynical bratty teenagers. I would like to be one of those old ladies who never lives a dull moment.

There are times when I consider what my life would be like when I am old and grey, living in a cottage or a little apartment with my old husband. What would I be like then? Would I be old and crotchety? Would I be one of those mean spiteful old women who are crabby and gossipy? Or would I be a frail lady, who's all good and sweet and never says a swear word and never does or says a bad thing? I've considered and I've decided that I want to be like my Grandma Lulu.

Now Grandma Lulu knows how to dance. She can dance like nobody's business. She can fling about a few bad words and not care. She can speak her mind as bluntly as possible. She can play pranks and crack jokes and still keep her dignity. She is possibly the most fun Grandma ever.

And yet, if you could see her and hear her tell her story you'd wonder how she kept herself from becoming a hating spiteful thing. If you'd have seen the tears fall from her eyes, as I did, when she tells you of the struggles she lived through, of the total abject misery and poverty she survived, then you'd know what it is to suffer. And you'd still wonder how she survived without breaking beneath the strain. I think of her at times when I suffer my petty misfortunes and how they hardly compare to hers. She struggled and she fought and noone and nothing could bring her down. My Grandma Lulu is truly an inspiration to me.

She had every excuse to hate and blaspheme God. She had the right to cry out "Why me?". She had the opportunity to crawl within and pity herself and hate the world. But she didn't. What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. And I thank her for that.

When I am old, I would like to be one of the old ladies who drives a Harley and can still wear two-inch heels.