Wearing Purple
14 06 12 20:59 Filed in: Reflections
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 flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit....
Evie is a delightful lady who has apparently lived way beyond intimidation for years. She has outlived three husbands and shared with Val one of her secrets of married bliss: She just threw things at her husbands when they got out of line. "I used to play baseball," she explained. "I was the pitcher. I wasn't going to put up with his complaining, so I threw the whole dish of macaroni and cheese at him. It hit the wall, and as we watched the mess dribbling down to the floor, we both began to laugh. He asked me what was for supper now, and I told him to get a spoon. But I never held a grudge." I hoped fervently that if Val was learning anything from her example it would be the no grudge part.
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....
Earlier we had been with Val's mother, Hama. She is a very small and soft-spoken woman who likes to smuggle food back into her room. She was talking about writing letters, and suggesting (again) that she should move back home at the end of the month, a recurring theme when we visit in spite of its impossibility. I picked up on the writing theme and suggested she write the story of her life. She looked at me, and with more verbal energy than we had heard that day, began her story with "We went to the shit house." I almost fell off my chair, but she was dead serious and went on to describe the classic but unintended use of Eaton's Catalogue as a forerunner to Charmin.
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....
I know I'm a bit less inhibited than I used to be. Maybe this Father's Day I need to ask Suzanne just how close I am to wearing purple with a red hat that doesn't go. I'm pretty sure that Evie and Hama could both get away with most of the stuff in Jenny Joseph's poem. At least they can if we're not looking - and listening. But I sense that I need to look and listen, and maybe you do, too. Because hiding somewhere beyond the purple dresses and red hats and expert spitting, Evie and Hama and their generation have a wealth worth sharing.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
Want to practice with me?
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