"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 love that poem by Jenny Joseph, because it reminds me so much of my mother Eloise. Based on her fashion sense, and her decorating instinct, her motto HAD to have been, "If two things match, that plot won't hatch." I'll never forget the look on my brother David's face after he had helped her buy the first new house she ever lived in, and sent money for furniture, and came home and saw the red velvet couch with the white piping, and the hideous dining room set. She scoured flea markets for accent pieces that would be rejected by a House of Horror, and she spent hours stitching together outfits that Aunt Jemima would have hooted at.

Eloise Jones loved vivid colors like red and purple, and wore as many of them at the same time as she could. And she always admonished me to wear bright colors, because dark-skinned women looked better in bright colors, she said. I guess she also did it because early in life, I always chose dark colored clothing, and loose fitting at that. It's like I was ashamed of my body, but then that was because of her, too. I felt naked wearing sleeveless blouses until well into my 20's, because Mama always said only tramps wore sleeveless clothing.

In fact, I've only worn a bikini top in public once in my life, and that was on Ipanema Beach in Rio, after 8 months in Gulu evaporated most of my body fat. So when I picked the bathing suit in this posting, I probably did it out of an act of defiance. It's purple, loud and bright at that, but my Mama would have hissed like a serpent and made me cover myself up if she'd seen me wearing it. But of course, she'd have probably just been playa-hatin' BIG TIME, because when she was almost 50, her hair was shot through with gray, and she was at least 40 pounds overweight, and she'd given birth to 10 children.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, this photo was taken in February of 2009, during my Zanzi-cation with my dear friend Ron. He's the one who's taken most of the best pictures of me ever. When I feel happy and peaceful and comfortable in my skin, I guess it just seeps through the lens somehow. I felt pretty smokin' in the pics Ron took of me in this purple suit. And though I've probably put on a pound or two since then, I could probably still slither into it, with a little extra shea butter rubbed on my hips.

Anyhoo, I wanted to start the year off with this pic because where I'm living at present, being 50 is considered "old," especially for a woman. Who's never married. Or had children. But frankly, I've never felt younger or freer in my life! I'll post the rest of the Jenny Joseph's poem later to help explain why. But it boils down to this: there really is something about a woman growing older that frees her up to be who she really is, and say what she really feels, and do what she really wants to do. And in my Golden Jubilee year, that's exactly what I'm gonna do, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days of this year and every other one God gives me. I'm gonna reclaim my voice, and work with purpose, and solidify my "brand," and EXHALE. Hell, I ain't waiting for somebody to come along and tell me how to breathe. I already know how.

So, I'm ringing in 2011 feeling extremely lucky. Like I said, my mother was pretty "rode hard and put up wet" by the time she turned 50, and my sister Julie had endured more health crises than I care to remember by that point. But when I think of her, I remember that if somebody had told her she would only live 7 more years when she turned 50, she couldn't have packed more living into that time than what she actually did. That woman wore the HELL out of life, and endured daily physical and emotional pain doing it.

I, on the other hand, am a relatively healthy, hot tamale for an old bag about to turn 50. And for that, I will be grateful times seven in 2011.

Warning
by 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 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.

Taken from the book
When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple
Editd by Sandra Martz
Papier Mache Press--Watsonville, California 1987