# 346 - Old Age Anticipation

Purple was her favorite color. My mother loved purple. Even her van was purple, so we called it the "Purple People Eater." But, in the last couple years of her life, she chartered her own Red Hatter group and did some funny things to spice up the remainder of her life. In the midst of her most fruitless battle, she tried to live it up to the fullest.

Since she had been battling cancer, she indulged in hats and head coverings of all sorts, the Red Hatter group gave her an excellent opportunity to wear the most outrageous ones of all.

My sister and I groaned and moaned about it, but we joined the group. However, since we were under a certain age, under the "Red Hatter" age of 50 I think, we could not wear red. We had to wear pink hats. Outrageous hats. My hat had a pink boa around the edge with huge plastic flowers glued to it.

But today, I look on one of my shelves and see my mom's favorite red hat made of felt. It is such a beautiful design, it looked great on her.

And I remember my mother's favorite poem because it explained how she was going to be when she reached old age, but she never got the chance to wear purple while in old age. Dying at 57 is not exactly considered dying "old." It is older, but not young, yet still, it is not an age considered to be of old age.

I wish she had gotten to chance to live out her poem, maybe I will be able to do it for her. After all, it has become my own favorite poem for me to focus on as I face each passing day.

I hope you enjoy the poem titled "Warning" by Jenny Joseph" which was published in 1960 as much as I do...maybe we all, man or woman, can relate to the days of wearing purple in our old age.

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~ Warning ~

 

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.
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.

-Jenny Joseph ~