43/365

Ever since I could remember I have been enamored with the poem, "Warning", by Jenny Joseph.  The words of this poem speak to me. 

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

I want desperately to grow older, to become that woman with the wrinkles on her face, a mischievous gleam in her eye, an old wrinkled blouse on, sandles on her feet, old overalls that are a size too big, growing tomatoes in her garden and an old worn rocker on her front porch.  I want to be that "unique" in the community that others love and yet think is just a bit humorously off.   I am working towards that even now at age thirty as each day we do grow a day older.  I don't look at the passage of time as a destination toward the end but rather a journey in motion.

I pray that as the years pass I learn more, grow more, become more.  But just so I don't miss the chance, tomorrow I will wear purple.