Remember the poem everyone called “When I Am an Old Woman?” It was written in 1961 by a 29-year-old woman named Jenny Joseph. The poem’s real title is “Warning.”
If you are not familiar with this poem, here ya go.
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 pickles 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 surprise
When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple.
(Acknowledgment: © Jenny Joseph, SELECTED POEMS, Bloodaxe 1992).
The poem first came to my attention at an art fair in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Sher Elkin, a Minnesota batik artist, designed clothing and wall hangings around the poem. The Red Hat Society was formed and well, the rest is history. Today, we don’t see too many women gathering in public with outrageous red hats and purple sweaters.
However, “Warning’s” message is as relevant today as it was in the 60s, maybe even more so. Why did we wait so long to be free to be ourselves?
However now that I am an old woman I am giving up wearing purple. The color doesn’t suit me as much as red and orange.
Soon I won’t care about the color of my clothes and wear baggy work trousers without a matching shirt. There will be stains on the bottom of any shirt from carrying unwashed vegetables to the house for canning. The hem on my pants will be worn and thready. I may need to roll them up to my knees, but not past, since I might have to get down to ground level and my knees need the cushioning.
Shoes are optional.
I will quit combing my hair and allow the wind to style it in waves and tangles. Someday you may find a ladybug, or two, sunning themselves on the twigs that wind their way through the curls. The curls, of course, become curlier from the sweat on hot summer days or when it’s going to rain.
But I will love the rain and plan on standing in it with arms raised towards the clouds welcoming the moisture with prayers of thanks for thunder and lightning and precious water to nourish my tomatoes.
Oh yes, now that I am an old woman, my desire is to drive less and walk more and:
- Stay out of closed rooms and work outdoors.
- Eat all the fresh bread and butter and vegetables that I can.
- Order my toilet paper online and hand the UPS driver a fresh-baked cookie when he or she delivers my box.
My grandchildren will come out to visit me as often as they can and lift heavy bags for me because both Grandpa JC and Grandma Sue BB must start thinking about avoiding lifting. You know you have to watch your back when you are an old woman. It doesn’t stop one from pulling weeds or thinning carrots ignoring the dull ache in your joints.
I will daily say my prayers. When I am outdoors, I will listen for the sound of God the Father, Son, and especially the Holy Ghost in the wind and every living thing that crosses my path.
Mornings I will do yoga stretches and give thanks for the sun and in the evening I will watch the moon rise and give thanks again.
If I have time, I will write my memoirs and tell a story that can only be told by me. If you are my friend, maybe expect a card or letter in the mail because handwritten notes are still the best.
Oh boy, some things come with being an old woman that aren’t pleasant. I surely wonder why I did not heed the“Warning” to be wild, crazy, and colorful my whole life.
Oh, wait? Maybe I did?
INDYchildrendotme 
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