When I Am An Old Woman I Will Eat Purple
My mum and I used to joke about becoming an ascerbic old woman who said whatever she pleased and prodded recalcitrant young whippersnappers with a silved-topped cane*. It sounded quite fun (although not as much fun as hooning about on a quad bike!). I like the thought that the (hoped-for) wisdom of years frees us to be more eccentric, rather than growing fusty and conservative.
Then I came across a poem by Jenny Joseph, called Warning (but better known as When I am an Old Woman). It was in a little book sitting on the counter (where much of the whimsical, distracting and just plain silly reading material tends to be), and when I flicked through it, I didn’t realise just how much of a following the poem already had. If you’d like to read more of it, there’s an online version of it here.
I already wear copious quantities of purple althought very much doubt that (old or otherwise) hats (red or otherwise) will form a regular (or anything but reluctant) part of my sartorial repertoire. But eating purple? That could be an interesting thing to consider...
Whether it comes from okinawa potatoes, berries, beets, violets or ube, there's a lot of purple potential out there!
Matching purple with brownies is my kind of combination...
But I think I would like to wear more purple right now, just as the poem suggests. Eccentricity is wasted on the old!
