When I am an old woman...

10 days until my 50th birthday. I have already written 10 posts about turning 50 and how I manage the challenge of getting older. One thing that helps is to dream and picture myself much older than fifty. Last year about the same time I wrote thoughts about being old inspired by a photo exhibition. In my writing course I wrote what kind of stories my descendants would tell after five generations. This allowed to play with ideas of what else might be possible in the years to come, what else I might learn and accomplish. Then my teacher posted a writing invitation on her FB page and this was especially playful. 

Here's the original poem: "Warning" by Jenny Joseph. 

Here's my version inspired by it:

When I am an old woman, I shall eat a cake for breakfast 

Whether I wake at four in the morning or at noon,

And feed the crumbs to the sparrows.

I shall paint my toenails glitter blue and fingernails pink,

And fetch a newspaper in a frilly nightgown

And wear a tiara when buying striped socks.

I shall volunteer to be an usherette in an opera theatre,

And buy a ticket on the first train leaving the station,

And send me postcards signed “Yours truly”. 

I shall sit on a park bench for hours on Wednesdays

And people watch with binoculars 

And wave to grumpy strangers.

I shall build a nest of books in my living room

And fly paper airplanes from the balcony

And win a cherry pit spitting contest.

I shall press my nose print on cafe windows

And leave poetry in the candy shops

And stick owl pictures on mailboxes.

 

But now I wake regularly at dawn to the sound of my alarm

And twist my hair into a bun, iron shirts and polish shoes

And go to work on time to complete my to-do lists.

I follow the expectations and rules and try to fit in

To avoid judgement and get along with people. 

 

But sometimes I practice what to do when I am free

From duties and plans and pressure of time.

I sleep long in the mornings 

And eat breakfast in PJs

And then stroll on the city streets, go to art galleries

And smile to the waitress who serves me puff pastry pies in a café.