Here's one for a laugh ...

.

I've dipped into my file of drafts again, as I don't have time for a decent post at present.

The first picture was taken by my friend David Harris in November 2002. Just for a lark he decided to 'open' my eyes for me. Unfortunately he got the colour wrong, as you can see if you check with the third picture, taken more recently. I think he has made me look rather predatory. Clever work, though!

Who am I?

~

'Alone'

I found this poem the other day when I was looking through old papers - I don't remember when I wrote it.



Who am I when I'm alone,

when I am not being a daughter,

doing as her mother taught her -

who am I when I'm alone?



Who am I when I'm alone,

when my brother needs no keeping,

and our rivalry is sleeping -

who am I when I'm alone?



Who am I when I'm alone,

when I have no lord and master,

husband, consort, mate or partner -

who am I when I'm alone?



Who am I when I'm alone,

when I'm not my children's mother,

quick to succour, not to smother -

who am I when I'm alone?



Who am I when I'm alone,

when my roles have all been taken:

tiny fragment left forsaken -

who am I when I'm alone?



Who am I when I'm alone,

do I know this someone other,

do I like her, even love her -

can I live with her alone?



[The fractal image entitled 'Alone' was created by Sven Geier. You can see many more on his website. He generously makes them freely available to everybody, for which I thank him.]
~

Today is my 81st birthday ...

... and I am celebrating the many faces of woman - of this one, anyway.

Clothes for dying

.
I recently went with friends to an exhibition of photographs with the above title. We were intrigued by the concept of 'clothes for dying', and wanted to find out more. The photographer was Margareta Kern, a young woman from Bosnia-Herzegovina, who now lives and works in London. On a return visit to see her mother, she learns for the first time of the relatively unknown and rather private custom among women of her country, of preparing special clothes in which to be buried. She is so moved and at the same time so curious about practice, that she decides to turn it into a photographic series.

Lisa

She writes very interestingly, in the exhibition catalogue, of her journeys into remote rural areas to interview and photograph older women, with the clothes in which they wish to be buried which they have either bought or made, and of how she had to create an atmosphere of trust for them to pose with their most intimate possessions, but nevertheless felt like something of an intruder. I think the images are incredible. The different expressions on the women's faces alone are a study: dutiful, resigned, smiling, even resentful. They were mounted on enormous frames, so that one felt as though one was inside the rooms. You can see the rest of the series here.

Julka

But my personal slant on this, is to take issue with the author of the Introduction to the Exhibition Catalogue. He writes:

To westerners, the mere idea of an elderly woman creating a suit of clothes - effectively a Sunday best - specifically in which to be buried is almost beyond understanding.

I just do not agree. It has been, if it is not still, a western practice for women to collect a trousseau, or 'bottom drawer' of items in preparation for marriage, and again to collect a layette for a baby. These are happenings of great significance in a woman's life, and death is another of our rites of passage. For me it is a quite logical progression to prepare for death in the same way.

Anka

And nowadays it is becoming commonplace for us to determine how we wish our funerals to be conducted, what sort of coffin we want to buried in, even to choose a gown to wear. It is a short step from there to preparing a gown oneself, and setting it aside. It is not unknown to hear of people who have bought their coffins in advance. I am considering saving my family some hassle by making and paying for a funeral plan in advance. This will certainly involve choosing my coffin, and also choosing the plainest shift, shroud or gown that they can offer. I shall probably choose flowers as well.

A coffin being decorated

Some time ago when in Bishop's Castle in Shropshire, I visited the shop of The Purple Funeral Company, providers of traditional and alternative funerals. They also held workshops where one could decorate one's coffin of choice. I am told that they have gone from there, but they now have premises in Kington, Herefordshire, and Gladestry, just over the border in Wales. Their website is worth a visit, if you are interested in an alternative way of going..

A montage of the coffins on offer in the shop

Motherlove

If I do not write often in my blog about my sons and grandchildren, it is not because they are not important to me. On the contrary, they bring colour, drama and joy into my life, and there is so much I would like to write about. But some of them do not care to have their lives exposed on the world wide web, and do not want to have pictures of their young children posted either, and I must respect their wishes. But not writing about them or posting their pictures is a considerable frustration to me.


I think I may allow myself, however, to post this poem about them which I wrote many years ago, but which I would write again today:

They are great big lads
My four boys,
Bonny and brawny.
They have to bend
To hug their Mum.
Such pride I feel
In each of them
For his own specialness.
And when they gather
All at once
To celebrate
Some family event,
Then memory flows
And laughter breaks
In great explosions.
All the past
In which I played
My part
Is laid before me -
And my heart bursts
With joy.

Hen party!

Pam left a comment on my last post in which she referred to my "appearing as a chicken", which may set you wondering. I have written several times about the Yorkshire singer and songwriter Jake Thackray, and I belong to an on-line group of admirers and performers of his songs. We get together from time to time for a Jakefest, when all our performers get a chance to show what they can do.

It has become traditional for the women members of the group to put on a small comedy act in costume to illustrate one of the songs while it is being sung. In the past (for those of you who know Jake's work) we have done The Ladies' Basic Freedoms Polka, The Castleford Ladies' Magic Circle and Sister Josephine; this year it was The Bantam Cock. We all made ourselves as feathery and beaky as possible, and clucked and foraged between the verses, while the young bantam (played by the son of the singer and the guitarist) strutted about amongst us. Any one of us that he succeeded in poking with his feather duster considered herself 'tupped', and let out a loud sqwark and flapped hugely. We had rehearsed our movements carefully in a very large room, but found ourselves performing on about a 3' depth of stage in front of the curtain, and the whole thing was horrendous and hilarious at the same time.

[I'm the one second from the right, wearing my childhood sunbonnet!]

Maude's ditty

~
Encouraged by Keith's comment on my previous post, I found a little verse forming itself in my mind:

Lace for the elderly

Purple for passion

This dress is 'me'

And it's also in fashion

---------------------

Closeups will show you

The flab and the wrinkles

But also the smile

And the fun-loving twinkles

---------------------

Nowhere to go in it

Oh! what a pity

I'm keeping it though

'Cos it makes me look pretty!

---------------------

"Come into the garden, Maude ..."

~

I wrote here about ordering clothes which were too young for me from the Kaleidoscope catalogue, just for the fun of trying them on. Their latest catalogue had a beautiful evening dress, and I knew, I just knew when I looked at it on the young model, that even on me it would look good. I ordered a size 20 - (I don't delude myself - much!) - but it was actually huge, and much too long. Even so I could see that I had been right, and that it suited me. So I sent for an 18, just to try on you know, no point in keeping it, as I never go to the sort of posh occasion where I could wear it. Sarah Jane, my adopted granddaughter companion, who aids and abets me in all these sartorial follies, was agog to see me in the right size.

Today I put it on for her. Wow! I found a pendant of just the right length to cover up my rather ugly heart surgery scar - (I practically never wear low necklines now) - and a pair of glitzy earrings from my younger days, and . . . . . "I have to take some photos" SJ said, "let's go into the garden". And so began the photo shoot.

The first 20 shots or so didn't come out at all, as SJ had not understood the subtleties of my camera. So we started again, with more success. "Work it, baby!" SJ kept telling me. I knew what she meant, but I'm neither supple enough nor unselfconscious enough to do that properly! There was a lot of giggling, and a whole lot more when we looked at the pictures on screen, and I thought up captions for some of the less elegant poses. I can probably leave those to your imaginations. Here are some of the results, and you can tell me after, if you think I deserve to keep the dress or not. (All right, I know I'm fishing!)

[I think you'll find the middle one in the top row won't enlarge, so you can't study my legs in detail! JT]

Makeovers for the older woman - 2

Having decided to renew my wardrobe, I had determined to make a major change from black to brown for my base colour. I used to look terrific in a little black frock - in my 20s! At 80 the colour does little for one's complexion, and I wondered why I had lived with it for so long. No very radical change of retailer though, as I had decided to begin cautiously. I started with my regular stand-by mail order firm, on whom I rely for basic comfortable underwear and leisurewear, but whose clothes could in no way be called the cutting edge of fashion. I bought my first pair of brown trousers and a brown top, and was delighted with the effect.

Then I moved on to Marks & Spencer and Debenhams, still on the cautious side. From them I ordered beige cardigans and more brown tops. The style of one of the cardies didn't suit me too well, but was fashionable, and also the exact shade to go with a second pair of trousers I had bought. So I remodelled it, changing the position of the fastenings so that they did up at the neck instead of over the abdomen. I was rather proud of this, although it took me months of intermittent attempts to work out just how to do it!

Finally, more daring, I looked at Kaleidoscope, but their stuff is mostly too young for me. I have had fun trying on things which were impossible, and actually managed to buy another top. I nearly bought a conventional suede jacket as well, but after receiving two faulty items, I had to give up, because they no longer had them in stock. But I still tend to get carried away by the glamour and glitz of the stuff in their catalogue, and have to be firm with myself not to send for something more.

One of the drawbacks of doing this by mail order, is that, as with black, there are so many different shades of brown which don't go together, so one has to order more and more items in an attempt to get good matches. A great deal of overbuying went on, followed by endless trips to the post office with returns. Also of course I have had to buy a pair of shoes, a handbag, and one or two necklaces. But I think that the frenzy is more or less over now, and that I have enough new clothes to settle down with, at least until (and unless) I win the lottery.

I'm not sure that brown isn't becoming a bit boring though. I could fancy some real colour too ......

Makeovers for the older woman - 1

[I have dug this post up from among my drafts, where it has been lurking for over a year. I think the moment has come to publish it. All the pictures were captioned 'old woman' in Google images.]

A few years ago, when I was still a rookie blogger, I wrote here about a makeover TV programme Trinny and Susannah had done for the over-70s. Some time later they did a similar one for the over-60s, but this new series had a slightly different angle. Instead of just picking a couple of candidates and getting to work on them, they campaigned on a wider front this time, touring the country with a horrendous pink 'tardis' into which they lured women to be undressed, revealed, humiliated and, ultimately, persuaded to revise their approach to dressing themselves. At the same time this fearsome pair enlisted crowds of local volunteers to join them in their research, and to carry their campaigns for change into the high streets and the shops.


In the programme I watched they were aiming to persuade older women to be bolder and more imaginative, to have the courage to shop where young people shop, to go for a size smaller and not to be afraid to show off their shape. The crowd of women they had assembled went on a giant shopping spree, and their battle cry was "We want the High Street". This seemed a more practical and positive approach to the problems older women have in dressing fashionably, giving them confidence in joint action, reaching a larger number, and, we hope having a knock-on effect on manufacturers and retailers as well.





But both programmes for older women had the same shortcoming, as far as I am concerned, which I feel sure will apply to a great many large women in their seniority. "Start by dragging your boobs up from your waist with a good uplift bra" Trinny and Susannah are wont to cry. However, I imagine that I am not alone among big-busted women, in finding that a well-fitting bra, capable of dragging up a couple of well-filled but drooping F cups to an appropriate level, is likely by the end of the day, with the effects of gravity, to have become a constricting, abrasive shackle, causing the utmost discomfort. There is never any discussion of, or help with this problem on these makeover programmes; nor are we ever told if the made-over women go on wearing their new bras after the show is over. Personally, I am past
making my life a misery in such a way.


Still, there is nothing wrong with trying to change one's mindset about what one wears, and I began to consider just what I might do. I rarely go out to shop, as I am exhausted by standing around in cubicles and trying on, so I wasn't really considering a foray into Top Shop, Mango, New Look or Miss Selfridge. In any case, to do that I think I would need some support: either a young woman to cover for me, or a bunch of other oldies, to overawe by numbers any young salespersons who might be sniggering behind their hands.




I would see what I could find on that faithful friend of the sit-down shopper, the internet. I had actually made a few notes while watching the Terrible Two, and had absorbed a few helpful tips for masking the portentious bosom and slimming the Herculean hips. I had also been paying a bit more attention lately to what is being worn by the mature woman on Neighbours, the one 'soap' I can't wean myself off. Although, as we are almost certainly at least a year behind in getting the programme, that was probably not a very good guide.

[To be continued]

I fell in love today

The most delightful young man arrived this morning to survey my house for cavity wall insulation. He was easy and chatty and helpful and nice - and good to look at. In fact, when he mentioned his wife I almost felt disappointed. For two pins, Judith, I thought to myself, you would have started flirting with him!

After a while it dawned on me that his particular appeal was that he looked and talked very like my eldest son in Australia. That of course only increased my desire to fling my arms round him. In the end I felt I should tell him why I was possibly gawping at him more than might be expected from an old woman. He took it very generously, and I continued to flutter and flap, with my normal business persona gone right out of the window. (Amongst other things I tried to make instant coffee for him with the stuff I use for filter coffee --- yuck!)

Sadly he will not be coming back to do the insulation, and when I finally shut the door on him I could not suppress a small sob - he had been so like my distant son.

I wonder how long this insulation will last before it needs redoing........................

Do not discard yet.....

I have returned from my Growing Old Disgracefully Springfest refreshed and revitalised as always. Just to remind you, we are an organisation of older women, the youngest of whom are in their late 50s, and the oldest over 90. For this annual spring gathering we are a group of 20, and our meeting place is the Wedgwood Memorial College in Barlaston near Stoke-on-Trent.

It is an adult education college, and comprises three large houses, which are beautifully decorated and comfortably appointed. In one of them we are served the most delicious and sustaining meals, and in another we have our accommodation and meeting rooms. We have this house to ourselves. It is four days of indulgence for us.

We create and deliver our own programme, according to the skills and interests which we have to offer. It is a mixture of workshops on both serious and light-hearted topics, (including writing and art or craft work), and of singing, dancing, and partying. We also walk and visit local places of interest. Our programme is pretty intensive, and we leave to go home in a state of both elation and exhaustion, but refreshed and renewed for another year.

This year, in some strange way, I also feel revalidated, as though I had been rubber stamped with the words “High quality human being in full running order. DO NOT DISCARD YET!” I now find that I am driving with more confidence and feel steadier on my feet. What is more, I realise that my usual safe, comfortable routine is stultifying, and that my love affair with my computer carries the risk of becoming isolating, even though it also opens me up to new things, ideas and people.

How has this happened? Following the death of my husband, I missed last year, the only time in 12 years, and I felt that the gap had created some distance between me and the others. So I have needed to look carefully to understand what I believe has given the added value to my experience this time. I think it must be for the following reasons.

I have been sharing with others (which means not necessarily getting my own way!)
I have been able to observe and meet the needs of others.
I have received the care and attention I have tried to give.

I have been able to use my skills or talents to please others.
I have been creative in a variety of ways.
I have sung and I have danced and I have had fun.
And I have laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

And hugged and hugged!

And while doing all this we have perhaps been able to ignore our aches and pains for a time, while turning our energies towards communal enjoyment in a way that we are not often called upon to do at home, especially if we live alone.

In words taken from our website: " We are a network of women who support each other, share our experiences and knowledge, learn from each other and grow together in a safe and non-judgemental environment."

Now for the plug! Why not join us? You have to be a woman, but you can start growing old disgracefully at any age. Membership is £15 a year, £7.50 if you join after 30th June. You get four newsletters a year, access to national residential events and workshops, and the possibility of joining a local group if there is one in your area. We do have overseas members - I shared a room this time with a friend who comes over from Amsterdam twice a year, to our spring event and our Annual Gathering in September. Look at the six women below when they started the organisation 20 years ago; five of them are still with us. To find out more, contact the Membership Secretary, Norma Randle - e-mail -info@growingolddisgracefully.org.uk

[The small pictures are the house we occupied, a beautiful frosted glass window in a toilet, and encounters in the extensive grounds.]

Being a woman

The Growing Old Disgracefully Network to which I belong has a very lively email group, where we exchange jokes and laughs, useful information, deep thoughts about life, and support for each other when needed. One of the members sent a message today which, as a member of the group, I am proud to share:


This is a celebratory message to say thank you to each and every one for the loving energy that is engendered.

The celebration is of what I perceive as the female gifts of being truly grounded but able to dance in the air.

79-year-old fashions

The treasures are beginning to emerge now from the paperwork. Here is an advertisement page torn out of The Tatler on 28th March 1928, when I was four months old - bosoms bound tightly to the chest, by the looks of it, so as to have no discernible bust!

Addendum to Hats, bonnets and caps

I have found a cute picture of myself in my sunbonnet in 1931, a bonnet which I still have in my dressing up drawer, and have worn as a grown-up to a fancy-dress party.










And here is still another generation: my son in his woolly bonnet in Spring 1963, and in his sunhat in summer 1963.

[This post was edited on 4th February 2007]

Hats, bonnets and caps

Left: My great great great grandmother circa 1830.
Right: My great great grandmother circa 1880.











Left: My great great aunt late 1800s.
Right: My great grandmother late 1800s.











Left: My great aunt early 1900s.
Right: My mother in 1904.