On Wearing Purple

Most people know the poem about growing old and wearing purple with a red hat that doesn’t suit, and learning to spit, and running one’s cane along the fence railings. Before retirement I thought I'd be like that. I thought I’d stay up all night and sleep all day. I thought I’d eat Table Talk pies and throw the wrappers in the fireplace. I thought that the only reason I didn’t do these things was the need to conform to earn a living.

I thought it was the necessity of the workplace that drove me to dress a certain way, the need to interact professionally that kept me to a certain schedule. When I was free I’d grow my hair and wear--I don’t know, any old thing, a housecoat. You see a lot of those.

But so far I just can’t, any more than I could climb on an airplane wearing blue jeans. These conforming structures are internal. In retirement I go to bed early and get up at the usual time. I balance the checkbook and clean the house. Staying up all night and sleeping all day just isn’t me. Or maybe I'm just not old enough yet.