Blooming in a Red Hat
This morning, I'm typing this at my desk in an old mohair sweater and flannel pajamas. It's is cold and gray out, and I've got no inclination to go outside. I need to remind myself that Spring is right around the corner, and flowers are on their way to save the day, budding into a warming landscape of bright and lively colors. In the meanwhile, I imagine myself planted somewhere deep in the heart of a meadow, at one with a field of nodding poppies, soaking up the sunshine, bright as a blossom, and happy as a rose.
There's something about a red hat that wakes up your spirit, isn't there? Which remind me of this verse by Jenny Joseph, the poem that inspired the blossoming of the Red Hat Society.
Warning 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 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 pickle 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 surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
-Jenny Joseph