Chapter 3: When I am an old woman… which Golden Girl will I be?

(The answer is Maude. It’s always Maude). 

(Yes, I know her name is Bea Arthur, and she was Dorothy on the Golden Girls. But it’s my blog, and she is Maude.)

Most women know this poem:

“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.”

(Jenny Joseph)

Who will I be when I grow up… and grow old?

There are so many questions that fill your head in the retirement planning process - where will I live? what kind of budget can I manage? how will I fill my days (do I need to fill my days?? can I just fill my wine glass instead?). You write lists and make calculations, study the Air Canada sale flyer, and mesh together a chaotic collage of the practical and aspirational decisions that will frame your passage into retirement. 

But really, the question that actually matters, and that even the most impressive of Excel spreadsheets cannot answer for you, is who will I be in this new phase of my life? 

And what kind of old woman will I be? Vivacious? Virtuous? Cranky? (I mean, cranky is a given. Ladies, we’ve earned that one). 

I have a 70-something cousin who goes to music festivals, lives for country & western dances with her husband, and puts pink in her hair. She is my fabulous ideal - at any age. Her mum, at 94, is sharp and hilarious and ate as much pizza as I did at our last family lunch. I love these women, and would be proud to be a tenth as cool.

And then there’s Maude.

That uncompromisin', enterprisin', anything but tranquilizin',
Right on Maude! 

We have been gradually taught to recognize how bombarded we have been with simple or sexist depictions of women throughout our lives, which have certainly distorted our sense of who we should be. As a child of the late 60s/early 70s, in a house with a big TV, my influences ran from Farrah Fawcett to a million generic tv moms and far too many strangely perky tampon ladies. But we also had Mary and Rhoda and Phyllis, and Major Houlihan, and Weezie Jefferson.. and we had Maude.  Not perfect women, not unproblematic as characters, but they were complete, dimensional women. They grew and even aged a little in front of us; they took chances, made mistakes, stood up for themselves (in their way),  and told us what they thought. All the little, pie-eyed girls of that era saw that life might be filled with a lot of compromises (too many diets, bad boyfriends and a troubling number of pant suits), but ultimately, you could be the star of your own show.

And then there's... me.

Thirty-two years as a public servant, even a moderately senior one, teach you to be an excellent supporting character. While you may have certain status, a title, some influence, your role is to support the success of the Minister, the PM, the government - and the Canadian people. That is what we do.  

In retirement, that show is over. You have no one else's star to make shine - just your own. You can be glorious, ridiculous, selfish, sassy, heroic, foolhardy, frivolous, invisible - you can be any character, don any costume, wear any hat. Even one that doesn't go. 

It sounds so free - so uncompromising, enterprising - anything but tranquilizing. Thrilling drama or a wacky new adventure each week.

But mostly what it feels right now is overwhelming. When we are still those pie-eyed little girls, we are scarcely conscious of the influences we absorb or the character-defining choices that we make. The universe is limitless, and the story will never end. 

Five or six decades later, we carry the weight of our wisdom and feel the consequence of every choice. Perhaps that's why the smart women begin with a hat.

👒👒👒