LADY WITH THE RUBY RING
In her youth she’d been enrolled
in finishing school
for ladies
and the el-o-cution drill that upper class mothers required
as a feather in their well-made hats
She sits now at a table
out
to lunch
legs crossed at the ankles not the knees
one hand wrapped around a sparkling glass of fizzing Bollinger
the other laid against her chest
An ostentatious ruby ring
that smacks of wealth
forced onto a crooked finger
She still has poise but not the former straightness
Intelligence from youth still dancing in her eyes
Her arm-skin
tissue-paper-thin
is bruised and blotched
with shapes of countries
China
Russia
Fluid thickening her wrists and ankles
Bright blue floral sleeveless dress
Not afraid to show the saggy skin of nanna arms
Bent arthritic fingers still display the favourite jewels
The nail polish
red and carefully applied
Lips once plump and firm
now thinned
a little puckered
but still agleam with scarlet
Hooded eyelids sapphire blue
Retro frames of glasses
age-defying
like her pearls and dangling earrings
Everything about her
Well done lovely lady
You’ve not withered from your merry self
a walking work of art
Who we’ve always been
is what the world should see and love
My poets’ group was recently given an exercise. During South Australia’s Living Arts festival we were asked to attend some exhibitions and then pen an ekphrastic poem. For those of you who don’t know the meaning of this strange adjective, as I didn’t, it describes ‘poetry written about visual works of art.’
I found a painting of an elderly but, to me, flamboyant lady, and the above poem is about how I saw her and imagined her to be.
It got me to thinking about myself. While I am by no means flamboyant, I am ageing.
But who was I in my early years? How do I see the girl I was?
I’ve always been a people watcher – interested in the way people behave and why. Psychology, sociology? I was a thoughtful child, a little deep. I enjoyed sad movies, movies about war, love and loss. But I liked happy endings. Still do. And converse to the pathos, I loved to laugh – with my sister, my girlfriends. I loved Jerry Lewis and Danny Kaye movies. We laughed at ourselves, each other, made up funny stories about people we knew, imagined hilarious scenarios.
Do we know, inherently, from an early age, that a good belly laugh produces endorphins that are good for our health. Under-arm farts would make us wet our pants. Also the old washer-wound-up-with-a plastic-band trick – placed in an envelope to keep it in place, beneath us on our seats, until we rose up and let it go. The sound made was like a long drawn out fart. I am laughing now just thinking about it. But now I’m in my seventies!
Then there was the day my girlfriend Paula and I decided we needed bigger breasts. Most of the girls our age – thirteen at the time – were bigger than we were, and so we sequestered a handful each of Paula’s dad’s handkerchiefs and stuffed them into our bras. We set out for the street, with these breasts that were bigger than anything thus seen on any girl our age. The stares we attracted had us bent double with laughter.
I was a voracious reader – loved the fairytale world that books would take me into. Could have read for hours some weekends, but there was always work to be done if we were inside, so my sister and I would escape, on our bikes, out into the wide world of the creek, trees, the park, the town swimming pool, back yards of friends, thereby developing our mutual love of travel, exploration, Nature.
Although I hated having to do jobs around the house, it gave us all a good work ethic. To be successful in life, you had to work.
I left my childhood with this tenet well embedded, and was subsequently thrown off the deep end – into a gritty farming life when I married.
I have written a book about my middle life. It was initially six hundred and fifty pages, but by necessity contracted to four hundred and forty after a lot of cutting of stories, which was like saying goodbye to my babies. However the ones I decided to leave, it seems, have given people a lot of pleasure.
I was asked to speak at a Probus meeting recently – a room of sixty. I had to ask myself why. Well, I guess because I have written a book – a book about a unique and interesting life – a life of hard work, adventure, tragedy, hardship, joy, love – the whole gamut of what makes up a lifetime.
I am now in my later life. I’m not like the dear lady in my poem. Still the same as when I was young, but with the wisdom of years that we all gather. Yes there are wrinkles, and skin a little saggy here and there, a few spots and blotches, hair turned grey a long time ago. But I am fit and healthy, maybe even strong for my age – due to swimming I suspect, and maybe a lifetime of shifting and lifting heavy things. I am no longer the lithe and supple girl I was, but I am happy, I am loved, and I still have much to look forward to. I think its wonderful to see a lifetime of stories in the eyes of a friend, and I hope they do in mine.
I went out with two of my dear girlfriends last night. As we walked down the street, in our young haircuts, skinny jeans and boots, I looked at the other two and thought – we’re still just girls. We’re hiding in there somewhere.
Bring your old self with you always.
Warmly,
Sue
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