Talking about death and loss, Patti Ann in the blog I Really Must Insist You Leave wonders how to grow old with dignity. I am not certain if I want to hang on to dignity at that age. I want to use and abuse the freedom from the judgement of society, the lack of need for fear of the future. Chatting with Susana, I made a character - the old woman I want to be. I think it's the goddess in her hag aspect, only the hag of the modern-day streets: An old woman with a walking-stick, a yapping little lap-dog for the hounds of the Morrigan, hair dyed a colour never seen in nature, too frail to deny, to old to care about the youth and energy and status of those she meets, in a culture which (despite what they may say) demands that old people are considered. I will make young men get up when I want a seat at the bus, I will make complicated requests at the library, I will walk over to the liqouer store slowly with my little pekingneese in a thin, fake-jewel-studded leash, I will tell everybody who pauses next to me what's wrong with the world - and by then I will think I have figured it out - I will keep stale candy around to offer children just to make them feel guilty about not being grateful, and I will block lines of theater-goers or people waiting to get into concerts with the slow time I make up the stairs, and the width of my fur. From behind the shield of age, with very little left to loose, since the most important people to me will be dead anyway, I can be wicked where I must be polite today, well-meaning where I am expected to cope, distracted and forgetful where I am expected to be reliable.
Yes, I think I want to grow old. Very old.