Kia ora koutou, I’ve never liked shopping for clothes. Its an activity I only indulge in when I’ve reached a certain point – I’ve put it off and put if off, as long as I can but inevitably there comes the unwelcome flurry of ‘you have to have a decent shirt to wear’ or ‘those shoes are really…’

I’ve got smaller or larger, my tastes have changed, I’ve got older and I still hate shopping but the voice of doom (or my mother) says, ‘stop putting it off Renée, you know you need some new shoes or a jersey and that shirt – for God’s sake that shirt …’  The voice is right, its no good putting it off any longer – I go shopping.

After I had the double mastectomy my shape changed but it didn’t make much different to the shape of shirts, the only thing I noticed then and which has remained is that my skin has become sensitive to particular fabrics.

I ask a friend to take me to the shop – she not only drives me there but helps me investigate the range of shirts, jerseys or trousers, she tells me the prices on the tickets and also says if anything I pick up is particularly hideous or magically perfect. I can’t see myself clearly in the mirror, just a grey shape, so I’m reliant on other’s judgement.

There’s a fashion for old women to wear pale blue or pink or mauve but I’ve declined to follow that. Our hair goes grey or white, our skin loses its tightness and sags, our bodies slump, but I’d damned if I’m going to hide behind pale colours because of that. When I exit stage left it will not be by a series of graduated delicate pastels, when I go I hope to dance out wearing purple or scarlet or yellow.

The other magically attractive thing about strong colours is that I can see them. Not perfectly, not as good as I once could, but a hell of lot better than pastels.

Shopping has changed and I think I would love online shopping if I could see the numbers on my credit card properly. However, my son, my granddaughter, willingly shop for me online. Another son buys me shampoo because the supermarket here stopped stocking the shampoo (Drama Clean) I’d bought from them since I came to Otaki to live. My friend allows me to put money in her cheque account and then she goes to the cash machine and brings me the cash. I think I told you about the time I was in Westpac at Coastlands and I needed help so I asked one of the tellers and she was great. No sign of impatience, in fact she said she was happy to help and to ask any time.

Not everyone is so cheerfully helpful. Some assistants look at me like I’m mentally deficient or I’m being deliberately obstructive and find something else to do at the other end of the shop. Its an interesting busines being old. Attitudes vary towards old people and you never know which kind  you’re going to strike. Some assistants think I’m just being annoying, wasting their time, wanting attention… ‘She looks okay, she talks okay, if she just made an effort I bet she could see and not waste my time.’ Others are smiley, helpful, chat to me as though I’m someone they’re happy to see.

It would be good if all the medical profession were kinder to old people but its the same mixed bag as anywhere else. I want to say, I’ve got old but I haven’t lost the ability to know when I’m being treated with insensitivity. I want to say my body has weaknesses but I can still recognise indifference when I see it. I want to say you’ll get old one day and when you go to the doctor I hope you meet someone just like you.

But enough moaning – I went shopping with my friend a week or two ago and today I’m wearing one of the tops I bought – its got little red and dark blue slashes and curves on a white background. I look down, see the colours – my heart lifts and I smile.

When you’re old, go bold…

Renée

PS: Last night I cooked an old favourite I have not thought of cooking for years. When  my kids were little we called them mock whitebait fritters. Its just grated potato and a little salt spooned in flat little circles into hot hot oil. Crisp and delicious. Especially with warmed up left over beef stew. Loved every bit of the combination. Might even repeat it tonight…