I've been away for a while but here I am back.  Just returned from London where I went to see the BP National Portrait Exhibition.  I've been for the last few years as portrait painting fascinates me.  Our appearance is so unique and it is incredible that there are folk out there who can capture all its nuances, shadows, and minute details.   Interestingly, for the past two years the winning portraits have been of older people; this year both first and second prizes went to depictions of those of us in the white-haired brigade.   To be honest, I don't think I could live with either of them on my sitting room wall but it heartened me that they won.  Without question they were beautifully painted, skin, hair, wrinkles and body shape were so accurate that I felt if I touched them I would feel warm flesh. 

The media concentrate so much on serving up a diet of young, bright, full-of-life characters  that many older people feel as if they are living in the shadows.  Invisible. 

I have always thought (even before I joined the club) that there is a beauty in old age, born of experience, of living.  I am bemused by the huge popularity of all things old - except people.  Retro clothing, vintage fashion accessories, antique furniture - all are much sought after.  They are valued, signs of wear are not in the least off-putting and no doubt conjure up thoughts of what the life of that object might have involved.   I have a beautiful old pine letter writing slope.  It is plain, lacking in decoration, without great age (late 1800s I believe) and to many may seem unremarkable.   But I fell in love with it when I found an ink stain on the top, just where a previous owner's pen would have rested.  It set me off on a reverie; had letters been written by a young lady to her beau, from a mother to an errant son or daughter, a sister to a brother doing military service...?   It has provided me with many an hour of pleasant musing.  

If you can see the beauty and value in old, well-used inanimate objects, why on earth can't you recognise the beauty of old people?   Quite often older people are regarded as just that;  little thought is given to the fact that people only reach old age after a life-time of experience, and considerable wear and tear.  And that's what gives us our character, building our attitudes, forming our principles, teaching us how to live.  So wrinkles have actually been earned through a life lived.

When we turn 60 we don't automatically become fans of knitting (having said that I do knit but I have done so on and off over many years), Scrabble (ditto!), bingo (can't stand it), and develop a penchant for cocoa and furry slippers.   It ain't like that!   No time left - come back and find out more tomorrow.  

Well I haven't so far achieved all I looked forward to in retirement but . . .

I don't lie in bed all morning - in fact I get up early as I look forward to the days and what they might bring.
I don't get to read the paper every day either - although I do usually devote an hour or so to the crossword - brain exercise you see.

Some time ago I wrote a poem - it's one of the things I do more frequently now - and it illustrated some of the adventures I had in mind: 

I want to grow old disgracefully and I'm doing rather well.

I lie in bed 'til ten o'clock and I hardly ever wear a frock.

The dullish grey mop atop my head screamed out my advancing age.

Now it's spiky, short, and what do you think?

It's dyed several shades of red and pink.

I'm now proudly showing off my ears; they haven't seen daylight in years,

And I've got an ear-ring, just the one, two was too boring, one's much more fun.

Out of the window went sensible clothes, I've just bought myself some jeans,

And I won't be wearing lace-up shoes, I invested in bright blue Jimmy Choos.

The transformation is almost done, but I have just one more dilemma.

My ankle, my shoulder, of would my arm do? Now where shall I put that little tattoo?

(Copyright Lin Shepherd 2007)

It may disappoint for you to know that my hair isn't red and I haven't (yet?) got a tattoo.

But I've achieved most of the rest so I'm proud of my progress.  (Bright blue shoes but my pension won't runny to Jimmy Choos;  two ear-rings - and I've now got an obsession, bordering on a fetish, for ear-rings.   They draw me to shop windows like a magnet.  Still there are worse vices; at least they don't take up too much room.

I've been amazed at the feeling of release;  I am now able to be the me I always was but tried to keep sheltered on account of having to be appear mildly sensible during my working life.

More soon...



What Next?

I started to think about all the positives of retirement.  I looked forward to:  

• Lying in bed until lunchtime and not being jolted into life by the persistent and irritating buzz of the alarm clock.
• Not being ruled by the clock, deadlines, timescales, meetings and appointments.
• Tackling the list of d-i-y jobs compiled in the run-up to retirement.  I had used the 'I'll do it when I retire' excuse for several months.  Consequently the list was nearly a yard (or a metre if you like) long.
• Reading the newspaper from cover to cover - every day!  And working my way through the list of books I thought I should have read but had never got around to - War and Peace, Pilgrim's Progress, Canterbury Tales and Harry Potter (I know!) to name but a few. 
• Continuing to write poetry and getting on with the novel which we all, apparently, have inside us.  Mine had been on the go for years. 
• Watching some daytime television to see whether it really is mostly rubbish.  And, most thrilling of all, staying up really late to watch films, a pleasure previously reserved for Saturday nights and holidays. 
• Sharing domestic chores with my partner - yes really!  Shared tasks are less onerous and we have enjoyed much laughter as I struggled with areas of domesticity where I clearly needed more training. 
• Improving my cooking 'skills'.  An inaccurate description as I am almost totally devoid of anything that could remotely be described as a skill in the area of the kitchen.

Well, that was the plan . . .come and visit me again to find out what happened next.

What is retirement?

Is retirement a retreat or a renaissance?

Retirement:  retreat, giving up work, withdrawal, solitude, obscurity
Renaissance:  rebirth, new start, revitalisation, new beginning

Before I retired I investigated the word 'retirement'.  I sought the answer only to find it described by a list of words designed to send even the most 'glass half full' person in search of the nearest gas oven.  'Loneliness, obscurity, solitude, withdrawal, ebbing' were among the wholly negative descriptions of what this state promised.  And there I'd been for all those years telling people that retirement is a time of opportunity and enjoyment.  Here was I on the brink of retirement and facing the awful prospect of discovering that a lifetime of belief would turn out not to be true.

But I was determined to wring out as much enjoyment as I could from this new chapter.  I liked the idea of growing old disgracefully but knew I lacked the courage to do it - or did I?