Thoughts and Verses
on Aging
In the crisp days of my youth when
ever I was asked what I thought about
growing older, I always responded with
a nervous but brassy rejoinder that hid
my profound belief that I never expect
ed to live past 28. Tears would fill my
eyes and bathe my face when 1 thought
of dying before my son reached puber
ty
I was 36 before I realized I had lived
years beyond my deadline and needed
to revise my thinking about an early
death. I would live to see my son an
adult and myself at the half-century
mark. With that realization life waxed
sweeter. Old acquaintances became
friendships, and new clever acquain
tances showed themselves more inter
esting. Old loves burdened with memo
ries of disappointments and betrayals
packed up and left town, leaving no for
warding addresses, and new loves came
calling.
I decided I would consent to living
to an old and venerable age. White
strands of hair would combine to make
a startling snow-white narrow streak
emerging near my temple. I would
speak more slowly, choosing my words
with the deliberation of an** elder
stateswoman, a Madame de Stael or a
Mary McLeod Bethune. I would wear
lovely floral scents - lavender and lilac
? reminiscent of lace handkerchiefs
and old-fashioned sachets.
My clothes
would gradually
become more dis
tinguished-look
ing: gray suits,
with good
brooches on the
lapels, and elegant
dresses. And
?while I would
refuse on pain of
death to wear old
ladies' comforts, I
would give away
the three-inch
spike heels that
had given me the
advantage of being
By Dr.
Maya
Angelou
taller then nearly everyone eise in me
world. And I would choose good shoes
with medium heels save for the odd
gold or silver pumps for black-tie
affairs.
Those were my plans. Oh, yes, I
would keep company with the other old
women who would be friends equally
dolled-up, and I would always have an
elegant, dapper man holding my arm.
Those were my plans, but Robert
Burns was right: "The best laid
schemes...." Mine certainly went
awfully a-gle^.
At 60 my body, which had never dis
played a mind of its own, turned
obstreperous, opinionated and deliber
ately treacherous. The skin on my
thighs became a lumpy, my waist thick
ened, and my breasts - it's better not to
mention them at all except to say that
they seem to be in a race to see which
could be first to reach my knees.
Doubt and pessimism came to me in
a terrible Siamese-twin embrace:
The loss of love and youth and fire
came raiding, riding a horde of plun
derers on one caparisoned steed, suck
ing up the sun drops, trampling the
green shoots of my carefully planted
years.
The evidence: thickened waist and
leathery thighs, which triumph over my
fallen insouciance.
After 55 the arena has changed. I
must enlist new warriors. My resist
ance, once natural as raised voices,
importunes in the dark. Is this battle
worth the candle?] Is thrs war worth the
wage?
May I not greet age without a
grouse, allowing the truly young to own
the stage?
But now, as I wend nearer to my
70th year, my optimism has returned.
My appetites have also returned
with ravenous lustiness. True, I can't
eat choucroute garnie or fried chicken
with potato salad and then head for
bed. I eat smaller portions earlier and
try to take a short walk. A smooth
scotch still causes me to smile, and a
decent wine is received with gratitude.
Men and music still bring great delight,
of course, sometimes in moderation.
Mostly, what I have learned so far
about aging, despite the creakiness of
one's bones and the cragginess of one's
once-silken skin, is this: do it. By all
means, do it.
Wake's Queen Welcomes New King
WFU Photo*
Dr. Maya Angelou greets Dr. Nathan Hatch on Oct.
18, 2005, in the sanj^uary of Union Baptist
Church. Angelou had just taken part in one of sev
eral programs held that week to welcome Hatch as
the new president of Wake Forest University, a
school where Angelou has taught for more than
two decades. Hundreds attended the event at
Union, where Angelou wished the new president
Godspeed.
.