They exist. Those old folk who jump out of aeroplanes at 90, who go back to study and receive degrees merely to hang on the walls as achievements; those trekking the country and foreign places with backpacks, despite arthritic knees and well-worn hip joints.

And they are my heroes. Not those self-made billionaires, not those Literary Masters, not those aging Movie-Star-turned-Producers-or-Directors. Not the ones resigned to being baby-sitters for grandkids - noble as this is - and certainly never those acclimatised to a gentle and often medically supported retirement.

No. The old purple lady is my hero. Purple hair, purple clothes, purple car and the most magnificent 'purpleness' following her everywhere. They call her crazy. I call her inspirational?

In a world of stereotypes and assumed roles and labels, and a reconciled existence, my heart sings each time I spot an anomaly: A person defying time and expectations, sticking a middle finger up to conformity, denying being placed in any particular 'decade' and living the ensuing assumptions within it.

The cycle of life has us - much like the Sphinx riddle - walking on four feet then walking on two feet then walking on three feet (or as is now the case, riding on scooters or walking on six feet, using those 'walkers'. We are meant to get old and frail and revert back to an assisted living, else a living assisting others.

Dylan Thomas says from my wall, "Old age should burn and rave at close of day." Yet few of us are burning yet alone raving. Retirement brings placidness, a settling, and a gradual decline into the abyss of disremembering and motionlessness.

There's an eighty-something year old lady who rides a bike around here. She flies on that thing. The boys watch her pass and comment every time: "How does she do that?"

I say to them what I say to you now. She does it because she can, because her mind tells her body, "Keep riding, never stop riding." You wouldn't know her age as she flies past - only when she removes her helmet and her sunglasses do you see the wrinkles and the spots and the ravage time has forced on what was once a youthful face.

I took my father to have his bottom dentures remade yesterday, since during his last hospital stay they were 'misplaced' by staff. There he was, the technician, in-between stuffing my dad's mouth with the blue cement goo, telling me he's giving it all up shortly.

"Going to ride the Ghan first," he said proudly. "Then we're off to explore Europe, the wife and I."

My heart rejoiced in that small room. I was grinning like a kid, and it infected him, this 70-something year old man. "Yeah," he said, "it's time to live. Or maybe it's because time's running out?"

"Who cares," I replied. "The fact you're doing it is all that matters!"

I have noticed this strange pattern, see? Within a few years of 'retiring' a high proportion of people - males especially - die. They just die. I mean they've worked for a lifetime, now's their opportunity to do everything they pushed to the side in pursuit of whichever career, and yet they sit? They come to a sudden stop, as though a lifetime of routine and constant tiredness has caught up with them - and they just want to put their feet up and rest for a little bit? Only that little bit becomes the new routine?

Everything stops, and in this stopping, it seems their bodies and minds begin to shut down... like they're no longer needed? Happened to my own father... Within two years of retiring - after decades of working with his hands - and plonking himself in front of the TV. A massive stroke - which didn't kill him but changed him irrevocably... so all he could do from that point on was continue to sit in front of the TV?

Of course a heart attack followed and from that point on, it has been an accelerating deterioration... organs failing, brain struggling to cope as portion after portion is killed off... we're at the stage now where immobility has reached the point of him struggling to get out of bed in the mornings? The last few days, he has been insisting I have somehow raised my car, as he can no longer lift his left leg and now needs two of us - one to hold him and one to raise his leg to get him into it?

I have questioned doctors over the years and the basic premise given over has been, "Use it or lose it," alongside comments like "We see it all the time..." and "People stop living..."

I used to think: "Well isn't retirement the opportunity to catch your breath, relax, and take time slower, enjoy the ease?" Having attended dozens of funerals however in the years after my father's stroke, this has changed to "Don't stop moving, don't stop thinking, don't ever 'relax'... or you will die."

There was a motorcycle Club down on the coast... I'd spot them riding by. On the back of their rag-tag leather jackets was proudly embroidered, "Growing old disgracefully." So I have borrowed this phrase. Because to me, these old folk, a few riding single, most riding two to a bike, were the epitome of the phrase itself. Notice I said two to a bike? Couples together in their later years see? I'm betting there have been fewer 'earlier than expected' funerals among this lot.

I was at a gathering of our 'tribe' last night, one of those occasions where about thirty of us were together. Two things were very evident to me: Everyone has gotten so damn old, and everyone is nearing the decade of retirement. Actually there was a third thing, me.

I stood out in this tribe. What with my orange hair and nose piercing and yet undisclosed tattoo and my 'quirky' dress sense - and oh my language! - I looked and sounded out of place and out of sync. Even physically, I was a thin one in a sea of middle-aged stodginess?

So I got stared at a lot. The men... I caught the odd expression translated as, "Why does my wife not look and act like you?" The women... they were more saying, "Why do you insist on wanting to be different from us?" Their looks were not as 'admiring'... rather condescending really.

I use the word "fuck"... because I can and because it is apt for certain situations? Sometimes in my head, most often out loud and generally greeted by a mixture of raised eyebrows or eyes quickly averted, as though to escape the word? Really, why is language restricted or rather apportioned to age-groups? Why can't middle-aged women swear? What? It's inappropriate?

We were in a stadium last night. Okay, yet another evident thing: The children and the parents sat apart. There was no interaction between them, the generations distinctly divided, as though they had nothing in common except a familial bond. The children considering the adults 'old' and the adults in turn considering the children 'young'.

I sat with the boys and two of Dylan's Uni mates. We bantered, we did stupid silly things? Dylan got me a beer. (Scotch being too pretentious in that environment, he explained.) The rest were casting us odd looks, as though there was inappropriateness here too? Like I should have been interracting with the adults, not the children?

It was the overall frumpiness though that got to me. Designer frumpiness, but still, I was surrounded by 'age appropriate' attire and conversation. Most of the couples have been together between 20-30 years. It showed. I can't quite explain it in words, but there was this settling, this acceptance, this gradual progression into well... frumpiness?

And ten years or so from now, this 'tribe' will retire. I don't know where I'll be ten years from now or whether I'll even be here. But I can see their futures see? I can predict them because they live this predictability and have lived it all their lives? And if I am around, I will witness the passing of a lot of the men - I have farewelled a few already. They will stop, in their multi-million dollar homes and sit in front of their 12k 120 inch TV's and - maybe one or two will face some identity crisis but the most - they will 'settle' into a placid, resigned - albeit luxurious - retirement.  They've earned it after all. Right?

No 'growing old disgracefully' in this tribe. No setting off in search of adventure, no daring escapades... no raging "against the dying of the light." Rather a mutually agreed upon gradual relinquishing of life.

There's something in me that longs to scream at them. Wake them up. Get their minds racing and their bodies following? I want to hear them say, "Fuck this retiring shit, let's go backpacking in Nepal." Oh but the mere thought of them 'backpacking' or 'holidaying' in other than 5 star hotels in appropriate destinations... it would be like asking them to believe in 'magic' or some other nonsensical (to them) notion?

I rage. Sometimes I act disgracefully? Certainly my language defies any generational boundaries. I don't ever want to be resigned to anything see? I don't want to stop seeking adventure and yeah... life.

I might become the old 'orange lady' one day, who knows? Only certainty is I will never retire. I will keep doing stupid silly and speaking disgracefully and 'living' out of sync for as long as there is life in me.

I was talking on the phone with Dylan on the way to the stadium, trying to coordinate meeting up and getting the wheelchair to the car space I was provided.  He had me on speaker. His two mates heard me at my best, battling traffic and... well let's say the language exchanged was on the colourful side. I could hear his mates laughing, I mean cracking up laughing as Dyls and I exchanged our usual banter.

"Mum, Liam is snorting! Cut it out!"

I had just told him (them) his grandmother had 'cleaned' our upstairs bathroom and thrown out my tattoo cream? When we met up later in the stadium, they were still grinning.

On the way home, we stopped at a McDonalds. Dylan leaned forward and spoke though my window.

"Two Happy Meals," he said, imitating a young kid? The teen at the other end of the voice box asked "Will there be anything else?"

"Don't forget the toys!" Dylan piped up.

I rolled into the window, paid then moved to the next window for the pick-up. I was handed two brightly decorated boxes and two small pop-top bottles of water. The young girl passing them across glanced at the back seat, and... she hesitated? Like she'd got the order wrong? No kids in the car see?

I was rejoicing really... Knowing my two will never age gracefully. Wherever their futures take them - and I am hoping I will be along for the ride for as long as I breathe - they will never retire into stodginess.

So in essence, I too will never, ever settle into any age-befitting label. And nor should you. Really, do not ever "go gentle into that good night". It's a long one, you know? Plenty of time to 'put your feet up' and rest then...

"Use it or lose it," as the good doc said. Grow old as disgracefully as you can. Prehaps I might run into you in Nepal or something?