Style, grace and beauty. Three distinct words which capture both Lena Horne and Dorothy Height. Their lives serve as shining examples of feminine power
in a time where African-Amercan women were expected to be subservient mutes.
As I read the obituaries of Horne and Height, I remember my parents talking to me at great length about both women and their activities in the struggle for Civil Rights in the 1960's. I marveled at their determination to make this country better alongside the male leaders. I went to school each day thinking I could do anything regardless of my race and sex.
As an adult,I aspire to leave an enduring legacy for future generations beginning with my own family. All I have to do is close my eyes and remember the names of those who walked in my shoes before before was before.
What's your legacy going to be? Are you living up to your potential? Do you encourage others with words, actions, deeds? People are watching and waiting...
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
April's Flowers and Showers
It's been a whirlwind of emotions since I last wrote something for this blog. Ideas have been swirling, but only now have I had a moment to try catching them.
My birthday celebration aka season began in earnest on April 11. I'm grateful to all who made it special now and whenever I travel to see others over the summer.
The offical celebration of my poetry book, "Sensual Sounds" at the Racine Library was an excellent day. Seeing family and friends enjoy the words I worked hard to breathe life into, is still hard to put into words. I feel so blessed as I begin the journey of sharing "Sensual Sounds" in both expected and unexpected ways.
But the rush to share my latest accomplishments diminshed by one. My beloved cousin, Bill West, died of cancer April 3. The private pain I always struggle with is that of seeing the twinkle of happiness in my parents's eyes. They were the first to hold my school diplomas, published articles and so many other honors.
My cousin Bill was always a part of these joyous celebrations since my birth. He, too, had that proud twinkle elders give the young. For example, when my father made the decision to drive from my small hometown of Racine to big New York City the year I interned at 'Essence' magazine, Bill not only loaned his van, but came along for the trip. The memories I have of that drive, along with who cried the most when it was time Dad and Bill to leave, are priceless.
Bill's role in my life and that of my two brothers became larger after both my parents died The one thing he was determined to do was see us suceed. He celebrated our accomplishments, but the question of what's next was always there as it was when my parents were alive.
Saying goodbye to Bill has only just begun. The angels received another good man when Bill took his last breath on earth.I still find myself wanting to rush and show him "Sensual Sounds". But I hear his voice whispering "What's next, Marcie?"
My birthday celebration aka season began in earnest on April 11. I'm grateful to all who made it special now and whenever I travel to see others over the summer.
The offical celebration of my poetry book, "Sensual Sounds" at the Racine Library was an excellent day. Seeing family and friends enjoy the words I worked hard to breathe life into, is still hard to put into words. I feel so blessed as I begin the journey of sharing "Sensual Sounds" in both expected and unexpected ways.
But the rush to share my latest accomplishments diminshed by one. My beloved cousin, Bill West, died of cancer April 3. The private pain I always struggle with is that of seeing the twinkle of happiness in my parents's eyes. They were the first to hold my school diplomas, published articles and so many other honors.
My cousin Bill was always a part of these joyous celebrations since my birth. He, too, had that proud twinkle elders give the young. For example, when my father made the decision to drive from my small hometown of Racine to big New York City the year I interned at 'Essence' magazine, Bill not only loaned his van, but came along for the trip. The memories I have of that drive, along with who cried the most when it was time Dad and Bill to leave, are priceless.
Bill's role in my life and that of my two brothers became larger after both my parents died The one thing he was determined to do was see us suceed. He celebrated our accomplishments, but the question of what's next was always there as it was when my parents were alive.
Saying goodbye to Bill has only just begun. The angels received another good man when Bill took his last breath on earth.I still find myself wanting to rush and show him "Sensual Sounds". But I hear his voice whispering "What's next, Marcie?"
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Spring!
It's Spring! No more 50 layers of heavy clothing just to walk to the end of the driveway to get the mail. Goodbye to gray days without sun. The only fluffy white stuff now lives in a box of instant mashed potatoes. Yay!
I have my own rituals for bidding a fond adeu to winterfest. One is drinking as many Shamrock shakes from McDonald's before St. Patrick's Day. My dad got me hooked on marking seasons with shakes as a kid. So in his honor I've kept the tradition. That first hit of mint in my mouth gives me more courage to face the rest of winter than any old groundhog shadow ever does. I get the same spring tingle with Girl Scout cookies. Snow, snow go away for good.
Another ritual is dedicating myself to daily exercise sessions. No more slacking or excuses. Hey, after shakes and cookies, I've got to move around. Don't want those 50 layers to turn into 50 lbs. Besides, I need room for the smelts I love so much. People from Wisconsin know what I'm talking about. Smelts are tiny little fish ranging from about five-seven inches long. They look like fish shaped french fries only a bit wider and seem to be found in March like the NCAA basketball tournament. So hup, two, three puff, puff lets me enjoy these delecacies with a clear conscience.
How can I forget the final one of oversleeping the first day of daylight savings time? Every year I try tricking my body into adjusting to the time change by going to bed a little earlier a week or two before we hop into spring. By the time, that Saturday night time switches, I feel ready. But I always oversleep and spend the first week feeling behind the eight ball. Oh well. It's Spring!
So let me be among the first to say "Happy Spring". Revel in the newness of nature coming into all its beautiful glory. And for those snow lovers who never think we have enough,I pray next year doesn't grant your wish.
I have my own rituals for bidding a fond adeu to winterfest. One is drinking as many Shamrock shakes from McDonald's before St. Patrick's Day. My dad got me hooked on marking seasons with shakes as a kid. So in his honor I've kept the tradition. That first hit of mint in my mouth gives me more courage to face the rest of winter than any old groundhog shadow ever does. I get the same spring tingle with Girl Scout cookies. Snow, snow go away for good.
Another ritual is dedicating myself to daily exercise sessions. No more slacking or excuses. Hey, after shakes and cookies, I've got to move around. Don't want those 50 layers to turn into 50 lbs. Besides, I need room for the smelts I love so much. People from Wisconsin know what I'm talking about. Smelts are tiny little fish ranging from about five-seven inches long. They look like fish shaped french fries only a bit wider and seem to be found in March like the NCAA basketball tournament. So hup, two, three puff, puff lets me enjoy these delecacies with a clear conscience.
How can I forget the final one of oversleeping the first day of daylight savings time? Every year I try tricking my body into adjusting to the time change by going to bed a little earlier a week or two before we hop into spring. By the time, that Saturday night time switches, I feel ready. But I always oversleep and spend the first week feeling behind the eight ball. Oh well. It's Spring!
So let me be among the first to say "Happy Spring". Revel in the newness of nature coming into all its beautiful glory. And for those snow lovers who never think we have enough,I pray next year doesn't grant your wish.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Cupid's Holiday
Happy Valentine's Day! Say it to most people and they immediately think of couples. Ads, movies and even well-meaning people all suggest you're a misfit if you don't have a mate. But I have a different take on this holiday.
My father was the first to show me what Valentine's Day was all about. A quiet man, Valentine's Day was his time to show how much he loved both my mother and me. Every year Daddy bought two huge boxes of chocolates from Melli's, the finest candy store in Racine. He topped it off by taking time to pick out the best cards expressing his deepest feelings for the two special women in his life.
Like cupid, he'd sneak out of the house early in the morning. When he returned, Daddy then gathered my mom, three brothers and myself together to give us our gifts. My mother and I would take turns admiring the cards before opening the candy boxes. We savored our first pieces of chocolate because we knew we'd share the rest until every piece was gone.
Even when I went away to college, he made the 45 minute drive to campus to give me my Valentine's gifts if I didn't come home. My Daddy faithfully kept this day special until his death.
Time is still healing my heart years later, but the gifts my dad gave me are immeasurable. I can honestly say love is so much more than romantic notions portrayed by the media. And I also take time to do something special for myself. Most importantly, I celebrate with all my loved ones regardless of sex. Love you always Daddy. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!
My father was the first to show me what Valentine's Day was all about. A quiet man, Valentine's Day was his time to show how much he loved both my mother and me. Every year Daddy bought two huge boxes of chocolates from Melli's, the finest candy store in Racine. He topped it off by taking time to pick out the best cards expressing his deepest feelings for the two special women in his life.
Like cupid, he'd sneak out of the house early in the morning. When he returned, Daddy then gathered my mom, three brothers and myself together to give us our gifts. My mother and I would take turns admiring the cards before opening the candy boxes. We savored our first pieces of chocolate because we knew we'd share the rest until every piece was gone.
Even when I went away to college, he made the 45 minute drive to campus to give me my Valentine's gifts if I didn't come home. My Daddy faithfully kept this day special until his death.
Time is still healing my heart years later, but the gifts my dad gave me are immeasurable. I can honestly say love is so much more than romantic notions portrayed by the media. And I also take time to do something special for myself. Most importantly, I celebrate with all my loved ones regardless of sex. Love you always Daddy. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
The journey of "Sensual Sounds"
I've written much as a poet and independent journalist over the years. I've also worked as a copyeditor for various publications. But nothing beats the indescribable thrill of seeing my name on my first poetry book, "Sensual Sounds".
This labor of love began as a suggestion from friends. I had sold many poems in various forms, but everyone wanted to purchase them in book form. I was terrified. It was already nerve-wracking enough to write and perform poetry. But never being one to back off easily, I accepted this challenge. And "Sensual Sounds" represents plenty of them.
First was the physical writing of the manuscript. Up until last August, I didn't own a computer. I wrote out everything by hand before giving completed works to various typists. I was fortunate enough to find good ones over the years. Their advice, suggestions and labors kept me focused on my goal.
My investigative skills as a reporter came in handy. But all the research in the world didn't prepare me for things like a company which did nothing with the completed manuscript for over two years. Or a typist who had original poems and simply disappeared, leaving me without a completed manuscript. Thank God my pack-rat tendancies helped me piece together the book again. Still another went out of business shortly before I signed with them. At other times it seemed like I'd never get this done, but something inside kept me going after drying my tears yet again.
Everything finally came together within the last six months while working with my publicist/copyeditor, Amy Simmons. Now, "Sensual Sounds", published by IUniverse, is finally completed after nearly eight long years of waiting. I enjoy hearty chuckles when I click onto amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com to make sure I'm not dreaming.
Those who know me intimately sometimes call me impatient or stubborn. I found out both served me well during these trials. Thank God for giving me strength to fight for "Sensual Sounds".
This labor of love began as a suggestion from friends. I had sold many poems in various forms, but everyone wanted to purchase them in book form. I was terrified. It was already nerve-wracking enough to write and perform poetry. But never being one to back off easily, I accepted this challenge. And "Sensual Sounds" represents plenty of them.
First was the physical writing of the manuscript. Up until last August, I didn't own a computer. I wrote out everything by hand before giving completed works to various typists. I was fortunate enough to find good ones over the years. Their advice, suggestions and labors kept me focused on my goal.
My investigative skills as a reporter came in handy. But all the research in the world didn't prepare me for things like a company which did nothing with the completed manuscript for over two years. Or a typist who had original poems and simply disappeared, leaving me without a completed manuscript. Thank God my pack-rat tendancies helped me piece together the book again. Still another went out of business shortly before I signed with them. At other times it seemed like I'd never get this done, but something inside kept me going after drying my tears yet again.
Everything finally came together within the last six months while working with my publicist/copyeditor, Amy Simmons. Now, "Sensual Sounds", published by IUniverse, is finally completed after nearly eight long years of waiting. I enjoy hearty chuckles when I click onto amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com to make sure I'm not dreaming.
Those who know me intimately sometimes call me impatient or stubborn. I found out both served me well during these trials. Thank God for giving me strength to fight for "Sensual Sounds".
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
No Place Like Home
I've lived in many places, but a piece of me will always reside at the two story, orange-creamsicle colored house at 946 Peck Avenue. Now vacant, that house holds fond memories from the 20 plus years I lived there with my parents and three brothers. Holidays, graduations and many happy occasions rush forth whenever I think of that place. So do hard times, deaths and the last time I locked the front door behind me with tears in my eyes.
My brothers and I shared hearty laughs as we took turns telling stories from our childhood at the Christmas dinner table. But the giggling stopped when I told them no one lived in our old house anymore. We then took turns trying to figure out why before reaching the same conclusions. Built in the early 1900, the small rooms just can't hold the larger furniture pieces people now own. And I'm sure not having closets in two of the four bedrooms doesn't help either.
But there was always plenty of room for our family and all of the guests who visited us. In our memories we still see our mom, dad and brother alive within those walls. Or the lamp in the living room shining through the curtains waiting for the last one up to turn it off before going to bed. That will always be the Eanes family home. Thank you, God, for the memories.
My brothers and I shared hearty laughs as we took turns telling stories from our childhood at the Christmas dinner table. But the giggling stopped when I told them no one lived in our old house anymore. We then took turns trying to figure out why before reaching the same conclusions. Built in the early 1900, the small rooms just can't hold the larger furniture pieces people now own. And I'm sure not having closets in two of the four bedrooms doesn't help either.
But there was always plenty of room for our family and all of the guests who visited us. In our memories we still see our mom, dad and brother alive within those walls. Or the lamp in the living room shining through the curtains waiting for the last one up to turn it off before going to bed. That will always be the Eanes family home. Thank you, God, for the memories.
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