Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
    I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
    But when I start to tell them,
    They think I'm telling lies.
    I say,
    It's in the reach of my arms
    The span of my hips,
    The stride of my step,
    The curl of my lips.
    I'm a woman
    Phenomenally.
    Phenomenal woman,
    That's me.

    I walk into a room
    Just as cool as you please,
    And to a man,
    The fellows stand or
    Fall down on their knees.
    Then they swarm around me,
    A hive of honey bees.
    I say,
    It's the fire in my eyes,
    And the flash of my teeth,
    The swing in my waist,
    And the joy in my feet.
    I'm a woman
    Phenomenally.
    Phenomenal woman,
    That's me.

    Men themselves have wondered
    What they see in me.
    They try so much
    But they can't touch
    My inner mystery.
    When I try to show them
    They say they still can't see.
    I say,
    It's in the arch of my back,
    The sun of my smile,
    The ride of my breasts,
    The grace of my style.
    I'm a woman
    Phenomenally.
    Phenomenal woman,
    That's me.

    Now you understand
    Just why my head's not bowed.
    I don't shout or jump about
    Or have to talk real loud.
    When you see me passing
    It ought to make you proud.
    I say,
    It's in the click of my heels,
    The bend of my hair,
    the palm of my hand,
    The need of my care,
    'Cause I'm a woman
    Phenomenally.
    Phenomenal woman,
    That's me.
 
 

Living Well. Living Good.
by Maya Angelou
(from the book Wouldn't Take Nothing for my Journey Now, 1993 )

Aunt Tee was a Los Angeles member of our extended family. She was seventy-nine when I met her, sinewy, string, and the color of old lemons. She wore her coarse, straight hair, which was slightly streaked with gray, in a long braided rope across the top of her head. With her high cheekbones, old gold skin, and almond eyes, whe looked more like an Indian chief than an old black woman. (Aunt Tee described herself and every favored member of her race as Negroes. Black was saved for those who had incurred her disapproval.)
She had retired and lived alone in a dea, neat ground-floor apartment. Wax flowers and china figurines sat on elaborately embroidered and heavily starched doilies. Sofas and chairs were tautly upholstered. The only thing at ease in Aunt Tee's apartment was Aunt Tee.
I used to visit her often and perch on her uncomfortable sofa just to hear her stories. She was proud that after working thirty years as a maid, she spent the next thirty years as a live-in housekeeper, carrying the keys to rich houses and keeping meticulous accounts.
"Living in lets the white folks know Negroes are as neat and clean as they are, sometimes more so. And it
gives the Negro maid a chance to see white folks ain't no smarter than Negroes. Just luckier. Sometimes."
Aunt Tee told me that once she was house-keeping for a couple in Bel Air, California, lived with them in a
fourteen-room ranch house. There was a day maid who cleaned, and a gardener who daily tended the lush
gardens. Aunt Tee oversaw the workers. When she had begun the job, she had cooked and served a light
breakfast, a good lunch, and a full three- or four-course dinner to her employers and their guests. Aunt Tee said she watched them grow older and leaner. After a few years they stopped entertaining and ate dinner hardly seeing each other at the table. Finally, they sat in a dry silence as they ate evening meals of soft scrambled, eggs, melba toast, and weak tea. Aunt Tee said she saw them growing old but didn't see herself aging at all.
She bacame the social maven. She started "keeping company" (her phrase) with a chauffeur down the street. Her best friend and her friend's husband worked in service only a few blocks away.
On Saturdays Aunt Tee would cooka pot of pig's feet, a pot of greens, fry chicken, make potato salad, and bakc a banana pudding. Then, that evening, her friends - the chauffeur, the other house-keeper, and her husband - would come to Aunt Tee's commodious live-in quarters. There the four would eat and drink, play records and dance. As the evening wore on, they would settle down to a serious game of bid whist.
Naturally, during this revelry jokes were told, fingers snapped, feet were patted, and there was a great deal of laughter.
Aunt Tee said that what occurred during every Saturday party startled her and her friends the first time it happened. They had been playing cards, and Aunt Tee, who had just won the bid, held a handful of trumps. She felt a cool breeze on her back and sat upright and turned around. Her employers had cracked her door open and beckoned to her. Aunt Tee, a little peeved, laid down her cards and went to the door. The couple backed away and asked her to come into the hall, and there they both spoke and won Aunt Tee's sympathy forever.
"Theresa, we don't mean to disturb you..." the man whispered, "but you all seem to be having such a good
time..."
The woman added "We hear you and your friends laughing every Saturday night, and we'd just like to watch you. We don't want to bother you. We'll be quiet and just watch."
The man said, "If you'll just leave your door ajar, your friends don't need to know. We'll never make a
sound." Aunt Tee said she saw no harm in agreeing, and she talked it over with her dcompany. They said it
was OK with them, but it was sad that the employers owned the gracious house, the swimming pool, three
cars, and numberless palm trees, but had no joy. Aunt Tee told me that laughter and relaxation had left the house; she agreed it was sad.
That story has stayed with me for nearly thirty years, and when a tale remains fresh in my mind, it almost
always contains a lesson which will benefit me.
My dears, I draw the picture of the wealthy couple standing in a darkened hallway, peering into a lighted
room where black servants were lifting their voices in merriment and comradery, and I realize that living
well is an art which can be developed. Of course, you will need the basic talents to build upon: They are a
love of life and ability to take great pleasure from small offereings, and assurance that the world owes you nothing and that every gift is exactly that, a gift. That people who may differ from you in political stance, sexual persuasion, and racial inheritance can be founts of fun, and if you are lucky, they can become even convivial comrades.
Living life as art requires a readiness to forgive. I do not mean that you should suffer fools gladly, but rather remember your own shortcomings, and when you encounter another with flaws, don't be eater to righteously seal yourself away from the offender forever. Take a few breaths and imagine yourself having just committed the action which has set you at odds.
Because of the routines we follow, we often forget that life is an ongoing adventure. We leave our homes
for work, acting and even believing that we will reach our destinations with no unusual event startling us
our of our set expectations. The truth is we know nothing, not where our cars will fail or when buses will
stall, whether our places of employment will be there when we arrive, or whether, in fact, we ourselves
will arrive whole and alive at the end of our journeys. Life is pure adventure, and the sooner we realize
that, the quicker we will be able to treat life as art: to bring all our energies to each encounter, to remain
flexible enough to notice and admit when what we expected to happen did not happen. We need to
remember that we are created creative and can invent new scenarios as frequently as they are needed.
Life seems to love the liver of it. Money and power can liberate only if they are used to do so. They can
imprison and inhibit more finally than barred windows and iron chains.