Over Fifty and Loving it!

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Well I am over fifty and ready for a new life. I have done almost everything I dreamed of doing as a young girl. Who would have thought that I would began to dream again? So I went back to school, I started a few new hobbies and I even started a Youtube channel. It now has over two million views!

The best thing about being over fifty is that I am very settled, I am confident in my own skin and life isn’t scary anymore.

In search of “self”

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Donna Mac

Their Eyes Were Watching God: the use of metaphors to illustrate the journey of the protagonist

Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time (Hurston 1). The omniscient narrator in Zora Neal Hurston’s, Their Eyes Were Watching God, paints a picture of a metaphoric ship with the ability to carry dreams, not just dreams but every man’s dreams. Always in view, always attainable to the man who never gives up. For the men and women called the Watcher, who never attain their dreams they find themselves mocked to death by Time. It is interesting that while death does not begin with a capital letter, Watcher and Time do. The Watcher is being watched by Time. And so Hurston takes us on a journey into the life of Janie Crawford a young girl who is drawn to the horizon in search of her identity, her dreams. Throughout the novel Hurston uses Time to draw attention to the life of Janie Crawford in her search for herself.

The omniscient narrator takes up the metaphor of time once again in chapter two. Janie saw her life as a great tree in leaf with things suffered, things enjoyed, things done and undone. Dawn and doom was in the branches (8). The narrator uses the organic metaphor of a tree, here Janie seems to realize that there is a cycle to her life just as there is a cycle to the life of a tree. The bright promise of a new dawn and the lingering possibility of doom, dreams unrealized, purpose unfulfilled.

Janie wants to experience love she has many questions concerning love, marriage, and life. And so the Narrator begins chapter three with yet another metaphor. There are years that ask questions and years that answer. Janie had no chance to know things so she had to ask. Did marriage end the cosmic loneliness of the unmarried? Did marriage compel love like the sun the day (22)? The reader now walks with Janie as she enters her first marriage. She experiences the answer to her questions, and seems to be mocked by time and doom. At the end of Janie’s first marriage the narrator shows us that Janie is maturing through her life experiences.

So Janie waited a bloom time, and a green time, and an orange time…she knew things that nobody had ever told her…she knew that God tore down the old world every evening and built a new one by sun-up…she knew now that marriage did not make love. Janie’s first dream was dead, so she became a woman (25). In this passage Hurston continues to use time, and death to paint the picture of life, destiny, and the fulfillment of dreams. Janie’s dream of love and marriage has died, and so she matures into a woman. But unlike the Watcher who turns away in resignation from his/her horizon and ultimately the fulfillment of ones dream, Janie looks into the horizon and begins to expect something.

Janie Crawford lives trough two marriages, she leaves one husband and outlived the other, never to find love. Until she meets her third husband. Again Hurston uses time as a metaphor in Janie’s life. One night after Teacake walks Janie home. The narrator describes Janie’s mood. So she sat on the porch and watched the moon rise. Soon its amber fluid was drenching the earth, and quenching the thirst of the day (99).

I believe this metaphor describes Janie and her new life with Teacake. All the thirst she had for love and marriage will be fulfilled or quenched by her union with Teacake. She meets Teacake in the evening of her life. Together they travel to the horizon and death attacks her. Hurston calls death “old square toes.” Even though old square toes takes Teacake in the evening of Janie’s life, she still has him in her memories and he continues to give her the horizon she always dreamed of. Teacake was the son of the Evening Sun (189). He could never be dead until Janie had finished feeling and thinking…the kiss of his memory made pictures of love and light against the wall. Here was peace. She pulled in her horizon like a great net…and draped it over her shoulder. So much of life in its meshes! She called in her soul to come and see (193). Time could not mock Janie as she experienced her dreams come true, she experienced the dawn and the doom of the metaphoric tree of life and she had no regrets she learned the answer to her questions in her journey to the horizon and back.

Work Cited

Hurston, Zora Neal. Their Eyes Were Watching God. First Harper Perennial Modern Classics New

York, New York. 2006

Vulnerability

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Can’t keep my eyes open
sitting her hoping
my mechanism for coping
is in tact
Just the other day,
I thought I heard me say
somethings gone awry
that’s a fact
Ain’t got no one to talk to,
What’s an in tact woman to do
Guess I’m all alone
A one woman act
some say
the pain will go away
with lotions and potions
Is it worth it?
Such vulnerability, No body’s perfect
least of all- me
My inevitable strife
change of life
Can’t keep my eyes open
sitting here hoping
my mechanism for coping
is in tact

Meet my Waldorf Dolls

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I started sewing when I was twelve years old. My next door neighbor, Miss Webster, gave me a pattern for Barbie Doll clothes. I made every thing by hand. When I was thirteen Miss Webster taught me how to use a sewing machine and I started making all of my clothes.  When it was time for me to go to High School I decided to attend a Vocational High School and concentrate on Trade Tailoring. I really enjoy the process of coming up with a design in my head and then sketching it on paper. The next step is how to get the design to become something that I can hold, touch, see and share.

I decided to major in Fashion Merchandising in college. I learned to make my own patterns and create beautiful clothes. Well, when I got married I put all my creativity aside,  got a regular job and kind of conformed to my surroundings. I thought I would never create again.

Two years ago I started sewing again, and writing again, and making hair products in my kitchen . My creative energy was returning with a vengeance. I always wanted to make dolls. So I did some research on how to make cloth dolls  and came across Waldorf Dolls. I gave it a try and fell in love with this beautiful craft. Forty years after I made my first doll dress I am making dolls and doll clothes again and loving it.

Here are a few of my creations

Meet Faith

Meet Chloe

This is Grace

This is Sasha

 

I will share with you the process of making dolls as soon as I get organized.

Bloom

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Bloom

I sit
watching my days like clouds fading
from morning to evening
I muse wondering where are my
dreams, my sunbeams of promises?

I think
who will listen to
my story?
who can I tell…

Someone stole my innocence
long, long ago
A small unfolded rosebud
sending out aromatic essence of bloom
wandering in the wind
waiting…
Not expecting to be handled
Not wanting to be
held
and cast
aside
cool winds whispering my name

I watched
as the sun spilled over the horizon
to caress my tender petals
Someone claimed my
sweet breath too soon

Fresh days of springtime
I was a spring garden
full of light, cool winds swaying
birds all in harmony
bees buzzing

I ran
so full of
expectancy and estacy
I ran into the face of life
Too young to know what it
would bring me

Hot summer days
dogs barking
fear running up my legs
ringing loud in my head

I listened to
love songs
love poems

I listened to soft words
with clandestine meanings
Too young to know
tender plants need room
to bloom
Time
to rise and be strong
Somebody picked me
when I was just a rosebud

I wonder
Can I grow from here?
Will winter overtake me?

I wonder
can I
be a beautiful rose
in Autumn?

I see crimson tides
peeking over blue horizons
pouring liquid light all over me

I feel strong

Sweet gentle perfume
rolls off my
soft velvet petals
penetrating the amber air
I’m in bloom
again

Winter’s Coming

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Winter’s Coming

It’s Fall, and the leaves are changing color-

so is my hair,

The sun falls asleep earlier

So do I,

Thoughts of winter linger in the wind,

Cool breezes, clandestine voices,

peeking in the windows of my mind.

Every morning another branch is almost empty-

Why did the leaves have to fall,

so soon, too soon?

Must get my work done,

I here wisdom say with the rising of the sun,

Winter don’t wait for no one.

Wasn’t thinking about winter ,

in summer.

didn’t think about nothing,

in Spring.

Clouds dancing, earth turning, sun burning up the oceans,

and sending it all back in refreshing rain.

No sorrows, no worries, no cares, no pain,

Spring, you taught me to sing.

Little Sally Walker sitting in a saucer,

Rise sally rise, wipe yo weeping eyes.

Summer came like a mighty conqueror,

All dressed up in armor,

Hot and sultry, long jubilant days,

pushing back the darkness, resisting the light of the moon,

didn’t know it couldn’t last forever.

Fall came too soon,

and winter’s on her trail.

Rise Sally rise, wipe yo weeping eyes,

Put your hand on yo hip and let yo back bone slip.

Not ready for winter,

got things to do.

Ain’t got nothing to lose,

don’t have time for no sad song.

Ain’t singin the blues.

The sun get up every morning,

so do I.

singing, Glory Halleluiah,

So do I,

Time for living, got a promise to see.

Fall is just another season,

To fulfill my destiny.

Tell winter he’ll have to wait,

Me and destiny got a predetermined date.

I’m not early or late.

It’s my season,

in the Fall of my life.

Aw shake it to the east,

Aw shake it to the west,

Aw shake it to the very one,

That you love the best.

I see pretty gifts falling like snow flakes

all wrapped up in sparkling, glistening paper dreams.

And long cozy nights, filled with sober, warm conversations.

Awakening to birds singing.

The sun beaming,

sending rays of wisdom.

that only winter can comprehend.

Yesterday’s Blues

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Don’t cry Sister, don’t cry
Life ain’t supposed to be easy
I know you ask, why
Don’t cry, not for long anyway
Why so much pain? Why so much sorrow?
Humph, Why not?

Sister, you got something inside of you
That you haven’t tapped into yet
That gifting will cost you some tears,
perseverance,
and sweat!

Don’t cry, don’t cry too long
Get up from there and sing life a pretty song
What kind of song you say?
A love song,
A song full of the blues you experienced yesterday

Sing a song that only sisters understand
Sing me a song Sister
Tell me about your pain
Share with me what you learned along the way
Make me laugh and cry and sing along
Sing me a song of the blues you experienced… yesterday

I’ll dance, and sing, and shout, and sway
sing me a song, Sister
of the blues you experienced yesterday

And remember my Sister,
That was yesterday…

Free Me!

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Free Me

Free Me !
When I was a little girl
my Momma would shampoo my long,
 thick, bushy, uncontrollable, hair.
shampoo, press and curl.
Ouch! Ouch!
Hush girl, I’m not hurting you!
‘Bout ten loosely braided locks fall from my thick mane.
As I sit in front of the heat vent waiting for it to tame.
Why my hair so bushy? I say to myself.
My head hurts SO bad!
Why Momma always making such a fuss over my head?
Come here girl let me comb yo hair out.
Ouch, Ouch!
If you put yo hand up here one mo time I’ll hit you with this brush
I heard Momma shout.
What is this madness all about?
Sizzle, Sizzle, sizzle went the pressing oil as the hot comb
cooked my hair to pristine silkiness.
It’s hot in here, my neck hurts, can I take a break?
I’m half way done, Please, just sit still for goodness sake!
Shampoo, comb,
comb, part and grease
that scalp.
Got to rescue this girl from the cursed African nap.
When all her work was thru, she’d say “Now don’t tell no one what I done”
Don’t you dare.
If they say, do you get your hair pressed?
Say no I don’t, cause I got good hair !
if this hair so good why do I feel so bad?
I know what I’m gonna do when I get old enough
I ain’t gonna shampoo press or curl.
I’m tired of all this deceitful stuff !
I’m gonna set my hair free
When I grow up,
I’m gonna just
be me!

Obsolete

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Obsolete

Old
obsolete

Out dated, not useful, without full potential
espadrilles, bell bottoms, the diaphragm

temporary rinse, dentures, my ibookG3
old, no new updates, unable to stream

frustrated, cranky,
ready to scream!!!

who says?
some young insensitive chick

she ain’t got no style
I ain’t dead yet

I’ll hang around for a while
old ain’t nothing but a word

underneath, thee, thou, aeroplane,
electro-engineer, Negro, Chicano,

Afro, beehive, jive turkey
I’m hip

I will not die
I will not quit

I know some things now
how to live
dance
stand
and not fall

Old?

Keep living!