Lunch with Maya
“Living well is an art that can be developed: a love of life and ability to take great pleasure from small offerings and assurance that the world owes you nothing and that every gift is exactly that, a gift. ”
― Maya Angelou, Wouldn't Take Nothing for My Journey Now
Many years ago I had the pleasure of meeting Maya Angelou at her home. I was photographing a book called A Room of Her Own; Women’s Personal Spaces and flew down to Winston-Salem for the day with the book’s writer.
Funny what you remember - it was a rainy morning and the small Winston-Salem airport lost a precious piece of luggage - my folding cart to carry my equipment and lighting cases. Not the worst thing they could lose, but that cart had seen me through so many trips, so many adventures, so many places. We were partners.
We arrived at Dr.. Angelou’s yellow home close to lunch time. When we were introduced the first thing I noticed was how incredibly tall and towering she was - not just a big presence but a seriously imposing one. She announced that she was preparing lunch for us. We stood around the kitchen as she sautéed mushrooms and onions in butter. I don’t remember the rest of the meal, but she took great pride in preparing it herself and the kitchen smelled wonderful. We sat down at the table and she said she would like to start the meal with a poem. From memory, she recited a poem from her friend Langston Hughes (a piece I have been unsuccessful in sourcing) about ladies in their finest hats on a Sunday in Harlem. Her rich and cadenced voice, her deep understanding of the poet’s words brought a presence to that poem that transported me. I felt as though I was living that poem as she spoke.
This was 1996. At that time she had gained recognition from her reading at President Clinton’s inauguration. Outside of that I had never heard a recording or seen video of her speaking - this was pre iphone pre instagram, pre everyone able to access everything. It had the magic of a first-time experience and my memory is vivid - how she sounded, how I felt, the rain making a slow path down the window.
As we enjoyed our meaI I was preoccupied with concealing the fact that I wasn’t very familiar with her writing. I was so afraid to misstep that I decided it was best to just keep quiet. It was very easy to just listen - she had wonderful stories, a great sense of humor, and that voice. When we finally got to the portrait time, I had to do my professional best to relax and get related. While setting up lights and camera, she asked about me, and I asked her about the artwork in the room. I shared a bit about my life in New York and she shared stories about the pieces that hung on the wall - mini histories of places and people, her memories and associations with each piece.
Later the sun came out, and we moved outside to a gazebo, where I took the portrait that was used in the book. Mid-frame she got a call from her friend Valerie Simpson from the then-famous songwriting duo Ashford and Simpson - they had just performed and she had seen them the night before, Valerie was checking in. That tipped me into star-struck territory - what a life she was living.
I remember nothing from the trip back except bristling a bit at the Winston-Salem airport staff who had failed to locate my cart. Petty I know, but hauling 150 pounds of equipment back through Newark with no assistant was not something I looked forward to. My back was sore, and the magic of the day was not enough to sustain me.
The cart got replaced. The book was published and well-received -- a couple of copies still live on my shelf. My back still gives me trouble from all the years of lifting and carrying, but I remind myself it’s also the lingering effect of an exciting period of my life.
The world owes us nothing, but we can at any moment access the gifts of our memories - places in our mind that we can turn to for a smile, a laugh, a smell, a touch, a feeling. I always have the smell of sautéed onions and mushrooms in butter, the richness of a voice, and my encounter with a life well- lived.
