Orchids are delicately exquisite flowers that command attention. The Biltmore House in Asheville, North Carolina, has a collection of orchids that rivals any in the world. I didn’t capture all of them, but they captured all of my attention. Anyone who knows me well knows that is not an easy task.
On a cool evening back in March 2015, I captured three beautiful images of the same sunset. I love the views from my new apartment in town, but I miss the sunsets from the home I shared with my son and his family. Every evening was a breathtaking performance, and every day was a sweet adventure with my little granddaughters. I’m only two miles away now and see the girls often, but I treasure the moments we shared on the mountaintop.
There is nothing more peaceful than a river. The rushing water drowns out the noisy world and fills my heart to overflowing. I first face downstream so the river can carry away any clinging negative energy. When I feel sweet emptiness, I turn and face the flow. The filling I receive is better than any drug or food this world has to offer.
The Nantahala River runs near my home in Bryson City, North Carolina. It is filled with adventurous kayakers, squealing rafters, relaxed tubers, or folks just looking for a peaceful spot to sit by the shore.
My home church has a ministry called The River of Life that offers music, praise, and worship by the water. They raise money to help build wells in Haiti, so it’s the perfect setting for worship. My favorite part of the service is taking time to sit by the river and reflect on the message and how we can carry it out into the world. When we connect to the Source of all Love, we cannot help but pass it along to all those who share the path ♥️
Topsail Island, North Carolina is famous for its amazing sunrises. There is something majestic about the sun rising over the ocean. Like a pampered queen, she takes her time appearing before her adoring audience. She never wears the same gown twice, so those in attendance are never bored.
I marvel at how anyone cannot be stunned into silence by such a show; but then I remember how much beauty I miss each and every day as I scurry about in a mad dash to get somewhere or do something. The journey is so much better when I slow down and take in all the wonders in my path.
Clouds have fascinated me for as long as I can remember. As a daydreamer, I often look up at the sky and imagine all sorts of creatures and objects forming in them. I especially love to watch sunsets. I’m not sure what images you will see in the view from my little porch, but I’m sure they will not be the same as the ones I see. I love that about clouds, and I love that about people.
We see ourselves and others in various ways depending upon the circumstances in our lives and in theirs. Like clouds, people can be stormy, calm, or playful. Love allows us to see others in all phases of their lives and love them all the more 💜
I see faces, angels, hearts, clouds, eagles, and even a little wolf in the images below. They are all the same view from my porch in the evening, but all are very different. I hope you will take a moment out of your busy day and let clouds carry your imagination away. It really is good for the soul 🦋
My first real job was selling tickets at a brand new movie theater in a mall near my home. I was sixteen and felt like an adult for the first time in my life. I took my job seriously and was determined to do it well.
The Terrace was the perfect place to work. I not only got paid to sit and sell tickets, I also got two free passes to all the theaters in town. I could see every new movie as many times as I wanted. I saw True Grit sixteen times!
As if that weren’t enough to satisfy this new independent woman’s heart, I could also have all the popcorn and soda my skinny little body could consume. That was far more than you might imagine. I think they might have lost money with that perk!
I loved my job, and I did it well. Counting money was no problem for me, and giving change was second nature. I had it made and could not believe such good fortune had befallen me. My disillusioned dream state was disrupted one evening as I headed upstairs to tally the totals for the night.
My boss was not a nice man, so everyone steered clear of him whenever possible. He had an ugly mole on his face and combed his gray hair over his balding head. He told inappropriate jokes and had a tendency to leer at the girls. I ignored him and did my job, but I could not ignore him when it was time to count money.
I usually followed him upstairs after the last movie began, but on this particular evening, he insisted on my going up first. I was taught that ladies should always go first, so I thought perhaps my boss had a change of heart and was just being polite until his grubby hand made its way up my dress and rested on my behind.
I spun around and told my boss that if he ever touched me again, I would tell my daddy. I also described what my father’s reaction would be. My speech was fervent and filled with vivid imagery. Since my boss did not want his teeth or other essential appendages to end up on the floor, he began apologizing with a tone and manner I had never seen in him before.
He walked upstairs ahead of me after that, and I gained a sweet sense of empowerment. Like a predator who had mistaken a young rattlesnake for a timid milk snake, my boss quickly dropped his prey and never made the same mistake again.
I’ve often wondered if I should have told my parents about my dirty old boss. I think daddy would have been proud of the way I handled the situation. He would not, however, be proud of the way I handled other predators who made their way into my path.
It’s funny how I had more courage at sixteen than I had in my twenties and fifties. If I had always taken the same approach as that empowered young teen, my journey would have been much different. The attention #MeToo is getting caused me to pause and think about the importance of seeing predators for what they are and standing up to them as my sixteen-year-old self did.
God has been trying to get me to see the light, and someone else having the courage to turn on their own light helped me to do just that. It’s not easy to shine a light on predators who are in positions that make preying easy for them. Bosses, mentors, teachers, coaches, ministers, family members, and trusted friends cross lines and make standing up to them difficult or impossible. I admire those who stand up even when their predators have the power, money, and influence to destroy them.
Katherine Kendall was Harvey Weinstein’s first victim to be heard, not the first to speak out. She says she was 23 when he convinced her to come to his apartment. He has allegedly been behaving in a predatory fashion for decades. It breaks my heart that so many were possibly hurt by him, knowing that no amount of money or vengeance will ever bring back the person his victims were before encountering him. One is never the same after an encounter with a predator. The body may survive the encounter, but the spirit and heart are rarely repaired.
Evil’s greatest power is its ability to pass itself off as good, and no one is better at doing that than a predator. Weinstein has won numerous awards, has been hailed as a genius, and has been courted by politicians and other powerful players. He is getting a taste of how powerlessness affects the human soul. If he is guilty, I pray he finds the opportunity to reflect upon how many people he put in that same position. It’s not for me to judge Weinstein or any of the predators in my path. That is reserved for God. I can, however, stand up with confidence to those who see me as less than God created me to be and tell them they will have to deal with my Daddy if they mess with me.
I was happily singing “The Orchestra Song” in fourth grade music class, when my music teacher sarcastically snipped, “You are not a violin!” He laughed and instructed me to try singing the clarinet part quietly. The incident ranks very high on my list of most humiliating moments.
I learned the hard way that I couldn’t sing, and it took decades for me to unlearn that terrible lesson. I didn’t wait for someone to ask if I could sing, I volunteered the information every time I was in a singing situation to all those around me. It breaks my heart to hear someone say they can’t sing, dance, read, draw, or do any other activity that requires a particular skill. Doing begins with thinking, and a thoughtless remark can create the indelible tattoo “I can’t” on the heart of its recipient.
I’ve often wondered if my teacher realized the damage he did to my heart with his hateful remark. I’m not sure a comforting voice away from the class would have resulted in a different outcome, but it certainly would have been less humiliating than having to look at my peers while they enjoyed a good joke at my expense.
Fifty years later, during Holy Week of 2009, a very different teacher planted a singing seed in my heart. When I retired from teaching in 2007, I took on the job of Secretary/Treasurer at the church I was attending. My pastor, a former choral director, was in charge of music for the community Holy Week services and needed someone to accompany him. Those who had been helping him were not available, and he needed help.
When he asked me to sing, I thought he must be kidding. He knew how I felt about singing, so why would he ask me to sing in front of a group of people. I knew him well enough to know that he would never joke about something he knew was painful for me. He has a wonderful sense of humor, but I could tell by his countenance that he wasn’t kidding. The crowd was a loving group, so I decided to give it a shot.
As we practiced, John told me I had a beautiful voice. Again, I looked at him as if he had lost him mind; but he still had that serious look that let me know he wasn’t kidding. I lost myself in the songs and even sang a few verses alone. My heart was as light as it had ever been. When we got back to the church office, I asked him about ways to improve my voice. He gave me some pointers and explained that singing was mostly letting go and breathing. The rest could be learned in voice lessons. He said my voice fell naturally in the soprano range.
I floated out to the car that afternoon. I was a violin! There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a clarinet; my mama had a beautiful alto voice which I tried to copy without success. In fourth grade, I was singing what felt right to me, and it turns out, I was right. My choir director and voice teacher both agree with John’s assessment. I am definitely a soprano.
When I decided to write this post, I looked up “The Orchestra Song” on youtube. My music teacher changed the words to the song. In his hateful version of the song, “the clarinet, the clarinet; he doesn’t know it but he learn it yet.” I remember that line vividly and decided, after trying to be a clarinet, that I was never going to get it.
Method and manner are very important when it comes to learning. My music teacher was a horrible example of what not to do. I thank God for placing another teacher in my path; the seed he planted eight years ago is finally beginning to bloom.
I decided to take voice lessons last month, and my teacher is amazing. I approached her after my grand daughters’ recital back in June and asked if she would be willing to teach me. She said she would love to. During the first lesson, she told me that she envied my range, but my natural singing voice was a soprano. While practicing my “mee, mee, mees” during one lesson, she beamed and said, “Wow! What a wonderful meee!”
I laughed and replied, “I’ve been working on that me for fifty-five years!!”