This page highlights excerpts of future blog postings, essays, and stories. With a litany of themes and topics that I wish to explore, I feel that a page devoted to the process of brainstorming and organization will inspire motivation towards completion and action.
The Blessing Jar:
A silver spoon dropped with a loud clang, sending droplets of the first course, gazpacho, onto the cream-colored tablecloth. The evening conversation around the dining table fell quietly as the attention drew to the head of the table. A sudden airflow blew in a chilly wind into the room from a forgotten window. Aromas from the kitchen wafted into the dining hall, mixing lightly among the calm company. The gust blew out the candles on the table’s candelabra. As seven seated guests bristled, the wait staff stood poised and ready to attend to the guests’ needs.
For over a century, the Lancet Manor’s inhabitants strived to stay current and up to date with the world’s technology and balance the old-world charm of the ancestral home. The breeze reminded the diners that the winter air was not far away. A few pulled their jackets closed while others shifted their shawls tighter around their shoulders. The home’s temperature was a comfortable 71 degrees, yet the breeze felt like an arctic blast- piercing and icy. The guest’s shiver caused by the wind enhanced the mysticism of the old manor house and its hostess.
The quiet, pensive butler returned from the kitchen prepared to bark orders to the staff when he noticed the candles were unlit. A sense of dread built in his bones as he assessed the table and the state of the lady of the house—the line of smoke dissipated from the candle’s wick. He reached for the lighter he carried in his pocket, not realizing that his mistress was in distress until the conversation started with a question.
“My dear, are you okay? You look as if you have seen a ghost.”, the lady, Deidra Kind, who sat to the hostess’s right wearing a blue hat adorned with a small, netted veil that covered her right eye, said, trying to sound jokingly and lighten the mood. Deidra reminded Violet of an old Hollywood starlet with perfectly coiffed hair and bobby pins to keep her hat and signature braids securely. The immaculate makeup covered her flawless features and framed a demure face that now showed desperate worry and concern.
She shifted her silver shawl to cover her shoulders. If Deidra had dinner elsewhere, laughter would reverberate through the lively conversation at the mention of ghosts. Yet, no one laughed; the look of concern for their friend and mentor filled the quaint company’s faces. “Violet? Do you need anything?” the woman attempted to fill the void.
Violet always sent a letter at least twice a year to all the guests to share her activities with proper greetings, not to mention queries about how she could encourage her mentorship. The Lancet Foundation was a charity that Violet began to aid mentees towards academic and professional goals.
This evening’s cozy occasion kicked off the manor’s holiday season, ending with the Lancet’s’ Donor Appreciation Gala. Over the last ten years, the seven guests contributed with scholarship fundraising, public artworks, and beautification projects throughout the village and their home communities. Every year that annual Lancet dinner allowed the special mentees she first worked with to celebrate and network new projects for the following year.
The gracious hostess held this memorable annual affair since she rose to the head of her family of Lancet Manor. Violet understood her responsibilities within her home, village, and the friends she met while in school. She cherished and found her purpose in helping others find their gifts as a necessary extension of the legacy work of her family.
Violet’s grandmother, Grace, remained the caretaker of the vineyard and winery where Lancet Manor rests. Grace’s great grandfather built the manor for his new bride and planted roots for the family more than a century ago. Her grandfather, Hank, took great care to hone an outstanding political career as mayor of the town for over 40 years, helping the sleepy village grow into the 20th century without losing the flavor and culture of their upbringing.
Grace, a savvy businesswoman, felt the importance that Violet learn and become as cultured as she could and not follow in her daughter, Flora’s footsteps. Flora was a dreamer and dream-walker. The dreams led her to many precarious situations and adventures that Grace intended to spare her granddaughter from heartbreak and harm. Grace and Hank teamed up and convinced Flora that Violet’s best opportunity for proper development would be away at school rather than hanging around the manor.
Flora begrudgingly sent Violet to boarding school. While away, Violet formed friendships she held as dear as family and always wanted to show her appreciation to her friends that someone cared for them as they helped and cared for her during her lonely times at school.
The unwavering support and tenderness of this unlikely grouping reminded everyone that giving up when things became unsettling or challenging was an unacceptable solution. The stone resolve kept them focused on their individual goals and developed a better approach to difficult circumstances.
Violet sat stoic, her gaze locked firmly on the large mirror mounted on the wall across from her near the opened window. The mirror reflected the dining hall with their curious eyes. The refined hostess, who has spent much time away from her friends, stared intently at the mirror.
The antique gilded frame gleamed magnificently in the candlelit hurricane lamp accented its vertical sides. The massive ornate carvings only remind any who peers into the polished glass that this vintage piece was ancient.
The ever-so-attentive butler dashed into the kitchen after quickly assessing the lady of the house’s demeanor. The butler knew enough about the women of this family that a specific look meant the party was over. He advised the chef to prepare for a quick exit of the guest with takeout parcels.
“What could she have seen? Perhaps, the dreams now haunt her waking state, but those pesky unconscious disturbances have not visited her in over four months.”, he intoned after the chef nodded with the swift change of plans.
“Excuse me, madam. I will bring you another bowl of soup and silverware.”, he quietly spoke while removing the now cold, spilled appetizer.
“No, do not concern yourself with this,” Violet spoke in a hushed tone. “I believe I must retire early.” her voice strengthened with each sentence as if she was preparing the troops for battle – perhaps, she was. “The glass no longer reflects the light, yet the pathway burns bright. Prepare the Arms. A broken blessing jar needs repair.” She placed her hand on the starched outstretched arm of the butler lightly.
He scanned her face; the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. He paused to compose the proper speech to the stunned guests and collect his thoughts. She stood suddenly, looked at each, bowed her head, and apologized.