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The Biltmore Estate

4/29/2023

Dear Friends,
One of the last places I visited in Asheville was the Biltmore Estate. Oh my, she sure is purty. My next thought, how am I not a Vanderbilt living in this fine home? How?

Listen, I have no shame in saying I would love to be accustomed to living in the lifestyle a grand estate like this demands, but in modern times. Taking the best from the past, and leaving the ugly behind.

This manor of living is an artist's dream. As I strolled through a lady played a hammered dulcimer. It was both soothing and powerful.

There's a music room, a library that rivals Beauty and the Beast. Books, books, so many books and not enough time even for a lady of leisure. The gardens in and of themselves are the piece di resistance.

Art is every where. Sculptures, paintings, (two Monet's hang there), tapestries, prints of masterpieces, which how prints were made back then was an art form on it's own.

Then there's the tapestry room. Here's an excerpt from the Biltmore.com. Please go look at this link to see the tapestries.

"The tapestry gallery is the longest room in the Biltmore house, it was designed to showcase part of a set of tapestries known as The Seven Virtues. Hanging in the room is The triumph of faith, (and two others I can't remember the names) and while there were sets made of these it's believed not many survived, and Faith is the only one left in existence.

Dang. Can you imagine enjoying your morning coffee studying the tapestries, "woven from wool and silk in Flanders (now part of Belgium) between 1525-1535"? The only one left in the world? I can. If these don't inspire to share and create beauty I don't know what would.

The humble abode also had a gym which would still be a decent home gym in present-day. There was an indoor pool, a bowling alley with two lanes. The billiards room with two tables which were masterpieces in their own right made by Brunswick Billiards.

There were sitting rooms where people gathered, usually before a meal to get to know one another or catch up with an old friend. The main dining room is spectacular. The one particular statement which struck me was, according to the tour dinner was the main event. "Conversation was entertainment."

Conversation was entertainment.

Yes!

Imagine conversations held here. There would be plenty to talk about. What did you do today? Did you stroll in the gardens? Did you ride on a horse? Did you hunt? Did you play a little eight ball? Did you know the Prince of Hootchykoo is notorious cheater.

I believe, conversation as entertainment is a profound statement. I would also add it's connection. If the chat is give and take, both parties listening as well as speaking, well, I consider that priceless. It's also a huge portion of a beautiful and meaningful life. Discussions, tete-a-tetes, heart to hearts, gabfests are an art form. Listening, really listening without thinking what you will say next, but actually hearing the person, that's like the tapestry Faith, a one of a kind gift.

Besides everything I've mentioned is part of why I belong there. It's graceful and slow living. A place where dawdling is encouraged. Where you can linger and digest everything. The gardens are meant for stopping to smell the roses, sketching, daydreaming and a perfect spot for a morning constitutional.

Of course the carefree life needs balance. I know this intellectually, but when I'm in the midst of something wonderful, special, GOOD, I never want it to end. I suppose it's a mechanism to block the ugly of the world.

Time, leisure I believe are types of attributes which equates to privilege. Since I do not live at the Biltmore mansion, or any other mansion, castle or fairy tale cottage I do have a bit more time these days. I can make the most of it.

Click me

Me, I get lost in the daydream. It's both wonderful and hurtful, because when I snap out of it, there I am. Well, that sounds depressing and melodramatic, doesn't it? I do have a very good life and I'm truly grateful. What I mean is how can I incorporate more art, culture and beauty in my world. I'm going to list some actionable items I can do because I'm a fixer.

On a side note, I realize not every wants things to be fixed. This realization took me a long time to really understand. There are people who want to talk and vent, I'm included once in awhile, where they just want to be heard, not fixed. I suppose this is a good starting place for me in how to listen in a more refined manner. I must admit I'm better at this than I used to be. I do need to know however what your preference is, listening or listening with advice.

Here's some things I think would help in the quest for slow, gracious living.

Surround myself with art of all forms. While I don't own a private collection, I can go to galleries, museums, art shows and create art.
Strolling. Getting outside as much as possible. My city has a lot of amazing gardens. There are also garden tours. I do have friends with green thumbs. The most challenging idea, start in my own yard. I do not have a green thumb or a gardeners soul, so I'm going to have to start small. This is no easy feat because I'm a big picture thinker, not detail oriented. I suppose that's what a challenge means.
Gather with friends, for meals or walks for meaningful conversations, or silly talks. I don't do this enough. Talking with strangers, well that's my strength, but I think a group of friends relishing in the same activity would be remarkable. I need experience in this area so perhaps a garden party or two or three.

If you have any suggestions on how to live like a queen for dummies, I'd love to know them.

Warmest Regards,
Kelly "Vanderbilt" Whitten

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Drum Circle

4/22/2023

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Photo by "My Life Through A Lens" on Unsplash

Dear Friends,
I'm still in Asheville.

Every "things to do in Asheville" recommends the drum circle on Friday night at Pritchard park. It's usually in the top three things to do. Plus, people who've visited or live there will tell you. "You must go!".

They are not wrong.

I arrived downtown a bit early so I went to another must see place. The Woolworth Walk. They have the original soda fountain inside. The rest of the place is art. There are two floors of different artists. It's amazing. I'm so grateful there are artists in the world. They bring color, beauty, and drama.

Now, it's time to head back to the park. It's a bit early, 5:30 and the drumming doesn't start till 6. Except today they kind of started early. Well, the few that were there. The drummers grew as time went by

This is the finest people watching place around. I mean that in the very best way.

The drum circle is like a tea kettle. It starts out tepid. In this case tepid is kinda amazing. The drumming begins. There's a few people gathered. They are swaying a bit, bopping their heads, a bit. One person starts dancing. I'm guessing she is there all the time. She knows everyone.

More drummers arrive, the swaying is putting out more energy, more dancing, everyone is bopping their heads. The tea kettle is warming up.

More people join the dance floor, children, a couple of girls with hula hoops who were pretty good. There was a contortionist who introduced herself with a head stand. A couple of guys twirled unlit fire batons. Cue the dude on stilts ribbon dancing. Good Golly, Miss Molly we now have a full blown spectacle.

Man, I love me a spectacle.

There are a lot of drummers in attendance now. The tea kettle is bubbling getting ready to boil. I'm playing my legs, bopping my head and really feeling the drums when a lady in the drum circle brings me a drum.

I teared up. Why? All my life when something special like this happens I tear up. I'm kind of nervous to tell you why, but I'm gonna anyway. It finally dawned on me it's because I'm being seen. Really seen. Whoever, whatever the situation it's when I'm being me. Just me and nothing else, and somebody sees me.

It's powerful.

I tend to see the not enoughness in myself. You see there's a lot of things I'm not good at.

I don't have a good singing voice.
I don't have great fashion sense.
I don't have a good sense of direction.
I can't read music.

I do have rhythm.

The people watching stopped while I drummed for two hours. It's one of those times when you just are. I know it sounds a bit woo woo. Perhaps it's what meditation is. I don't know.

The tea kettle whistled announcing it was at a rolling boil. I snapped out of the trance and looked around. This place was packed. Everyone danced in their own way. This experience is special. I notice a couple dancing next to me. They are in the moment, and guess what? I'm making music for them. They are feeling the beats. My only hope is they name their baby Kelly. ;)

With warmest regards and rum pum pum pum,

Kelly

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Good Morning from Asheville

4/20/2023

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Dear friends,
Good morning from Asheville, N.C. This is my view from the deck. It's glorious. I woke up, opened the door to look at my surrounding and was treated with the sight of at least 20 deer playing. Now, that's fine how do you do, isn't it? What a sight and I haven't even had a cup of coffee yet. I feel this is a sign of how magical the day, no, the trip will be.

Boy, I needed this. Spring has not completely sprung back home, but she's in her glory here.

I already want to move here. What a life it would be. Here's how my day would go.

Wake up, oh I would live at this VRBO I'm at. I promise to tell you all about that before I leave with a link to it.

Back to my glorious fantasy.

Wake up
Grab coffee and head to the deck. Greet the deer, and birds, perhaps bear. Yes, they're here too. Then close my eyes for a second and give thanks.
What do I write about today? It doesn't matter something will come up because this seat I'm in is made for writers. Yes, there is a chandelier above me, and I'm surrounded by buddhas and tall green trees. It's lush. Oh, and the flowering bushes, and fairy lights. I KNOW there are fairies with me now.
Finish writing something brilliant. Here's today entry.

Dear world. I know it's late in my life, but I"m finally getting to see much of the glorious country I live in.

I've seen the amber waves of grain, they're near me. If you ever want to go on a little road trip I'd be happy to show you. I've been in the presence of the mighty Gulf, Atlantic, and Pacific Ocean white with foam. Purple mountains majesty, check. Magnificent mountains and all that goes with them. Now about those fruited plains, hmmm, I've seen the orange groves of Florida, not to mention mango trees, avocado, key lime to make the best Key lime pie that is. In Washington, I've seen apple orchards, and all the other fruit trees. I wonder if Irving Berlin meant those? How lucky am I? I need to remind myself more often. It's easy to forget. Isn't it?

I think I just heard a turkey gobbling. I'm no stranger to turkeys, and I don't mean Thanksgiving.

I think that's it for now. I'm off to explore the town today with an old friend I'm meeting for the first time. Isn't that wonderful?

Now back to my itinerary if I lived here.

After writing the morning letter. I would get dressed and head to market. I'll pick up fresh produce. I mean the things I can't grow in my fertile garden that is. Mr. Lincoln will greet me and show me pictures of his newest grandson, and fill me in on his wife's bursitis.
Next, well I don't know yet. Give me a few more days here and I will perfect the daily list.

That's all for now. I'm going to explore and make friends with Asheville. I truly hope you all have as great of a day as I know I'm going to have.

Warmest regards,

Kelly

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Restoring faith in humanity

4/15/2023

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Dear Friends,

The above picture has nothing to do with this letter. But, C'mon it's a poodle driving a station wagon on a ferry.

A Few days ago there was an incident. I won't get into it, because every day there is a shooting, or something awful. This time it was a couple of miles away. I'm swearing off the news for awhile. But if you want to read what happened, here it is. Link

Thankfully, no-one was killed.

Seeing the house in the aftermath was jarring. I needed to shake this feeling. All this daily violence is getting to me. I headed to the Japanese Gardens. I felt some zen and mindful breathing were called for. But my spirit needed loud, laughing life so, I went to the regular park.

The sun was out holding court for all her worshippers. It's been a long, long winter. Yes, I know I say that every year, but it's true this year. You know the saying a broken clock is right twice a day. Ha! Besides, many people muttered the same thing today.

A park bench by the pond next to a willow tree, who by the way was not weeping called me over. Oh yes, this will do just fine. The vitamin D was abundant and so was the people watching.

There were hellos and tootles, dogs, dogs, dogs, oh and all the doodles. There were couples old, young, in love, and friends enjoying the day. It's kind of like a Suess-ical. Oh the girls and the boys and the toys, toys, toys. Thank you to my weird brain. This is just what I needed.

Across the pond is a statue called Love Birds. It's two swans making the heart shape with their necks. It's lovely. Many people paid homage to the symbol of love.

A couple with a beautiful husky had the dog pose inside the neck. It was sweet. Couples had their picture taken by it, and kids climbed all over it. I sure felt the love.

Many people walked by with their dogs. If I had a dollar for every time I heard the someone say, " You don't have to sniff everything." well, you know, I'd have lunch money. I'm not kidding when I tell you there were every kind of doodles there. So many. Dogs who of course looked like their owners. Dogs, who were the complete opposite of their owners. Dogs with better clothes than me. Do you remember the scene in the original 101 Dalmations where the dog looked out the window at the parade of dogs and their owners? That's what this felt like. I was brought back to my childhood.

Across the pond I see a little girl in a tutu, ball cap slinging a big stick. She was bad ass. Then she started twirling. Nobody told her to stop or she'll poke her eye out. Bravo world, let her be wild.

Another group of kids leaned over the pond seeing their reflections. You could tell they were captivated by the fact they were looking at themselves without a mirror. It was beautiful.

Another child started hopping instead of walking. Somehow, it threw me back to when I would spend hours on a pogo stick seeing how many jumps I could do before having to stop or fall. I was pretty good. I could even do it with no hands.

The regulation patio served as a pogo facility, roller rink, jack playing court, jump rope, chalk drawing, or just sitting watching the world go by. That 6 x 14 slab of concrete was pretty amazing.

I snapped out of it as one of the walkers said, "Beautiful day, it's been a long winter." Ha...I swear he said it then limped off with his cane. Everyone was out. Limpers, people with walkers, crutches, strollers, hacky-sack players, and I'm not kidding, a dude who looked like Bernie Madoff walking his dog named Max stopped to sniff me and say hello. The dog sniffed, Bernie said hello. As I'm watching Bernie walk off another woman walking her 14 year old dog, a lab mixed with corgi? I don't know it was a yellow lab on Corgi legs. Her name was Miss Daisy and her mama told me all about her. As she left she scolded Miss Daisy, "You don't have to sniff everything."

Cha Ching....

My faith in humanity has been saved.

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The Epps

4/3/2023

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Photo by frame harirak on Unsplash

Dear Friends,

I'd like to tell you about Henry "Pete" Epps and his wife Stella. They are grandparents to a family who is very dear to me. Unlike Ancestry dot com, my genealogy work is more, how do I say, uncorroborated. I'm more like Ancestry-dot-con.

Look, my tales of people have a pinch of facts, a heaping helping of fiction, and a whole lotta magic. That being said, I kinda hit the nail on the head more times than not. It's true, sometimes I have a knowing.

Back to the Epps. They lived in a mill village in Gastonia, North Carolina in the roaring twenties. Except for them the roaring wasn't dance halls, cocktails and excitement. Their roar came from hard times, chaos, and turmoil.

During this time Bootleggers, mountain people and farmers of this region were forced from their lives and rerouted to Gastonia to work the cotton mill. It was not a good time. No matter which mill you worked at it there were long hours, high productivity demands, and low wages. But folks needed the money.

The window up top, that's the Epps house. When they moved in it was a fake sunshine color, provided by the mill. A two room box if you will. This was the mills attempt at making them think it was a good life.

Both Stella and Pete worked at the mill. Long, long hours for a pittance. There was no labor union, yet. Behind the scenes there was talk and organizing. It was only a matter of time before the workers collectively snap.

"Home is a refuge from the world, a place where we can be ourselves." -unknown

Everything outside their house was unstable and daunting. Inside, was different. Every night after work, Stella would do something to make the house special. Every night bone tired she was doing something.

After dinner, she would sew curtains, keep house, bake if they had the ingredients, and decorate with whatever she could. While she would sew Pete would whittle, or play the harmonica. This time of day was their respite from the drain, drudgery, and everything that comes along with a life of poverty. She took pride in home making. The good Lord blessed her because of it.

Family and close friends would fight, drink to oblivion, sometimes death to escape the life of destitution, and really just the all around ugliness that comes with a life like that.

If you allow it.

Yet, Pete and Stella were the glue. Now mind you they would partake in spirits from time to time, and Stella was even known to sneak snuff the powdery kind that is.

Then....

April 1, 1929, the first ever strike at the Loray Mill headed up by Ella May Wiggens occured. Now, Pete and Stella worked at the Osceola Mill, but of course this was a news maker and would have consequences for them too

Photo by frame harirak on Unsplash

Not long after that strike, Pete and Stella were standing in the rain at Ella May Wiggins funeral. They did not know her personally, but she was their people. They were there to show respect.

She was killed, shot in the chest while pregnant. Assassinated by the mill thugs. It was payment for her and others leading an uprising. The mill retaliated by kicking folks out of their homes. They did everything in their power to make life hell, more hell if that's possible than it already was.

At the funeral, their was a young worker who broke out in song. It was one of Ella May's songs. Not only was she a unionizer, but a balladeer.

"We leave our home in the morning
We kiss our children goodbye,
While we slave for the bosses,
Our children scream and cry.
And when we draw our money.
Our grocery bills to pay,
Not a cent for clothing,
Not a cent to lay away...

Now listen to me, workers,
Both women and men,
We are sure to win our union,
if all would enter in.
I hope this will be a warning,
I hope you understand,
And help us win our victory,
And lend us a hand.

It is for our little children,
That seem to us so dear,
But for us nor them, dear workers,
The bosses do not care.

But understand, all workers,
our union they do fear,
Let's stand together workers,
And have a union here.

Photo by Jens Peter Olesen on Unsplash

Pete and Stella walked hand in hand in silence after the funeral. As strong as they were, have been, it was starting to chink, no chunk, away at their faith. They walked slower than usual home, even as it poured cats and dogs. Somehow, the rain was comforting, perhaps cleansing.

As they approached their home, Stella noticed the yellow of their house had deepened. There was a warmth about it. Pete didn't notice, but he felt it. They stood outside before heading in.

Pete took a deep breath then stood a bit taller. He was home.

Stella stared at her curtain, the one she spent days agonizing over the design. And the painstaking work that came with it. Yes, it was worth it. Her faith deepened just like the yellow of their home. This too shall pass, as life is wont to do. It did.

Wages were better, children were raised and as always the Epps navigated the ups and downs in their home.

"The ties that bind the wealthy and the proud to home may be forged on Earth, but those which link the poor man to his humble hearth are of truer metal and bear the stamp of heaven." -Charles Dickens

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The Biltmore Estate

Drum Circle

Good Morning from Asheville

Restoring faith in humanity

The Epps

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