The Orchid Journal

This Wednesday, my thoughts do not feel "weighty" unless you count the "weighed down/miserable" type of weighty and not the "deep, thought provoking" weighty I normally mean. Right now I am sitting in my local library using their internet to squeeze in this Wednesday blog entry before the library closes in ten minutes. All week I have been helping my cousin move out and the furnace broke I have been talking to another cousin in California over the phone trying to fix it vicariously through my mechanically ignorant self. With my cousin moving out, there went our internet, and since I am moving out at the end of this month, I'm trying to utilize the nearby library and coffee shops' internet. So, please forgive the fact that these posts will come at odd hours of the day and will probably be scatter-brained for the next month. To be honest, I am SO TIRED! Moving wears on me more than anything I can think of, mostly because it terrorized my ...

The St. Louis Union Station is a fascinating structure with its vaulted metal roof slats covering a man-made pond where trains used to idle, its wanna-be mall portion, grand hotel-venue space and intermittent historical displays throughout the building. The building itself is worth seeing as there are original tiles, mosaics, and stained glass windows even in "mundane" places such as the restrooms! The main entrance is beautiful and often used as a venue space. I don't have any photos of the outside of the building or the dramatic fountain in front, but they make for a stunning spectacle. There is an archway in the entrance of the building which, upon my first visit to Union Station as a teenager, my dad demonstrated that a person can whisper to a friend on the other side of the room by facing the wall of the arch. My one major critique of Union Station is that the mall portion of Union Station is sadly lacking in interesting stores. There is a food cour...

(photo of a card I made in 2009) Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. Proverbs 13:12 There are so many "deferred longings" in my life, it's a miracle my heart hasn't stopped beating. HOPE: (v) to cherish a desire with anticipation The image of a "longing fulfilled" metaphorically described as a tree of life, brings to mind a seed, dead and buried in the ground bursting to the sky! A tiny seed bringing forth a massive, breathtakingly beautiful organism capable of producing oxygen for the earth, shade for people, home for the birds of the air and creatures like squirrels. Maybe this longing fulfilled will be for the benefit of the world and not only for the hopeful one. HOPE: to desire with expectation of obtainment; to expect with confidence Do you ever wonder what it would be like to Hope without reservation? To know and trust completely that your desire will be accomplished? Imagine having the ass...

(View from Catalina Mountains, Tucson, 2009) One of the churches I attended in Tucson a few years ago held an outing called "Mountain Solitude." For this excursion, we would meet early in the morning on a Sunday in the parking lot of the church (our services started at 5pm on Sundays, so it didn't conflict) and then drive up the Catalina Mountains together. I often wanted to escape the desert to see trees and water up the mountains, but I get scared driving on them, so it was a blessing to go in a group with someone else driving. The group usually consisted of only a few people. The purpose of this once a month trip was, once we arrived at a stop off place up the mountain, to spend alone time in prayer, journaling, or writing songs or poems. We would split up to walk around or find a spot to sit alone. Especially when living in a city, in a large family, and busy with school, work or the general daily life chaos, it is easy to let our moments be filled with nois...

(Paper "chandelier" in The Chapel St Louis, MO) I am 28 years old. I have moved 23 times in my life. No, my father was not in the military. In 2010 I was living in Tucson, AZ, armed with my BA degree and preparing to head to Spain to teach English, but the plans fell through. As I prayed, asking God for clarity as to what I should do next instead, he said, “Pick a place to live and make it your home.” Considering my background, this directive was huge! It felt freeing to know that God saw a deep desire of my heart, to have a home, to set down roots, and it was daunting because I had been to countless places, hadn't seen many more of them and didn't trust myself to make a good decision. As I was born in, and lived a more significant portion of my life in Missouri, I considered this my home more than anywhere else. However, I wasn't sure if it was the place I was going to choose until we drove over the bridge into the city while on a road trip with my ...

(Car show 2009, Tucson, AZ) When I was eight years old, I realized that I was alive. Completely unaware of any looming revelation, I was sitting in the backseat of my family's long, blue station wagon that we nicknamed, “The Boat” because of its immense size. My parents joked that driving that huge station wagon was like maneuvering a cruise ship. With the ceiling fabric sagging like the skin of an elderly woman and the cushioned blue seats, the inside of “The Boat” was reminiscent of my grandmother's lap, cozy, safe and warm. Throughout my childhood, I spent an incredible amount of time in the car as we took "drives" most weekends, visited relatives every summer, and moved over ten times before I was eighteen. Sitting in the car and looking out the window was where I imagined grand adventures of living alone in the woods along the highways, where I had profound epiphanies, and where I was surprised into stopping my 10 year habit of thumb sucking. That is ...

Powell Hall is the home of the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra. When I was a teenager, I played my cello in a youth orchestra on Powell Hall's stage. My Uncle Dick brought me to see Handel's Messiah being performed in the space. As a young adult, my cousin and my best friend had their wedding reception in the grand entrance of the Hall. If those weren't enough memorable experiences in one place, this weekend I was privileged to hear Wynton Marsalis in concert with the St. Louis Symphony ! My favorite aspect of the space, besides the towering ceilings, grand staircase, balcony levels, massive windows adorned by red curtains, are the chandeliers! The glimmer and sparkle! The cascading crystals! Okay, I'm done being schmaltzy . (Note: My camera was on the wrong setting all night, so all the photos are sadly grainy. I was trying to covertly take photos for this post without looking too much like a tourist, so they are off center too.) For the Marsalis co...

As a kid, I hijacked my parents' tapes, records, and CDs to listen to genres from classical to Blues, Latin and Jazz, Celtic to opera. My mom especially liked the classical and Celtic music while my dad enjoyed the rest. I credit my parents for my wide range of musical genre interest. They appreciated each other's music and their tastes met in the middle with opera and Wynton Marsalis. My mom had recordings of Marsalis playing Vivaldi and dad had his Jazz. This weekend, I had the unexpected pleasure of being invited to hear Wynton Marsalis play for the first time with the St. Louis Symphony! The "Red Velvet Ball" concert was held on Saturday October 20 and featured Wynton Marsalis' genius Swing Symphony. Throughout the concert I was struck by the seamless melding of the Jazz and classical worlds. Sometimes when Jazz music is transposed from the more typical Jazz ensemble pieces to accommodate an entire orchestra, the music sounds trite, like classically p...

Watching animals play in the wild or interacting with tame ones, is a source of great inspiration. I grew up with dogs and enjoyed making up games to play with them, like a dog-human version of hide and seek or tag. When I learned how to train and ride horses at the University of Arizona, I delighted in observing the beautiful creatures frolic together, and, learning how to interact playfully while riding them or in our down times during training sessions helped me bond with them faster. The ubiquitous squirrels, birds, lizards and rabbits scurry, climb and chase each other or dash through the air in undulating patterns. Even my Betta fish Vladimir is a source of play. I laugh when a piece of food lands on his face and he bemusedly shakes it away. This weekend, play with your pet or observe animals' play in nature. Be inspired:

The window of my dorm room at William Jewell College in Missouri where I attended my first year of college overlooked my favorite place on campus, which, oddly enough, was a historic graveyard on the top of a hill. I wandered through that graveyard, night or day, and often found a tree to sit under to do my homework. Walking through the grass or sitting quietly in that space was never a creepy experience for me. It was peaceful, since rarely anyone else would be there and the ancient gravestones and massive trees made for a mysterious vista. I read the inscriptions on the grave stones and thought about the people who had lived their lives so many years ago. I wondered if anyone remembered them now, or if they had lived their lives well. I walked amongst the graves imagining what kind of people were buried there and thought about the fact that they were like me at one time, living life uniquely, facing its joys and sorrows with death looming in their future. I wondered if they knew G...

(Tucson, AZ Reid Park rose garden, 2009) One day in 2008, I walked into the kitchen to find a note written in my parents' recognizable handwritings. Our family constantly leaves notes for one another, about where to find a house key, to make each other laugh, or to remember to do a chore. This note was different. Playing off the "roses are red" poem, my parents had written awkward verses questioning their love for one another. Imagine how, as their daughter, it felt to come upon that first thing in the morning! I was scared, heartbroken, but also inspired to challenge their assumptions and answer their questioning with my own play of words using that same poem. My poem is not necessarily better crafted, but when I gave it to my horticulturist father and then my mother, they understood the answer. The Gardener Roses are red Even when they're dead Albeit of a rustier hue. Roses are red unless they are Purple or yellow, orange or blue. Love is the rose...

The Sophia M. Sachs Butterfly House , located in Faust Park in Chesterfield, MO, is an offshoot of The Missouri Botanical Garden. Since moving to St. Louis in 2010, I have only visited twice, but the visits were momentous! The first time, I walked around with my friend Jenny for the December 2011 "Snow in the Tropics" display featuring 1000 Paper Kite Butterflies. My friend and I delighted in the large Paper Kites which landed on our sleeves, hands, all over the head of a white haired man wearing a red sweater, on the baby strollers, and on our brochures. The butterfly house is warm, filled with light, plants, flowers, water, and paths. Because of the design and how many marvels there are to see, the place feels larger than the actual square footage. The exciting aspect of visiting this magical place is that they change the "features" every month. My second visit to the Butterfly house was completely different than the first. Besides the fact that I we...

( The mini animals take the train. ) Probably the hardest part of a Monday morning is the process of dragging oneself to work after a weekend of fun or rest. Once at work, the doldrums may remain, but at least for me, prepping my mind for returning to work mode and facing another week of commuting is difficult. When my car died in September 2011 and I was not able to afford fixing it, let alone get another one, the commute became almost unbearable. Via car, even in rush hour traffic, it took me at most 25 minutes each way to and from work. Without a car all winter, I then took four bus rides and two train rides a day for a total of THREE HOURS a day of traveling just for work. Mondays were hellish at the thought of facing another week like that. Subsequently, I devised a myriad of coping mechanisms that you may find helpful whether taking a car or public transportation on Monday. ~ listen to a "book on tape" through your car or ipod ~ Pick someone out from the c...

(photo: My uncle's dog loves to play!) If you want to have a splendid life and stay young at heart, you need to implement one crucial aspect to your days: PLAY! This is not a ploy to "get in touch with your inner child." This is a fact, supported by research somewhere I'm sure, but for now, know that I am right and will be proved right by someone else's research. I'm a writer! You can't expect me to do all the work! Anyway, people usually assume children know the most about play and need to do the most playing. Adults need to leave playing behind them and move on to more important matters, right? If you want to life a miserly life and die of heart failure or depression, sure, go ahead. I'm convinced that we are made to play. All animals play and we humans have a myriad more "unnecessary actions" than any animal on earth that we employ just for our enjoyment. Play helps us stretch our imaginations, lowers stress, allows us to t...

As I stood contemplating the array of bagels behind the glass at Schnucks, a woman and her two year old girl wheeled up to stare at the donut and cookie display. Immediately the little girl pointed to the glass happily and said, "Cookie!" The woman asked sweetly, "Would you like one?" Of course the little girl nodded vigorously. The mom smiled and proceeded to point out and name each one until the girl agreed to the kind she wanted. During this whole exchange, I pretended to be engrossed in the bagel arrangement, but had one curious eye fixed on this happy pair. The girl was relaxed and not whining or demanding and the woman was calm and willing. Then mom pulled the cookie out of the display. Almost simultaneously, as the girl reached out expectantly for the cookie, the mom slid the treat into a store bag. Seeing her daughter's perplexed expression, the mom explained nicely, "Don't worry, dear, you can have this cookie, but I have to pay f...

(Photo by Laelia) When I was in fourth and fifth grade, we lived with my grandparents in their large house by a river on Long Island. I had many adventures there and I learned a lot, including how to spell the word, "subtle". My grandma Lili frequently had friends over for tea. One day I came upon Lili and a friend sipping tea from one of my grandma's many lovely tea sets. The two of them sat in the alcove of the spacious dining room facing the river. When I walked up, my Lili introduced me to her friend who immediately had a twinkle in her eye upon meeting me. The first thing I remember her saying is, "Now, dear, let's see how well you can spell. How do you spell the word 'subtle'?" Of course, as a fourth grader, I had hardly heard of the word, let alone used it or written it down. I didn't want to admit defeat or be seen as an ignorant youngster in front of this stranger, so I gave it my best shot, sure that I would be right. With as much...

For my first installment of "Tour of..." Tuesdays, I decided the Saint Louis Arch would be appropriate. The photos were taken during an excursion with my friend Ellen in Spring 2011 for a storytelling festival that was being held in the visitor's center below the Arch. Here is the arch in all its silvery glory: This trip was the first time I had visited the grounds since I was a young child. While the Arch is the first place tourists think to visit when exploring St. Louis, it is usually the last place native St. Louisans ever visit for fun on a weekend unless there is a concert on the grounds. It is a beautiful structure and as I drive around during the day, I love to see it in the distance, but rarely think to stroll the grounds. Visiting the Arch as an adult after years of absence was surprisingly fun. A view from under the Arch, looking West towards the city: A game of Ultimate Frisbee anyone? If you are unable to take stairs, it is not a good idea to acc...

Photo by Laelia When I started this blog, I employed it as a tool to entice myself in fulfilling a directive from my writing professors. As with most writers in existence, the mantra given to their eager students was always, "PRACTICE WRITING EVERY DAY!" Even three years after graduation, I have a hard time following that advice. I'm not sure why I'm surprised at this since my cello teachers gave me the same "Practice every day!" speech and I never followed that either. There is such a thing as having a life people! Sheesh. Sometimes I think that advice works only for people who focus on excelling in one area of their gifts. For someone like me who enjoys sewing, collage, painting, ceramics, three different types of dance, horseback riding, horse training, drawing, playing the cello and soprano recorder, singing, wood-burning, writing fiction, nonfiction, and songs, if I were to practice each of these things every day, I would have to no time to...

(Photo by Laelia Watt- Tucson Mountains at sunset) In my artwork, whether I'm painting, using collage, or taking photographs such as the one on this post, I often create images of sharp contrasts. Dark silhouettes of trees, people or plants displayed against a backdrop of a stunning sky are indicative of the darkness and beauty I see in life. When I write such posts as " Exceptional Lover " and " Call Me Ruth " exploring the rich gift of love, there is always a caveat in the back of my mind. Think of this caveat as the silhouette against love's more obvious joys. There are darker shades to a life of love. Besides my personal issues as a flawed human in often failing miserably to be patient or purely caring towards everyone around me, there is also the deep pain of loving people who throw your offerings sharply in your face or leave them to freeze in the palm of your hand. For two years I strove to befriend a man who I admired. I tried having frie...