I dipped my nose in Hydrangea

I dipped my nose in the hydrangea breathing in its sweet colors.  I could have gotten lost there in the petals.

I was walking in the gardens of Ashland, Henry Clays home in Lexington, KY.  It is a beauty of a home. There is an openness and intelligence that resonates in the walls and the floor to ceiling windows.

I was already fangirling over a man that had been dead over 200 years.  The time and his life came alive with every story that the guide told… “and then he challenged him to a a duel…and can you believe the girls on my last tour did not know what a duel was?”  I sighed, of course I believed it.  A duel was so much more civilized then arguing over email or fake news.

I stopped and read a speech he gave after he was insulted by some Indiana Quakers.  “No,  sir!….I do not …”  good for you, I thought, utterly rude of them. Sounds like something I wrote once.

There is an energy and excitement about his words, vision for a nation, a passion for our country and government, rivals between himself and other founding fathers, such exciting men.  Movers and makers.

Thinkers and doers…not sedated by social media, and technology.

This period of time where you began your career at 14, books kept the mind awake, and life was lived fully.  Even with its hardships, there was an industry of mind and spirit, a civility or hear, that I simply don’t see as much today.

 

Sure…that’s a generalization, but to listen to the stories, ahhhh…the story of this mans life, and the women too, made me f eel connected.  His vision and idealism, still lingers and walks the grounds of Ashland, I am fortunate to take that same inspiration home with me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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