Sitting in the driver’s seat of the guest shuttle, near the
fountain end of a long red brick paved, Royal palm tree lined driveway drawing
visitors to the entrance of the Breakers Hotel, I need no convincing that this
is a pretty special place.
In no direction would a visitor’s
eye meet with disappointment. Green thumbs operate
various gadgets and machinery with unequaled expertise maintaining golf
grasses, trees, flower beds pots and lined paths, regularly refreshing with
seasonal plantings. They are botanical magicians.
Along the back of the hotel is the Atlantic Ocean. As far as
the eye can see to the east, south and north, spellbound audiences are offered brilliant
performances every second of every day for years and years, and years more.
Stepping past smiling greeters, guests are welcomed inside
with an ever changing floral arrangement the size of a small car, comprised of
roses, orchids, plants, branches and ornaments complimenting seasons and
holidays.
Floors, ceilings, walls and furnishings reflect the opulence
of the hotel’s place in history. She boasts loomed carpets from the only weaver
in the world equipped to undertake and meet size requirements, an original
tapestry, ten foot tall hand painted and heavily carved wood doors leading to
ballrooms, and gold leaf and crystal chandeliers overhead. Attention is given to
the minutest details.
In her kitchens, chefs’ butchers’ and bakers’ perfect the
presentation of culinary masterpieces prepared for discriminating pampered
pallets, served to them by a synchronized wait staff.
This is the Breakers that guests take pictures of and tell
their friends about.
There is a Breakers that they don’t see, a Breakers that the
Breakers goes to great lengths to conceal from its guests, a Breakers that
would reveal what guests would rather not believe even exists.
The shiny surface masks what is under layers of camouflage.
Huge plastic bins on wheels mounded with laundry, loading docks of dusty
cardboard, wooden skids and crated shipments necessary for the implementing of unforgettable
stays. Industrial sized buckets of dirty mop water, caution signs that warn of
wet floors, and the sound of crashing glass into recycle containers releasing
their trapped odor from stale liquor bottles each time the lids are lifted. In
the underbelly, a trash dumpster’s brew ferments and pollutes the air.
The pretty outside hides the ugly within.
A tall man in a non-distinct dark suit passes in front of me
as I await guests desiring a ride. The day’s steady breeze blew the back
placket of his non-distinct dark suit revealing its vivid violet lining. I
watched the placket hoping for another glimpse of violet until the dark suited
man was out of sight. A few minutes later I spotted him again, this time from
the opposite direction. I could see his unbuttoned non-distinct dark suit coat
flap with his step and the breeze, to reveal an even larger expanse of that vibrant
violet lining. It was as if the non-distinct dark suit held a secret it could
no longer keep, purposely, gleefully letting it slip.
Sometimes it’s good to know what’s really inside, other
times it’s better not to.
I don’t want to be all clean and coiffed on the outside, immediately
attractive or impressive, but concealing what is ugly, stinking, rotten and
repulsive underneath. I don’t want to be non-distinct, like a thousand others,
or keep my inner potential for vibrancy hidden or suppressed, until or unless
life’s winds rustle me to action.
I want to be like my birthday purse.
I needed to retire the purse I’d been carrying and did look
for a replacement a time or two, but not very determinedly. When my birthday
came, my daughter decided she wanted me to have that new purse, so we set out
on the mission to find one. A couple caught my eye, but were not just right,
and as I was about to abort the mission, I spotted one. It was the only one
like it, and it was on sale. The first thing to attract me was the pink pierced
trim that resembled eyelet lace. It had charm and uniqueness, interest and
color. Upon further inspection, peeking inside, I was treated to a polk-a-dot
lining and pink piping. There were pockets and zippered compartments, and
sizing it up for the paraphernalia I would carry in it; I determined it to be a
keeper. It was perfect.
I do the best I can with my outside, keeping it clean and
presentable, for the most part. Continual maintenance is required and sometimes
additional attention is necessary. And though the inside is not visible with
eyes, still what’s in there leaks out, pours out, is squeezed out or freely
offered, so that the secrets within are revealed. As much as I want, and try,
to keep my inner dumpster emptied, it still fills up with what rots and putrefies.
As much as I try to be vibrant and orderly, sometimes I am as broken glass and
dirty mop water.
Everything that influences my eyes, ears and thoughts, matters.
If I fill up on trash, the rank odors will seep out, if I input what is good,
goodness flows back out. That which is inside either festers or flourishes.
I am obligated to seriously scrutinize what is allowed
entry. It is a lifelong responsibility, and I am accountable when I fail to take
out the trash.
I want to be encouraged
I want to be encouraged
and stay positive
that is the way
I prefer to live
but sometimes
awful gets the best of me
I'm bombarded
with negativity
thoughts can be poison
consumed in doubt
when garbage goes in
guess what comes out?!
daily circumstances
often improve
when effort is put
toward a good attitude
such as it is
I continue to try
to wisely handle
what goes inside
check my bad thoughts
at the door
and not let them in
anymore
P.J.
…whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things.
that is the way
I prefer to live
but sometimes
awful gets the best of me
I'm bombarded
with negativity
thoughts can be poison
consumed in doubt
when garbage goes in
guess what comes out?!
daily circumstances
often improve
when effort is put
toward a good attitude
such as it is
I continue to try
to wisely handle
what goes inside
check my bad thoughts
at the door
and not let them in
anymore
P.J.
…whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things.
Philippians 4:8
No comments:
Post a Comment