The Sweetest Scoop in Town

Over coffee one Sunday morning, I read an article in Food and Wine magazine about America's favorite ice cream flavors and a brand called Halo Top that has become one of the country's best-selling ice creams. I'll confess—I had never heard of it.

That discovery sent me down a rabbit hole. While Halo Top has gained a devoted following, I learned that most of us still hold a special affection for our regional favorites. And that got me thinking about my own ice cream memories.

Growing up in North Carolina, Mayberry Ice Cream was always a favorite. During my college days at UNCG, Yum Yum Better Ice Cream was hard to beat, especially since it sat conveniently next door. 

But these days, when my grandchildren come to visit, there is one destination that immediately rises to the top of the list: Ozzie's Ice Cream in Greensboro. 

Ice Cream Is More Than a Flavor

Every Scoop Comes With a Story
Ask ten people about their favorite ice cream and you'll likely hear ten different stories. The flavor matters, but the memories matter more. Ice cream has a remarkable way of transporting us back to summer vacations, first dates, family outings, and childhood celebrations.

Local Favorites Create Community
National brands may fill grocery store freezers, but neighborhood ice cream shops still hold a special place in our hearts. At Ozzie's, you don't simply buy a cone. You bump into friends, meet neighbors, and watch local high school students serve portions generous enough to make you wonder if they misunderstood the assignment.

The Experience Is Often Better Than the Dessert
One of my favorite memories isn't the ice cream itself. It's sitting outside playing checkers with my grandson while trying to keep a melting cone from dripping onto the board. Those simple moments are often the sweetest part of the experience.

My Respectful Disagreement With America
According to the article, strawberry remains one of America's favorite flavors. I respectfully disagree.  For me, it's Mint Chocolate Chip,  not in a cup, not in a bowl, in a waffle cone.

The Real Secret Ingredient
As much as we debate flavors, toppings, and brands, I suspect the best ice cream has very little to do with what's in the freezer. It's who we're sharing it with. The laughter of grandchildren. The familiar faces of friends. The chance encounter with a neighbor. The simple joy of slowing down long enough to savor a summer afternoon. Halo Top may be winning national headlines. Strawberry may be winning national polls.

But on a warm Carolina evening, sitting outside Ozzie's with my grandchildren, a checkerboard between us, and a generous scoop of Mint Chocolate Chip in a waffle cone, I think I've already found my favorite flavor.

It's called community.

Why We Marvel

Recently, Cynthia and I took our three grandchildren on a trip out West. What I didn't expect was how often I would find myself standing in complete amazement. Over a few short days, we experienced two incredible examples of human creativity and three of nature's greatest masterpieces. By the end of the trip, I found myself asking a simple question: 
Why do we marvel so deeply at both?

Our first evening was spent at Cirque du Soleil's O at the Bellagio. Divers disappeared into deep pools, performers soared through the air, and somehow a stage transformed from water to dry land in the blink of an eye. The next night, we experienced The Wizard of Oz at the Sphere, where technology immersed us so completely in the story that it felt as if we had stepped inside the film itself.

Then came Zion National Park, Antelope Canyon, and finally the Grand Canyon. Each left us speechless in its own way. As different as these experiences were, they all produced the same reaction: Awesome!

Three thoughts stayed with me throughout the journey:

Wonder comes in many forms. Whether it's a canyon carved by nature or a performance created by human imagination, we are drawn to things that remind us how extraordinary our world can be.

The reveal is often the best part. Some of my favorite moments were the first glimpse of Zion's towering cliffs, stepping into Antelope Canyon, seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time, or watching the curtain rise before a performance. Anticipation makes discovery even sweeter.

Creativity deserves our admiration. Nature's masterpieces are breathtaking, but so are the accomplishments of talented artists, engineers, performers, and visionaries who transform imagination into experiences that leave us speechless.

What I may remember most, however, was watching our grandchildren take it all in. The wide eyes. The excitement. The questions. Their reactions reminded me that wonder is one of life's greatest gifts.

The older I get, the more I realize that we should never lose our capacity to be amazed. Whether created by nature or by human hands, the extraordinary is all around us. Sometimes we simply need to pause long enough to notice it.

When Life Forces you to Slow Down in a Lane Closure

There are days when everything is timed perfectly… until it isn’t.

Recently, I had one of those days. My calendar was packed, my schedule was flowing beautifully, and I was moving from appointment to appointment like a swimmer gliding through lanes at a meet. Then came a missed appointment with a turf specialist who was over twenty minutes late without a word. After finally hearing from him, I politely declined the meeting—partly because I truly had other commitments and partly because, well… frustration had entered the chat.

So I jumped in the car to continue my errands and decided to avoid the usual afternoon congestion on Battleground Avenue by taking Wendover Avenue instead.

Brilliant decision, for about five minutes. Then came the orange barrels, flashing arrows, and the dreaded words: “LEFT LANE CLOSED AHEAD.”

And just like that, I found myself trapped in a rolling parking lot behind a highway paving crew.

At first, I did what most of us do. I fussed internally, regretted my route, calculated lost time
and mentally replayed my missed appointment.

But after sitting there long enough, I started studying the paving crew ahead of me—and honestly, it became fascinating.

Three Things I Learned Watching Highway Paving

Those roads are hotter than you think.
Fresh asphalt is typically laid at temperatures between 275 and 300 degrees Fahrenheit. Imagine standing inches away from that heat on a summer afternoon wearing boots, jeans, hard hats, and reflective gear.

Suddenly my air-conditioned inconvenience didn’t seem nearly as difficult.

Highway paving is a carefully choreographed dance.
A paving crew can lay down several hundred tons of asphalt per hour under the right conditions. Every truck, machine operator, roller, and ground crew member must work in exact timing. If the asphalt cools too quickly or spacing is off, the entire surface can be compromised.
Watching them work reminded me of an orchestra—except this symphony involved steam, diesel engines, and enormous rollers flattening blacktop with precision.

Smooth roads require rough work.
What most of us experience as a minor traffic delay represents hours of exhausting labor for someone else. While I was frustrated about losing thirty minutes, these crews were enduring heat, noise, pressure, and danger so the rest of us could enjoy safer and smoother roads tomorrow.

That realization changed my attitude. By the time traffic finally opened up, I found myself strangely grateful for the delay. Because sometimes life places us in the slow lane long enough to notice things we would have otherwise missed.

Perspective  Patience  Appreciation.

Funny how a missed appointment and a lane closure can pave the way for all three.

Thinking of You — Remembering Where We Came From

During COVID, the world became strangely quiet. Streets emptied. Restaurants closed. Families waved through windows. Friends kept their distance. And somehow, in the middle of all the uncertainty, the simplest words began to matter more than ever:

Thinking of you.

Recently, I came across an article I wrote during that season and it immediately brought back memories of how much we all longed for connection, encouragement, and reassurance. It reminded me of something my sweet Aunt Kate used to say:

"Remember where you come from and how it used to be."

 April 2007

I thought I would take a moment and share some thoughts and share some inspiring paintings I created.  These are difficult times but they do not have to define us.  A good friend of mine, Ralph Marston writes daily inspiring prose.  I found this one particularly encouraging in light of our current circumstances.

Life will not unfold exactly the way you'd like it to. Of that you can be certain, no matter how much care and effort you put into arranging your affairs.

But that doesn't mean you must be unhappy when things fail to go your way. Indeed, your biggest disappointments can often, eventually, lead you to your most profound joys.

Here's a strategy you might want to consider. Take everything in stride.

Yes, plan, prepare, do the work, give your best. Then be thankful for the result, including all the unforeseen consequences.

Your fate won't ever be precisely the way you envisioned it. Still, it is yours, it is something, and you're better off living and enjoying it, than cursing it.

Let life be the way it has come to be. And let yourself find something good, useful, joyful, and thankful to do with every precious moment.

Wishing you the very best today, Bill

When I paused and simply reflected on "where we come from and how it used to be" I simply had to bow my head and say: "Thank you Lord".

For One Night, Everyone Became an Art Critic

There was a moment during my latest show when I realized something had changed—not with the paintings, but with the people.

Normally at an opening, guests stroll through the rooms, enjoy a glass of wine, visit with friends, and occasionally pause long enough to ask about a painting. But this year, I decided to try something different. I purchased two fine bottles of wine and invited guests to vote for their favorite Contemporary painting and favorite Traditional work in the show. At the end of the evening, we would draw two names from the ballots and award the winners the wine.

That was it. No grand strategy. No marketing experiment. Just a simple way to engage people more deeply with the artwork. What happened fascinated me. Suddenly everyone slowed down. Couples debated paintings like seasoned gallery judges. Guests revisited rooms, pointed out details, discussed color and mood, and studied pieces with an intensity I had rarely seen before. For one evening, everyone became an art critic and honestly, they loved it.

People Love Being Included in the Experience
The moment guests realized their opinion mattered, the atmosphere changed. Instead of simply viewing the work, they engaged with it. They compared favorites, and shared memories certain paintings stirred within them.

Art became less about decoration and more about discovery. It reminded me that people genuinely want a deeper connection with art, they simply need permission to slow down long enough to experience it.

The Most Admired Painting Isn’t Always the One That Sells
Even more fascinating, out of the top five favorites, only one sold that evening, yet we sold fourteen paintings overall.  That says something important about art. Some paintings capture admiration, while others capture belonging. A bold contemporary piece may dominate conversation, while a quieter landscape may feel deeply personal to someone imagining it in their home every day.

The painting that wins the room isn’t always the painting someone chooses to live with.

Great Art Creates Conversation
What I loved most was hearing people explain why they connected with certain paintings. One person loved the energy of a contemporary piece. Another was drawn to the calmness of a landscape. Some responded to color, others to memory.

There were no wrong answers. By the end of the evening, the show no longer felt like paintings hanging on walls. It felt like a room full of stories, perspectives, and conversations sparked by color, texture, light, and imagination.

Conclusion

After fifty years as a professional artist, I can honestly say this was one of the most enjoyable experiences I’ve had during a show. Not because it changed the way I paint, it won’t. Artists can’t create by chasing votes any more than musicians can perform by chasing applause. Authentic work still has to come from instinct, authenticity, and heart.

But what this experience reminded me is that people are hungry to connect. And sometimes all it takes is a simple invitation, a ballot, a bottle of wine, and permission for one evening to become an art critic.