TRAVEL HERE: SCHILLER’S MARY STUART AT MARGARET JONSSON THEATER

Mary Stuart is not the first show I’ve seen at UD and I hope it’s not the last.  About twice a year, the alumni department sends us invitations to see a student production, because my husband is an alum of their MBA program.  We like some of the shows better than others, but it’s always a treat.

Margaret Jonsson Theater

Dramatic productions at UD are presented in the Margaret Jonnson Theater.  It’s a small venue, with seating built around most of the stage.  It’s not quite theater in the round, but almost.  The stage is circular with only a small section connecting it to the backstage.  Most entrances and exits happen in the aisles.  When the lights go down, the crew erupts from backstage and sets up for the next scene.   Instead of curtains or scenery hiding the backstage activity, large wooden doors do the job and sometimes open up for a change of backdrop.  For some productions, there are full sets with furnishings and props.  For others, the staging is very minimalistic.  For Mary Stuart, the staging was very stark.

Alumni Receptions, Intermissions and Concessions 

The university very graciously hosts a reception for alumni before each show.  The theater is so small the refreshments must be served outside.  There is virtually is no lobby in the theater, just some narrow hallways leading past the restrooms and into the theater.  For some reason, every time we’ve visited one of these events, spring or fall semester, it’s been chilly.  Especially in the fall, because the sun sets before we arrive.  Things were no different for this event.  We clutched our glasses of wine and munched on tasty snacks in a pool of light at the front of the theater, wishing they had the sort of heaters restaurants provide on their patios.

Because of the absence of a lobby, concessions are set up outside, too.  Candy bars, bottles of water and other options are sold by chilly theater students.  Always well-satisfied from the pre-show reception we’ve never bought anything, but we do usually walk around outside for a few moments between acts.

Mary Stuart

UD’s Mary Stuart turned out to be a favorite among favorites.  We’ve enjoyed most of the shows quite a bit, but this production stood out.  The acting is always amazing.  These kids are so talented, especially the stars of the productions.  Sometimes the minor characters of the cast are a little rough around the edges, but the primary roles are filled by accomplished actors and actresses.

One of the things I appreciate most about the productions is the attention to detail in costuming.  Because the seating is so close to the stage, the audience sees every inch of what the players are wearing.  Each outfit is a masterpiece, beautifully executed and worn with the familiarity of a favorite pair of jeans.

The costumes for Mary Stuart were particularly gorgeous: high lace ruffs, crinolines, delicious fabrics and yards of gold chain.  There was no need for extensive scenery and props, the costumes carried the day.  The audience knew they were watching royalty.  Even in her imprisonment, Mary Stuart wore a elegant black velvet dress with immaculate cuffs.  Elizabeth was resplendent.

The two leading ladies, Maria Hotovy playing Elizabeth I and Zeina Mari as Mary Queen of Scots, played well off one another.  Mari played a desperate woman in a desperate situation.  During her crisis her every word out of her mouth was a shriek.  But the Oscar goes to Hotovy.  She made it clear her character was in just as serious a crisis, but she played cool and calculating.

I know history pretty well, especially English history, but I still caught myself hoping this time the poor beleaguered Queen of Scots would get a break.  Obviously, she didn’t, but after so much shrill screaming, she faced her end with amazing grace.  If you want to know more about the production, go to the new On Stage magazine.  If you want to keep up with the drama department and know what’s coming up check out the drama department’s Facebook page.   I hope to see you at the theater sometime soon.

For other exciting things happening here in Dallas, keep coming back to Travel Talk’s Travel Here.

AT HOME IN HEATH: THAT WHITE BALL OF FURRY JOY RULED THE ROOST

When we fell in love with Precious at the pet store, her soft coat of hair was multi-colored in shades of tan and black.  As if her goodness could not tolerate darkness of any kind, Precious quickly morphed into a completely white dog.  Bill always regretted the transformation, but those dark eyes peeking out from her shag of white hair meant pure joy to me.

Obedience School 

I did mention that Precious was a little head-strong, didn’t I?  Well, we have to take ownership of that.  Yes, that’s a natural trait of Shih Tzus, but our desire to please her meant she was in charge and she knew it.  I took her to Obedience School to even up the score.  That’s when she discovered treats!

Precious was only a few months old, but she’d already decided that she much preferred people to any kind of animal.  She would tolerate the curiosity of other dogs, but only barely and she herself had no interest in them – at all.  When we went to Obedience School, she enjoyed the interaction with me, but seemed to hate having to be polite to the rest of the dogs.

Some things about obedience school she was great at.  “Sit,” for instance, was natural to her.  I could hear her thinking, “Watch this!  All I have to do is put my butt down and Mom will give me a treat.”  She was great at “Heel,” also, but she rarely had to use it once school was over.  We usually followed Precious around as she sniffed her way through the neighborhood or a park.

On the day she was supposed to learn “come,” I was sick.  Maybe that’s why she never quite got it.  It was the weekend of my wedding anniversary and as soon as school was over we were supposed to board her and head to Santa Barbara for an overnight celebration.  As it was, I barely had the strength to drive to the lesson with Precious.  We went through the motions.  Precious didn’t quite get the concept of “come” and I was too sick to stay around for help.  I went home, went to bed and didn’t rise for several days.

The next week was graduation, so once I was able to get out of bed, I worked hard on teaching Precious the concept of “come.” I wanted her to earn her diploma. As I said, getting her to sit was easy.  Then I’d walk away, turn around and give the command to come, wildly waving the treat I wanted to bestow on her.  She’d look at me as if to say, “I’m right over here, five steps away.  Bring me the treat.”  By the end of the week, she would occasionally amble over for the treat, but not with any kind of regularity and certainly not within the time frame the final exam demanded.  We went ahead to the final class, but I doubted we’d succeed.

During the final exam, Precious went through all her paces with aplomb, until we got to the “come” part.  Other dogs could barely wait to perform.  They’d sit with pride and break into a run the moment the command was given to come.  Then they’d leap into their owners’ arms and celebrate.

It didn’t go that way for Precious and I.  We got three chances.  The first time, she ignored me and the treat completely.  The second time she looked at me with curiosity as I offered an entire handful of treats.  The third time I put away the treats.  I squatted down to her level and begged her to come to me.  We had a stare down and at the last possible moment, she relented and strolled toward me, ignoring me as if the whole thing had been her idea in the first place.  She plopped her butt down in front of me and waited for her treat.

Here’s the funny part.  The instructor was amazed.  Apparently, Shih Tzus rarely master “come.”  They are the sweetest, most loving dog that exist, but they don’t do “come.”  “She must really love you,” the instructor commented as she allowed Precious to wear the cap and gown for her picture.

She did love me, almost as much as I loved her.  Come back next week and I’ll tell you more about my shaggy ball of joy.

TRAVEL HERE: EATZI’S IN PLANO, A SUBURBAN TREAT

If you lived in Dallas back in 1996, then you will probably remember all the brouhaha that went along with the opening of the first Eatzi’s.  I remember dropping by to pick up a treat and the entire establishment was filled up with Asian visitors all snapping photos at ninety to nothing.  The place was a real sensation and the parking lot was always full.  Almost twenty years have passed, but last time I checked, the parking lot was still full.

Bringing Gourmet to Market

There’s a sushi chef at the Rockwall Kroger offering samples, but it wasn’t always that way.  Back in the day, if you wanted something more than Del Monte and Hormel, then about the only place to get it was a place called Simon David, an upscale supermarket in Highland Park.  Eatzi’s raised the bar.

Forget green beans and canned chili.  You didn’t go to Eatzi’s for groceries.  You went for the experience.  Cram-packed in a teeny tiny building was a bakery and a counter with prepared foods,  as well as lots of specialty cheeses, meats and such.  Dallas loved it.  We could grab a quick sandwich from the frig, sample all kinds of breads, desserts and dips or pick out an entire dinner party from the prepared foods counter.

The next thing we knew, H.E.B. created Central Market, which was like a Simon David with an Eatzi’s inside.  The result?  Kroger has sushi.  Nowadays there are four Eatzi’s, but you’re still going to have a hard time finding a parking spot.

Meet Me at Eatzi’s

The Plano location of this beloved institution is the original Eatzi’s on steroids.  Sure, they have a bakery and a counter with prepared foods, but that’s only the beginning.  The front of the building is a comfortable patio for al fresco dining.  Right inside the door is a barista who would love to make you a cappuccino.  There are also a few tables for indoor dining and microwaves for heating up your goodies.  On the right side of the store is a counter putting together amazing salad and sandwich creations.  On the left is a grill that will whip up a made-to-order meal for you.  And sushi?  Of course, there’s a sushi bar next to the grill.

I’m lucky, the Plano location is just around the corner from Lenicam, where I work part-time.  If I need to go anywhere after work, it’s easy to pick up a delicious (and nutritious) meal.  It’s not cheap mind you, but well worth the coin.  I also say, “Meet me at Eatzi’s,” a lot .

Come back next week and see what I have on my menu!

AT HOME IN HEATH: WHAT A DIFFERENCE A DOG MAKES

Not only were we “just looking”, we were “just looking” for a cat.  I don’t even know why we were at the pet store at all.  If we were actually in the market for a cat, then we would have been at the animal shelter or some rescue organization. We knew better than to go to a pet store to buy a cat.  So why were we there?

I still can’t answer that question, but while I was dutifully looking at cats as I’d been told to, Bill wandered over to the puppy department and fell in love with a Shih Tzu.  Do you know how much a pure bred Shih Tzu with papers costs at a pet store?  My husband, who will spend a year shopping for a toaster, comparing features, ratings and prices, went into a pet store and plunked down several hundred dollars for a puppy, on a whim.  I’m so glad he did!

Love at First Lick!

This darling little piece of fur was in a glass case and as soon as Bill came into view she jumped up, put her paws on the glass and started licking.  An hour or so and hundreds of dollars later she was snuggled in my arms headed home.

We named her Precious because, between the time Bill first saw her and when he pulled out his credit card, he must of said “Precious” about three million times.  It reminded me of Gollum stroking the ring of power and saying, “My Precious.”  When Bill asked what we should name her, I told her him she already recognized her name, Precious.  I didn’t tell him about the Lord of the Rings reference.

For the next fifteen years, Precious earned her name every single day.  The name wasn’t the only thing that stuck.  Licking the glass had been such an effective ploy that she kept at licking all day, every single day.  Bill spent the next fifteen and a half years trying to break her licking habit.  I’m sure the command she heard more than any other was, “No licking.”  Not that she paid any more attention to it than she did the other commands we pretended to give her.

Precious’ First Days

Bill and I were both besotted with Precious from the very first moment, but we really tried to be good pet owners.  The pet store guy told us she would be a little lonely that first night and would make noise, but we were not under any circumstances to give in to her.

Do you know what a lonely Shih Tzu puppy sounds like?  Finally, in the wee hours I could stand it no more.  I got out of bed, but Bill threatened to take my life if I picked that puppy up – so I didn’t.  Instead I took her a stuffed toy, the tiger you see in the picture above.  She immediately snuggled up to it.  She quieted down and was never a minute of trouble from that moment on.  (Well, that’s not exactly the truth, but she never made noise at night, again.)

Then we nearly killed her, inadvertently.  After we’d had her for about a week, she was quite greasy – probably from all the licking.  We decided to wash her.  I was concerned about what would be the proper cleaning solution, but Bill said we should just use a little soap.  We washed her and her silky hair dried almost immediately.  She seemed fine, until we couldn’t get her to eat anything.  Then she passed out.  We had nurses across the street from us, human nurses, but we were desperate.  They got her going again.  We called the vet and discovered what we’d done wrong.  She was off food for a few days, but would drink milk.  It was a close call, but she was a brave little girl.

Our High Maintenance Pooch  

A Shih Tzu is a high maintenance dog.  We really didn’t know that when we bought her.  I just knew they were reputed to have the absolute best disposition of any dog in the world.  That part was completely true, but there were other issues, like potty training, stubbornness and grooming.

Female Shih Tzus have a little problem.  They really don’t develop the muscles necessary to control their bladder until they are about a year old.  The trick is to take them out frequently to pee and we did that, but for that first year we also cleaned up a lot of accidents.

Precious figured out pretty quickly that the longer she put off going to the bathroom on one of our necessary outings, the longer she could be outside sniffing (and licking) the world.  For the first year of her life, I spent a lot of time circling our cul de sac saying, “Precious pee-pee poo-poo outside.”  I bet our neighbors got very tired of it.

Then there was all that hair.  Bill groaned and clutched at his pocketbook every time I mentioned the groomer.  Precious didn’t have a pocketbook, but she pretty much hated going.  She also hated brushing with a passion.  She spent more time than she should have looking like an orphan, but her mommy couldn’t stand to put her through anything she didn’t enjoy doing.  Other people probably thought her shagginess was a sign of neglect.  Precious and I knew it was all about love.

Now She’s Gone

After fifteen and a half years of being the apple of my eye, Precious slipped from this life on Saturday.  Indulge me over the next few weeks as I share some moments from her joyful life.

AT HOME IN HEATH: DATE NIGHT AT SOUTHERN JUNCTION

So, a couple of weeks ago I gave you a little background information.  I explained how Bill and I are a couple of city slickers, living out in the country.  While honky-tonking is not completely foreign to me, it is to Bill.  Still, at the suggestion of my bestie, we visited Southern Junction in Royse City.  Here’s how it went.

City Slickers at a Honky Tonk

Since Bill & I both work at home, we probably spend more time together than most couples, but we still love to go out together, whether that’s shopping at Costco or a fancy dinner.  Going to Southern Junction qualified as an official date.  We planned ahead for it, got all dressed up and planned on having a great evening.  Bill even drove the Mercedes.  First mistake!  Well, maybe the first mistake was getting all dressed up, but driving Bill’s precious Mercedes onto a rock-covered parking lot was definitely a mistake.

Now please understand, we were well aware that many of those pick-ups cost a lot more than the Mercedes, but they were pick-up trucks.  Kicking up gravel is part of what pick-up trucks were made for.  That’s not the case for the Mercedes.  In fact, sedans and coupes of any sort were definitely in the minority as we waited in the car for Deb and Joe to show up.  Waiting until they got there was a good thing, because if we’d walked in by ourselves, I might not have gotten Bill past the vestibule.

On the outside, Southern Junction is a huge mustard colored metal building with some stringed lights affixed to the front portion, set amid a very large gravel parking lot.  As we waited inside the car, we recognized we weren’t dressed like everyone else.  Bill had on a pair of jeans and a shirt, just like the rest of the guys, but the shirt was a designer number I picked up last time I’d been shopping and instead of worn boots, Bill had on a fairly new pair of lace up oxfords. Neither of us had on a hat or a down vest.  Hand-tooled belts?  Nope, not that either.  For my part, I don’t own any cowboy boots and I wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of shorts cut up to …

When Deb and Joe arrived, we walked  out of the parking lot into a large room with ticket windows.  Everything was bare and wooden.  No frills.  I mean NO FRILLS!  Deb waltzed up to the window and handed them her drivers license.  She knew the drill.  The rest of us had to get our memberships, because Royce City is dry.

If you’ve ever been to a honky tonk then you know exactly what was inside.  A huge dance floor with a mirrored ball, a stage for the band, a bar, pool tables and lots of formica-covered restaurant tables with economy chairs arranged into long rows.  The band wasn’t playing yet and Deb’s friend was nowhere to be found.  A pair of hostesses looked like they were dying to tell us we’d arrived at the wrong place.  Bill said it reminded him of Billy Bob’s and I chuckled to myself.  It didn’t remind me of Billy Bob’s at all.  This was the real thing or as close as I’d been in a long time.

After the hostess asked whether or not we had reservations, she sat us at an out-of-the-way table, like she was embarrassed for us.  Because we’d asked after Kevin, she claimed it was where people sat when they were with the band, but we had our doubts.  Kevin’s lady still hadn’t shown up, so we went ahead and ordered dinner.  Deb had falsely advertised 2-for-one steak dinners, but that had been the night before.  It was all-you-can-eat night, not my favorite thing in the world, because I can eat a whole lot more than I should.  My ribs were great.  Bill didn’t enjoy his as much.

I was having a good time.  These weren’t exactly my kind of folk, but they were enjoying themselves and Texas Drive was making marvelous music.  Some of the dancers really knew their way around a dance floor and I was fascinated by the line dancing.  Each song had it’s own routine and somehow everyone one knew which one to do.  Before the band came on there were Two Step Lessons (fast, fast, sloow, sloow was the background noise for our meal) and during the break there were Line Dancing Lessons.

Bill’s evening was not going quite as well.  As I mentioned, this was not Billy Bob’s.  He’s not very fond of all-you-can-eat either, especially when they deliver your food before they provide utensils to eat it with.  He didn’t like his ribs and the potato was cold, but he was also piqued that no one offered him second helpings.  Not that he wanted any, but since it was all-you-can-eat, they should have asked.  When they delivered his credit card slip for a signature, they failed to bring a pen.   Fast-fast-sloow-sloow nearly drove him to distraction and while I thought most of the dancers were pretty good, Bill would have preferred to be home watching Dancing with the Stars.  Neither of us liked the cigarette smoke.   He kept waving his empty beer bottle at me, but he didn’t want another.  He wanted to go home.

So, do I think you should go to Southern Junction?  Well, if you like honky-tonking – absolutely.  Otherwise, probably not.  On the other hand, Texas Drive, the band we went to see, is a great band and if they’re playing at Southern Junction, then it may be worth the trip to Royce City.

TRAVEL TALK: SECOND VISIT TO FARINA’S WORSE THAN THE FIRST

Perhaps you recall our visit to Grapefest.  We had a less than spectacular dining experience that day, but I didn’t tell you where it occurred, because they offered us a gift certificate to give them another chance.  Well, it was Farnia’s and unfortunately, we gave it another chance.

Same Song, Second Verse

See, if it had been up to me, after the Grapefest debacle, I would have just mentioned the restaurant wasn’t up to par in my blog and would have blamed it on the craziness of the festival. Bill was having none of it.

During that first visit, they delivered our entrees at the same time as our soup and salads, but we couldn’t eat any of them because we had no silverware. The food wasn’t all that good, but any restaurant can have a bad day, especially when the barbarians are breaking down the gate. However, when Bill asked for the manager, the servers ignored him.  That’s never a good sign.

Sunday night was deja vu all over again, but sans the barbarians. Oh, to be fair, there was one improvement. We did get silverware before any food was served, but that was about it. We were perfectly willing to be charmed into loving them on their dime, but they managed to turn us into detractors instead.

Send in the Maintenance Crew

We sat down and the first thing we figured out was that the front dining room is not the place to be when it’s chilly outside. The sporadic breeze from the frequently opened door was unpleasant. Bill noticed there was a mechanism on the door to hasten its closing, but it was broken. And it wasn’t the only thing.

I can’t speak for the men’s room, but the ladies’ room was very tight. I’m aware that to meet ADA requirements, especially in older spaces, something has to give. That something is usually the regular toilet. In most situations, I’m fine with that, but Farina’s gave me a new definition for tight. There was a hook on the back of the stall door and it was at eye level. If I’d momentarily lost my balance – an easy thing to do in such tight quarters – I would have also lost my eye. Farina’s please, for your own sake remove that hook!

But I mentioned that something was broken. That something was the hand dryer. I’m not a big fan of blowers anyway. I think it’s false economy on the part of the establishments who use it. None of the dryers get your hands dry, they’re noisy and the floor is always covered in drips. (Add that to the dangers of the eye-threatening hook!) One lawsuit for damages from a fall and all that false economy flies out the window.

Also, in case the restroom owners of the world were unaware of it, patrons use paper towels for a whole lot more than drying our hands – things for which the blower is not equipped. This blower gave new meaning to the word useless. I let my hands drip back to the table and used the napkin, which thankfully they’d delivered. When Bill and I compared notes about the restrooms we decided they had similarities.

Back to Our Meal

Beyond the maintenance issues, it seemed our meal might turn out okay.  Our waitress took our drink order, delivered our beverages and took our food order. I chose a glass of white wine from the specials on the board and it was very good with a generous pour. They didn’t have his favorite beer, but it was cold and they provided a glass, so he was fine. Dinner came with a choice of soup or salad. I chose the salad and he wanted the soup.

Imagine our astonishment when lightning struck twice. The server showed up with our entree, before we got the soup and salad. This time the entree showed up unaccompanied by anything. Again Bill asked to see a manager. Again he was ignored.

We were both hungry so we tucked into our food sans our first course. The food wasn’t any better than it had been the first time, even if it was comped. I had Chicken Marsala. The chicken was a tasteless over-processed piece of cardboard covered in BBQ sauce. The menu mentioned their sauce was thicker than the usual Marsala sauce, but it should have said, “We use bottled BBQ sauce and call it Chicken Marsala.” Bill’s Whitefish was also void of flavor and his asparagus was stringy.

Our waitress returned to ask after our meal. Bill let her know how disappointed we were that the same thing had happened twice, at least sort of.  The first time we at least got the first course, even if it was delivered out of sequence. The waitress apologized, promised the first course would be delivered and offered a free dessert.

Perhaps we should have stormed out in a fit of pique, but we agreed to be mollified. I have to admit my salad was quite good, the best part of the meal, but Bill’s soup was cold. A slice of pecan pie with a scoop of ice cream was delivered for our dessert. A bit sweet for my taste, but that is a matter of taste. Some folks might love it.

We counted on our fingers and realized our gift certificate would cover our dinner and drinks, so we tossed it to the waitress and absconded. She didn’t get a tip, but her service didn’t really qualify for one. We’ve had worse service, but we were finally ready for that fit of pique. We managed to have it without disturbing the other diners, but we were done.

As you guys know, it’s rare for me to find a place I can’t find something to like about.  Well, I finally found one.  Bill bemoaned the fact that their location will probably keep them in business for much longer than they deserve to be, but at least I can save you from going there.

AT HOME IN HEATH: WISHING THE BEST FOR YOU AND YOURS

It’s the holiday season and today is my holiday – Christmas, the day Christians celebrate the birth of our Savior, but things have changed.

My Politically Correct Disclosure

You’ll notice I didn’t say it was the day Christ was born, because I’m well aware of the facts.  The holiday of Christmas was created by the Catholic Church (a long time ago) to provide Christians something to do while the rest of Europe was out celebrating the winter solstice or Yuletide.  (I’ve also read carefully researched evidence for the possibility that Jesus could have been born on or around that date, but it doesn’t really matter to me.  I accept it as the traditional date of the celebration of the birth, regardless of the actual date of birth.)

I’m also well aware the holiday season is still celebrated by some as the winter solstice, while pretty much every person group on the face of the earth also has some sort of celebration at this time of year.  I’m not discounting the importance or value of anyone else’s mid-winter celebration, I’m just enjoying mine.

My Personal Disclosure

To be honest with you, I’m not enjoying the holiday as much as I once did.  A huge part of my dissatisfaction arises from all this political correctness.  It sort of takes the fun out of pretty much everything.

Another thing I don’t like is the commercialization.  I hate running into Christmas displays in July.  I hate Black Friday, Small Business Saturday and Cyber Monday.  I really hate it that somehow a day set aside to honor Christ has turned into a month-long retail extravaganza that devolves into a month of clearance sales.

The worst part of it all is that my mom is not here to celebrate with, but that was last week’s blog.

Celebrate Anyway!

This year it’s been particularly tough to get in the mood, but I’m celebrating anyway.  I hope you’ll join me, whatever holiday this is to you.

TRAVEL HERE: CHRISTMAS WONDERS IN GRAPEVINE 

Sunday evening my husband and I spent a wonderful evening in Grapevine, which claims to be the Christmas Capital of Texas.  The only dim spot of the night was dinner, but I’ll save that for later.  Let me tell you why you should hurry to Grapevine for a visit with Saint Nick.

Marvelous, Wonderful, Fantastic

I cannot say enough good things about the Grapevine Christmas experience.  The charming downtown area is decked out to the max.  We strolled along hand-in-hand, doing some window shopping and popping into galleries to see more than we could see from the sidewalk.  I’ve included pictures below.  At one gallery we visited with local artists whose paintings hung on the wall.  At another we watched glass blowers create unique decorations for your holiday tree.  The weather was perfect and we had a blast.

We promised ourselves not to be strangers to Grapevine.  We may not be completely fond of Grapefest, but when those crowds go home, there’s a very charming town to enjoy.  There were plenty of people there for the holiday season, but not the thundering (drunk) horde that dampened our enthusiasm for the wine festival.

Fashion Alert

The fashion policewoman inside me saw a new trend she did not like.  Many of the small children wore flannel nightwear in shades of red & green.  Oh come on mommies of the world.  Pajamas, no matter how cute they are, belong at home and were made for sleeping.  No wonder the younger generation can’t figure out how to dress. If moms can’t even teach them when not to wear their pajamas out into the world.  As bad as the small fry in pajamas were, that wasn’t the worst of it.  Several groups of adults were also strolling about in their jammies.

The alarming thing to me is that I know worse is yet to come.  Whatever one person does, there will be someone else to go one step further and then someone else takes it to the raunchy side.  How long until somebody traipses out in a see-through teddy with faux fur around the nasty bits.

A Charming Night Out for Anyone

I’m not sure whether I would agree with the “Christmas Capital” appellation Grapevine chose for itself, because I am kind of fond of San Antonio for the title.  Hard to beat the Riverwalk all dressed up for the holidays.

Still, Grapevine puts on a great show, even though there is only one street decked out for the season.  They do have the Gaylord Texan Resort which is quite a coup – but it’s still no Riverwalk.

Nonetheless, you should (in the words of Neil Diamond) “pack up the babies and grab the old ladies” because at Christmas time, Grapevine is a treat for the young and the old.  Come back next week and I’ll tell you where not to eat.

AT HOME IN HEATH: IT IS MORE BLESSED TO GIVE THAN RECEIVE

Ah Christmas!  Are you just about over it?  The good Lord knows we should be.  I learned something this year and I thought I’d share it with you.

The Barbie Christmas 

Santa made his ultimate delivery to me back in the Sixties.  I woke to a living room full of Barbie wonders.  The house, the car – pretty much everything.

I’d gotten my first Barbie a few years before, a blonde ponytail version with too much mascara, and was crazy about the concept.  For me, the hook was the clothes.  I cherished every tiny plastic mule for my Barbie’s fashionable feet.  I adored the tiny plastic hangers and black patent cases.

My Barbie, Ken, Midge, Allan, Francie and Skipper had no fantasy world.  I just enjoyed dressing them up.  Then I had almost as much fun putting the tiny shoes back in their tiny compartments and hanging the outfits back into their designated spot.  Looking at my cache of Barbie paraphernalia, neatly stacked in a corner of my room, was its own form of pleasure.

The Next Christmas Morning 

Somehow, between that orgy of pink-striped packages  and Santa’s next visit I lost my original affection for the holiday.  I guess I finally figured out the truth about the fat guy in red, but since I had a sister who was five years younger, the charade continued.

Under the tree that year were LP’s for our new stereo.  I’m sure Santa delivered the LP’s to relieve my parents from the necessity of hearing “Try to Remember” on auto repeat.  We’d had the stereo for several months, but Rick Nelson had been my only album.  Santa made some great musical choices. One LP of Spanish guitar classics called “Espana” I still have and play to this day.

The Paradigm Shift

I behaved as enthusiastically that morning as I had for my Barbie hoard the year before or for the Madame Alexander Bride doll a few years before that or the year I got my tricycle.  See, my post-Barbie Christmas was the year I started giving rather than receiving, I just didn’t realize it at the time.

When I wandered out into the living room, I had been hoping for Barbie Orgy Part Deux.  “The 50 Guitars of Tommy Garrett” were all well and good, but certainly Mattel had produced something that year which belonged under my tree.  However, when I looked at my Mom to voice my complaint, I saw her face.  It had the very same look of eager expectation I’d seen when the floor was covered in pink-striped packages of Barbie clothes.  My complaint caught in my throat and instead of complaining, I threw my hands up in glee and praised Santa for his marvelous choices.

The Charade Continued

All the Christmases after the Barbie Orgy became a parade of hidden disappointments.  Like the year Mom decided to stuff my stocking with money instead of the wonders I once found there – even after all pretenses of Santa had ended.  I loved the glowing tangerines, toothbrushes, jewelry – even foot deodorant.  Each odd choice Mom made felt like love.  My bromodosis ended long before the plastic blue and yellow bottles of Dr. Scholl’s did, but that was part of the charm.  The money felt like a betrayal of our silent pact.

Eventually Mom got even more practical than foot powder.  She started taking me out with her to buy my Christmas presents.  She said it was to be sure I was getting what I wanted, but in doing so, she took the joy out of my performances.  Instead of being allowed to voluntarily offering up my gift of excitement, Mom was now in on it.  But I didn’t stop, because each year it would be there –  that eager look of anticipation on her face –  even when we both knew there wasn’t even the teeniest bit of surprise for me to display.

And It Got Harder

For most of my life, Christmas had been a December event, but during my first year of college Christmas invaded November.  Mom insisted I set up the tree while I was home for Thanksgiving.  It hadn’t been on my agenda and I really resented the timetable, but I dove into the task as if I was dying to do it.  That was the beginning of mission creep.  Christmas continued to grow until it dominated the year.  Woe be to those who failed to commit to every detail of Mom’s Christmas planning by mid-July.

Christmas was written in stone, especially my role in it.  Mom served prime rib and shrimp cocktail on the good china on Christmas Eve.  On Christmas Day it was turkey and all the trimmings on her Christmas china.  The ritual of opening gifts went on for what seemed like centuries, but it always began with a “Christmas program.” Something that made sense when the objective was to keep children in mind of the true meaning of Christmas, but had lost all of it’s charm – for everyone except my mother.

Then the day after Christmas we stormed out of the house to buy up everything loose.  Even in the years I could barely afford to buy pantyhose to wear to work, I’d head out with Mom and buy armloads of things I didn’t need.  Never once in all those years did we actually talk about any of this.  I just knew I was doing what was expected of me.

The Final Years

There came a day when my mother could no longer produce the holiday extravaganza that was our Christmas.  By that time it had grown all out of proportion.  When Mom finally gave up on her annual frenzy I was dubbed the Queen of Christmas and the celebration’s headquarters moved to my house.  I tried desperately to reproduce the wonder my mom had once created with that multitude of Barbie merchandise, but I fell sadly short.  At the time I blamed myself, but now I understand that I was trying to work miracles with my hands and my feet tied behind me.

I could make all the scalloped oysters in the world, but while I could make it taste just like Grandmother’s had, the dish couldn’t fill her absence.  No matter how delicious my cornbread dressing was, it couldn’t replace Aunt Edie peering into the oven to check on her specialty.  Even my dad had lost his gleeful participation in the charade, because arthritis had stolen more than golf.  It also took away his joy.

I felt alone in my frustration.  My sister never had the Christmas bug and still doesn’t even decorate her own home for the season.  My husband had no idea why I made such a big deal about it all.  Only my mother seemed to care.  Looking back I have come to wonder if she was also playing a role, one where she pretended to want to have the kind of Christmases we once did.

Then there was the year hot rolls were added to our menu.  One of my mom’s dear, sweet friends insisted on providing us with delicious yeasty rolls, but instead of arriving piping hot on a baking sheet, I was given a bowl of dough the day before.  I am no pastry chef.  I will spare you the pain of going through that episode with me, but it included waking up my husband much earlier than he wanted to be wakened – and when I woke him I had tears running down my face and sticky dough up to my elbows.  There was a part of me that longed for the day I would no longer have to keep up this charade, but at the same time I hated to think of what that would mean.

The White Elephant in the Room 

I lost Mom in 2013.  Last year I didn’t even decorate for Christmas because we were camping out in a rent house.  My husband applauded the wisdom of my decision, but before the season was over, we both regretted it.  Even without Mom looking over my shoulder, it seems I am the Queen of Christmas.

This year I decorated my beautiful new home.  There was joy in unpacking each holiday treasure, especially since so many were my mom’s or my aunt’s.  There was also the disappointment of discovering my very fashionable yellow and blue decor did not compliment my red and green ornaments.  My best decorative items, in shade of  white, completely disappeared into the yellow walls.  The queen was struggling.

Then we went to a Christmas party with a Chinese Gift Exchange.  You know the drill.  You get to choose whether you want to open something under the tree or steal something already unwrapped.  I was number 15, somewhere in the middle of the pack.  When it was my turn, all the really good stuff had already been through the maximum number of trades, so I opened something under the tree.  I’m not sure what I expected, but the Russian military hat and trinket box had not been on the list.  Other folks had gotten charming decor items and generous gift cards.  Someone had mistakenly assumed this was a White Elephant gift exchange.  I’d been the unlucky recipient of their joke.

I stuck the hat on my head at a jaunty angle.  Everyone in the room was thrilled.  No one dared steal my present, because the hat was so perfect for me.  I felt a painful tug at my heart, but shoved it away so I could continue to please everyone with my feigned joy.

When I woke up the next morning I realized that for just a moment, I had re-captured the bittersweet joy of Christmas Past.  In exulting over my Russian cap I had given everyone in the room a wonderful gift, one that only I could give them, because I’d been training for that moment most of my life.  I finally understood that it is more blessed to give than receive, but it broke my heart.  The performance had been for Mom and she’s not here anymore.

I will continue to be the Queen of Christmas.  Each year, I’ll pull out my decorations.  I will make as many small moments as I can for my husband and my friends, but my best audience will never look at me with eager anticipation again.  Giving her all those years of Christmas joy was the greatest present I ever got.  I’m just sorry it took me so long to figure that out.

TRAVEL HERE: THE GIFT OF CHRISTMAS AT PRESTONWOOD BAPTIST CHURCH

Prestonwood Baptist Church is one of several mega-churches here in the Metroplex.  Yesterday my bestie took me to their Christmas Extravaganza.  I’m still trying to process my impressions of the experience.

The Prestonwood Phenomena

Though Prestonwood was never “my” church, there was a time I popped in and out with great frequency.  I tagged along with member-friends to concerts, cantatas and other events.  Back in those days, the church occupied a much smaller space at the corner of Hillcrest and Arapaho, but it was still a lot bigger than any church I’d ever been in.  (Well, that’s not exactly true.  I’d been to some huge cathedrals in Europe, but they didn’t have stadium seating, which is a whole ‘nother thing.)

My friends and I would attend The Gift of  Christmas year-after-year and it was spectacular.  I confess, it ranked among the most extraordinary shows I’d ever seen and I’d seen a lot – from Broadway Musicals to Barry Manilow to the Ice Capades.  The final scene with live animals and hovering angels was magnificent.  Nowadays Christmas pageants with live animals are almost di rigueur, but it hasn’t always been that way.

It’s been a long time since I was a regular visitor to Prestonwood events.  My member-friends have spread out over the nation and I’ve been otherwise occupied.  I thought it would be fun to revisit such a pleasant memory.  I figured they’d made some changes over the years and I wondered what they would be.

Their new campus covers 140 acres and the worship center holds 7000 people according to Wikipedia.  They’ve got crowd control down to a fine art.  The atrium vestibule was full of friendly guys in bright red sports coats  helping out the uninitiated.  We easily found our seats and sat back to enjoy the show.  They should have provided seat belts.

Super-sizing Spectacular

The Christmas pageant is an opportunity for outreach.  There were 13 sold-out performances this year.  In case you’re counting, that’s 91,000 tickets!  My ticket was $28, but they range from $16 – $80 dollars and you do get your money’s worth.  The secular side of Christmas dominates most of the show which means they draw in a lot of people who would not otherwise darken a church’s door.

The first act opens with Santa landing his sleigh at “Prestonwood Toy Warehouse”thanks to multimedia and special effects.  First you’re watching animation of Santa circling downtown Dallas and then a real Santa in an actual sleigh descends from the ceiling.  In other words, the Prestonwood show starts with everybody else’s Grand Finale.  With that kind of an opener you might think they’d have a hard time maintaining the WOW factor, but you’d be wrong.  Santa continued to zoom through the room, as well as a troop of special ops combatants in camo gear, drummers, singers, angels and other members of the cast.

Which brings me to my first complaint.  Exactly what was I supposed to be paying attention to?  There were moving graphics.  There were laser lights.  There were things flying in the air, coming down the aisle and multiple activities on the stage – not to mention the apron.  Did I mention pyrotechnics?  A three-ring circus would be a relief to the senses.

For the most part, the cast did a great job – especially considering they were a bunch of volunteers.  Some of the voices were a little weak or off-key and  I’ve seen better high-kicks, but for $28 it was a pretty good show.  (Had we sat in the $80 section, I might have been a little more critical.)

My favorite scene was the dancing ragdolls.  Their costumes were beyond cute and their routine was the tightest and most precise.  My least favorite was the aerial acrobats during “Oh Holy Night“.  The choir sang beautifully and the acrobats were amazing.  I just had a hard time making the two components fit together in my brain. Oh Holy Aerial Acrobats at Night, Batman!

I had difficulty with some of the transitions, too.  The program lists the segments of the show and the songs included, but it’s hard to tell if there is supposed to be any connection between them.  During the “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” scene, Santa left his bag of toys behind as he headed out for his night of deliveries.  The toys escaped and frolicked on the stage, but I was left worrying about all the kids whose toys had been left behind.  The next thing I know I’m drinking hot chocolate on the Polar Express.  Santa returned, but not a word was said about the forgotten bag.

After the Polar Express we moved on to the “Reindeer Medley”, but it would have been more aptly titled “The Rudolf the Reindeer Fan Club Show”.  The medley featured Reindeer-ettes in poodle reindeer skirts swooning over their idol.  Things settled down a little bit during “The Beauty of Christmas” segment, but I felt some disconnect between the waltzers and the music-box ballerina with her disco-arm action.  The penultimate act was “The Worship of Christmas”  which had some wonderful solos, but it also included the “Oh Holy Night” debacle.

The ninety-minute show was almost over and the “Symphony of Christmas, featuring the Living Nativity“ began.  This was it.  The moment I’d been waiting for!  However, my senses were still reeling from the previous spectacles. The angels careening in the heavens were using the same guy-wires as Santa.  Camels and zebras were anti-climatic after Rocking Out with flying drummers.  The Grand Finale seemed to fizzle after all the sizzle.  But that’s just me.  Other folks thought it was the best show they’d ever seen.

Then there was the “Christmas Challenge“.  Having already collected the price of a ticket they didn’t take up a collection, but they did offer an invitation.  In truth, I sincerely hope there were people throughout the auditorium who were moved by the final scenes of the pageant and open to the invitation, but I almost started laughing when it included a number to which you could text news of your decision.  I do church a little differently, but God moves in mysterious ways.  I’m sure He’ll honor a text just as he would the raising of a hand or walking down the aisle.  He’s not he problem, I am.

So should you put The Gift of Christmas at Prestonwood on your must-do list for the next holiday season?  We’d have to chat about that.  If you’re looking for a rollicking good time, go for it, just don’t be surprised if they offer you a Bible on the way out.  If you’re looking for a spiritual experience for yourself or someone else, I’d have to suggest checking out another church’s Christmas pageant.  I may just have to go next year so Bill can experience it, but for myself, probably not.  I sort of liked the show better back in the days when the Grand Finale was the highlight of the show.