As much as I love Dallas and all the excitement associated with it, there’s a certain charm to living out in the boonies. On a recent Saturday I joined other Rockwall County residents to watch the Kiwanis Christmas Parade. Let me tell you about it.
Suburban Parades I Have Loved
For a city girl, I’ve spent a lot of time out in the burbs. For instance, when we first moved to California, we lived in Los Osos. I don’t think it even qualified as suburb. The entire county of San Luis Obispo is about the size of Garland, one of Dallas’ suburban cities. I most often heard Los Osos referred to as a bedroom community, whatever that means. One thing I knew that it meant was your GPS couldn’t find us.
As tiny as Los Osos was, it had a thriving sense of self. There was a grocery store, some branch banks, a few restaurants and a smattering of professional offices, but not much in the way of shopping.
We did have a holiday parade, however. (Not a Christmas Parade, mind you, because they are ever so much more politically correct in California.) I know about the parade, because I was in it one year as a member of the South Bay Women’s Network. Someone knew someone with an antique car which carried a few of our members and the rest of happily trotted along behind the car with our dogs. I don’t think we had a reason for including the dogs. We just thought it would be more fun. The guys weren’t in the parade. Their job was enthusiastically cheering as we went by.
The other big parade in the area was the Cayucos 4th of July Parade. Cayucos was even smaller than Los Osos, but they had a lot of tourism because they were a beach town, while Los Osos was on the estuary. Neither the Los Osos or Cayucos parade had bands, drill teams or floats – just enthusiastic residents who were willing to march down the street with other residents. The Cayucos parade had been around longer and was a bit more raucous, but both were a lot of fun.
So, my California experience prepared me to enjoy the Kiwanas Christmas Parade. I wasn’t expecting the Tournament of Roses Parade, just an entertaining morning of community. I got just what I bargained for.
The Rockwall Parade
Each month my HOA produces a magazine that fills me in on what’s happening in my area. When December’s copy arrived, it informed me the Kiwanis Christmas Parade would be a part of Rockwall’s Hometown Christmas Celebration in Downtown Rockwall. It also said the parade would start at 9 AM. Here’s what I love about this place. I left my house in Heath at 8:45 and was standing along the parade route by nine.
I enjoyed rubbing elbows with my fellow Rockwallers, but by 9:20 the fun was beginning to wear thin. I mentioned the parade’s absence to someone nearby and she too was getting restless. That’s when a more seasoned Rockwall County resident told us the parade did begin at 9 AM, but it started at the high school. Well, darn! I marked that up for future reference.
Finally, around 9:30 we began seeing evidence suggesting the parade was about to reach Downtown. By 9:45 we had a parade. It was a much bigger deal than anything Los Osos offered. The centerpiece was a marching band and drill team from Rockwall Heath High School. There were scores of beautiful horses, carloads of waving people and tons of “floats”, only these “floats” didn’t exactly float. Each was on a trailer being pulled by its own huge pick up truck. I’d positioned myself at a corner and sometimes the crowd had to be rearranged for the pickups and their trailers to make it around.
It was a perfectly beautiful morning and I had a lot of fun. Next year I’ll either leave home a little later or find a place closer to the high school to watch it. Here’s some shots of the fun event.
Well, all you cowpokes, cowgirls and cowkids, have I ever found a place for you. The last few months have been so busy over in the Metroplex, that the other side of the bridge preempted writing about this new town of mine. Why just last week I posted an article about Grapefest, a September event in Grapevine. With the onset of winter, things should settle down a bit (yeah, sure). If you want to liven up one of your evenings out here in the Lakeplex, instead of relaxing by the fire, may I suggest Southern Junction.
Is That Song Country or Western?
Though I live out here in a community of ranchers and farmers, I’m not exactly attuned to the rural lifestyle. I love having a pond in my backyard, but I’m awfully glad Rockwall is minutes away, especially since it gets more urbanesque every day. Why they opened up a Chico’s just the other day. Now if we could just get a Market Street, Central Market or Whole Foods!
Nowadays, my favorite country/western memory is attached to a holiday dinner where a discussion of music ended up in an argument about whether Marty Robbins was country or western. I know that some folks wouldn’t find that unusual, because all of their holiday dinners end up in an argument about something, but it was off-the-wall bizarre for my family. Though Aunt Tommie was a bit of a pistol, my dad and Aunt Edie were always the least likely of folks to argue about anything. Discovering they were passionate about the West Texas Town of El Paso was quite hysterical. (For the record, Biography.com calls him a country singer, but anyone with an album called “Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs” sounds pretty western to me.)
My Urban Cowboy
While country/western music has been part of the fabric of my life, the same cannot be said for my husband. I don’t think they had Hee Haw in Egypt and his idea of a C&W bar is Belle Starr or Billy Bob’s. For the uninformed, Belle Starr was a very trendy nightclub on Central Expressway during Dallas’ Urban Cowboy stage. I went to Belle Starr a couple of times, but was more likely to be found at the old Top Rail. Billy Bob’s is fun, but it’s a Disney version of a honky tonk, not the real thing.
Bill likes country music well enough to have a C&W station programmed onto the radio of his car. We occasionally attend the Mesquite Rodeo or the Fort Worth Stock Show. Many country hits are counted among his favorite music, but the accompanying culture is completely foreign to him. Southern Junction was a shock to his system.
How We Got There
If you’ve ever read my blog before, then you know about my best friend, Deb. In some ways we’re so much alike we’re almost redundant – and then there are the ways we are different. Deb is very into music and dancing, things I like also, but there is no way I’d invest as much time and money into ballroom dancing as she does. That love for ballroom dancing bleeds over into liking pretty much any kind of music and dance. She’s a university-trained opera singer, but if the gang from work is going someplace to dance, then she’s all over it. On occasion, I join in and sometimes even Bill comes along.
Back in the summer, Deb went to Southern Junction because the significant other of a girl she works with was playing there. He’s Kevin Freeman, fiddler for Matthew Middleton and Texas Drive. Deb invited me to join them because it is near to my new home, but it wasn’t a good day when she called. She’s been talking about going back ever since then.
So, on a recent Thursday night, Texas Drive was making a return visit to Southern Junction. I decided to check it out and Bill decided to join us. We had no idea what we were getting into, but I’ve already gone on for too long, so come back next week to find out how our “date” went.
TRAVEL HERE: CLIENTS HAVE IT GOOD WITH MERCEDES BENZ PLANO
My husband drives a Mercedes. He tries to justify the extravagance with with talk about resale value, but if that’s the case, explain to me why I’m driving a Nissan Altima. I’m not complaining mind you. I’d never trade cars with him, because his is way too sporty, but I’m not buying his story. I have to admit though, the parties are a blast.
Worth the Drive
I used to be a Dallas girl and that’s how we ended up being clients of Mercedes Benz Plano. They used to be around the corner from us. From time to time they’d invite us in for a party and our drive time was all of ten minutes, even at rush hour.
Then we moved to Heath and they moved to a new location next to Dallas North Tollway (DNT). We’ve sort of become geographically incompatible, but when they sent us an invitation to their Grand Opening Celebration we figured it would be worth the drive. We just didn’t realize what a drive it would be. At least we took the Benz!
Rush Hour Madness
If there’s one place you don’t want to be during the afternoon rush hour, it’s heading toward I-30 on Horizon Road in Rockwall. In fact, during either rush hour, the intersection of Horizon and Ridge Roads is a place to avoid. I prefer to meander through the neighborhood and take Ridge, but Bill insists Horizon is better. The traffic was so bad on this particular evening Bill thinks he might try my route.
Once we made it through the Horizon/Ridge intersection, we still had to navigate the line to the Horizon/I-30 Overpass and the traffic on the I-30 Bridge over Lake Ray Hubbard. We had plenty of time though and were enjoying each other’s company.
About the time we reached Firewheel, Bill began to bemoan the drive into Dallas. We agree that living by the pond in Heath is just about as close as we can expect to get to heaven, this side of the grave, but we do have quite the commute into the city.
Finally, it was time to exit the Bush tollway and get on the DNT. Suddenly the drive wasn’t so much fun. In fact, it was a joke to call it a drive at all. We were at a standstill. Our pleasant conversation continued, but the wheels were only turning in Bill’s head.
Suddenly, Bill swung the car into the westbound traffic. After a short drive he exited at Midway. At first it didn’t seem like we’d improved things at all. Then the light changed and at least we moved. I tuned in the GPS, because Midway north of the Bush is not my usual stomping grounds and the map in my head wasn’t clear about whether Spring Creek crossed Midway or not.
Of course, when we finally turned north on Midway, Brunhilda (our German-inspired GPS) wasn’t happy with us at all. She was determined we should make a U-turn and navigate the tollways. Even after she gave up and showed us a route which included going north on Midway, she kept trying to get us out on DNT. Eventually, I could see Spring Creek did cross Midway, so I turned Brunhilda off. We found our way to the party and it was well worth the effort.
Drinks, Hors D’oeuvres and Entertainment
For their parties, Mercedes Benz Plano always offers free valet parking. Bill thinks it’s to impress the party-goers, but I’m sure it’s to protect their inventory. It is nice, however, to have the car door opened for you by a handsome young man.
Inside, the dealership was all abuzz. At the door an employee gave us a map to all the party hot-spots. I was starving, so I scanned the horizon for food. In one corner, a dj’s choices were accented by a drummer. Across the way was a line for adult beverages, but I saved that for later.
My first stop was the Mac & Cheese bar. Next I saw a bar which didn’t seem to have as much business, but they were serving scotch whiskey. No thank you very much.
You know those tiny plates they use at parties, because folks don’t understand the difference in free hors d’oveuvres and an all-you-can-eat buffet. I’m amazed at the way some people can pile food onto such a small surface, but it really doesn’t matter how little I put on my plate, the cheese cubes and olives seem determined to commit hari kari.
At the Mercedes Benz Party, the Mac& Cheese was served in a small wooden bowl with a wooden fork. I was in heaven. Bumpers for my cheese cubes! Not to mention the fact that some of the stuff they call finger food is too gooey for my manicure.
I held on to that bowl all night long, through the Street-Taco Bar and the Slider Table. Servers kept wanting to take it away from me, but I wouldn’t let it out of my firm grip.
Checking out out the rest of the party, we found cute girls loading up buckets of swag. The mini-breath-mints and pens were getting lots of attention. Another station was making free t-shirts, but since we have enough gimme t-shirts to last us our lifetimes, we avoided that line.
We wandered back to the service bays where they had a couple of food trucks. Even though I hadn’t gotten rid of my bowl yet, I wasn’t ready for more food, just yet.
We did, however, drool over a few of the cars in the service bays. If that grey metallic convertible with the white leather interior was yours, we are so sorry about the saliva spots.
Bill developed an interest in dessert, so we followed the map to to the sweet stuff. There we found baristas whipping up various coffee concoctions, but I don’t do coffee and Bill didn’t want to kill his buzz.
We did find the sweets – mini-tarts with pecan pie filling, mini-red-velvet cupcakes, tiny lemon bars, etc. My bowl came in handy, but when I started getting a sugar-high, I finally relinquished it.
Air Graffiti Dallas
Having thoroughly checked out the northern half of the new location and the service bays out back, we headed over to the southern half to make sure we hadn’t missed anything. Come to find out, we had. There was a Bubble Bar offering Champagne Cocktails. I got the one with the raspberry in it.
We’d also missed the whole Air Graffiti thing. We saw people making pictures on the other side and writing on them with an odd pointer, but we’d assumed (wrongly) that it had something to do with the t-shirts. Air Graffiti is the new generation photo booth. You get your picture made in front of a green screen, like the special effects people use, then you select your background and have it “spray painted” with a message made using the unique pointer. The result of our picture is below.
I know I overstayed my welcome today, but it was such an adventure that I had to share it! Keep coming back, because I’ve been busy lately! You’re gonna love what I’ve been up to!
A picture of Louise Mandrell today with tickets from her show in 1999.
TRAVEL HERE: LOUISE MANDRELL PERFORMS FOR GLOBAL HEART MINISTRIES
The corner of Plano Parkway and Custer Road is quite symbolic in my mind. On one corner sits IILM, an Islamic learning center. Across the street is The Hope Center, an edifice devoted to Christian ministries. I’d thought for a long time how ironic it was that the buildings stared one another down on a daily basis. To go to The Hope Center the day after the Paris massacre was quite poignant.
Louise Mandrell
Let’s start with Louise. There was a time when Barbara Mandrell was the biggest thing in music – not just country music, music. Her little sister, Louise is a powerhouse talent on her own and if there had not been the Barbara phenomena, who knows how well-known the little sister would have been in her own right. Unfortunately, the Mandrell name suffered a scandal (an undeserved scandal, I might add) and after the facts of the matter came out, the public had already moved on.
Being the apple of the public’s eye is not always everything it’s supposed to be. Louise has continued to be a successful performer and has a very loyal following. I saw her back in 1999 in her own theater in Branson. Today, she devotes most of her time to charities and causes she cares about. She is a loyal patriot and a strong Christian. When Global Hearts Ministry invited her to come perform for a fundraising event, she was thrilled to come.
Global Hearts Ministry
Last week on my Faith Talk blog, I talked about Global Heart Ministries and the circuitous route I traveled to find out about them. Long story short, Global Hearts Ministry creates Christian TV programming in native languages for Central Asian countries – nations dominated by radical Islam, the very brand of terrorism that just attacked Paris. Because we support the ministry, we were invited to their event and as circumstances would have it, the event ended up being on the evening right after the Paris massacres.
I go into it in greater detail over on Faith Talk, but Global Hearts offers the only real antidote to radical Islam – Jesus Christ. They are taking the antidote right to the crux of the problem – Central Asia. If you really want to make a difference in the War on Terrorism, I suggest you check them out.
The program was wonderful and I learned a lot about the ministry, which you can read about over on Faith Talk. Louise Mandrell was not the only celebrity in the room. I actually got to meet June Hunt, who sat at my table – or perhaps I should say I was privileged to sit at hers. Also on hand were the stars of the shows produced by Global Hearts Ministries. If I named them here, you wouldn’t recognize their names or their faces, but if you lived in Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, Azerbaijan, Iran or Afghanistan, their names and faces are as ubiquitous as Ellen and their shows are just as popular.
Back to Louise
At the end of the program we were treated to a mini-concert by Ms. Mandrell and she packed a whale of a show into her short performance. She sang some great songs, regaled us with both inspiring and humorous stories of the Mandrell family and finished off with a little fiddling. In our swag bag, we found the autographed picture above, along with some other treats. It was a great night for a great cause.
Here’s some shots Bill got during her performance. I hope you enjoy them and I hope you’ll be back soon to see what other exciting things I’ve been up to.
TRAVEL HERE: HOW I ALMOST DIDN’T GET TO GRAPEFEST AT ALL
OK, I admit it. I’m older than I used to be. I don’t find noisy, crowded places as charming as I once did. However, the crowds were the least of my problems when I went to Grapefest.
Plans Change
When my friend Iliana suggested going to Grapefest, there was nothing on my calendar, so it seemed like a great idea. Bill and I even discussed the possibility of booking a hotel over on that side of town to make a real occasion of it. Good thing we didn’t.
The week just before Grapefest I got news a dear friend’s health was fading fast. Within days she was gone. The memorial service was scheduled in the middle of the day we planned to attend to Grapefest. Compounding the conflict, one of our tenants had some repair issues needing Bill’s attention. Then another “must do” activity came up for Sunday.
It was tempting to blow off the festival altogether. Grapevine is way over on the other side of Dallas from our home in Heath. If this had been an event Bill and I had planned for ourselves, we would have come back home that evening and drank wine on our own patio rather than make a trek across Dallas. However, Iliana, Loree and their fellows were looking forward to us being with them, so we worked it out.
Crazy Day
I started my day very early in my office, of course. The vegetable bin was empty, so I had to go to the Farmer’s Market. Then I had some chores around the house that needed immediate attention. At the appointed hour I got ready for the memorial service and put together another outfit to change into for Grapefest. I allowed twice as much time as I thought I’d need to get to the service, because I was sure there would be people there that I wanted to see.
Bill had taken my car to the meeting with the tenant and left his Mercedes for me to drive. Great, right? Not exactly. The Mercedes is entirely too sporty for this old lady. The steering is tight and so is the suspension. Besides that I’m not familiar with the all the gadgets and the dashboard might as well be a Ouija Board, because I can’t operate either one. The list goes on, but just understand I prefer my own car.
As I pulled out of the garage (missing the back-up camera on my car) I noticed the sky looked pretty ominous. I decided to take the more direct route to the highway, rather than the route winding through the neighborhood, for the sake of time. Well the more direct route was a parking lot. I watched the minutes tick by, grumbling because his clock is in a completely different place than my clock.
The bridge across Lake Ray Hubbard was crowded and when I got to the Bush Tollway the sky started to sprinkle. Bill’s car also complained to me that the tires’ air pressure needed correcting. As I tried to decide whether this was a critical issue or not, the rain began to pour.
When I got to Central I was glad I’d left early, because it appeared I’d still make it to the church with some time to spare. At least it seemed that way until I realized traffic wasn’t flowing at the usual speed. In fact, it wasn’t flowing at all. Between the traffic and the unfamiliar car, my stress level was through the sunroof. And the rain wasn’t letting up. That’s when I remembered my emergency umbrella was in the trunk of the car in my usual purse, rather than the clutch I had inside the car with me.
I finally came to my exit, but the major thoroughfare was yet another parking lot. I finally slid into my seat at the service as the family marched into the memorial service. Just then my purse vibrated with a text. Bill wanted to know where we should meet after the funeral for the trip to Grapevine. I needed some high blood pressure medicine.
My friend was a wonderful woman, beloved by many. I was so glad I had come to honor her, but the day hadn’t gone as I planned. I was sitting there among strangers instead of the friends I knew must be somewhere in the sanctuary. I sat through the proceedings, absorbing the things which were being said, but I was so stressed out I couldn’t connect with them. The moment the service was over, a text let me know Bill was waiting for me out front. No comforting hugs would be shared with my fellow mourners.
I climbed in the car and pointed out where I’d parked his car. He parked behind the Mercedes and I scurried around unloading everything I needed into my Nissan. When I got in, Bill suggested that we move the Mercedes closer to LBJ. I went back to the Mercedes and followed Bill to someplace near LBJ, but the day had been too much. I was crying like a baby.
Bill was completely oblivious to my drama and had his own issues. He’d started the day working in our yard and had moved on to doing repairs at the rental house. He’d dealt with his own stresses in connecting with me. He was hoping that I’d do the driving, but quickly figured out that he would have to transport the emotional mess I’d turned into since I walked out of the church. I’d seemed fine, then.
The Break That Wasn’t
I tried to explain to Bill why I was so distraught, but it turned into one of those “Men Are From Mars Women Are From Venus” moments when Bill tried to explain to me why everything was now going to be OK, based on the absence of rain. So I focused on getting to the girls who would completely get what I was feeling, but Bill needed some Starbucks. He has a penchant for asking me to find a Starbucks on my phone immediately after we’ve gone past the last one in close proximity. He doesn’t do it on purpose. So I found a Starbucks and directed him back to it – just at the moment the rest of Irving arrived. We couldn’t park anywhere nearby and the drive-thru line was remarkably long. But we did park. Maybe coffee would change things. Not that I drink coffee, but if poppa is happy, then it’s more likely that I will have the opportunity to be happy.
I closeted myself in the bathroom to change my clothes. Just about the time I was down to my knickers someone banged on the door of the one-toilet restroom. I was familiar with their desperation, so I turned up the speed, grabbed all my stuff and went back into the restaurant to sort through things, hoping I hadn’t left anything valuable or embarrassing behind.
While Bill tried to enjoy his coffee in the madhouse, I tried to enrich my life with a semblance of order, hanging my suit and moving my critical items from the fashionable clutch I’d carried to the funeral to a small cross-body bag better suited to a festival. I also texted my girls that I was on the way and in need of much sympathy.
Bill and I planned to take advantage of the free parking and free shuttle, but one of my friends assured me there was parking across from the main gate. She failed to mention the $10 price tag. I drove to the festival, then turned around to go back to the free parking. A $10 parking fee was not the best way to begin Bill’s visit to the festival, especially with all the emotional baggage we’d be carrying in with us. There was plenty of available spaces in the free parking lot, but the line for the shuttle was reminiscent of the line we’d seen at the Starbuck’s drive thru.
I was texting the girls of my imminent arrival, but I didn’t get their location until we were steps away from the gate. The bright sun made reading the text something of a challenge. I compared the text to the Grapefest map we’d been given and guessed where my friends would be. I guessed wrong.
Finally Grapefest
The sun was beating down as only the Texas sun can do. The festival was wall-to-wall people and the music from a band was deafening. After making all the wrong turns, we backtracked and found our friends happily enjoying wine inside a winery tasting room. I was starving, but the food choice was a to-go pack with cheese and crackers. I needed a glass of wine, but all they were serving were over-priced mini-pours in plastic cups. At least I had my girls.
As the sun headed towards the horizon, we wandered outside to take in the festival. We visited a few booths and found a place to stand, by one of the loud bands. We hung out there for awhile and then decided to try to get a real meal. Bill was starving, but that didn’t shorten the wait one iota. We were all about to escape the festival when they let us know our table was ready. We should have left.
Bill spent entirely too many years in food service to tolerate the incredibly poor service we received. Yes, there was a festival going on outside the restaurant, but it does seem like they could deliver the silverware before they brought the food to our table. They also delivered the entree at the same time they delivered the soups and salads. Bill asked to speak to a manager, but was ignored. I’d tell you where we were, but eventually Bill did find someone to complain to and they gave us a gift certificate to come back and give them another chance. It wouldn’t be nice to diss them after promising to give them another chance. More to come.
I Had Expected a Different Experience
So, I used to live on the Central Coast of California. One lovely day Bill and I went to a Wine Festival in Astascadero. The event was held in a lovely tree-shaded lake-side park. We parked for free nearby and if I remember correctly there was no entry fee. We strolled around the festival and the lake. Bill thought the price of tastings was prohibitive and there was the driving back to Pismo Beach to consider, so we just enjoyed the sights. It was a thoroughly delightful day. I imagined the same sort of thing for Grapefest, but planned on tasting in spite of the price.
Instead, the festival is on the city’s Main Street and the center of the street is filled with vendors. Like I said: hot, loud, crowded. However, folks were having a grand old time of it and I am sure next year will only be louder and more crowded. The weather I can’t speak to.
I’m thinking if we ever went back to Grapefest, we’d opt for going any day except Saturday, but that’s us. Should you go to Grapefest? I think you should. Just choose your experience more carefully than we did. If the loud, crowded hullabaloo entices you, have at it. Otherwise, opt for a quieter experience.
TRAVEL HERE: POLLOCK’S BLIND SPOTS EXHIBITION OPENING AT DALLAS MUSEUM OF ART
Judging from the turnout for the Blind Spots Exhibition Preview on Friday night, Jackson Pollack is going to enjoy a popular visit to Dallas. The last time I remember such a crowd was for Jean Paul Gautier. Here’s my confession: The line was so long Bill and I didn’t even visit the exhibition gallery. However, I’ll tell you about the party.
Attire: Black is the New Black
I am happy whenever I open up my mailbox and find an invitation from the DMA. Admittedly, I enjoy some exhibitions better than others, but I always like a reason to party at my museum.
All dressed up with somewhere to go
The invitation usually includes a hint about what to wear and the hint is often quite tongue-in-cheek. For Jackson Pollack the mandate was “Black is the new black” and here’s why. Pollack, sometimes called “Jack the Dripper,” is most well-known for his huge paintings comprised of colorful drops of paint spread across the canvas. However, he also has less-known works in black and white and these paintings are the focus of the DMA’s Blind Spots.
So, the party was a perfect reason to drag out my leathers and animal prints. I wasn’t alone in my choices. Black really was the new black and pretty much everyone wore some version of it.
Cool Vibes
Upon entering the museum we were drawn to the crowded atrium where chic patrons swarmed the bars and swayed to the sounds of a band offering retro hits from the Rat Pack and other hep cats. We’d been listening to the Barbra Streisand on Pandora as we drove the museum, so we were already in the vibe.
We joined the crush around the hors d’oeuvres and filled our small plastic plates with an interesting variety of offerings – cheese, crackers, hummus and less recognizable bits with tiny desserts. It was OK – not the DMA’s best night, but who am I to complain about free food; especially when chocolate was involved.
Not So Cool Vibes
Then we looked around for somewhere to alight. I saw some chairs, but those seats were reserved for Texas Instruments. I’d seen the logos on the chairs, but had wrongly assumed the chairs were provided by, rather than exclusively for, TI. The help shooed us away. Across the room I saw some more seats and they were without logos. Those chairs were reserved for Bank of America and we were once again turned out.
Please understand, I am very grateful to companies which support the arts, but I thought the set up was a little tacky. Perhaps there were signs which were intended to inform us of the exclusivity of the seating. If so, in the crush of people, the signs were invisible. We had to endure being banished. Also, the TI and BofA folks had not exactly shown up in droves. Someone should have checked to see if anyone was actually coming before they saved the best quarter of the room for absent patrons.
Overpopulated Pollock
After standing and juggling our plates with the rest of the peons, weheaded towards the exhibit, only to discover at least half of Dallas waiting in line to enter the gallery. So, we stood in a shorter line to take advantage of the photo booth. I’ve posted the result below.
Thinking the line might become more manageable if we waited a bit, we decided to wander through the main concourse. That’s when we ran into the other select group we weren’t a part of – The DMA Circle. Just as I’m grateful to corporate sponsors, I’m also very glad other people can afford to donate more money to the museum than I do, but whoever came up with the idea of plopping them smack-dab in the middle of the concourse wasn’t doing anyone any favors. Here the crowd was thin enough for us to to see signs warning we were about to cross a no-peon zone, but since people were entering and exiting from doors all along the concourse, why did the Circle’s area straddle the concourse?
We strolled through the Circle area, up and down the full concourse and then back through the Circle area to discover the exhibit line was no shorter. So, we visited the retail opportunities. Near some elevators, we found seating not already sequestered for other patrons and did a little people watching while we watched the line not move. What would we do next?
Our Executive Decision
As my regular readers know, I’m not a fan of modern art. I’m interested enough to drive down to the museum to take a look, but when things become increasingly inconvenient, I discover I’m not actually all that interested in hanging around.
Someone once asked a previous director of the DMA why we didn’t have more of the Old Masters at the museum. The director pointed out that pretty much all of the Old Masters already belonged to someone else when the DMA started its collecting. He also waxed eloquent on the opportunity Dallas had to be at the forefront of collecting modern art. More and more the DMA embraces this philosophy and extends their modern outlook to their choice of exhibitions.
I am very grateful to the museum for the wonderful special exhibitions that have come through their galleries: Impressionists, Oriental masterpieces, Parisian posters, floral masterworks, treasures from Egyptian tombs, Pompeiian wonders… The list of amazing exhibitions I’ve seen there as a member is almost 50 years long, but I’m beginning to wonder if it’s going to get much longer.
While Dallas exhibits International Pop and Blind Spots, over in Fort Worth, the Kimbell offers Caillebotte and Castiglione. Next year the DMA will host a single Vermeer exhibited with six painting by his contemporaries, but the Kimbell will offer 60 Monets. In the Sadek economy, it might make more sense to belong to the Kimbell instead of the DMA.
I hate to think of abandoning an institution which has been such an important part of my life. Seriously, that’s where Bill and I met. But in many ways I feel the institution is abandoning me. On Friday night we made a decision to put off our viewing of an exhibition. Our next decision will be a serious consideration of how we are spending our cultural dollars.
Whatever we decide to do about our museum membership, I hope you’ll decide to keep coming back for more Travel Talk.
TRAVEL HERE: FOOD TRUCKS, BEER & MUSIC! WHAT MORE COULD YOU ASK FROM A TRUCK YARD?
Loree Posard, my friend and Hair Guru Extraordinaire, asked me if I’d been to the Truck Yard and suggested we take a trip to Lower Greenville Avenue to check it out. I thought that was a great idea, but then before we set up a date for the event, Bill and I found ourselves in the area and couldn’t resist the opportunity to go. I’ve apologized to Loree for going without her and now I’m telling everyone to go.
The Usual Lower Greenville Parking Hassle
Sunday afternoon, Lower Greenville, same parking challenge. For the uniformed, Lower Greenville is this charming little residential neighborhood with a wild and crazy entertainment area smack dab in the middle of it. What’s amazing is that it’s still thriving.
Lower Greenville Avenue has been a popular hangout since I was in high school and that was a long time ago. Chances are that it was a cool place to hangout even before I was in high school, but I didn’t know about cool before then. If someone were to use it as a model for other successful entertainment hubs, a shortage of parking would be considered a necessity. You haven’t been able to park on Lower Greenville Avenue since sometime in the Sixties, as far as I know, because ever since the Seventies it’s been wall-to-wall daily.
The Truckyard is just off Sears Street
The Truck Yard is not on Greenville Avenue. It’s on a side street. Just head down Greenville Avenue and watch for the Trader Joe’s. Turn right after the trendy grocery store and you’ll be on Sears Street.
If you are among the uninformed then you might wonder why there was a Sears Street crossing Greenville Avenue. Well, it’s there, because once a pretty important Sears and Roebuck Store sat right in the middle of all this. However, the store and Roebuck have both moved on to other pastures.
Once you turn onto Sears Street you will immediately notice bright red parking signs informing you where you can and can’t park as the patron of various retail and dining establishments. I’d pulled my car into a parking spot right across from the Truck Yard because I saw the name of the venue on one of the bright red signs. However, the bright red sign told me I could park there for the Truck Yard AFTER 9 pm, otherwise I should be visiting Trader Joe’s or a handful of other establishments I didn’t recognize.
Bill had the bright idea of stopping into the Trader Joe’s and picking up a few items he needed, which we did. He thought we’d be covered to park in the lot under those circumstances. The uniformed policemen on hand were not amused by his idea, so we had to move. Across the street, right next to the Truck Yard is valet parking. Bill doesn’t do valet parking, so we kept on going and at the end of the block we found some free parking. Valet parking is fine with me, but how come the valet guy can’t make the trip from the end of block for the valeted cars? Why did we have to make the pilgrimage from the end of the block. Usually I don’t mind walking, but I’d just spent hours walking around an art festival (and Trader Joe’s and the Trader Joe’s parking lot) so I was ready to park my rear in a seat and drink some beer.
Welcome to Heaven
If you’ve ever been to the Katy Trail Ice House then you know exactly what to expect at the Truck Yard, except that instead of BBQ and Burgers, you eat whatever the food trucks are offering that day. Yep, it was pretty cool. We thoroughly enjoyed our visit.
In my imagination, I had anticipated a huge collection of food trucks like we’d seen in downtown Portland, but there were only three – pizza, sliders and healthy stuff. We opted for sliders and they were good. A little research since my visit revealed the Truck Yard has some of its own offerings, including a Philly Cheesesteak Sandwich which is supposed to be out of this world.
I complained about the food truck selection and Loree thought they had more choices on the weekend, but I checked their website and it looks like they pretty regularly have three trucks there. Maybe they have others they don’t post on weekends. You’ll have to let me know.
So, the bottom line is GO! Here’s some more shots of the place you might enjoy. Observe the baby bottle standing among the beer bottles on one of the tables. I got a kick out of that.
TRAVEL HERE: THE 12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS CAPTURED IN GLITTERING GAZEBOS AT DABS
Christmas has arrived in the Metroplex. I saw it first back in July in Town East’s At Home store. Soon Costco was stocking its aisles with gift baskets. Saturday I OD’ed on red and green at Plano’s ‘Neath the Wreath Holiday Gift Market. However, it was the lighting of the Dallas Arboretum Christmas Tree on Sunday night which alerted me the season was officially off and running.
Second Year of 12 Days
Though this is the second year these glittering gazebos have graced the lawns of the Arboretum, I had not seem them yet. Last December was lost in the haze of home-building. Almost daily I reminded Bill I wanted to visit the Holiday at the Arboretum, but we didn’t make it. When DABS invited me to a preview of this year’s gazebos, there was no way I was going to miss it.
Given the choice of a daytime or evening visit, I remembered my conversation with Caelie Dunn, MEd, Children’s Garden Public Program Manager,during a recent visit to her garden. She remarked on the magical experience of seeing the gazebos shining in the darkness. Her remark was based on last year’s gazebos and this year they added a half a million more lights! I decided that’s the way I wanted to experience them for the first time and I was going to take my husband with me.
Initially, the media preview was set for a private viewing on Thursday night, but the weather intervened. So bloggers and journalists were rolled into the very popular tree-lighting event. What a crazy madcap evening! Cars poured into the parking lot and throngs of people gravitated towards the entrance. The line moved fast, but still, we were glad to make our way to the media table and bypass the crowd. We stopped in the Education Pavilion so Bill could take advantage of the refreshments in the press room, then joined the crush of people headed toward Day One – A Partridge in a Pear Tree.
How Do You Choose a Favorite?
Seven Swans a-Swimming
When we stepped up to the golden wonder of the Partridge in a Pear Tree Gazebo, I wondered why they’d chosen to start with the best. As you can see from the photo, it was amazing. However, I only thought it was the best gazebo, because I hadn’t seen the rest of them, yet. Two turtledoves also glittered. Three french hens – oooo la la! Four calling birds charmed. Five golden rings enchanted. And then there were the swans!
Along the way we took a gazebo break to watch the tree-lighting ceremony, but I’ve got to tell you, the tree in the Nine Ladies Dancing Gazebo out-wows the tree they officially lit. After leaping with the lords, piping with the pipers and catching the drummers, we wandered back to visit the dancing ladies and the swans. On the way out we admired the partridge again. How do you choose a favorite?
Come to Our Christmas Garden
Yes, the Dallas Arboretum is all decked out for Christmas and will be through January 3rd, but the gazebos are just the beginning of the fun. Through November 25th, the colorful Pumpkin Village of Autumn at the Arboretum will still be on exhibit. The 300 creches of the Artistry of the Nativity in the Degolyer House will be on display during 12 Days. The Gift Shop is full of unique items guaranteed to make you a popular Santa. You can also enjoy Holiday Tea (a personal favorite), holiday themed classes and from time to time, Santa will even be there to greet you! I’m sure I’ll be at the Arboretum several times over the next few weeks to see it all – during the day and at the special evening events.
But enough words! You’re here to see the gazebos, right? Well here you go! Kudos to Mr. Bill for his photographic assist. I’m fine with my phone and do well enough with my DSLR during the day, but I knew he’d get the best shots of this nighttime wonder.
TRAVEL HERE: A DAY OF MUSEUMS INCLUDES SPIRIT & MATTER AT THE DALLAS MUSEUM OF ART
My poor bestie; dragged from museum to museum on her birthday. Thankfully, it’s not all that bad. She likes museums almost as much as I do. I guess that’s why we’re such fast friends. For her recent birthday we visited three different museums (after Sunday Brunch at the ever delightful Toulouse). I told you about the House of Alba exhibit at the Meadows Museum last week. This week I’ll give you a taste of the DMA and the Crow Collection of Asian Art.
Speaking of Tastes
This being Texas, it’s not unusual for Deb and I to have meals al fresco, even in January, but the weather on this weekend was decidedly nasty and several al fresco choices we’d hoped for didn’t make sense in the mist and chill. We’d actually planned to visit the Arboretum, but it was too awful. The nastiness made adventures at the restaurants of Trinity Groves or checking out the food trucks at The Truck Yard undesirable. So we punted and went to Toulouse, our old favorite.
Please forgive me for failing to mention Toulouse in the past, but sometimes the most familiar things are ones we forget to share. I can’t even remember how I first visited Toulouse, but when I did I knew I’d found something. This street-side cafe is reminiscent of Paris’ cafe-scene, but it also has Dallas written all over it.
This strip of sidewalk has seen everything from the original On the Border to a store that sold china out of dish barrels. Patrons drive their fancy car up to the valet and stroll in wearing the latest Dallas style. The music is jazzy French but the conversation is all Big D.
My favorite dish is the Eggs Florentine with asparagus and crab meat, but I want that with a glass of champagne and beignets on the side. I’ve tasted other dishes from waffles to Croque Madame, but I keep returning to the Eggs Florentine. I promise you’ll love it. From Toulouse we went to the DMA.
Spirit & Matter
Last year, the DMA got its hands on the Keir Collection, in the form of a 15 year loan. According to the DMA website, the marvelous pieces cover “1,300 years of creativity” in the Islamic World. Spirit & Matter includes a mere soupcon of the 2000 plus items in the full collection, but it is a tasty soupcon. On exhibit are jewelry, carpets, manuscripts and pottery.
Most impressive to me were the detail-rich miniature paintings and illustrated texts. I was dying for a magnifying glass to better see the tiny details of the works. For pure prettiness, I enjoyed seeing an exquisite rock crystal ewer. Since the exhibit is small, we were able to view it relatively quickly and get down to the Crow Collection, a museum Deb hadn’t seen yet.
Crow Collection
The first floor of the Crow is dominated by Variable Dimensions, an exhibit I’ve described in detail, here and here. Though interesting, it’s not really our cup of green tea, so we moved upstairs to the permanent collection. Ooooohing and aaaaahing began in earnest. Jade, porcelain and other visual miracles, like a large crystal ball held by dragons, enchanted us and suspended time.
I hadn’t been to this part of the museum in recent months, so I hadn’t seen a new installation devoted to items Margaret Crow kept in her home, until she passed away last year. It was interesting to see what such avid collectors chose to have around them on a daily basis.
I was pleased to discover the Crows collected in an almost serendipitous manner. They didn’t hire someone to amass their collection or set out to develop an exhaustive survey of a particular medium or artist. They just bought what they liked and they particularly liked jade. They used their homes and the properties Trammel Crow developed to display their treasures. Then they gave this wonderful collection to Dallas along with a lovely museum which is always free. This kind of philanthropy is the reason I love the one per-centers.
Upstairs on a mezzanine were contemporary pieces which were not of great interest to me, but fit well with Dallas Art Scene’s slant to the modern. Across a bridge decorated by a huge flock of flying origami cranes, is a gallery devoted to Indian art. All very interesting, of course, but it was thoughts of Margaret and Trammel Crow themselves which dominated my thoughts as I left the museum.
It was time for us to head over to the Meadows for the House of Alba exhibit and you should, too, but keep the DMA and the Crow Collection on your list of places to visit in Dallas.
TRAVEL HERE: DMA TALK EXPLAINS WHY INTERNATIONAL POP IS ART
About a month ago I went to a party to kick-off the International Pop Exhibition at the Dallas Museum of Art. It was a fun party, but I didn’t love the art. To complicate my appreciation of the exhibition, the museum changed their MO.
In the past, exhibition-opening parties included a brief talk about the art, so even if I didn’t love the works, I could at least understand why I should appreciate them. For some reason, for this exhibition, the museum separated these two components. Recently, I was invited back to the museum for a little pop education. This is what I learned.
Why the Exhibit is International, Not Global
Global, International, World-wide – whatever – right? Well, not exactly. While the words may be synonymous, they are not necessarily repetitious.
I’ve always liked the word “International.” International airports. International arrivals. International departures. International Man of Mystery. What’s not to love?
I haven’t been as fond of “Global.” Take Global Warming, which they morphed into Climate Change. Or the Global Economy, which is never in very good shape. Really, what is there to love?
Gabriel Ritter, The Nancy and Tim Hanley Assistant Curator of Contemporary Art and curator of International Pop, explained why “International” was the appropriate term for the DMA’s Pop Art Exhibition and it made a lot of sense. It also sounded like another reason why I prefer “international” to “global.”
Today’s world is global. A tree falls in the Ecuadoran rain forest and within moments a tree hugger in Big Sur knows about it. The tree hugger has never been to Ecuador, may never have spoken to anyone in Ecuador, may not even know anything about the type of tree that fell, but through the world wide web he/she can have a finger on the global tree population.
The spread of Pop Art was international. Artists and art works traveled between countries sharing ideas in the first person. They collaborated in real time in the same room. Online meetings, email, texting, social media – it’s all great, but one of my hobby horses is that there is nothing like really being there.
I’ve taken online classes and I’ve been in the brick and mortar classroom. The brick and mortar classes are superior experiences in my book. I learned more, still retain more and enjoyed the classes more. Just as I love checking Facebook to see what is up with my buddies, but I like sitting down with them even better. So, just call me pro-international.
What Impressionism and Pop Art Have in Common
Don’t blame Gabriel Ritter for this, because he did not say it, but I walked away from the lecture understanding Pop Art better, when I realized it had things in common with Impressionism. Impressionism, which is one of my favorite genres, was not universally embraced when it first came on the scene and people like me still don’t embrace Pop Art, but both movements were a reaction to what was happening in the world.
The Impressionistic movement, was a reaction to photography, which gave painting a run for its money. A box of technology could perfectly capture a scene in a way centuries of paintings could not replicate. Almost immediately the influence of photography showed up in paintings.
Degas, a prolific photographer, is famous for his paintings of ballet dancers. It seems to me that in many of these paintings he was experimenting with angles, like a child randomly snapping photos, capturing parts of instruments in a painting of dancers and then getting dancers legs in a painting of the orchestra. Yet he also has pictures where he carefully sets up his subjects to capture a certain type of light or to utilize a mirror for a special effect, just like an accomplished photographer would. I see these experiments as his impressionistic response to photography.
Since cameras could duplicate the visual details of a scene, Impressionists endeavored to impart other information with their work. I’m particularly fond of Van Gogh, because his staccato stabs of paint and distinctive swirls suggest fragrance, light, wind movement and sound in a way traditional paintings and the newfangled photography of his day never did. Looking back at these artists, I love what they were doing and the chances they were taking in their art. Perhaps if I’d been alive at the time, I would be as persnickety about Impressionism as I am Pop Art.
Just as the Impressionist reacted to the photographic images of their day, Mr. Ritter explained how Pop Artist reacted to the pervasive visual media of their day. The photograph had turned into television and movies. Newspapers and magazines were awash with photography. Advertisers were trying to spin our tastes wherever we turned and we Americans were assumed to be the worst offenders of this taste intrusion.
Pop Art pushed back. It made light of the serious business of media. In his talk, Mr. Ritter went through a series of slides (some of works in the exhibition, some images from elsewhere) and described how each work responded to something happening in the world during the Sixties (and the years immediately before and after the Sixties.) I just wish they would have pushed back with more attractive images.
My Instincts Were Not Wrong
The lecture helped me understand the Pop Artists a little more. I could see what they were trying to say, but what I learned didn’t create a greater affection for Pop Art. See, I disagree with the ancient Greek philosophers. They prized ideas over technology. A sculptor was merely a gifted craftsman. I prefer the work of the craftsman and I elevate him to the position of artist.
Modern art returns to the opinions of this aggrandizement of the idea over execution of the idea. Who cares if the execution of an idea is imperfect, if the idea is original and slightly provocative? Well, actually I do.
Down the street from the DMA, the Crow Collection is exhibiting works by Andrew Gorlizki, who comes up with ideas in New York which are executed by artisans and craftsmen India. I understand why museum curators consider Andrew Gorlizki to be the “artist”, but to me, those guys with the single bristled paint brushes are the real artists. Gorlizki is more like a patron, offering ideas and a studio. However, I’m merely a travel and lifestyle blogger, not a specialist in the arts, so I don’t count. (Thankfully, I also get to state my opinion without having to back it up with volumes of proof.)
In addition to my preference for craftsmen, I find the ridicule the Pop Artists intended towards America stings me a little bit. America is a large target for disdain and in spite of all our noble endeavors, it seems as if the world chooses to focus on our faults. It’s an old song and I’m weary of it. I sensed the artists’ disdain, even before I was informed of it.
My initial reaction to most of the items in the International Pop Art exhibition was, “Really? Are you serious?” My informed reaction is not very different. Once I was in on the joke, my opinion of several of the pieces rose and a few tickled my funny bone, but I still find most of the items downright ugly and many are still offensive. I hear what they are saying, but I would respect the message more if there was more craftsmanship.
Here’s my bottom line. When it comes to art, you don’t have to like everything you see, but you should at least try to understand it. If, after you understand it, you still don’t like it, that’s OK. What do you think?
Miscellaneous Jane 