Deep in the Heart of Texas

Hey, y'all! I am in Dallas with my dear buddy Payson. I am obstensibly here to start working with him on a project to develop "marketing materials" for his next career phase. We don't exactly know what that means at the moment but that's why I'm here, to figure it out. A lot of talking over a lot of wine will be involved.

He also wants me to have a little bit of a tourist experience so today we're going to drive around Dallas, visit a sculpture museum, see the Grassy Knoll and have some BBQ. He also insists that I have to have steak while I'm here so he's fixing up some filets for tonight. Darn. Oh, well, when in Rome, right?

The flight down was fine, considering my horror of flying. And to be specific, it isn't flying itself that bothers me. Up there at 37,000 feet, looking down on the patchwork of the heartland and fields of clouds that make me hungry for pavlova, I'm fine. I have my cocktail (Bloody Mary for the Seattle-Denver leg, g&t from Denver to Dallas), I read and I look out the window and marvel. Take off and landing, however, are altogether different. It is only by sheer force of will that I don't bawl like a baby. It's all the weird noises and shudders that bug me. Was that bang normal? Is the plane breaking apart or is that just landing gear? I keep my eye on the flight attendants. We're jostling around and they aren't saying so much as "oopsie daisy" let alone "Holy mother of God!". So I breath deeply, and like John Cusak and Ione Skye in "Say Anything", I sit tensely, waiting for the seatbelt light to go off.

But enough of that. I'm in the land of W, my first visit to a red state in almost 20 years. It was 98 degrees yesterday, with a blanket of humidity that just sucks the life right out of you. Texans have a different relationship to light that we do in the Northwest. At home my house is flooded with natural light all day long. I have sheer curtains everywhere so that even on rainy days there is light. Interiors in Texas, though, are dim and cool. Everything is shuttered against sun because it isn't just hot, it is fierce. You feel the weight of it on your skin. I did have breakfast outside, but only because there is a small table in a shady corner and it's not yet blazing. Early mornings make a lot of sense in Texas.

Payson's back garden is lovely. The grass, a variety called St. Augustine, looks like a golf course. There are crepe myrtles, jasmine and gorgeous live oaks. There are cicadas in the trees and in the evening they make the most amazing, intense song. When they get really loud it's called a "riot". I have to make a tape recording of them. I love cicadas and I will miss them when I return home. We need singing bugs.

I need another cuppa coffee. (Starbucks, of course. I had briefly considered bringing Payson a pound as a host gift, until I realized that it is no longer the unique gift it once was. Sure enough, he's got plenty of it). Then I need to get ready for my pilgrimage to the Grassy Knoll and all other things Dallas. Y'all have a fine day, hear?