Packed and walking out the door of my comfy airbandb, two
small dogs bound in with my host Karin right behind. She apologizes, but I
don’t mind, the dogs are well-behaved, just curious. I fall in love with Hazel,
who is boundless on three legs. “I don’t know how she’d be with four,” Karin
confesses. I am glad to meet Karin, but grateful she has given me space. Turns
out we’re headed the same direction, the Dallas Farmer’s Market (well, she’s
going to yoga across the street) and she was just about to call Uber. I offer
her a ride in exchange for navigating. Nagrivating,
I reveal my husband and I call it. We laugh and seal the deal. She’s out front
just as I get the car loaded and we’re off. It’s so much easier to negotiate
the snaking roadways with a human, who can even tell you which of the five
lanes you should be in. We get there quickly and without incident, a foil to my
drive in from DFW. As luck would have it – yesterday’s Google Maps now seems
way out of whack and scale – the pottery I tried to find is right across from
the farmer’s market. I park in the free yoga lot Karin suggests, say goodbye
and head off to explore the market.
Less produce, more art and food stands, it’s a beautiful,
cloudless, sunny morning. I sample organic cheddar-and-caramel popcorn, “plain
Jane” local jerky and the “best cookies you ever had” when I learn they are
gluten free. I remark that the cinnamon in the oatmeal raisin is really good.
“Vietnamese,” he says and I knew it, my favorite. I almost purchase a small hand-painted, leather cross-body
bag, but wait to see what damage I do at the pottery. The artist uses acrylics
to marbleize the stylish bags. She makes a line of Frida Kahlo prayer flags
that are very tempting. I steel myself. I walk the inside and outside, opt against
breakfast and beeline to the pottery.
Dusty, packed and colorful, Amigos Pottery is my kind of
place. Doesn’t take me long to identify the tile section and I begin pouring
through, aligning my maybes on a tile table. I know I don’t want a repeating pattern
and discover I don’t want a symbol either, just a design. I select two that
will complement the faux finishes I spent hours splashing on my kitchen walls
and cabinets. I walk the rest of the outdoor maze, agonize over a few simple
chimeneas, but realize they will be impossible to carry or ship. I discover a section
of mini tiles and pour over those. I lay my 24 minis and my 24 medium tiles on
a spare counter and ask an employee who may be the owner if I can put them in
bags and feel how heavy they are. I explain that I am flying and can only take
50 pounds. He skillfully wraps my treasure in multiple bags and says they’re
not that heavy. I concur because I can easily lift them. So, I head back and
select another 12 medium tiles in a new pattern because I can’t help myself. I
schlep them all into my backpack, lumber across the street and land them in the
trunk, happy that my aborted mission from yesterday is accomplished.
Deep Ellum, another arts area I’ve heard so much about is
about 5 minutes away, so I decide to go for lunch before I head to Plano to the
wedding. I land free, street parking and can’t wait to explore. But I can’t get
my trunk to lock no matter how hard I try. This Mazda 3 rental has been a royal
pain. For the third time in three days I call roadside assistance, pushing the
corresponding number for auto features and am told my only option is to drive
back to the airport, an hour away and in the opposite direction of where I am
headed, and trade vehicles. I decline, walk around the block quickly while I
believe my car and those precious tiles are still safe, then drive toward Plano.
I am disappointed because Deep Ellum looked interesting and edgy.
Doesn’t take long to get on the freeway; my Google Maps is
set to avoid tolls because in addition to the toll there’s a daily upcharge
from the rental company. Had I not been busy driving or had a passenger, I
would have gotten a photo of the four-deck knot of highway. I’ve never seen so
much cement. Some piers were painted green or red with a star stamped in them.
Texas does things in a big way, which may have something to do with its
extensive suburban sprawl. Skyscrapers lined half the highway to Plano, then
morphed into the ubiquitous Olive Gardens, Michaels and Doubletrees in every
city in America. I almost forgot where I was.
Plano’s upscale McMansions on postage-stamp lots, about six
feet it seemed between neighbors, dressed in lush vegetation echo the state’s
vastness. Brick or wood walls guarded developments, so mostly you caught
glimpses of the massive, angled rooflines. I thought I spotted Buckingham
Palace by the roof. Every store or restaurant chain imaginable resides in
Plano, alongside these planned communities. I used to name caskets for a living
and was good at it. I could make a fortune in Plano naming subdivisions, malls,
strip centers, condos and apartment complexes. My Marriott Springhill Suites is
situated in a development with a convenient footbridge across the creek from
more shopping, restaurants and the reception site. I check in early, assisted
by very helpful staff, unloaded – those tiles were getting heavy – and took
time for a dip in the pool and hot tub. It was such a gorgeous day that I took
my Dallas 1963 book purchased at the
JFK Museum outside to sun and read. My weather app registered 84 degrees.
After leisurely prepping for the wedding, I was off to the
church for the true reason I was in Dallas: the first wedding of a childhood
friend. Amy met Stephen well after she ever dared to believe it could still
happen, I suspect. They came to Cincinnati last summer to announce their
engagement and meet family and close friends. Amy’s and my parents met as
students at the University of Iowa, lived in Chicago and moved both of our
families in close succession to Cincinnati. We’re really more like family. No
one else could travel right now, so I felt like the Rose Family Delegate. There
was no way I would miss this wedding. Amy’s like a sister and I immediately
liked Stephen and could see how they balanced each other. He encouraged her to
launch her own real-estate business, which is how they came to build the
beautiful house I’d toured the previous two days in the Bishop Arts District.
He’d also nudged and accompanied her home a few weeks ago to visit my sister
and her ill husband.
Seated early, I was mesmerized by the massive organ,
counting it’s shiny pipes and awestruck by long stained-glass window gradating
from yellow-orange to red, then blues with a simple, yet immense window running
forming a cross. I know faith and music have meant a lot to Amy over the years
and this space was sacred to her. I was honored to be visiting and
participating. The service was more than lovely, it included inspired words,
Scripture, vocals and vows. Amy’s older brother walked her down the aisle channeling,
as he said, his inner father to read a poem their dad and written.. His voice
broke a few times, but he did really well, appearing well out of his comfort
zone. As Amy floated to the alter happier than I have ever witnessed in a
beautiful dress, I felt her father’s presence. He was an impeccable artist with
an eye for details. He would have loved the dress.
Pomp and ceremony over, I caught up in the lobby with
another longtime family friend, who lives in Boise and I had not seen since
1995. Just like our parents had, we reconnected instantly and sat together
catching up and reminiscing at the reception. I was so grateful for Sarah and
Renee’s company. Everyone else I knew was part of the wedding party. We ate,
sipped wine and danced the night away, reveling in his new journey for Amy and
Stephen. They’re taking a cruise down the Danube as a honeymoon. Bet it’ll look
blue to them.
I am so grateful for the journey to Dallas I had as a result
of this invitation.
I was up early the next morning, nervous to return the
rental car and ask for a discount. I opted for the quicker tollways and spotted
a gas station at the airport, higher priced, but cheaper than paying for a full
tank of gas. I checked in and was told I’d need to find a manager for any bill
adjustments. No one was at the desk before 7 a.m., so I went to the one open
and the agent agreed to help. “The manager should be in now, but he’s
quitting.” Didn’t sound promising. I took her 18-percent discount, figuring I
could duke it out over e-mail. However, no one will know to check this car for
the next renter.
Got my bag checked and entered the security line when a
young woman, Kayla, came up behind me afraid she was late. I told her to relax
when I realized we had the same flight. DFW doesn’t recognize TSA pre-check
except that I didn’t have to remove my shoes and I didn’t feel segregated form
the rest of the travelers. My bag was examined for – you guessed it s I did –
the tightly packed tiles. Once opened, I was handed the mess to repack and said
I was good to go. I reconnected with Kayla, a nurse, in line for coffee and she
handed me an Emergen-C pack to stir in my water. “Always taking care of
everyone?” I asked. “Yes,” she replied. I was also reacquainted before boarding
with Natalie and Penny, the mother and daughter with whom I’d shared the
incoming flight. They’d had a great weekend at the NFL draft and Natalie had
pinched the butt of some player whose name rang no bells for me, but made her
happy.
My neighbor and I commiserated with the woman in our row’s
aisle seat who said she’d traveled to Dallas for her granddaughter’s prom, only
to have the boyfriend break up with her during
the dance and have her home two hours later. What a creep, we concurred.
A half hour from home, I nudged my sleeping neighbor and
politely sked if I could get through. Didn’t think I could make it home before
needing a bathroom break. On my way to the back of the plane, a man called my
name as I dumbly looked at him. He said his name and I knew him immediately.
We’d gone through school together. Apparently he’d send me a Facebook message,
but I’d already had my phone in airplane mode. I got to meet his wife and a
daughter and would have been so upset to have discovered the message too late.
It was a nice bookend for my trip, matching the other old
friend I’d bumped into at CVG going to my gate. I came away with new friends,
old friends and many tales to tall. Thank you, Dallas. Thank you, Amy.
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