Carls Corner

Interstate 35 gets confused in the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex area. About 30 miles south of the Metroplex, it splits into two legs – one leg goes through Fort Worth, and the other through Dallas (which are about 35 miles apart). Then, about 30 miles north, they coalesce. In between, they are known as 35E and 35W. If you’re from out of town, this can be confusing, because both of them run north-south – it’s just that one of them is left (West) of the other (East).

I only mention this because I started out this morning from Fort Worth towards Carl’s Corner. Why would I go there? Because I’ve heard it mentioned recently from two independent sources: friends in Connecticut, and Julian Pettifer in BBC Radio 4’s “Crossing Continents” (I’ll get back to that in a minute).

Up in Smoke

Starting from Fort Worth, you head south on 35W, whereas Carl’s Corner is on 35E. Fortunately, about the time you need to make a u-turn to come back towards Dallas on 35E, you hit one of my favorite BBQ truck stops. The menu is pretty basic: plates of beef, ham, sausage, hot links or turkey for $6.79 – a plate includes two sides (typically beans, potato salad, green beans, mashed potatoes, corn, …); ribs for $9.99; po’boy (yes, good question – I don’t know) for $4.59; Texas trash (frito pie Texas style – again, I don’t know) for $6.25. Desserts: cobbler or pie for $2.50. To drink: coffee, iced tea or coke – large or small, but nobody (except me) orders small (and that’s only because I know that “large” means I’ll most likely need a friend to help me carry it).

"Bio Willie"

Delicious. So what’s the deal with Carl’s Corner (http://www.wnbiodiesel.com/locations-TX-Carls%20Corner.html)? It’s just a truck stop, but the owner is a friend of Willie Nelson. When Willie heard that Carl was closing down and retiring, he called him and persuaded him to stay open selling “bio-diesel”, which is made from natural products. Willie Nelson isn’t on my list of favourite singers, and he’s had a few legal problems, but he is to the American farmer what Bob Geldof is to starving Africans, and I admire him for that. So Carl stayed open, and, as he says, “the truckers did the rest”. It’s cheaper, it gets more miles per gallon, and the engine runs cooler. While I was there, a 30-wheeler pulled in to fill up – I’m used to 18-wheelers, but this was a monster, and so was the guy who climbed down from the cab. Loose fitting pants and t-shirt, with a beer-gut that hung down almost to his knees!

I didn’t go inside – if you’re not a trucker or a biker, I think the place might fall silent as you walk in, but I’m probably being unfair.

And why would Julian Pettifer be even remotely interested? Because, apparently, even though the American administration appears to be denying all knowledge of global warming, and refusing to be a party to the Tokyo Accord, there is a grass roots movement with indications to the contrary. Individual states are instituting mechanisms for reducing corporate emissions, and ways to trade “coupons” between states that are particularly efficient with those that are not. And an Evangelical church splinter group is breaking ranks by recognizing that we were given stewardship of the earth and its resources, and should accept the responsibility for taking care of it (there is a strong “creationist” versus “evolutionist” debate here, which means that many evangelicals automatically reject anything that “scientists” might have to contribute). And so Julian Pettifer not only visited Carl’s Corner, but also the town of McCamey, Texas – the “wind energy capital of Texas”  (http://www.mccameycity.com/windmills.htm). That’s quite a few hundred miles west of here, and, much as I’d like to visit, it’s a little too far to drive.

So don’t believe everything you read. Sometimes the people can make a difference. And, at the moment, George W. Bush is following, not leading.

Nothing to Write Home About

It’s not supposed to be this cold in Texas, y’all! The temperature dropped 50ºF from 80ºF one day to below freezing the next. And here, snow is unusual – more often, we get “freezing rain”, which is a euphemism for the major highways acquiring a surface like glass, and being littered with cars that have spun off onto the grassy verge, and the flashing lights of Emergency Services vehicles slowing down the traffic to almost a complete standstill.

The fountain outside the hotel, though still trying valiantly to maintain its credibility, is essentially frozen – and the picture was taken around noon!

Meanwhile, back in Eggesford, the winter landscape continues to look stunningly beautiful – the picture is of our local church (in the foreground), and Eggesford House, of which I know nothing more than the name (in the background).

So there’s literally “nothing to write home about” – and I had such great plans for this weekend. I’m sure that within a week the unusual cold spell will be over, but for now, I can do no better than include a small vignette that I wrote some time ago – if for any reason my memory fails me, and you’ve seen this before, I think you’ll just have to grin and bear it!

Panhandling is illegal in Dallas. Every now and then they have a crackdown, and it disappears for a while. But it always comes back.

While waiting at a red light, a young black man with a feckless smile stood by the side of the road, baseball cap in hand, held out expectantly. He waved cheerfully at the occupants of cars as they drew up. He didn’t look hungry or drunk or drugged – merely forlorn. His clothes, though old and ragged, were clean, and he wasn’t the usual panhandler that you’d cross the street to avoid.

I stared resolutely ahead. The light took forever to change, and that gave me time to think. Why did I refuse to make eye contact? Presumably because, in the inner recesses of my mind, I could pretend that I hadn’t seen him, or that he didn’t exist. If he’d been wounded, or fainting from thirst, would I have helped? I think so. So why not help with some loose change (which I dump into a jar when I get back to the hotel and then donate to Children In Need in those little envelopes they give you on the plane anyway)?

Maybe it helps if you have a rule – you know: “I never give money to beggars”, or “I donate to charity through my church”. But I don’t think it would help. Somehow the thought that I completely ignored a fellow human being that was in need of help, and worse, that I tried to convince myself that he wasn’t even there, weighs on my mind. I know you can’t give money to everyone who asks for it; I know he’d “probably only go and buy beer”; I know that “he ought to get himself a job like everyone else”. But I also know that not everyone in similar circumstances has deliberately thrown themselves under the wheels of life.

The trouble is, how do you tell the difference? And what do you do about it? In my case, the answer is, sadly, nothing.

In my defence, I have to say that, now, I invariably give money to people that look as though they need it. The most recent said something like: “Hey, thanks man – now I can buy some soap and get cleaned up.” Whether I, or you, believe that is inconsequential. I felt better. I really hope he did, too.

Bishops Arts District

New church

Here’s a sight you won’t often see in England – a church being built. And a big church, too. This is quite a common sight here – at least in the Bible belt. In England, they have trouble filling and maintaining the architecturally spectacular churches that we have; in Texas, they can’t build them fast enough, even if they are just stick built (wooden skeleton) and drywall (plasterboard). You can read into this whatever you like.

Today, I went in search of the Bishop Arts District (http://www.bishopartsdistrict.com/) in South Dallas. It took a bit of finding, because it’s not so much a “district” – more just a couple of blocks of artsy shops and restaurants in the middle of a deprived Hispanic area of Dallas. The reason I went was because a local TV station reported on a Dallas Museum of Art’s community outreach program to encourage local children between 14-18 years old to create murals in the area. You know, of course, that I’ve developed a particular fondness for murals.

The area, apart from the murals, was disappointing, as are so many of the “gentrification” projects that seem more to me like “yuppification”. At least Starbucks haven’t made it there yet.

(And, on a separate note, if you have access to the internet, and any doubt about the poverty gap between rich and poor in the United States, you should check out http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/countryboys/view/ - there are significant areas of the country that are third world at best. And I’m sure this is just as true of almost any country that likes to think of itself as “civilized”.)

El Padrino

I bought lunch at “El Padrino” – it’s on the fringes of the District, and is included in it more as an acknowledgement of the local community, since the patrons (unlike those of many of the nearby upscale restaurants) seem to be exclusively Hispanic. It’s basically a streetside Mexican takeaway. The menu was entirely in Spanish, and I had no clue what to order, so I asked two young girls ahead of me in the queue to help with the translation – I can’t believe my opening line was: “Do you speak English?” We’re in Dallas, for heaven’s sake, and they looked at me as if I was insane. They helped me nevertheless, and I ordered 3 chicken fajita tacos and a Coke. The tacos, needless to say, were nothing like what we call “tacos”, but delicious, and served with refried beans and slices of fresh avocado.

Mum in Okehampton

And just to make sure that you don’t get the impression that my interest in murals is confined to Texas, here’s one in Okehampton, Devon. The wonderful lady in the picture is my mother – otherwise known as “Nana”, which is why I also include a picture of an enterprise she seems to be running on the side in Dallas, unknown to the rest of the family. 

Nana's Wash-n-Dry

I wish there were more murals – they brighten up the dullest of areas and lift the soul.

Richard Avedon

Motor home

Inside the bus

Horse trading

Richard Garber

Roger Anderson

It has been a weekend of contrasts. Yesterday, at an equine trade show, I boarded a “motor home”, immediately informing the salesman that I had no intention of buying, but was merely curious. He was more than happy to indulge me. Every possible convenience was available on what was, essentially, a purpose-built single-decker bus: double bedroom with walk in closet and en suite bathroom; separate shower; refrigerator, dishwasher, microwave and gas range; wide screen plasma television; ergonomically designed cupboards, with doors that folded out of sight; soft carpeted floors. And all for a cool $1.4 million.

Horses were traded for around $4,000, with an auctioneer that sounded just like those on the movies. And for the same price, you could get a custom-made, hand-tooled and stitched leather saddle. For slightly less (but only slightly less), you could get a pair of Mercedes boots to fit you like a glove. I have to admit that I only spent $8 on getting my current boots shined – a process that takes at least ten minutes, and leaves them gleaming like glass.

On my way back, I passed the Amon Carter Museum in Fort Worth, and remembered a colleague telling me about an exhibition by the recently-deceased photographer Richard Avedon, entitled “In The American West”. It is a collection of portraits, taken over a four-year period in the early eighties, and focuses, not as usual on the more fortunate members of society, but on those closer to the land: farmers, oilfield workers, carnies, coal miners, drifters … (http://www.cartermuseum.org/Exhibitions/avedon/). I remember, some years ago, seeing the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, DC, and subsequently getting the book “The Wall” (which is mostly pictorial) and being moved to tears by some of the images. The Avedon exhibition moved me similarly – if you can see the picture of Richard Garber (a drifter), read the (very brief) background, and not feel his sense of despair, you’re a better man than I. I immediately bought the book from the museum shop so that I could share the images with others at home. But the exhibition is not about despair, or misfortune – though somehow you can see in the eyes of all the subjects the thought that somehow life has passed them by. What is most scary is that they are so comparatively recent. I remember 1983 very well, and I was probably, at that time, only one pay cheque away from being on the opposite street corner to Richard Garber.

Today, I headed south on Beltline, for no good reason. I came across “Texas Iron Concepts”, a store specializing in decorative ironwork. I stopped by to look, but it was closed. As I pulled away, the owner came to the door, and called me in. He was just “hangin’ out”, and I was welcome to look around. I spent quite a while chatting with Roger, about his work, his store, and his previous life in the oilfields of Oklahoma. He learned that I like flea markets, and directed me to a Mexican market in South Dallas – “Hell, you’ll be the only white boy! D’ya speak Spanish?” When I said I didn’t, he told me: “Cuanto dinero? That’s all you need to know – it means “How much?”. But they know me, and I mostly just say “How much for this piece of crap?””

He was right – I was the only “white boy”. It was pretty safe, I think, though I was careful who I made eye contact with. I was also the only white boy at “Big Bruce’s Texas BBQ” an hour later, though the other faces this time were black. The two patrol cars parked in front reassured me (because they were there for lunch, and not investigating a crime!). Beef plate, potato salad, pinto beans and lemonade. Did I want the small (pint) or the large (quart) size drink? I pointed out that refills were free, so that there wouldn’t be much point in me paying extra for the large size. It seems that they get a lot of truckers, and they can’t be bothered fiddling about with refills. It may also be that they get quite a few people who can’t figure out the difference.

Like I said – contrasts.

Appaloosas

Appaloosas

Garland Mural

Dia de los Muertos

Dia de los Muertos

Shoes

Appaloosas are spotty … but attractively so. Named after the Palouse Indians of North West Idaho, they are the state animal, and are predominantly show horses. As you can guess, I found myself once again at the Will Rogers Memorial Center, at the Appaloosa Horse Club Show. I’m not sure what attracts me there so frequently – because it’s free, a love of horses, or that I have a thing about women in spurs. Probably we should not dwell too long on the topic. The picture shows riders exercising their horses prior to the show.

My day didn’t start there, however. First stop was my favourite coin shop in downtown Garland, to pick up the recently released Kansas State Quarter – I’m collecting 7 copies: one for me, and one for each of the children. As luck would have it, it was the First Saturday Trade Day in the square – that it to say, it was a craft/produce/bric-a-brac event that occurs on the first Saturday in every month. As well as the stalls, a variety of (mostly) country singers performed on a makeshift stage in the middle of the square. I’ve been going to Garland for almost a couple of years now, and have been watching it slowly transform itself from the more commonly seen effects of “downtown neglect” into an area with much more possibility. On a Saturday night, you can either pay to watch country artists at the Garland Opry, or hang out in the square to watch a variety of bluegrass pickup bands; there are coffee shops and craft shops; a couple of restaurants and a second-hand bookstore; a feed store that puts on a great fall display of hay and pumpkins – signs of vitality. The picture shows one of the inevitable murals (of which I’m now building an impressive collection!).

From there I headed towards Dallas, to the Bath House Cultural Center. I’d heard on an early Saturday morning Hispanic TV show (“La Vida”) that they had an exhibit devoted to Dia de los Muertos (the Mexican “Day of the Dead”, when they pay tribute to dead loved ones (it’s interesting how different cultures have such different attitudes to death, but that’s a subject for another time). The building itself was singularly unimpressive (although its history may not be), but the exhibit made up for it, ranging from a traditional shrine to a dead pet, to a more modern homage to one “Dr Diablo”. And not only that, but it’s right on the shore of White Rock Lake – in the picture you can see cormorants, egrets and cranes sunning themselves with the Dallas skyline in the distant background.

Later that day, back at the hotel, I glanced over to the spot on the floor where I keep my shoes, and it occurred to me that, on at least one level, they summed me up: the shoes that I wear for work (because the preferred attire is “business casual”, and I long ago discovered that it’s not worth fighting the system, and that there are plenty of ways of making a discreet personal statement without upsetting anybody); the sandals that I would always wear, given half a chance (because, hand-crafted in San Antonio, they are very comfortable, and also because I think I like to be in climates for which that footwear is most suitable); and the boots (Tony Lama’s – not the best, but certainly not the worst) that are much more comfortable than they look, and polar opposites to both the others.

I think perhaps we all have multiple personalities, in a sense – it seems as though I have at least three.

Val in San Antonio

We stayed at the RiverCenter Marriott in San Antonio. It’s right on the Paseo Del Rio, or River Walk. The River Walk is a man-made canal extension to the San Antonio River that hosts restaurants, art and craft stalls, and scenic waterfalls like this one. It may be touristy, but it’s fun.

The history of The Alamo might not be quite what is popularly portrayed, and it’s certainly now more of a tourist attraction than anything else, but there are storytellers and people in period costume, and we spent a very enjoyable couple of hours there.

The easiest way to “scout” the territory is to take a ride on a riverboat. The boat captains are a mine of information, and, if you do this first, you get a good idea of the geography and history, and where to go on foot.

The River Walk is truly a fascinating walk. The area was, apparently not too long ago, a safety hazard, due to crime and general gang activity. Despite the fact that San Antonio generally is one of the most unsafe cities in America for teenagers, the River Walk area has been successfully reclaimed. Val is standing by one of the many mosaics that embellish the canal path.

Along the “river” is a small island, known as “Marriage Island” – a popular site for weddings. Val is standing in front of the altar at which the ceremonies are performed.

The RiverCenter is really just a giant mall adjacent to the River Walk. At the point in the river where the boats turn, there is outdoor seating close to the coffee and ice cream stalls. A Peruvian band (with CDs for sale!) plays in the background.

Saturday night in October is pleasantly warm, and an ideal time to sit by the riverside, drink Margaritas, and eat Tex-Mex.

And it’s much better to have your own than to share, because they’re VERY good.

On the way back from San Antonio, we took the back roads through Texas Hill Country. Suddenly, we saw a sign to a flea market, and decided to investigate. Three huge barns full of … well, stuff. Val couldn’t resist this porcelain cornucopia. Getting it in the suitcase was somewhat more of a challenge!

We stopped for lunch at a diner in Fredericksburg (and we can tell you from experience that you just can’t beat a good diner for both food and service – the food in England is much better than it once was, but we still have a long way to go on service).North of Fredericksburg is Enchanted Rock – a huge dome of granite that is a popular site for campers and hikers. Val wanted to trek up to the top, but I didn’t feel up to it.

Still at Enchanted Rock (which I’m sure has a reason for being thus named – you can google it for yourselves), Val was fascinated by the Prickly Pear cactus that dominated the landscape.

Val in Dallas

At the Will Rogers Memorial Center, the American Miniature Horse Association were having their annual show. Val, of course, wanted one to take home. Fortunately, we didn’t have a suitcase big enough.

Val wasn’t in a cleaning mood, so this didn’t prove to be too much of a problem.

I worked with Sook on the American Airlines project a year ago. She and her husband, Sriram, are originally from Singapore. Their daughter, Anna, is now a year old, and we were invited to her birthday party.

While we were away, Jude, the Restaurant Manager at the hotel opposite, looked after Splash for us. One of her hobbies is making bead jewellery, so we took back some beads for her to say “thank you”. Val is standing in the bead “aisle” of a nearby Hobby Lobby!

The Farmers’ Market in Dallas features produce, crafts and furniture not only from the local area, but also imported from Mexico. There are so many varieties of hot peppers that we’d never heard of, dried and fresh beans, fresh crop pecans, pumpkin, white corn …

Val found a Texas longhorn cow skull rendered in tin, which is now mounted in our hallway. The stall owner wrapped it well for us after hearing that it had to travel to England in a suitcase.

In the parking lot of the Farmers’ Market, with the downtown Dallas skyline in the background.

What can I say? We went to the outlet mall on Route 75 at Allen, and I thought, since we were so close, we’d head north to Oklahoma. That would have been fine, except that I chose the “scenic” route back. Val, bless her, stayed awake and appeared interested for the whole time!