The Sensitive Peach

A warm sun slides slowly through a yellowing sky, with a sultry breeze out of the south softly rustling the leaves of the backyard peach tree.  Perhaps it is the almost imperceptible sway of the summer eve's air currents that give the gentle nudge that brings the perfectly ripen fruit to the ground.  Maybe it is that mystical moment when the peach has drawn up its last droplet of moisture through the roots during the hot afternoon and then adds that final drop of sugar to its yellow flesh - perhaps that is the moment when the balance tips in favor of gravity.  For whatever reasons beyond mortal predictions and in a moment incalculable by man's mind; but at the right moment, the peach tree lets go of its well flavored bounty and with a soft and subtle plop, fallen fruit is to be found laying at the root for all comers.


Commercial and industrious growers can not abide the single and individual ripening of a peach to perfection, but must out of necessity send the workers into the grove to pick and pack all that is available in an instant.  But I, not constrained by commerce, can wait for for the tree to give in its own season.  And so it was in the first week of June, when some spoiled peaches begin to fall on their own accord, while others hang tight, day by day glowing evermore tempting in their orange-yellow skin streaked and speckled in sanguine accents.

And when I intuitively hear the "thump" of a naturally ripened peach falling to the ground and I sense within my harvester's soul that the first really good and sensitive peach of the season has alighted upon the grass; I spring from within the house, telling the wife; "They are ready! And they are here now!"   She grabs a colander (which quickly proves insufficient for holding the harvest) and then finds a bucket, while I strut up the rungs of a rickety old ladder that corporate Safety Managers would have burned long ago.  Many of the fine peaches I can shake loose from their branches with my hands, while others are plucked from on high using wild gyrations with the staff of a broken garden hoe in one hand (substituting for a pruning hook) as I am balanced upon my ladder like a harpooner in the bow of a whaling boat.  From ground level I am instructed, "Oh! Can you see those one over there?  See if you can knock them loose."  We make quick work of the peach tree as the sun hangs above the summer horizon beaming golden rays upon the now depleted branches.

The really good, unblemished and juicy specimens, still warm from the ambient temperature, are consumed on the spot on the back lawn.  With unparalleled pleasure, the sweet juice runs from the corner of our mouths as we gather about 4 gallons of peaches.  A better than average year for our tree.  Into the kitchen for processing we go, where some are cut into pieces for pie and cobbler later on, and others are placed in a brown paper bag to ripen a bit more, and yet a few more morsels are sliced away from the pit and consumed there in the kitchen.

Summer has begun.  And in a good way.

Sue Slices & Dices Fresh Peaches
From the Backyard Tree
Rite of Early Summer

Senior Sunday



Senior Sunday
IMPACT Opening Hymn

 According to the tradition, High School Seniors at the end of May conduct worship at First Presbyterian, Richardson.  While the number of Seniors participating this year is relatively small, the Spirit of celebration, thanks and praise was among all the congregation, as promised, where two or more gather in My name, I will be there among you. 

In the beginning, Grant was raised up from the very start within the walls of FPC. And though it is a tenant of faith among Presbyterians that God knows and loves us before we even are aware of Him, Grant's identity before the Creator was momentarily a bit confused.  As it happened, when Grant Benjamin was presented for baptism, the minister asked, "And what is the name of this child?"  He apparently mistook the response given by his parents as "Grand Junction" - thinking the infant's moniker was an homage to our recent relocation from Colorado.  Once that little misunderstanding of his name was cleared up between God, Jesus, the minister and everybody else (but mostly the minister), Grant's 18 years of nurture among people of the faith was off to a good start.  Having been cared for from birth in the nursery, toddling in the halls while his Mother worked to make the Christian Education programs happen, enjoying story time and snacks on "story time carpet" in Mr. Jim & Mr. Bill, moving on to Junior High retreats, kicking off summers with Youth Group "Mess-Fest" on the church lawn and ended up in "God's Garage" - the 2nd floor Sunday School room for high schoolers and practise space for Impact, the youth worship band, where Grant plays bass guitar. 

Grant and Impact opened worship with a song of praise, Grant led the congregation in the call to confession but deferred on the opportunity to preach a sermon, leaving that in the capable hands of Susie Fox.  It has been good to have a life-long commitment of several generations who have known and cared for Grant for literally his entire life.  And it is fitting and gratifying to see him go from baptism to leading the congregation in worship, as he prepares to take the next step in his Faith Journey.

This is the Good News!  To know God and enjoy Him forever.  May His countenance shine upon you and may His hand be always upon you and His peace always be within you.

Call of Confession
Grant in Pulpit
Senior Sunday, First Presbyterian

IMPACT Plays the Anthem
Grant on Bass Guitar (Red Shirt)

Class of 2011

The Mighty Owl Band (The MOB) struck up "Pomp and Circumstance" at 5 PM as the Garland High Class of 2011 marched into the Special Events Center as rehearsed the previous afternoon.  The age-old tension between administrative authority emphasizing the "Pomp" of the processional, wanting an orderly and dignified graduation ceremony, while the seniors for the most part were acutely feeling the "Circumstance" of waning school authority, it was feared, might try something brash and individualistic.  So warnings had been issued; No beach balls or fun paraphernalia and if anybody displays an undignified gesture, the principal will give a throat-slashing motion to signal security that they are to rush the stage and remove the offender.  And for heaven's sake, "Don't throw your mortar boards in the air at the conclusion - the sharp corners could come down and poke somebody's eye out!"  With stern warnings thus given and ground rules laid out, the Class of 2011 did comport themselves received their diplomas.

Garland High School graduated 613 seniors, with Grant graduating with honors, a medal as a Star Scholar, accolades for Script and Letters with recognized perfect attendance to boot.  The Valedictorian, Johnny Sharbil Hamati is the son of Lebanese immigrants and the Senior Class President is the daughter of Ethiopian immigrants.  The most common sir name from the Class of 2011 was Hernandez, follower by Cruz - there was one student named Smith.

After singing of the alma mater ..."Hail, Hail, Hail!", most of the students tossed their sharp-cornered mortar board hats into the air in defiant celebration.  The resulting hale of dangerous hats, (no doubt designed by very same Asian assassins who devised the kung fu throwing star weapons), fell to the floor, resulting in zero eye injuries. The eye-opening lesson is that true education is knowing what to believe and what warnings and predictions to question.

Following the ceremony on Friday evening, we all went to dinner at Fogo de Chao, Brazilian Churrascaria where the wait staff continually approaches your tables with a variety of beef, chicken and sausages on skewers, offering to slice a piece of your choosing off the skewer and onto your plate.  It is a designated "special occasion" restaurant and after we had eaten all we could, we were served a creme brulee gratis with three spoons and "Congratulations" spelled out in raspberry glaze on Grant's plate.

A fine end to a fine run from K to 12.  We're all justifiably proud and looking forward to the next level when we travel to Columbia, Missouri, for Freshman Orientation and the University of Missouri in early July.  It all is happening really quick.

Enter to Learn, Go forth to Serve.  (Hopefully with both eyes open & functioning)

Senior Moments

With each up and coming generation, the previous generation believes that the character and quality of this next generation falls short of what they had achieved.  To investigate such a suspicion, a poll was commissioned to ask incoming college students what they believed.  The simple poll question was asked; "Do you believe a lack of general world knowledge and apathy is a common problem among young people today?"  The answer given, "I don't know, and I don't really care."

End of High School for Grant: May, 26, 2011.
Lots of activities crammed into mid-May to early June to wrap up this phase of life.

The parents were broadly hinting in their questioning in early April, "What about your senior pictures?  Would you like to get some done?"  The answer was; "I don't really care, but I suppose if you want some, maybe I could do that."  The bell rings, the light comes on, ah, yes, still a few more months of parent/child roles to play.  The enlightened parent now says, "We would like to get some senior photos of you, so how about next Saturday?  We will try for a casual pose, a dress-up photo, a graduation pose and maybe something with your tux and cello.  Pack all your clothes and props and be ready at 11:30."

The studio appointment is made and a few changes of clothing are hauled along for the shoot.  We chose Gary, a photographer who Inga enjoyed using for her senior pictures, and a professional who we hoped could get Grant to open his eyes and smile somewhat naturally, unlike the mass grad photo shoot that had Grant in an unnatural sneer for his Yearbook photo.

We selected 3 photos:

As the photo shoot progressed, it turned out it was not as painful and tedious as feared.  Puns were made about taking "cello shots" and the resulting poses after too many "cello shots".

We also discovered, that Gary, the photographer, was a graduate of University of Missouri, Columbia, photo journalism department, coincidentally Grant is enrolled in the Mizzou School of Journalism.  No fellow alum discounts were offered,

On our part, there may be still a need for occasional prodding of the next generation that is currently under our guidance, but all-in-all, I am not worried about the quality or character of the next generation.

Congratulations Son!  You have made us proud.

Any way you slice it...

A scream of horror, mixed with frustration and outrage resounded into the morning suburban air as Sue opened the garage door.  There, in the middle of the driveway, next to her garden was a most hideous sight - a lone, well-ripened tomato sat silently on the concrete.  A victim.  The hapless fruit had been eviscerated.  Its innards pecked out, leaving a hollowed hemisphere of pulpy flesh clinging to the underside of its reddening skin.  The King of the Summer Garden, born of golden blossoms, enthroned upon royally distinctive deep green stems and leaves from whence it lords over all other fruits and vegetables from within Castle Tomato-Cage, the once red and mighty tomato king is now dead.  Sue's first tomato of the season was now only suited to be tossed upon the compost pile like the puny weeds of the realm.

While she was dressing that fateful morning, some bird had swooped into her garden and plucked the very first tomato of the season right off the plant and left its dying and drying in the rising Texas sun.  Scion of The House of Nightshade - we hardly knew ye!

Now, while the tomatoes are mostly green, with just a blush of red, they are picked and brought into the kitchen, where they are ripened in brown paper bags on the counter and checked frequently for readiness.  At last, when Sue can wait no longer, I am summoned into the kitchen: "Here, smell this!" is the command as she embeds the tomato into my mustache.  I inhale heartily and yes, it is the smell of summer.  A ripe, firm tomato from her own garden!  We marvel and sing its praises as we joyfully fall into the traditional Suneson Dance of First Fruits around the kitchen.  Of course, with its bold aroma and pungent taste far superior to the store-bought varieties, the First Tomato is not to be adulterated with any other food combinations that would detract form its solitary wonderfulness, such as a topping for a burger or used in a stew.  No, the First Tomato is to be sliced and eaten in all of its glory, savored in noble isolation.  And so it was.

Now that the assassins have been thwarted, any way you slice it, gota love those home-grown 'maters!

Long live the Tomato - King of the Summer Garden

Another Cheesy Mother's Day

Picnic Supplies arrive for an evening meal in Breckenridge Park

Yes, another cheesy Mother's Day.  Once Grant awoke after being up late with his Senior Prom, it was time to celebrate Mother's Day in the Suneson traditional manner, a picnic featuring exotic cheeses.

In year's past we have picnicked in Japanese Gardens in Fort Worth, rolling grassland preserves in Collin County, urban Dallas' White Rock Lake and various parks around the greater Metroplex; but this time around Mother selected the easy 3-mile drive to Breckenridge Park for an evening out-of-doors meal.

The basic foodstuffs are tradition, but each year the variety varies.  The basket is packed with 8 or 9 exotic cheeses, some lunch meats, fruit, crackers, bread, dessert and ginger beer with a few other bottles of exotic flavors.  This year's basket contained smoked Gouda, Point Reyes blue, Dill Havarti, Irish aged white cheddar, blue marble cheddar, an Italian hard cheese among others, red wine salami, fresh strawberries, Key Lime Soda and Australian Peachy drinks to go with the Ginger Beer, raspberry and mint filled Ghiradeli dark chocolate candies.

Afterward we drove to lowland nature preserve and wandered around in the evening light.  The trail was marked by plentiful signs warning that this was "Venomous Snake Habitat - Stay on the Trail!".  I thought this was either overly dramatic language or County lawyer's CYA hyperbole.  But dang!  If we did not encounter two very small Water Moccasins (Cotton Mouths) warming themselves at the edge of the trail.  We said our howdies and moved on, leaving them in peace to return to their loving mother waiting for them in the tall grass.

Fangs alot Mom!

Prom #2 - With a Real Fox Network

Grant, having proclaimed he had had "the real prom experience" while escorting Miss Fox to her High School Prom, was now going to use a different strategy for his own Garland High Prom night. He was basically going stag, while hanging with an entourage composed of a loosely knit group of young ladies and young men, gathering for pre-Prom festivities at Michele's house. 

The Dallas Morning News featured a guest columnist that very Saturday, a local high school girl who detailed the complexities and anxiety of selecting a unique prom dress and a gazillion other things that girls worry about.  From all appearances, Grant was not so afflicted by a gazillion or even half-a-jillion such things.  However, he had decided that he'd like a red shirt to go with his suit, so he left the house around noon to go buy a red shirt to complete his ensemble for that afternoon and evening.  He returned from the haberdashery hunt with a successful find, and I suggested we wash the new shirt to get the creases out before wearing it.  Again, old-man wisdom prevailed and we put a medium sized load of color laundry through the wash and drier.  No ironing necessary he insisted, so the new shirt was ready a full 18 minutes before he went out the door.

The pre-Prom party group would leave Michele's house, carpooling to the Palladium in South Dallas.  The Prom Committee had chosen a circus theme and had hired stilt-walking clowns, acrobats and aerial artists to perform around and above party-goers.  Grant allowed as he had spent most of the evening around the gaming tables.  Each Senior was given 5,000 points of "house money" along with their tickets, and Grant was able to parlay his initial stake into 47,000 points at the poker table.  He was then able to use his points toward drawings for various merchandise.  He came home with a new 20" flat-screen TV.  Winning! Yeah.

It took his car of guys about an hour to find their way out of South Dallas, and by the time they met up with the ladies, the ladies were not sure what they wanted to do for the rest of the night.  With indecision prevailing amongst the larger entourage, several of the guys thought it was time for a late-night visit to the local IHOP.

The plan suited the guys so well, that they have decided to make Saturday night a night of late movies and IHOP a regular thing.  I am glad to see him out having a good time with good friends and not spending too much time in front of a 20" flat screen TV.

Ready for Senior Prom - With Eyes Wide Shut

Prom #1 with a Real Fox

Back in the old days...Just after the earth had cooled.
When I was in High School, Yugoslavia still had a seat in the United  Nations.
And in those days of yore it was not uncommon to have a "pen-pal", that is someone from a different country with whom you corresponded.  As ridiculous as it now seems, people (even high school students) took the time to actually compose a letter on a piece of paper with a pen, and once finished writing, would then sealed the letter in an envelope and then air mail it to a person in a different country.  This form of communication could take weeks.

Carla Zupanovich, a classmate of mine, had some shirt-tail relatives in old Yugoslavia who wanted a chance to improve their English reading and writing skills.  So Miss Z became pen-pals with a second cousin back in the old country.  Miss Z, apparently filled her letters with much juicy gossip from the hot social scene at Madera High.  She intimately reported that in her algebra class "there were lots of real foxes!!!!!" [I think this is how high school girls write?????]

Of course, Miss Z's sighting of "real foxes", did not mean "real foxes", but "real foxes" as a term for some cute male classmates [No, I was not even in her league].  But when the old country cousin translated the letter from America, she understood real fox to mean a real fox, in fact several real foxes!!!!!  The Yugoslav relative wrote back and inquired about the American educational system, where quadratic equations were held in such close proximity to wild animals.  If in fact real foxes were allowed into school, she expressed concern that "reading algebra with a real fox, is not that very dangerous?"

Only in America --
Would you like your variable in a box?
Would you like it with a fox?  -- Dr. Seuss



Grant was invited by the lovely Miss Kerrie Fox to attend her Prom  [See Prom Prom; April, 2011]. Grant and Kerrie are in the same church youth group, but attend different High Schools.  This was to be Senior Prom #1 (last week April 30).  I don't know how much dancing goes on at Prom, but I do know that parents have to do a lot of fancy dancing while trying to impart wisdom to our son without seeming as if we are running his life and forcing him into decisions.  For example; eight days before the event, a dinner table discussion was attempted by Mom;
"Have you thought about a flower corsage for Kerrie? 
Do you know what color dress she will be wearing? 
Maybe you can talk to your sister and find out what would be good..."
With 3 questions/suggestions in a row.  It was too much.  Grant abruptly cleared his plate from the table and went and sat in front of the computer.

A few days later, Grant and I met after school and went to the florist to pick out a rose wrist corsage with ribbon to match Kerrie's green dress.  Grant told the florist, "As far as my fashion sense goes, I know jeans go with T-shirts, after that I am lost."  I think between the two of us we did fine.  The next challenge was dressing Grant.  He needed a necktie to go with his pinstripe suit and mint green shirt.  I pulled 3 choices from my trove of seldom used neck-wear.  Grant sent photos via his phone to his sister in Oregon, showing each of the 3 ties matched with his shirt .  Inga told him to wear the solid black silk necktie.

On Thursday night before the Prom, there was a dinner at the Fox family house to plan out Saturday's events and timetable.  Grant was to provide the bread.  After school he stopped at the grocer's and bought a tube of "bam biscuits", followed the cooking directions and confidently left the house for his dinner engagement with a basket of hot, fresh baked bread.  He returned in a very upbeat mood with an empty bread basket, saying all the kids at dinner were "cool", though he knew only the two Fox sisters.  His baking skills were suitably admired by the ladies.

Prior to his invitation to the Berkner High Prom, the limo had already been arranged, so he was off the hook for that touch of class.  On Saturday, I loaded him with cash and off he went in pinstripes and black tie to escort Miss Fox for a grand evening.  They formed a party of 10, five ladies from Berkner High escorted by young men - none of which were students at Berkner.  I am not sure what this says about Berkner High and its population of senior males.  Dinner reservations were for a table of ten at Benihana's, followed by the Prom at the Sheraton Hotel Ballroom in Las Colinas (on the west side of Dallas).

The dog barked from our bedroom at 1 AM as Grant returned, thumped upstairs and then down again, rummaged in the laundry closet and then continued rushing about the house in the wee hours.  I got out of bed and asked about the need for all this noise.  He was looking for his bathing suit.  Neither of us could find it, So he decide he'd swim in a pair of basketball shorts.  With that solved, it was off into the night once again.  I made no jokes about skinny dipping. Nor did I joke about my definition of a successful Prom Night - A night when No life was destroyed and No life was created.

He can now claim that he attended Senior Prom with a real Fox.  In Yugoslavia they may think to ask, "Is not dancing with a real fox very dangerous?" 
Grant returned at 3 AM, he has since been mum on any real details, so I do not know how dangerous it was to spent the night with Kerrie Fox, a real fox.  But if I had to guess, I would guess that it all went pretty well, Grant handling any dangerous situation with aplomb.  I'd say attending Senior Prom with a Fox is way better than going with a hound.

[At Grant's request - No photo session is to be made public.  But you can get a glimpse by digging into this blog's archive: "Home Coming", November, 2010]

Prom Prom

Just about a month before High School graduation!

Rah Rah Ree! Kick 'em in the knee! 

Rah Rah Rass! Kick 'em in the other knee!

Yeah, there are some classes left, but mostly it is about finishing strong - socially.  Buy a Year Book, get lots of signings from classmates, get ready for life changing events, like Senior Prom.  The reality is that the academic year is shot - and everyone knows it from the principal on down to the Life Skills teacher.

Discrete inquiries have been made as Grant passes through the living room with ear buds plugged deep into his skull; "Son, do you think you will be going to Senior Prom this year?" 
"Yeah. Probably."
"Will you being taking a girl or anything like that?"
"Maybe."
"Speaking for you mother and me, I am glad that is settled.  Goodnight."

Observing the adolescent life is much like watching a duck in a pond; mostly what I notice is Grant sitting for hours at the computer with his ipod hung from his temples, similar to a duck idly floating in the pond.  But like the view of the duck from below the water's surface, you will notice furiously paddling feet; likewise, the serene continence of youth may not reflect at all the furious complexities swirling beneath the life's surface.

Later, another discrete inquiry on the subject of Senior Prom, elicited a half-formed plan from Grant to ask Emma to go with him to the Prom.  But there was a problem. The problem was that Emma no longer lived in town, in fact Emma no longer lived in the hemisphere.  Emma lives in New Zealand.  It now appears that the limousine charges to import Emma for the prom would be a bit rich.  Emma was an exchange student and friend of Grant's, who returned home at the end of last semester, though Emma may return to Garland for graduation ceremonies, she won't be in town for prom. 

On second thought, Grant opined that girls can be way too complicated.  It is dicey as to whether one can correctly read their minds, live up to expectations and make all the right moves for a whole, entire pressure-packed social evening.  He and his buddies considered the consequences and dangers of being formally attached to just a single female for the entire evening and opted to go with the "group strategy".  This "group strategy" has been used as a survival strategy by small fish fleeing from barracudas, wildebeests fleeing from hunting lionesses and employed with similar success by less socially savvy school boys when thrown in amongst graduating Senior Girls in expensive prom dresses.  Any social awkwardness can be diffused amongst the group much more readily than within a formal couple, and with social pressure lowered while employing the group survival strategy, the boys have a much better chance at enjoying the evening.  Though, it is acceptable to pair-off for a "picture date"; where a couple will stand in front of the camera and record the moment, two-by-two.

With no formal pairings for the prom, money is saved, expectations lowered and the peaceable kingdom where everyone can be "just friends" reigns.  Grant had his plan in place and all was well with the world.

Then, one Sunday evening, Grant was asked  by Kerrie to accompany her to the Berkner High School Prom in Richardson, the next suburb to the west.  Of course, being imbued with more social grace than many of his peers he accepted.

Just when he thought he had it all planned out....
Keep those duck feet paddling below the surface, because now he has two prom ponds to navigate.

Senioritis

Crazy. Distorted Priorities. Devoid of honest value.  Dysfunctional. Out-dated.
All terms that apply to our High School educational system.

My opinions and ideas for solutions for a fix to the education we tax payers provide to our youth goes way beyond the narrow scope of this blog's subject matter; but who can blame a young man from taking advantage of what the system offers?

This week, across the state, it is TAKS Week.  A mandatory Test of Academic Knowledge and Skills.  State officials keep changing the test acronym and the rules to fix the results, making schools and students look better than they are, thus defeating the whole accountability in education concept for which TAKS was devised.  One quirk that benefits the above average students (like my kids) is that High School Seniors who have met the minimal standards on the TAKS test are not required to take the end-of-year tests in April.  Thus, since the whole school is occupied with administering the TAKS test for grades 9-11, the 12th Grade does not have to show up until 10:30 from Tuesday - Friday of this week.  This is a 3 hour sleep-in gift for Seniors.  At 10:30, they have to report so they can be counted as present, and thus maintain funding from the state, which is based on attendance.  But after the students are acknowledged present (keeping state funding intact), there is no reason to stick around campus since no classes are being conducted, so they drift away for a "long lunch".

Faced with a 4-day week of acronyms, Grant organized a group of friends to substitute IHOP for TAKS on their first day of no-school school.  A leisurely breakfast, then off to school to have their noses counted for funding (non-educational) purposes, and then a day of Ultimate Frisbee in the park.

It is good to be a Senior.

Senioritis: There is No known cure; but but it is recommended that symptoms be indulged by allowing those afflicted to sleep until mid-morning, upon waking they should be plied with carbohydrates soaked with sugary syrup, followed by afternoon activity in the Springtime sun.

OMG IHOP B4 TAKS N the AM, OK?



Exploding Easter & Hoppin-ings

Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to tomb and asked each other, "who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?"

But when they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had been rolled away.  As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man dressed in a white robe sitting on the right side, and they were alarmed.

Account of The First Easter

The Gospel of Mark (16:2-5)

Not that I wish to make any grandiose claims or messianic comparisons between the Gospel accounts of the unexpected empty tomb of Jesus on that first Easter morning with what went on in my kitchen oven on Easter morning of this year - but, I must admit that I and the dog were both alarmed.

Sue was still part of the celebration at Preston Hollow Presbyterian, while Grant was packing up from his gig with Impact, where he plays bass guitar for the band during worship at First Presbyterian, Richardson.  Sue had baked an angel food cake the night before, reasoning that those rude angels always seem to be showing up unexpectedly around Easter, it is best to have some angel food for them just in case they come to our house. Unannounced.  Don't want to look like Mary Magdalene and get caught unawares.  So, with dessert already done ahead of time, it  fell to me to get the Pascal Feast started while the others were still away.

The main course this year (something new) was corned beef.  I went online to get directions for time/temp for a 3 lb brisket.  While marveling at all things corned beef available on the web, I stumbled across rave reviews for corned beef slow cooked in Guinness Irish stout beer and brown sugar.  I did not have the proper beer bottles, and doubted I could find a liquor store open on Easter Sunday morning, so I substituted a jug of wine from Misters Ernest and Julio Gallo.

Easter, all the old has passed away, and behold all things have been made new. 

A new table cloth, best china set and silver place settings were laid out...

WHAR-RUUUUMPH!

My, my, what is going on in the kitchen?

The dog, who was lying peacefully near the front door, was ready to spring up and run for the hills, his eyes were bugged out, his mouth was drawn so taught that his jowls looked like crumpled foil torn from a chocolate bunny, and while he usually pins his ears back when nervous; this occasion, I believe his ears had actually crossed behind his skull, left ear on the right side, right ear on the left side.  I left the dinning room and rounded into the kitchen to find the oven door blown open. 

It is an Easter Miracle! 
The pseudo-sacrament of the empty tomb! 
Just as the women found the stone sealing the tomb of Christ unexpectedly rolled away that Easter morn, I too found the sealed oven holding corned beef brisket unexpectedly open.  I peered inside the now open oven and beheld a brisket arrayed in dazzling silver (i.e. wrapped in aluminium foil).  The nature of most of the miracles recorded in the Gospels is that those seeking the Kingdom of God see and comprehend the miracles, while those doubting the power of God continue in skepticism and miss the signs of God at work.  Was I visited by angel?  Was this a sign?  While I believe in the empty tomb and the resurrection; I think several cups of wine mixed with 3/4 cups brown sugar set at 425 degrees (F) creates explosive alcohol vapors, but does not an angel visitation make.

I poked a few holes into the shroud of foil and resealed the oven door.  A few minutes later, the same phenomena, only less intense.  But, still enough to send the dog trotting discretely upstairs, far from the Exploding Easter Happening.

Pyrotechnics aside, everything did get cooked and set before our family table of three pilgrims.  Our pascal Feast included:

• Corned Beef Brisket (cooked with drama)
• Garden Fresh salad of lettuce & tomatoes (picked from the garden moments before)
• Artichokes
• Asparagus
• Rice Pilaf
• Fresh baked Focaccio Bread
• Strawberries
• Riesling wine & "Red Stuff" (Cranberry juice + 7-Up)
• Dessert (from the Easter Basket): Jelly beans, rock candy, M&M's, Chocolate Bunny & Angel food Cake

We feasted on fine food, gave thanks for all that we have been given and celebrated God's Grace.

Jesus loves me, this I know --
But I am not so sure about that Easter Bunny

Suite Deal!

Our first attempt at celebrating a delayed 25th anniversary with a getaway to Fort Worth on April 14, was fumbled by the Hilton Hotel [see Heartbreak Hotel; April, 2011].  Reservation for a room were confirmed, but to our dismay, the Hilton was overbooked and I choose to negotiate with manager for price cut and upgrade accommodations for a return the following week, April 21.

I called ahead this second time to make sure we had a room to our specifications.  The clerk assured us we would be find everything as requested.  Upon arrival in the lobby early Thursday evening, I asked for the manager with whom I had dealt with the previous week to let her know we had returned after having our reservation sold out from under us the last time.  She said she thought we would be pleased once we inspected our upgraded room, but if not, call the front desk and she would accommodate us.

I provided a credit card and we were given the keys to Hilton Room 1530. 

Portrait in JFK Presidential Suite

Actually, Room 1530 is more correctly referred to as rooms (plural).  We had been booked into the Presidential Suite and also linked to a bit of history.  The Fort Worth Hilton was where John and Jackie Kennedy stayed on November 21, 1963; after giving a speech in the Hilton ballroom that morning, the Kennedy motorcade left Ft. Worth for a parade in Dallas and by that afternoon, many would argue, an age of  innocence and optimism ended for America.  Though the Kennedy's stayed on the 8th floor of the Hilton (I am guessing the 15 Floor was an addition some time later), Room 1530 in known as the JFK Presidential Suite. 

Our Dining Room for a night in JFK Suite

Bed Room Suite
Very Comfortable

It was stunning and quite fun to open the double wooden doors, enter a hallway lined with photos from the Kennedy Whitehouse; at the end of the hall, cloakroom and water closet on the right; then a lavish dinning room and wet bar opens to the right of the hallway and a living area on the left, both hung with large chandeliers from a 15-foot ceiling.  Behind these two spacious common areas, decorated with a Kennedy portrait and numerous photos; were two bed rooms.  We selected the king-sized bed with luxurious bath area with step-down large tub.  Separate queen beds were available in the other room, but we were not sharing with anyone that night, so those bed remained unruffled.  We estimate the JFK Presidential Suite was about the size of our house.  As we walked out of the hotel for dinner, I stopped by the from desk to express my satisfaction with the upgrade -- and I had to ask; "What would be the listed charges for a night's stay in Room 1530?"  The clerk provided a little drum roll, and the manager said it would normally be let for $2,500 per night - base rate.

After sleeping in the next morning, we dressed in the bathrobes provided by the Hilton and documented a views of our upgraded room - living like the other half for a night.  Pretty fun.

Looking Ambitious in the Morning
Outside Presidential Bed Room Suite

Kennedy Motorcade
Photo Collection in Entry Hall

Reclining in Suite Living Area



Morning View from Living Area
JFK Suite

The JFK Suite also comes with breakfast in the exclusive executive lounge down the hall on the 15th Floor.

Having a hard time making Breakfast by 9

For our night in Fort Worth, an inimitably walkable, and comfortable town, we strolled out of the Hilton lobby and went exploring for our dinner.  We settled for a fondue restaurant six blocks north of the hotel, and ordered the 4 course dinner, including a cheese fondue with bread and vegetables, six items for the main course, including shrimp, scallops, tuna, chicken, pork and bacon-wrapped beef.  A raspberry chocolate fondue for dessert. 

In the morning we checked out and landed in the museum district, where we toured the Amon G. Carter Museum of American Art where they had a very enjoyable exhibition of the Hudson River School painters, known for their luminescent landscapes.  We then walked over to the world class Kimball Museum and viewed their European paintings (including the first know painting by Michelangelo) and their collection of Buddhist art.  A late lunch back at Sundance Square in Ft Worth, where Sue found a glutten-free Chicago-style pizza place. 

While we were out of town for Thursday and Friday, Grant saw the opportunity to take advantage of a nest devoid of parents. He asked if he could have Sam and Collin over, and was given the thumbs up. "You never tell me 'No'", said Grant, in what appeared to be a mix of appreciation and awe.

The first order of business was to purchase Nerf tomahawks, and have a battle at the local park (not that we need say anything - but Not inside the House). While acquiring their weapons, Grant saw six 4-packs of the fabulous key lime soda, a rare commodity - and bought them all and brought them home. The Three, kept the house in some semblance of order, but I found the recycle bin half filled with empties - empty Stewart's Key Lime Soda and IBC Rootbeer bottles. They watched a couple of movies late into the night, but when they put in a Robert Duvall soccer movie around 4 AM, they all promptly fell asleep. The party guests were gone by Noon-thirty.

Trinity Trek

Audubon Center on the Banks of the Trinity Rover
South of Downtown Dallas

Yesterday, our Friday Fling was an exploration of urban Dallas, Saturday was a flip to the other side of the same coin, a rural exploration of Dallas environs.  After a brunch among scents of numerous roasted coffees at Cafe Brazil, we set out for the recently opened Audubon Center build in the reclaimed Trinity River bottom land.  We hiked along cattail rimmed bird ponds, down to the banks of the muddy Trinity and back through Juniper dominated floodplain groves.

Join us a leisurely stroll on the interwoven trails of Dallas' Audubon Nature Center:

The trail begins in wetland habitat



We subscribe to Turtle Philosophy:
Nothin' better than a sunny Saturday at the edge of the pond