Holiday "Arts" Fest

With Christmas behind us, I am patting myself on the back for successfully "low keying" it a bit this year. Despite that, I still have several presents lying around that need to be put away, and there is at least one thing in need of exchanging or returning, but other than that, Christmas is over. Hurray.



My favorite thing about this Christmas was a couple of activities I did that really lifted my spirits. They were those "once a year" or "once every few years" things you do that make you feel like you've experienced at least something special.



My mother and I went to see the Texas Ballet Theatre on Friday afternoon for their presentation of The Nutcracker. Despite my early dismay at realizing there was no orchestra (what kind of big city ballet dances to tape?), the quality of the sets, the dancers, and the costumes made me forget all about it. The Texas Ballet Theatre company is good. Darn good. The choreography was the classic choreography, but these dancers took it to its limits. I found the entire production to be very good. In fact, there are parts of the music that, when combined with the grace and beauty of the dancers, moved me to tears.



I have a bit of history with the Nutcracker. In Boulder I was on the board of the Boulder Ballet for many years, and I was the president of the ballet for a couple of those. I know more about the business of ballet -- fundraising, budgets, dealing with artistic personnel - than about the art of ballet, but I know more about that than most too, I suppose.



My time with the Boulder Ballet was more than a decade ago, but seeing the Nutcracker brought it all back. I really enjoyed being involved with the "project" side of putting on a big production. Ours was big too, and quite a logistical exercise. We did it at Thanksgiving time so that we could rent sets from bigger companies and get them back before they needed them, hire principal dancers from other ballets during their "vacation time," and use university dancers before they left for Chrismtas as part of our company. But even in Boulder, we had a real orchestra -- the Boulder Philharmonic, in fact, which eventually, as part of our maneuvers as a board (but after I was long gone) merged with our little ballet company. There may be a story behind why there was no orchestra in Dallas. In fact there was an "In memory of" section dedicated to a conductor, so I suppose he died suddenly and there was no one to replace him, and as I said, the show went on gloriously. It was a real treat.



On Sunday, my oldest woke up and asked "What are we doing today?" Having no formal plans, he suggested going to the Dallas Art Museum to see the King Tut exhibition. He has been talking about this for a few weeks, ever since his art teacher taught his Art I class about the ancient Egyptians and they studied ancient Egyptian art forms.



So because number one gets whatever he wants, and number two and spouse had no desire to go to the art museum, I took my son to see the King Tut exhibit yesterday.



I'm so glad I did.



In 1922, a group of archeologists who were already clearing out pharoahs tombs in the Valley of the Kings stumbled (literally) over the entrance to young King Tut's tomb. From the photos of the discovery it looked not unlike a storage unit full of stuff you have no room for in your house. Once removed, catalogued, identified, and cleaned (where needed) it was a treasure trove of possessions owned by a boy king.



We saw Tut's "game system" (a game board with two games, drawers for the pieces, and everything in tact), we saw his mallard-shaped cosmetic case (this was Egypt and he was royalty, so yes, he wore heavy eye liner and make-up), and we saw the coffin that his liver had been buried in. We saw the five gold treasures -- a necklace, a daggar and sheath, a headress, a couple others I can't recall -- that were among the more than 100 pieces of jewelry that were wrapped into the different layers of his mummy.



We saw gallery after gallery of ancient artifacts and treasures -- from Tut's grandparents tombs and from his own. We saw treasures that belonged to his father, also a king, and to his father's "main" wife, who was King Tut's mother-in-law. Yes, King Tut married his half sister, the daughter of his father's other wife, at the age of nine. At some point during his life he and his wife had two still born children, whose mummified remains were found in golden splendor with tiny baby death masks inside the King's tomb.



There is speculation that the tomb was never intended to be a King's tomb. Perhaps it was for the babies alone, but with Tut's sudden and unexpected death, they had to put him somewhere. The good news is that the treasures were preserved because grave robbers, who destroyed so much of ancient Egypt during the last 3200 years, never found the site.



The story of King Tut is amazing. It continues too, as a 2005 cat scan revealed no evidence of foul play, even though King Tut died mysteriously and quickly at the young age of 19.



I could go on about Tut, but just let it suffice to say that this exhibition was worth seeing. It's the same one that has been in and out off the U.S. over the last 20 or 30 years, but this was the first chance I've had to get to it.



The Dallas Art Museum has lots of other treasures. We spent a few minutes in the art galleries upstairs where we saw a Picasso and a couple Monets, a Renoir sketch and full painting, some beautiful works by Camille Pissaro, Rodin statues, and even a Van Gogh. We also saw some Mondrian paintings, which were interesting to me since I've worked with designers on Mondrian style brochures before.



My son loved the King Tut exhibition. We both had the audio tour, and that's the only way to go. Otherwise there is too much reading and not enough information anyway. It also makes it a self-directed tour, and it allows you to get the most from what's there.



Yes, I had some nice holiday events. Give me a ticket to the art museum or ballet for Christmas any year. I'm very thankful of having a big city nearby that offers these types of things. It's really nice to step out of your element into a world that is so much bigger or more beautiful than your own. Ballet, golden treasures, and art. Ahhhhhh. A perfect Christmas.

How to Get Out of Doing Favors for Your Kids

In the interest of passing along my ever-growing knowledge of child-rearing, I have a lesson for today. It's "How to Get Out of Doing Favors for Your Kids."

This morning my 14-year old asked if I would bring him Burger King for lunch. This is a once or twice a year affair, usually during final exam week, which this is. Being the wonderful mother I am, and knowing that I had no meetings and would be home working all day and could probably use a break around noon, I agreed.

My morning went in the fashion that is typical of a successful publicist's high-powered office. It was shear chaos. From the time I got up until just before noon things were crazy. Good crazy, but crazy all the same. See, if you do your job right, putting out a press release (itself a time consuming and arduous processs of meetings, writing, editing, approvals, and pitching) is just the first part of the work. The money work comes when editors call, reporters e-mail, interviews are needed, and everyone is on deadline. Thus went my morning. Great hit with a major target newspaper, interviews happened yesterday, photos are happening today. All is well. But busy.

At precisely 12:20 I grabbed my keys, my wallet and my phone and headed to Burger King with an ETA at the junior high mandated as 12:55. My son had taken it upon himself to remind me of my task around an hour earlier. That's something he's learned to do since he knows how crazy my office can be. In his text he gave me his order: "Quad stacker, no sauce, add ketchup and mustard, large fries, large Coke." Even though it's the same order he's had since he graduated from "Double cheeseburger no pickle," he at least knows enough about me to feel a refresher course is necessary.

No sooner had I got on the road than I realized the roads were slick. Black ice here in Texas, especially over bridges. Since I have to cross several bridges over the lake to get to town, I slowed down to a comfortable speed, knowing as I did that my schedule would be all off due to weather. That was something my 14-year old would certainly not understand.

As I made it safely into town I realized I'd forgotten about the construction, yet my target location required that I go through the major road work area. I bit my lip and knew that traffic was another reason that didn't get me any understanding from my son. I've tried that before.

Once through the traffic snarls of the construction zone, I began multi-tasking and looking for my wallet and money. Quickly I remembered that both boys requested money for lunch today -- in fact even the one who wanted Burger King had taken my last ten dollars. A quick trip through the ATM would have to occur before I could hit the fast food line. Time was ticking. 12:41. I would never make it.

After saying a little prayer, I was pleasantly surprised to find the ATM lane free from traffic, even as I looked at the line at the McDonalds nearby. "Hopefully Burger King won't have a line," I thought to myself, knowing my son would never give me any credit if the drive-through line slowed me down.

I got the cash and meandered through the parking lots to return to the main drag and my destination. Driving into the parking lot I was careful not to hit the elderly gentleman, someone's grandfather, no doubt, who was moving slowly across the lot. Even Dylan might have understood that sort of delay, but it would not have gotten me off the hook for being late.

To my surprise, after the geezer was safely out of my way and I had waited for a truck full of workers to head back to their freezing cold outdoor jobs, I found myself first in line at the drive through.

I ordered the burger exactly as texted, drove to the window and paid -- over eight bucks. Ouch. Add that to the ten dollars I gave him for lunch and he could have had steak, I thought to myself, or maybe I said it out loud. I do that sometimes.

Burger bag and drink safely in the car, I waited for traffic to clear then quickly made my way back through town, through the surprisingly free from snarls construction site, through a green light toward the school. "12:54" my car clock said. "I can't believe it" I said outloud to myself. "This has to be some sort of miracle."

I pulled into the lot at 12:55, fully expecting my phone to ring and my son to say "WHERE ARE YOU?" But no. I went into the office, spoke to the receptionist, told her what I had, and she said, to my shock and dismay, "Sign in, you can take it down there."

As I signed in I thought about the fact that I had gone straight to work this morning without much care for my appearance. I knew I wasn't wearing make-up, wasn't sure if I had combed my hair, but a quick glance in the window of the door and I thought, "I look alright. No one will care."

I got directions to the cafeteria. (This is a new school this year, and I have never been to the cafeteria.) I'm not good with directions, and I was worried that I'd end up wandering the halls. As I left the office I thankfully ran into a friend. "Hi, Connie, are you going to the cafeteria?" Teachers are smart, and she'd seen the Burger King bag.

"How are you, blah blah blah," we said as we meandered down the hall. I was ever mindful of the slow pace we were moving as we discussed holiday plans, the school vacation, etc. Dylan would be pacing by now. But I was in the home stretch.

As we walked into a cafeteria full of kids, my friend said, "Dylan usually eats down there," and she pointed right as she turned left and left me standing all alone. I looked where she had pointed, and I didn't see Dylan. I was now aware of hundreds of teenage eyes staring at me. "They wish I was THEIR mom," I thought to myself, as I smiled and kept looking. Then I saw him: the apple of my eye, my baby boy, the reason I'd braved the elements and made the trek.

He was walking toward me, and as he did, I walked toward him. The signs of joy I had expected to see were missing, and fading fast into a frown. I wasn't that late, so it couldn't be that. I had Burger King, which his text distinctly requested. What could it be, my subconcious wondered.

As he reached out to take the food, he looked at me with what can only be described as a combination of pity and disgust, and he said, "Geez, Mom...[grunt], did you have to wear such a fruity shirt?" Only then, as he grabbed the bag and turned on his heels, did I realize the gravity of the situation.

My son's MOM came into the cafeteria. She didn't drop the food at the office for delivery as she had in the past. Not only did she COME to the cafeteria, but she came wearing a bright green sweatshirt with a GIANT CHRISTMAS TREE on it. OHMIGOD. My son's mother was wearing a glittery, admittedly goofy shirt, with tinsel and bulbs, and colorful bangles hanging all over it. It is a shirt I'll readily admit is not for public consumption. It's a home day holiday shirt, something you throw on when you get up in the morning but certainly NOT something you wear to the junior high to deliver food to your son.

As I walked away I also became cognizant of my snow boots that my jeans were haphazardly tucked in, and the scarf wrapped around my neck. I now could freely admit it. I looked like I was dressed to go to Santa's workshop. What a geek.

I sulked through the office and signed out, picked up my car keys I had left there and that were already in the lost and found, and called my husband, knowing he'd help me put it in perspective.

Within minutes, we were laughing. As always, he put the positive on the story: "Look at it this way...he won't ask you to bring him lunch any more."

That is, I'm sure, very true. And you know, after all that, that's just fine with me.

Proud to be an American?

I used to be proud to be an American. I even made a conscientious effort to buy an American car the last time around. In fact, my husband and I have bought four Fords in the last five years -- three of them brand new cars. They have been great cars, so I have to disagree with the ad shown at left in one respect. I would change the headline to "You wouldn't buy our overpriced cars."

Now I bought American after years of driving expensive imports, including Saabs and Beemers. In all honesty, our decision to switch to American cars had less to do with the fact that they were American than with the fact that we live in the boonies and have a nice Ford dealership here. I used to drive a BMW sedan, but every time something went wrong -- and it was frequently -- I had to drive it to Dallas for servicing or sit and listen to some grease monkey tell me why I should buy a Ford. With my BMW, every time something went wrong it was $1500 -- minimum. So we bought Fords.

First my husband bought a small commuter car - a ZX2. It was "cute." I think I told him it was cute one time too many, so he traded it for a Mustang. The Mustang still gets good mileage, but it looks a little less "cute" and a little more "cool." It's not fancy, but it's paid for. Out of necessity for hauling kids and sports gear, I bought an SUV. Initially I bought a Ford Escape. It was brand new, and it was pretty, but it was pricey, and there was something not quite right with the size. The engine was way too fast for the size of the car, and I never felt safe in it. When I'd step on the gas, that thing would go, with the rear end fishtailing onto the highway. Within a few months I was back at the dealership asking to trade. I traded "up" to a Explorer. It has an even bigger engine, but it's a much heavier car, and I have really liked this car. It holds seven people comfortably, has a rack on the top for our luggage, the two boys can spread out on road trips, and it is hefty enough to pull our boat. It's been a great car -- for more than 180,000 miles.

I understand why American car manufacturers are in trouble though. It's not so much about the cars they make, at least not the American cars I have experience with. It's about the way you are treated at car dealerships. Through the years, and before we moved to this small town where there is a really good dealership, I had learned to avoid that car buying experience like the plague.

If you go in to trade a car, they rip you off and give you far less than the car is worth. When you're caught up in the car buying experience, you don't really notice, but most people have buyer's remorse the day after they've made the trade.

If you trade in a car that you still owe money on, they are happy to roll the balance into your new car loan. That way you start out with a new car that you owe more on than it's worth, not to mention the fact that the second you drive it off the lot, it becomes a used car and is worth far less than you paid for it.

My most recent dealings with car dealerships have come while shopping for a car for my teenage son. I'm no fool. I know that no teenager needs a new car, so I've done some shopping around. I have shopped online, on ebay, and I've shopped in person at dealerships. I am not going to make payments on a car for a kid, but no matter what you go in for, the guys on the car lot always want to sell you something else. If you want to find something for $5000, they show you something for $15000. If you decide you're willing to pay $10,000, they want you to buy a new car for $23,000.

This process has been so frustrating that I finally gave up. In fact I won't go near a car dealership, except for service. Service at a dealership is great. But apparently fewer people are having their cars serviced regularly, so those of us who do go in are footing the bill. We get upsold all sorts of things that we probably need but didn't go in for in the first place.

I've gone in for a simple oil change ($30) and spent $500 on all sorts of maintenance they said I needed. I've gone in for a tire rotation and been scared silly by mechanics who tell me I'm just miles away from a major blow out that could result in the end of my life, so I've bought new tires. I've also gone in for a simple servicing and spent WAY TOO LONG in the waiting room. The last time I went to my local dealership, I was there three hours. THREE HOURS! As much as I love those guys, there were people coming and going while I sat and sat, probably while they looked for something else to fix on my car. After the second hour, that got old.

So if people don't want to buy cars from car dealers, and they don't want to get their cars serviced at the dealers, the dealers are going to hurt. If the dealers hurt, the manufacturers hurt. If the manufacturers hurt, the auto workers hurt, and if the auto workers hurt, we're told, everyone suffers and the economy goes into a tailspin.

I don't necessarily buy it. I think if the car dealers were honest, and the service people were efficient, the general public wouldn't avoid buying cars or having them serviced.

I think the biggest problem is the price, which is caused by the unions. The union guys make $60- $80 an hour, and a lot of them don't do anything physically demanding or that requires a brain. Yet because it's the UAW, they have power. They are the cause of the high prices on American cars and the lack of competiveness for U.S. auto makers. They are the cause of making cars cost so much that the average citizen has had to go far into debt beyond what he or she could afford to buy a car to get him or her to that job where he or she doesn't make enough money to make the payment.

When combined with the unscrupulous banks that have let those people buy those expensive cars (and homes) in the first place, it's just one big circular mess. Is it an easy fix? No! Is it because American cars aren't made well? No.

I think it boils down to greed. Greed at the top of the auto companies and absolutely at the banks, greed at the union level, greed at the dealership level, and even greed at the consumer level.

Proud to be an American? Not really. But if I can ever afford to buy an American car again, I will. I have had good experience with the quality. It's the price and now the financing I have a problem with.

I do not want our government giving the auto makers federal money -- our money. They have received enough of it, and they have frittered it away. Let the auto workers lose their jobs. Let the execs at those companies lose their jobs and their golden parachutes. Let the bank executives lose their jobs. Then maybe they'll have to work for a living like the rest of us.

You know you live in a small town when...

My city slicker friends always marvel at how I manage to live out in the sticks like I do. They come visit once in a while and make a big deal out of driving CLEAR out here, a whole 45 minutes from downtown Dallas. Of course, it's true, it is a whole different lifestyle. Instead of murder and mayhem in our newspapers, we get to read about the activities of the local Garden Club, Literary Club, Civic League and Chamber of Commerce. We get to read about our student athletes and prom queens and about the sermons at the gazillion churchs that dot our byways. My mother, who is very active in just about every club in town, gets her picture in the paper quite frequently. But this past week we all had a good laugh at the "news" when we opened the local paper. To the right is the big news item about my mother, Ruth Boswell, winning a pair of pruning shears at the local garden club meeting. Now this is something you won't find in the Dallas Morning News.