I'd like to share Ralph Waldo Emerson's thoughts on Jane Austen:
I am at a loss to understand why people hold Miss Austen's novels at so high a rate, which seem to me vulgar in tone, sterile in artistic invention, imprisoned in their wretched conventions of English society, without genius, wit, or knowledge of the world. Never was life so pinched and narrow...All that interests...any character is has he (or she) the money to marry with?...Suicide is more respectable.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
World Tales
World Tales is simply one of the best books ever produced. Sometimes I like to share extracts with people unfortunate enough not to own this stellar volume.
So here's one. It's the introduction to a rendition of "The Fisherman and his Wife"
Maxim Gorky, no victim of the sensation that world tales were merely irrationalities produced by disordered primitive brains, freely admitted that such stories "opened up for me a new world where some free and all-fearless power reigned and inspired me to dream of a better life."
This tale certainly emphasizes that there is another 'world' or system which can cause changes in this dimension which are utterly inexplicable. It also claims, implicitly, that there are rules connected with such phenomena which have to be observed.
In the oldest forms of this recital, the Tibetan tale of King Mandhatar, the ruler conquers the whole earth and then desires to overwhelm heaven. Soon afterwards, he dies. A Polynesian connection has been noted, and there are many versions in Europe. Although the vanity and ambition of the King changes, in European hands, into that of a covetous woman, it might be noted that a check of folk-tale content has shown that more delinquent men than women appear in them, as a matter of statistics: and the sex of the culprit does not matter when it comes to the moral.
The following version gives a good idea of the climate and projection of the story in Germany of the time of the Grimm collection, with terminology somewhat modernized.
I think that's a very lovely summation, and it prompts me to reflect on how long it's been now that I've believed women in these times, and through most of the twentieth century following women's 'liberation,' are hampered by a lower set of expectations. This will never do. Double standards are every which way you look, and the least remarked is the the one about expectations for women's moral and mental growth. Every time I encounter the miserable abortion 'debate' I'm tempted to hop on my soapbox and spout a lot of stuff that would likely be taken, in these enlightened times, for that evil old 'gender feminism' (whatever that means.)
My opinion is that those who seek to limit access to abortion, or to ban it all together, have no real consciouness of their desire to act as protectors and wise stewards. Telling women simply NOT to have abortions means, in my book, a refusal to allow women to cope with the most challenging moral issues of life. I often want to elbow my way into the 'debate' and ask, "Should women also be prohibited from deciding whether to pull the plug on an aging relative or sick child?" Oh, it's not the same thing, no tiny wee precious..er..'innocent' life is involved, but...still. It's killing, you know, at its most basic, of course. Why is it that every which way I turn, I can't see the fine logic some people would like to bring to this ridiculous excuse for a conversation, but only chivalry in one of its most grotesque costumes yet?
You see, it looks so jolly sweet and nice. It's out for everyone's best interest and serves nobody's real life needs.
Oh, and if you want a piece of my mind on the limiting lower standard for women's mental capacities, just check the greeting card industry, one of the leaders in illiteracy today. If you'd like to kill a Hallmark employee over the awesomely awful grammar and usage in your typical get well card, you may agree with me. Furthermore, women who spend most of their time shopping, at the salon, or watching middlebrow teevee are always considered frivolous, empty, and wrong...but in the right way. Such token 'female' behaviors are a reassurance to all those men and gungho feminists who simply can't let go of the Western ideals of male virtue.
They call people like me naive, but we are sometimes the toughest audience to dupe.
So here's one. It's the introduction to a rendition of "The Fisherman and his Wife"
Maxim Gorky, no victim of the sensation that world tales were merely irrationalities produced by disordered primitive brains, freely admitted that such stories "opened up for me a new world where some free and all-fearless power reigned and inspired me to dream of a better life."
This tale certainly emphasizes that there is another 'world' or system which can cause changes in this dimension which are utterly inexplicable. It also claims, implicitly, that there are rules connected with such phenomena which have to be observed.
In the oldest forms of this recital, the Tibetan tale of King Mandhatar, the ruler conquers the whole earth and then desires to overwhelm heaven. Soon afterwards, he dies. A Polynesian connection has been noted, and there are many versions in Europe. Although the vanity and ambition of the King changes, in European hands, into that of a covetous woman, it might be noted that a check of folk-tale content has shown that more delinquent men than women appear in them, as a matter of statistics: and the sex of the culprit does not matter when it comes to the moral.
The following version gives a good idea of the climate and projection of the story in Germany of the time of the Grimm collection, with terminology somewhat modernized.
I think that's a very lovely summation, and it prompts me to reflect on how long it's been now that I've believed women in these times, and through most of the twentieth century following women's 'liberation,' are hampered by a lower set of expectations. This will never do. Double standards are every which way you look, and the least remarked is the the one about expectations for women's moral and mental growth. Every time I encounter the miserable abortion 'debate' I'm tempted to hop on my soapbox and spout a lot of stuff that would likely be taken, in these enlightened times, for that evil old 'gender feminism' (whatever that means.)
My opinion is that those who seek to limit access to abortion, or to ban it all together, have no real consciouness of their desire to act as protectors and wise stewards. Telling women simply NOT to have abortions means, in my book, a refusal to allow women to cope with the most challenging moral issues of life. I often want to elbow my way into the 'debate' and ask, "Should women also be prohibited from deciding whether to pull the plug on an aging relative or sick child?" Oh, it's not the same thing, no tiny wee precious..er..'innocent' life is involved, but...still. It's killing, you know, at its most basic, of course. Why is it that every which way I turn, I can't see the fine logic some people would like to bring to this ridiculous excuse for a conversation, but only chivalry in one of its most grotesque costumes yet?
You see, it looks so jolly sweet and nice. It's out for everyone's best interest and serves nobody's real life needs.
Oh, and if you want a piece of my mind on the limiting lower standard for women's mental capacities, just check the greeting card industry, one of the leaders in illiteracy today. If you'd like to kill a Hallmark employee over the awesomely awful grammar and usage in your typical get well card, you may agree with me. Furthermore, women who spend most of their time shopping, at the salon, or watching middlebrow teevee are always considered frivolous, empty, and wrong...but in the right way. Such token 'female' behaviors are a reassurance to all those men and gungho feminists who simply can't let go of the Western ideals of male virtue.
They call people like me naive, but we are sometimes the toughest audience to dupe.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Rotten Pencil
When I'm having trouble resolving my thoughts, I have to turn to other people's work to slow me down. My head begins to spin a bit, and a dark violet anger subsumes me.
Today I'm considering my grandmother, who had always wanted to be a published poet.
When they were young, my mother and aunt put together a "book" for her of her work. My mom has it around somewhere, but she very selfishly refuses to turn over the entire contents of her house to me. However, I've got a sample of my grandma's old work. I can tell that at times she felt the same, or reasonably so. Here it is:
I NEED SOME INSPIRATION
I stood at the gates of morning
A harp within my arms
And breathed in fragrant freshness
Of all the morning's charms.
I played her songs at the sunrise
Of bluebirds, roses and dew
Rain on grazing cattle
And April skies of blue.
The morning was eager to journey
I followed in her way
Playing a song of gladness
Joy and laughter gay.
The evening was jealous of morning
Following after fast
And I tucked my harp next my bosom
To rest with evening at last.
Today I'm considering my grandmother, who had always wanted to be a published poet.
When they were young, my mother and aunt put together a "book" for her of her work. My mom has it around somewhere, but she very selfishly refuses to turn over the entire contents of her house to me. However, I've got a sample of my grandma's old work. I can tell that at times she felt the same, or reasonably so. Here it is:
I NEED SOME INSPIRATION
I stood at the gates of morning
A harp within my arms
And breathed in fragrant freshness
Of all the morning's charms.
I played her songs at the sunrise
Of bluebirds, roses and dew
Rain on grazing cattle
And April skies of blue.
The morning was eager to journey
I followed in her way
Playing a song of gladness
Joy and laughter gay.
The evening was jealous of morning
Following after fast
And I tucked my harp next my bosom
To rest with evening at last.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Snippets
Atropa belladonna
Within the infant rind of this weak flower, Poison hath residence, and medicine power.
Trifolium pratense
and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncovered, rank...
Fritillaria meleagris
The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh and trim...
Rosa gallica, Rosa alba
Shall send between the red rose and the white A thousand souls to death and deadly night.
Primula veris
Where the bee sucks, there suck I, In a cowslip's bell I lie
Quercus robur
...that all their elves, for fear, Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there.
Primula vulgaris
Primrose, first-born child of Ver,
Merry spring-time's harbinger.
Prunus avium
So we grew together, Like to a double cherry.
Fragaria vesca
The strawberry grows underneath the nettle...
Viola tricolor
...and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
Majorana hortensis
She was the sweet marjoram of the salad.
Lavandula spica
Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savory...
Butomus umbellatus
She bids you upon the wanton rushes lay you down, And rest your gentle head Upon her lap...
Malus sylvestris
And sometimes lurk I in a gossip's bowl In very likeness of a roasted crab...
Urtica dioica
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies.
Rosa arvensis
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head...
Endymion non-scriptus
...thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor The azured hare-bell, like thy veins.
Oh, you know, Shakespeare. He kills.
Within the infant rind of this weak flower, Poison hath residence, and medicine power.
Trifolium pratense
and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncovered, rank...
Fritillaria meleagris
The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh and trim...
Rosa gallica, Rosa alba
Shall send between the red rose and the white A thousand souls to death and deadly night.
Primula veris
Where the bee sucks, there suck I, In a cowslip's bell I lie
Quercus robur
...that all their elves, for fear, Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there.
Primula vulgaris
Primrose, first-born child of Ver,
Merry spring-time's harbinger.
Prunus avium
So we grew together, Like to a double cherry.
Fragaria vesca
The strawberry grows underneath the nettle...
Viola tricolor
...and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
Majorana hortensis
She was the sweet marjoram of the salad.
Lavandula spica
Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savory...
Butomus umbellatus
She bids you upon the wanton rushes lay you down, And rest your gentle head Upon her lap...
Malus sylvestris
And sometimes lurk I in a gossip's bowl In very likeness of a roasted crab...
Urtica dioica
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies.
Rosa arvensis
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head...
Endymion non-scriptus
...thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor The azured hare-bell, like thy veins.
Oh, you know, Shakespeare. He kills.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Leftovers
I've just reheated some of the remains of my Mexican feast. So I've gotten around to the tacos I had to neglect earlier today. These come in a more delicate shell than you will be used to from the supermarket or chain restaurants, and even in the lazy way I reheated them, I could tell that the meat was well seasoned and well prepared. Whatever it is, it isn't ground beef, a nice change of pace compared to most of the food I'm used to finding and having to call Mexican or Tex Mex. And as for that mashup of the alligator pear, even after growing dark in my fridge, the guacamole held up fine. The nachos reheated the poorest; I'm going to have to come up with some tactics for fixing the other one.
As I relived my meal, I remembered more about Joe T's and its atmosphere. The waitstaff all seem to wear khaki trousers and white tops, while the busboys are allowed to go in jeans. The waiters are attractive and pleasant, with an easy manner and a relaxed attitude--I had a male waiter, and he didn't hurry me away from my table. Meanwhile the women servers run to the sinuous and the shapely, too lithe to be true hourglasses, but with supple waists, weaving movements, and a sensible taste in footwear. My favorite waitress wore a white cami underneath her white tee. Opposite my table there sat a man wearing a purple top, ridiculous purple 80s sunglasses, and a gray and black fedora I might've liked if he had lost the shades. He seemed to be enjoying his meal and that's the main thing, I suppose.
Diners wear anything they want to Joe T's. It was a coolish afternoon, too, so clothing ranged from very stylish knee high boots on a lady who was perhaps Italian to a yellow Hawaiian shirt on a gentleman who kindly kept my place in line for me. I spotted all sorts of kids' sandals, a lot of crazy Texas handbags, and a girl, blonde, if I remmeber right, wearing a mauve pleather jacket she said she had bought at Dillard's. The color suited her, and it had a rather charming ruffled effect for one lapel.
Mauve and gray shades of pink are intriguing colors. They work well on many skins, but are too tricky for someone like me who has a tinge of yellow in the complexion. I only get to play along with the pink game by wearing a beaded cuff I've got, thanks to an artist friend who belongs to a beadwork guild. It's a lovely thing; it's very art deco looking, with diamonds done in two shades of pink and small triangles of lavender, all outlined in black. Patterns like those made with beads, and simple geometric shapes, seem to me to reveal forms that are already present in nature, and remind me of my Choctaw heritage, which must have involved someone's, sometime, making similar works and images.
I've never found out much about the Choctaw tribe, however, because you cannot simply walk in and announce that you'd like to be Choctaw now, presto. It's simply not good manners if you have not been reared as an American Indian. One day I think I'll learn more about all the "Five Civilized Tribes" of Oklahoma, but for now all I know is the Choctaw word 'bishinik' (one of two birds to escape the Flood, according to legend) and the calumet on the Oklahoma flag, apparently also a Choctaw artifact. Well, and a bit more than that, I also know the Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City, which, oddly enough, contains one of the most moving sculptures about the Trail of Tears I've ever seen. It's called "End of the Trail," and it's set in an airy white space, with lots of windows, that I've tried in vain to photograph to my satisfaction. I usually end up buying a postcard. One of my greatest troubles in life is that my hands tremble a bit, meaning I'll never win the Van Cliburn competition or take many decent shots of anything.
But my explorations of Fort Worth don't all need to be snapped to be remembered. My absolutely favorite place in the city is the Water Gardens, a free to the public living sculpture. I have never belonged to a gym, but I get enough exercise climbing and strolling about the Water Gardens to more than make up for it. The Water Gardens combines all of my favorite things--water, stone, green grass, thrift, open air, and sound. It was designed by its architects with Alice in Wonderland in mind, and the sounds and sights of water are meant as a major element in that theme. The big attraction, a waterfall structure whose steps you can follow down to a central pool, seems like pure rock and roll to me. It can also give you vertigo if you aren't prepared, but so can a lot of abstract art. There is also a quiet pool for reflection, meant to evoke the feelings of entering 'a giant's house,' a mountain with unusually proportioned steps to climb, and a stage area made of the back of the mountain and a field of satiny grass. I'm growing to like the Aerated Water Pool the best. The other day I met a couple there and we discussed whether the architects had realized their vision or not. It's intended to be a sort of asymmetrical chess board, but we agreed that the fountains reminded us more of flowers, perhaps lilies or lotuses. In fact, the Water Gardens has always struck me as a very Japanese sort of experience, and now with the water flowers in mind, it seems even more so. Wherever I wander in life, I will always feel truly at home in the Fort Worth Water Gardens, and I'm going to have to make frequent trips there, I suspect.
One final thought on Joe T's: don't be the guy or girl who gets the frozen margarita. Take them on the rocks, you need to be able to handle a little salt with your tequila.
As I relived my meal, I remembered more about Joe T's and its atmosphere. The waitstaff all seem to wear khaki trousers and white tops, while the busboys are allowed to go in jeans. The waiters are attractive and pleasant, with an easy manner and a relaxed attitude--I had a male waiter, and he didn't hurry me away from my table. Meanwhile the women servers run to the sinuous and the shapely, too lithe to be true hourglasses, but with supple waists, weaving movements, and a sensible taste in footwear. My favorite waitress wore a white cami underneath her white tee. Opposite my table there sat a man wearing a purple top, ridiculous purple 80s sunglasses, and a gray and black fedora I might've liked if he had lost the shades. He seemed to be enjoying his meal and that's the main thing, I suppose.
Diners wear anything they want to Joe T's. It was a coolish afternoon, too, so clothing ranged from very stylish knee high boots on a lady who was perhaps Italian to a yellow Hawaiian shirt on a gentleman who kindly kept my place in line for me. I spotted all sorts of kids' sandals, a lot of crazy Texas handbags, and a girl, blonde, if I remmeber right, wearing a mauve pleather jacket she said she had bought at Dillard's. The color suited her, and it had a rather charming ruffled effect for one lapel.
Mauve and gray shades of pink are intriguing colors. They work well on many skins, but are too tricky for someone like me who has a tinge of yellow in the complexion. I only get to play along with the pink game by wearing a beaded cuff I've got, thanks to an artist friend who belongs to a beadwork guild. It's a lovely thing; it's very art deco looking, with diamonds done in two shades of pink and small triangles of lavender, all outlined in black. Patterns like those made with beads, and simple geometric shapes, seem to me to reveal forms that are already present in nature, and remind me of my Choctaw heritage, which must have involved someone's, sometime, making similar works and images.
I've never found out much about the Choctaw tribe, however, because you cannot simply walk in and announce that you'd like to be Choctaw now, presto. It's simply not good manners if you have not been reared as an American Indian. One day I think I'll learn more about all the "Five Civilized Tribes" of Oklahoma, but for now all I know is the Choctaw word 'bishinik' (one of two birds to escape the Flood, according to legend) and the calumet on the Oklahoma flag, apparently also a Choctaw artifact. Well, and a bit more than that, I also know the Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City, which, oddly enough, contains one of the most moving sculptures about the Trail of Tears I've ever seen. It's called "End of the Trail," and it's set in an airy white space, with lots of windows, that I've tried in vain to photograph to my satisfaction. I usually end up buying a postcard. One of my greatest troubles in life is that my hands tremble a bit, meaning I'll never win the Van Cliburn competition or take many decent shots of anything.
But my explorations of Fort Worth don't all need to be snapped to be remembered. My absolutely favorite place in the city is the Water Gardens, a free to the public living sculpture. I have never belonged to a gym, but I get enough exercise climbing and strolling about the Water Gardens to more than make up for it. The Water Gardens combines all of my favorite things--water, stone, green grass, thrift, open air, and sound. It was designed by its architects with Alice in Wonderland in mind, and the sounds and sights of water are meant as a major element in that theme. The big attraction, a waterfall structure whose steps you can follow down to a central pool, seems like pure rock and roll to me. It can also give you vertigo if you aren't prepared, but so can a lot of abstract art. There is also a quiet pool for reflection, meant to evoke the feelings of entering 'a giant's house,' a mountain with unusually proportioned steps to climb, and a stage area made of the back of the mountain and a field of satiny grass. I'm growing to like the Aerated Water Pool the best. The other day I met a couple there and we discussed whether the architects had realized their vision or not. It's intended to be a sort of asymmetrical chess board, but we agreed that the fountains reminded us more of flowers, perhaps lilies or lotuses. In fact, the Water Gardens has always struck me as a very Japanese sort of experience, and now with the water flowers in mind, it seems even more so. Wherever I wander in life, I will always feel truly at home in the Fort Worth Water Gardens, and I'm going to have to make frequent trips there, I suspect.
One final thought on Joe T's: don't be the guy or girl who gets the frozen margarita. Take them on the rocks, you need to be able to handle a little salt with your tequila.
Fort Worth, Wonder Town
There is an excellent Mexican restaurant in Fort Worth called Joe T. Garcia's. It is often derided by fans of traditional Tex-Mex for its bad food. They are known to serve a great margarita. The drinks are in fact amazing, but I have to take up here for the food, which is far more bland than most admirers of spicy Tex-Mex can admit.
I visited Joe T's recently and had the cheese enchilada dinner. Enchiladas, I think, should always be eaten hot, so I addressed those first. They come with a bit of onion, but not enough to suit my taste. The Spanish rice is nearly excellent, while the beans must be doused in the house salsa (very good) to be tolerable at all. As I took my enchiladas first, I was never able to progress to the meat tacos that come along with the meal, and only had a token bite of the "nachos" (not traditional ballpark nachos at all, rather large tostada shaped discs with a decent amount of chopped pepper on top of plenty of melted cheese.) I have to admit I was far too busy concentrating on the guacamole. It is lush. Maybe some of the best I've ever had: chunky avocado bits, plenty of cilantro, and tomato. Avocado may be my favorite fruit, and my mind wandered to Sylvia Plath's novel The Bell Jar, which gives a description of her grandfather's recipe for (I think) grape jelly sauce for avocado. There's a lot of great eating in The Bell Jar; it's not all mental illness and horror. But to return to avocado: I have to say I prefer avocado made guacamole with just the right simple blend of ingredients.
Maybe the purist food critics are right, maybe Joe T's red sauce comes from a can, although I found that as my meal went along, it became one of the best parts of the dinner. I began to sop it up with the Spanish rice. However, what's just as important as the dining at Joe T's is the plan of the restaurant. It has a popular outdoor garden, where stone walls topped with potted plants ring the tables and a central fountain makes joyful music. Also, smoking is allowed. I find a cigarette or two helps me set the tempo of a meal, and Joe T's permissiveness soothes a sore spot of mine...that smoking is prohibited in so many restaurants these days.
Finish your dinner and take a stroll around the garden sometime. It's well stocked with a plant with a yellow fruit, reminiscent of star fruit, showing white blossoms and green oval leaves so smooth I believed they were fake, until I felt the wet soil at the bottom of the pot and was reassured. Another fountain with an intriguing shape hides shyly at the back, and be sure to look at a small hall devoted to succulents and tile work, mostly blue, white, and yellow.
They've also got an oak leaf hydrangea stuck slyly in their garden. I had been to the Fort Worth Botanic Gardens the previous day, and happened upon the Fragrance Garden, a delicious nook with a quiet pool and a welcome bit of shade. In Texas it seems the oak leaf takes the form of a flat, cream four leaf clover type blossom, sometimes with pale pink along its creases. The leaves are giant and a healthy, friendly green. The Fragrance Garden also contains viburnums of many sorts, a plant I love, as a certain sort of viburnum, also called guelder-rose, is one of the strongest notes in Vivienne Westwood's fragrance "Libertine," a favorite of mine for its elegant combination of passion and restraint. (Sometimes it takes a kooky Englishwoman to come up with a really bewitching perfume.) They also have a nice Nikko Blue Hydrangea, although you can't let the name fool you: probably due to our soil, this plant's flowers are bright cyclamen. I also enjoyed a reserved little plant called "Eve's Necklace." But the best smell of the day may have reached me as I headed out of the Fragrance Garden and passed a Mexican Plum. I'm still not sure whether it was the tree that caught my attention, or a baby's breath sort of wildflower growing beneath it, but it was a well done bit of casual planting. I don't think the Botanic Garden spends all its effort on the gardens themselves; they have put together a very thoughtful experience for the wanderer and even the tourist.
As I'm not a real tourist but a mere suburban visitor, I'll probably never grow tired of Fort Worth's attractions now that I've decided to prefer the town to Dallas. Where Dallas is a bit formal, Fort Worth is expressionist, abstract, even surreal and absurd, but with plenty of recognizable Texas style thrown in for stability.
Exploring the city next door is just what I have to do to compensate for all those trips to The Gap.
I visited Joe T's recently and had the cheese enchilada dinner. Enchiladas, I think, should always be eaten hot, so I addressed those first. They come with a bit of onion, but not enough to suit my taste. The Spanish rice is nearly excellent, while the beans must be doused in the house salsa (very good) to be tolerable at all. As I took my enchiladas first, I was never able to progress to the meat tacos that come along with the meal, and only had a token bite of the "nachos" (not traditional ballpark nachos at all, rather large tostada shaped discs with a decent amount of chopped pepper on top of plenty of melted cheese.) I have to admit I was far too busy concentrating on the guacamole. It is lush. Maybe some of the best I've ever had: chunky avocado bits, plenty of cilantro, and tomato. Avocado may be my favorite fruit, and my mind wandered to Sylvia Plath's novel The Bell Jar, which gives a description of her grandfather's recipe for (I think) grape jelly sauce for avocado. There's a lot of great eating in The Bell Jar; it's not all mental illness and horror. But to return to avocado: I have to say I prefer avocado made guacamole with just the right simple blend of ingredients.
Maybe the purist food critics are right, maybe Joe T's red sauce comes from a can, although I found that as my meal went along, it became one of the best parts of the dinner. I began to sop it up with the Spanish rice. However, what's just as important as the dining at Joe T's is the plan of the restaurant. It has a popular outdoor garden, where stone walls topped with potted plants ring the tables and a central fountain makes joyful music. Also, smoking is allowed. I find a cigarette or two helps me set the tempo of a meal, and Joe T's permissiveness soothes a sore spot of mine...that smoking is prohibited in so many restaurants these days.
Finish your dinner and take a stroll around the garden sometime. It's well stocked with a plant with a yellow fruit, reminiscent of star fruit, showing white blossoms and green oval leaves so smooth I believed they were fake, until I felt the wet soil at the bottom of the pot and was reassured. Another fountain with an intriguing shape hides shyly at the back, and be sure to look at a small hall devoted to succulents and tile work, mostly blue, white, and yellow.
They've also got an oak leaf hydrangea stuck slyly in their garden. I had been to the Fort Worth Botanic Gardens the previous day, and happened upon the Fragrance Garden, a delicious nook with a quiet pool and a welcome bit of shade. In Texas it seems the oak leaf takes the form of a flat, cream four leaf clover type blossom, sometimes with pale pink along its creases. The leaves are giant and a healthy, friendly green. The Fragrance Garden also contains viburnums of many sorts, a plant I love, as a certain sort of viburnum, also called guelder-rose, is one of the strongest notes in Vivienne Westwood's fragrance "Libertine," a favorite of mine for its elegant combination of passion and restraint. (Sometimes it takes a kooky Englishwoman to come up with a really bewitching perfume.) They also have a nice Nikko Blue Hydrangea, although you can't let the name fool you: probably due to our soil, this plant's flowers are bright cyclamen. I also enjoyed a reserved little plant called "Eve's Necklace." But the best smell of the day may have reached me as I headed out of the Fragrance Garden and passed a Mexican Plum. I'm still not sure whether it was the tree that caught my attention, or a baby's breath sort of wildflower growing beneath it, but it was a well done bit of casual planting. I don't think the Botanic Garden spends all its effort on the gardens themselves; they have put together a very thoughtful experience for the wanderer and even the tourist.
As I'm not a real tourist but a mere suburban visitor, I'll probably never grow tired of Fort Worth's attractions now that I've decided to prefer the town to Dallas. Where Dallas is a bit formal, Fort Worth is expressionist, abstract, even surreal and absurd, but with plenty of recognizable Texas style thrown in for stability.
Exploring the city next door is just what I have to do to compensate for all those trips to The Gap.
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