The Rooster Stage

JB and B in gardens with White Rock Lake in back 

This past weekend, Benjamin has started to crow like a rooster.  When he talks, a kind of cock-a-doodle-do sound comes out of his mouth.  JB thinks it is funny. I'm going to send him to live with the chickens down the street.  

Grandmommy and Grandad Smith got to enjoy Benjamin's crowing this weekend during a spontaneous trip to Dallas.  JB's cousin just happens to be house-sitting for some people with a spiffy house and in-ground pool in the heart of Dallas.  They want their house to look lived in--so we lived in it!

We spent much of the first really nice end-of-summer weekend outdoors.  Sunday morning Benjamin climbed on the giant toad fountains at the Dallas arboretum and botanical gardens as daddy and grandad discussed the names and relative merits of the ferns, salvias, and sweet potato vines along the way.  What a truly beautiful, magical place the arboretum is.  As we walked through the lush, colorful landscaping, I couldn't help but think of the dry brown fields and dying trees we passed on the drive up to Dallas from Waco.  In a NY botanical garden I wouldn't think as much about the hard work and constant attention it takes to maintain such an oasis, but in Texas during a long hard drought, the beauty of such a place almost makes me want to weep.  I know it must take an outrageous amount of water to maintain the arboretum, but until watering the flowers means not enough water for people to drink, I think an oasis of green like this helps keep us Texans sane.

Thanks to grandmom and grandad, mum and dad also got to explore Dallas by themselves for a few hours.  We took the Dart into downtown dallas and walked the ghost-town arts district.  The sculpture center and art museum were full of patrons, but walking further down to the brand new performing arts center, the crowds disappeared.  There is just nothing around there to do when there is no show playing.  Great architecture and fancy sculptures are not enough to attract the crowds when there is not a coffee shop, restaurant, or ice cream place in sight.  The crowds were all at the newly renovated mockingbird station, where we found a replica "Irish" pub right there next to the rail station.  A circle of 15 musicians were playing some leisurely Irish tunes while couples and families sipped their Guinness and iced tea.  Right there a couple of stories up from the highway in Dallas, Texas.

In the Poetry Garden 

The food was good this weekend, as usual when we are out with the Smiths.  Benjamin had his first Ethiopian food (Bethany did too, for that matter).  The spongy injera bread was perfect for him.  And he thought this lemon at the Flying Fish was pretty good too.  It kept him occupied while the rest of us ate oysters and fish tacos before heading home to Waco.  

On our way out of Dallas we stopped at Half Price books to get some more board books for B.  Since I started this post talking about roosters, I will end by talking about the Little Red Hen.  Is anyone else even a little disturbed by the lesson of this tale?  I was reading it to him in the store, and when I got to the last page, I turned the book over to see if I a page was missing.   On the last page the little Red Hen eats her bread and butter by herself under a tree as the pig, sheep, and mouse who didn't help make it look on in dismay.  Responding to selfishness with her own selfishness?  How about the pig, the mouse, and the sheep (or whatever) realize the error of their ways and bring some jam and tea to offer the hen so they can all have a picnic together? 

Needless to say, I didn't buy the book.  I'm keeping my eye out a more ethical re-telling of the little red hen.  In the mean time, I'll keep sharing my bread with our own selfish little rooster.