I ran and grabbed my camera and took a few shots through the boy’s bedroom windows. My subject moved a few houses down the road. “Hey, Benjamin, I need to go outside for a better look. You want to come with me?”
“Yes.”
“You need to put on some shoes.”
“Well, I’ll just watch you from here in my room.”
I dashed outside, but before I got to the right house, I heard a familiar voice from behind me. “Daddy,” Benjamin whispered. I signaled for him to come along, but quietly.
Considering yesterday’s gold medal hockey match featured the USA vs. Canada, I found this timely.
Until three weeks ago, I had never been to a hockey game. In fact, besides back in 1980 when the USA defeated the Soviets, I had never watched one at all.
Always anxious for an excuse to take pictures, I snatched up two free tickets to the Allen Americans, a fairly new Dallas Stars farm team. The wife quickly cleared a guys’ night out and I frantically dialed up a couple of local friends. One of them is an avid hockey fan and even has his own skates and stick. Both of them are fellow shutterbugs.
(click any pic to enlarge)
She showed me much more than I expected.
I wandered recently to downtown McKinney, Texas, my goal to see the inside of the former Collin County Courthouse. Now used to host live theater and small concerts, it is an historic building that for years I had seen only from the outside. From the ice cream crank-off to visits from family, friends, and for a photo shoot, I saw it as a centerpiece getting lost in the past while renovations went on all around it.
My vision, it seems, was lacking.
I parked less than a block off the square, across the street from a staircase that always catches my eye but has eluded my camera. Not content merely to take a few shots of it from below, I carefully ascended the iron helix and snapped a few from the top. The weather was so nice I could have sat there all day watching the town bustle past.
Down from my perch, I crossed the street to the old courthouse and entered the basement doors. Straight ahead I saw several women, most of them sitting on the floor, working to decorate a room in Relay for Life banners.
“May I help you?” asked a woman as she approached.
(Note: concluded from Part Three)
Beginning at the third floor we get good looks at various rain forest inhabitants — exotic birds, monkeys, and lizards. The monkeys are water-bound on a small island, but the birds fly freely amongst the visitors, sometimes alarmingly near faces. I almost ask one of them if they know the Fruit Loops guy.
A three-toed sloth, true to its species, sleeps while wrapped around tree branches about six feet off the ground. With no net or other barrier between it and us, its long claws make me wonder just how fast a sloth could move if it got fed up with all the passersby.
(Note: continued from Part Two)
At first graffiti on buildings, some perhaps gang-related, is the only obvious sign that we’ve left suburbia. When the buildings begin towering above us, whether we’re atop an overpass or not, we know we have reached the city proper.
High-rises jut skyward from the concrete jungle, reflecting one another in their shimmering glass coats. I spot the buildings — Comerica Bank Tower, JPMorgan Chase Tower, Fountain Place, Reunion Tower — that give Dallas its signature skyline.
We pass by an old building called, “Dallas High School.” Boards cover its windows, dark stains streak the exterior brick, and a few cracks run through the cement. The columns still stand proudly.
I think of how many high schools have been added since that building’s heyday, and how buildings in the suburbs are so generic that they will be razed rather than added to the National Register of Historic Places.
For this man with a rural upbringing, a visit to the heart of the city brings excitement, intrigue, and just enough fear to keep alert.
Off the train now, Shannon and I consult Mapquest’s directions from the West End Station to the Dallas World Aquarium, printed on a pink sheet of paper because we were out of white. We’re only a few blocks away. Benjamin does his best Godzilla impression on a metal sculpture of downtown Dallas.
I grab Benjamin’s hand as we make our way on foot. “Why are you holding my hand, Daddy, so nobody will take me?” Benjamin says.
“Yes, son, so nobody will take you.” I try to remember where he first got that idea.
The most direct walk leads us down what looks more like an alley than a street. “Let’s not go there. Let’s walk on down to the next intersection and then turn,” I say.
We stop at a building that must be the aquarium, but it is hard to tell. Large sheets of transparent plastic extend down from the walls to cover various tropical plants and small trees growing in soil along the southwest side.
So far it looks more like a terrarium.
A spur off the sidewalk leads us through an opening in the protective cover. Now inside the plastic-wrapped jungle with a roof over our heads, we follow the zig-zag walkway toward the ticket window.
Large, colorful carp swim lazily in a stream that runs under the walkway. I call out, “Hey, come back, Benjamin, you didn’t look at these fish.”
He runs back down the walkway, fingers tapping the handrail’s metal tubing. He looks over the edge. “Cool, Daddy. Come on.” He runs up to the ticket window, apparently confident that there are bigger and better things to be seen after we have paid admission.
The ticket lady tells us to take the elevator to the third floor to begin our tour.
Waiting for the elevator, we get our first look at the… rainforest? I thought we were coming to an aquarium.
Within arm’s reach, a small group of penguins mill about in a watery habitat with low walls. They seem ebullient. Perky, even.
Behind and below them is a vast room with a four-storey ceiling. The green of the tropics dominates the scene. A waterfall as tall as the trees cascades straight down an artificial cliff face into a small body of crystal clear water. The overcast weather allows only a muted glow through the skylights.
(to be concluded, with many photos)
(Note: Continued from Part One)
As we settle into our seats I notice a distinct, almost unpleasant smell — one part hospital, one part hotel room attempting to mask the fact that it once allowed smoking.
Benjamin and Shannon sit together while I settle into the seat behind theirs. A few other passengers fill seats here and there. A recorded female voice announces that the train will leave in one minute.
“I hope we go underground,” Benjamin says.
“We might,” I say. “I think there’s a tunnel.”
“I want to face forward,” Shannon says. We are facing north, but the train is going to head south.
“Let’s move,” I say.
(click any image to enlarge)
The train is scheduled to leave at 10:26. The time is 10:10.
I luck into a spot fairly close to the train station, just after dropping Shannon and Benjamin at the entrance. I pull my mobile phone from its holster and dial Shannon.
She doesn’t answer. My phone vibrates and Shannon’s picture pops up on the screen. I answer but hear nothing.
“Come on, come on,” I say to the phone and the empty van.
I dial again and the same thing happens. I decide to wait. Shannon calls again. I answer.
“So, is it cash only?” I say.
“Yes. We’re not going to make this one.”
The time is 10:12.
“Just hold on. You guys stay put while I go find a bank.”
I start the Odyssey and back out of my plum parking spot. At the parking lot’s exit I can turn either left or right to begin my search.
I choose left, and after a short distance I see a Bank of America down the next street, on the right. I head that way.
The person ahead of me pulls away just as I arrive. I stop at the ATM and insert my card, then cringe at the surcharge fee notification. I grudgingly accept the fee, snatch the cash and the receipt and make my way back to the parking lot. I luck into the same spot I had left.
The time is 10:16. I jump down from the driver’s seat and call Shannon to let her know I’m back with the money.
I walk quickly to Shannon and Benjamin and the machine that exchanges cash for train passes. Just a few feet away the train waits quietly at this, its northernmost stop. After I feed a $20 bill into the machine, we tap the touch screen in the appropriate places and then grab our passes (and change) and approach the train.
The doors are shut, but there is a black button with words above it reading, “Open.” I push the button and the doors respond.
We board with a few minutes to spare, for my first ride aboard a DART (Dallas Area Rapid Transit) train, and we’re on our way to the West End Station. Final destination: Dallas World Aquarium.
(continued in Part Two)
Today we’re going to the Dallas Aquarium. Benjamin is out of school for a teacher work day and I took off work just for this trip. For the first time ever, Benjamin and I will ride the DART (Dallas Area Rapid Transit) commuter train. Shannon, an old pro on the metro area’s rapid transit, will show us the ropes.
Such an aquarium is, basically, an underwater zoo. While some zoo captives can look sad, or at the very least indifferent, it’s fairly difficult to tell whether a fish is happy or angry, and you can’t see their tears thanks to the water. Their constant motion through the water prevents that listless look of a terrestrial creature lying in the grass or on a fake rock. So, we will have fewer potential sources for conflicting emotions, and zero chance that an unnaturally cooped-up animal will escape and maul someone.
Score!
I’m pretty sure we won’t see anything new at the Dallas Aquarium. Shannon and I have been to the National Aquarium in Baltimore and the Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey, California. It’s fairly difficult to top either, from what I’ve heard.
However, while other aquariums may not offer as complete an experience, they often feature their own specialty. For the Dallas Aquarium, the specialty seems to be manatees. I like the peaceful giants, and Shannon has always loved them, so enjoyment is almost guaranteed.
Looking at a few videos of manatees online, Benjamin said, “Mommy, what are those marks on their backs?”
“Well, sometimes boats hit them accidentally.”
“Aww, that must really hurt.”
Here’s hoping there are no scars or frowns on the manatees we see. Anything otherwise might damage our calm. For the admission price, we expect nothing less than unfettered joy.
Note: When thinking of the cows of the deep, I can’t help recalling the Larry the Cucumber song, “Barbara Manatee.” If you haven’t experienced it, I suggest looking up the music video on the internets. It’s a bit of a hoot. You can’t go wrong with any of the “Silly Songs with Larry.”
I always thought building gingerbread houses was for an evil old lady trying to lure innocent youngsters to her lair. On Christmas Eve morning, after driving a friend to the airport, my wife and our son opened up a kit to make our own. Gingerbread house, not lair.
Maybe a lair would have been easier.
As Shannon pulled the two roof pieces from the package, they broke in the same place along a diagonal line. She was ready to call it quits.
“Maybe we can make our own gingerbread to replace those,” I said.
“We can’t do that. Sometimes you say things without thinking first,” she said.
“Just brainstorming, dear.” Admittedly, it wasn’t a very brainy suggestion.
I tried repairing the broken pieces with tape, but it wouldn’t stick. Then Shannon came out with the hot glue gun and did a beautiful job.
If only the icing had worked nearly as well during construction, we might have had an “after” photo. I was working from home, so I couldn’t dedicate a large chunk of time to the effort, and Shannon’s patience by that time was gone.
Benjamin, who by that time had decorated and gobbled down the gingerbread man, was content decorating the remaining pieces without making a house of them.
Then the snow piled up to cover the grass and turned everything brilliant white, promising a Texas Christmas just as white as the wall Benjamin decorated for Shannon.
Sound Clip – Ben explains how some spiders catch their prey.
It wasn’t what I had in mind when I started the car Sunday morning.
After my son and I played catch and other games in the back yard early, I decided we needed to get out of the house, to one of the places I recently discovered while wandering away from work.
On past walks and bicycle rides to the donut shop, Benjamin had toted along books in his backpack. The tradition became this: move a while, then stop and sit on the sidewalk for me to read him a book. Benjamin decided to continue this tradition on trips that don’t involve deep-fried breakfast food.
This time there was a twist that, while initially undesirable, turned out to be pleasant. (as usual, please use headphones or earbuds for maximum immersion)
