The Mansion on Turtle Creek, part IV

The last on this subject and the shortest.

While discussing this with a friend yesterday, she lamented that the rescinding of the dress code for The Mansion is just another step in the "dumbing down" of our society. Media implications aside, where do you go to dress up?

We no longer dress for church. In less than a generation, I dare say the population of my church won't have a clue what "Sunday best" or "church clothes" are, unless it's the jeans without a hole and trust me, I've seen that at church. (Mainline denomination in a small town.) IT'S CHURCH, PEOPLE! I know that churches think that by declaring "no dress code" everyone will feel more welcome. Fine. Wear your best, no matter what it is. Wearing your best clothes to church is, to me, a symbol of respect for God and place. I just find it hard to believe that jeans with a hole in the seat is the best someone with a job can do.

So, just as we no longer wear church clothes to church (I do--but then you're not surprised by that), we no longer dress for funerals. To a certain extent, I've seen some mighty casual clothes at weddings, although that would appear to be the last hold out. Charity balls/events would seem to cry for something other than shorts and jeans but we don't have a great many of those here.

And now, we can go semi-casual to restaurants where a meal for 6 cost more than my first paycheck as a teacher. And it was for a month.

In concluding this tirade, who is buying all the dressy clothes at Neiman's and Nordstrom's and the boutiques? And then, please tell me, where are they wearing them?

The Mansion on Turtle Creek, part III

I liked The Mansion so much, I put it as the place of two pivotal scenes in my book LYLA'S SONG. I changed the name to The Manorborne, but in my mind's eye my characters Eddie T and Lyla were at The Mansion.

In the first scene, he's won a bet with her and she has to go to dinner with him. He chooses The Mansion, uh Manorborne, because he hopes it will impress her. He does this even though he knows he's walking a fine line with management since the the last time he was there, he left with police escort. So he gives a false name in order to make the reservation and then stands still under the maitre d's sharp-eyed scrutiny. He's allowed in because he's with a woman much classier than himself. He proves to be not only a delightful dinner companion for her, but the source of autographed menus for the hotel's next fund-raiser. I don't know if they do that or not, but it seemed a nice touch. Besides, I had Lyla order all my fav Mansion dishes. I certainly hope they keep the tortilla soup and the creme brulee after the renovation.

Later in the book, he again chooses The Manorborne and has a suite reserved. But he's lost the heroine and nearly lost hope. His companion this time is 80-year-old Bertie, who has come to Dallas to inform him of all the details and march his hide back to Lake Texoma and into Lyla's arms, even though she doesn't know he's coming. He takes Bertie to the bar, runs her a tab and takes over the piano. He plays requests to raise funds for a charity he's started. Would that ever happen? I don't know, but I'd like to think it would, a world-class pianist playing any and everything for (very large) tips, dazzling his audience and giving them a bit of the unexpected.

So, do he and Bertie make it back to the lake in time to tie up all the loose ends and have the book's requisite happy ending? Well, of course, but it's the journey that's important here, not the destination.

While just the opposite is true in visiting The Mansion. I know my journey (90 minutes down the four-lane) but in the fall, when it's renovated and up to a new speed, I hope to once again enjoy the destination.

The Mansion on Turtle Creek, part II

As luck would have it, the Wall Street Journal Saturday section Pursuits, has as its "power table" review today, said tables at The Mansion. And yes, the first time we went, we were at one of them. I just thought they'd put us at the end of the Verandah because we were a big party and we'd be out of the way (not seen--since we weren't worthy to be seen) by anyone. Come to find out, it's a coveted spot.

I had figured that out by 2001 when we made the part II of our memorable adventures. We were seated at the other end of the Verandah, at a round table, in a corner as it were. We were well-waited upon and I caught the service people smirking more than once as we recalled stories. They are probably trained not to laugh out loud at the diners' adventures, but the one I recounted yesterday had one young man shaking his head.

For, once again, we were in the company of our sons. This time they were grown, out of grad school and college, and accompanied by the young women who would marry them in 2003 and 2006, respectively. It was August, our anniversary weekend, and we would be spending the night, meeting half of them for breakfast in the morning and then all meeting up to go to the Ft. Worth Zoo. The boys may have been bored, but the girls weren't.

That's another story.

This time, besides being at The Mansion for a special occasion, we were there to spend our government-returned $600. Remember that? It was a tax rebate on a large scale. We had pondered what to do with it and decided to spend it on a memory. Truth be told, we had to add a couple of hundred to it, once we fed six of us (younger son had found plenty to like on the menu by this time), and with cocktails and bottles of wine and dessert and exceptional service...

Do you remember how you spent your $600?

The Mansion on Turtle Creek, part I

Reading in the Dallas Morning News Tuesday that The Mansion on Turtle Creek was closing its restaurant for renovations this summer (part of it will remain open in limited service) in order to update its look set me to thinking. Not only is the look changing, but also the attire rules, jacket and tie no longer being necessary in the main part of the restaurant. Seeking to widen their patron base in light of all the current high-end competition, The Mansion is wanting to move out of its "special occasion" status to one considered for general dining. Although I bet a bunch of people do that already, to us it was always a special occasion and will most likely remain so. And we won't be wearing jeans if we have to drive 90 minutes and spend that kind of money, no matter the menu and prices are being revamped as well.

As you can see, this is part I. Happens to be part I of III. I'd like to tell you about three special occasions for us at The Mansion.

We had gone as guests and also celebrated our 20th anniversary there (dinner on the Verandah, a night at the hotel, followed by breakfast at McDonald's so my spouse could be back in town to work by 9--we've remembered it well and with a smile). But just before that, we had decided that our sons, ages around 10, give or take, could use a lesson in the rewards of hard work and life-planning.

We had season tickets for the summer musicals that year and Les Miz was coming. I had seen it and loved it and thought the boys would tolerate it. We got two more seat in another section and I would sit there with one son, my husband taking the other to the better seat and we would switch them at intermission. To start off this day of "this is what you can do if you're willing to work", we would take them to The Mansion for lunch.

I borrowed jackets for them since they seemed to grow too fast to maintain their own and we set out. For starters, the younger didn't see a thing on the menu he would eat. Translating this politely to the waitstaff was my job. He was extremely kind and when we suggested son liked fruit, a lovely fruit plate appeared, slices of various seasonals arranged in a coil. I told him to eat every bite.

First son has always been of a more adventurous nature and he started with the tortilla soup and moved on from there. We all indulged in creme brulee and to this day it is the boys choice of dining out dessert, to the point that it was featured at second's wedding rehearsal dinner and the first worked until he could make it at home.

But the corker was our fruit lover about halfway through the meal. He's a great observer and he'd been scoping out the place, the people, and the way things were run. Leaning across the table, he whispered: "You know, I bet our waiter makes a lot of money." "Yes," my husband answered, "but it's a lot of hard work."

As to the play, the boys slept through part of it and told on their father for doing the same.

We never repeated the experiment.