Hosanna! Loud Hosanna! Oh give thanks for the Lord is good!

by admin

In church today, it started with a smash production by the choir and kidlets. Here ’tis…


That’s Don Fisher at the end and Kite Singleton is in there in the left wing. I’m new, so I don’t want to venture with any other names. There’s not enough in there yet to get it wrong well.

So, introducing Paul, no picture of him this am in his robes with colorful yoke of Christ around his neck.

Second Pres, Reverend Paul Rock(s).

 I think he must have just arrived in KC from 5th Ave. Presbyterian

in NYC when they took this picture since he still appears to have his soul patch…

I hope I am not being disrespectful, but he makes the best subtle funnies in his sermons,

so I don’t think he’ll be bothered too much. I apologize to all others, I’ve lived away for a while.

Anyway, Reverend Paul Rocks sermons are on the Second Pres website, but today’s has not posted yet. Great storyteller, worth the radio stop.

So, this is what today’s events looked like, at least from my life’s experiences. That is, we were celebrating Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem.

Giotto's Padua Frescos: Christ Riding into Jerusalem, 1304-1306.

When I am in church, I remember paintings that I studied when I was in college. So many of those that are so vivid to me are those from my early Northern Renaissance class taught by Linda Stone-Ferrier at KU Department of Art History. Besides the subject matter now telling me that God was always there, how he spoke to me in my language, they are hyper real.

It was a time when drawing accurately and from life had been dormant for over 200 years. It was a resurgence of Classicism, that pagan, Roman, pre-Christian time, multiple God time. So this was a risk, to not throw the beautiful baby out with the bath water of pre-Christian times. It is all we.

I am a classicist and get stuck in this stage when I paint, of course, not to compare myself with Giotto!  I like to see how real, but flat, but photographic I can be in using outline and color. Not for the art of it, don’t think I’m there, but for the craft. It is said as a young boy in Cimabue’s workshop, the ornery apprentice Giotto painted a fly upon one of his Master’s paintings when he was away. It repeatedly fooled his Master upon return who would try to swat it away.

And it was on plaster, that soft organic surface which absorbs and cracks and crumbles and has been the walls in both of the homes I have lived in during my second growing up (or childhood) of 22-52.

I won’t say much as you can wikipedia Giotto. But, I know this is one of my favorite scenes because it is like a stage.  And, as Shakespeare wrote, “All the World’s a Stage.”

Which will go back to one point of the Reverend Paul Rock’s Sermon today. But in a sec.

Here’s the context of Rev. Paul’s staging for the words of the day:

Basically, the celebration probably looked about like Woodstock. But without (well, let’s say fewer…everyone was invited) chemicals. The high was from Him.  There was disrobing, dancing, yelling, pretty unruly.

Christ had told his disciples that he would be crucified on the cross the after this journey. But, in their elation with celebrating the Good Lord and Jesus, the son of God, they were still in Party Mode. (Speaking of and BTW, Go Hawks. Feel the athlete-warrior passion.).

The disciples were asked to get their people to just tone it down a little. But Joy cannot be contained. And along the way, Christ invited everyone to come. Some were given a task, others were invited down from the box seats. But everyone was invited to participate in the Party.

    • He welcomed everyone.
    • As we all are, sinners.
    • Sinners, each day, a different way, and always to begin anew.
    • And always questioning ourselves to trust in God to speak to us, to love others, all others and ourselves.
    • To learn, to think, to hear what he is saying, to question our “know.”

And, to keep it simple and open our hearts to love God and to invite everyone to his table.

So to bring it on home, the last song, Hymn 91, was “Ride On! Ride On in Majesty!”

And before we sang, the very Reverend Paul reminded us that we all have a part in the Play, on the Stage.

  • Figure it out.
  • Play it to the best of our ability while we are on this earth.
  • Get down from our box, even if we have the best of seats and paid for the play.

Participate, connect, and share joy and love with others through our acts and our words and our actions.

And on a personal note, I sometimes get confused about my part right now and in the past. I often want to play too many, too soon, too fast for one moment. So I am reminded to stay in the moment to quiet self and get direction.

But I would say that my family does ride, does use God’s land to both feed us and do his work as a steward. So this hymn spoke to me.

So to John, Jack, and Lacy:  I am very fortunate to see you what you do so well, and to participate in my way.

Ride Tall, He’s always watching.

Hosanna! Loud Hosanna! Oh, give thanks, for the Lord is Good! 



When Santa came to visit and I wasn’t wearing any underwear.

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Look at my hands! I'm terrified!


I actually have quite a few very vivid memories of Santa in person. It seems like many of them are jarring, so I’ll just start with the one that always comes to mind first. Don’t get me wrong, I do love and believe in Santa Claus.

There is really no reason why I shouldn’t just adore to be with Santa in person and here are 10 to support that statement.

  1. He’s a man.
  2. He’s always so up.
  3. He wears my favorite color.
  4. I love black boots and wear them often.
  5. He’s got the perfect wife.
  6. He has always written me great thank you notes about the green wreaths and nutty nougats we left with our lists by the fireplace. That is, he has beautiful manners.
  7. I love his haircolor.
  8. I admire a man who can manage a factory such as he does and like that he favors little people as workers.
  9. I, too, wore stocking caps with pom poms on the end.
  10. Think he was very progressive with the faux fur.

So, that being said, here’s the story and I’ll make it kind of shorter at least:

We were in Hays at my Grandparents house down the street from Fort Hays University. It was picture perfect setting, 60s contemporary stone fireplace across one end of the living room with bar hidden within the paneling, a beautiful huge tree in their tall-ceiling living room library. And nightgowns hand-made by my other GrandaMartha in Kansas City.

I think the man who channeled Santa Claus’s name was Ed something. Maybe my mom or dad will post his name.  I remember the doorbell ringing. And in he walked. He looked probably the best I have ever seen him look. And I was excited in a good way. Until he came in and sat down on that chair. Then I knew something was making me uneasy.  You can see in this picture that I am wringing my hands.

I often have a hard time identifying my emotions until way after event, sometimes even years, fear in particular. So, we talked to Santa for a bit. I answered his questions and made it through my performance anxiety syndrome which flares up whenever I get put on the spot, practically anytime I am with people.

And then it was time for the picture. He was crouched in front of the tree and I was standing by his knee, closest to Santa.  Santa put his arm around me and placed it on my hip. And then I knew why I was so nervous. Being taught that it was more healthy to go to bed without panties, there was really only this thin flannel membrane between me and Santa’s hand. I think he had even taken off his glove.

I do know I made it through without losing my composure. And honestly, it’s only just now after having flashbacks of this for years that am understanding why and linking together these images and feelings. So I have no real conclusion to this story. But, I do think that I was ahead of my time in sensing when to be leery of men. I am my parents’ daughter and it has served me well on most occasions. I am not suggesting any inappropriate behavior by this Santa; this was in the early 60s and things were different then. Or not.

So while there is always a time for a mother to lecture, “Lacy, you CANNOT wear any underwear with that red dress,” there is also a time for mother’s words at Christmas.

advice: to girls, young and old,

on Christmas Eve and when visiting a shopping mall

where Santa might ask you to sit on his lap. 

Wear your big girl underpants. 

And, if Santa exhibits any inappropriate behavior,

tell him to keep his hands to himself.

Addenda, as that was a bit too harsh.

How about, “Santa, just keep it above the waist?”

-Mama Paula

Dennis Morgan and me, Paula: Myra & Ginny’s protegés. Plus partying and architecture, circa 1977.

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Dennis Morgan and Paula Graves having cookies and milk on Graves patio after our houses were built.

Dennis Morgan was my first friend who was a boy. I have this on facebook with the caption, “He’s so dreamy, I think I will just close my eyes and dream…”

This picture was taken just after Bob Wendt, a Kansas City architect of German descent, finished our custom homes. By the way, Betsy Curry lived in a much bigger very neat house designed by Bob Wendt west of Roe south of 83rd St.

They were very unique contemporary ranches:

  • Post and Beam design: 4×6 posts supporting and rough-sawn cedar timber beams (5′ on center), stained black. (most houses stud framing.
  • beams exposed with natural pine tongue and groove roofdecking running 90 degrees to wood beams and spans the 5′ o.c. beams
  • 60s “ski lodge” fireplace
  • walnut stained oak wood floors
  • flat walnut veneer cabinet doors. the kitchen (north side of house) was so dark that the doors only (still flush set in walnut) were lacquered white to lighten up the room.  Lacquer, mind you, being a lost art. Here, it was 11 coats well-done by Bob Falkenberg (also German descent Falkenberg & Son contractor in KC, clients like Annenberg’s, lived in my neighborhood and daughter, Nancy, was one of my best friends at Highlands Grade School).
  • floor to ceiling glass along patio side.
  • exposed aggregate patios with wood strips and front walk entry hall

That’s enough about the architectural history of the houses here, let’s just say “they were cool, well-designed, well-crafted, well-done functionally and aesthetically.” And, our mom’s made the cookies. Ginny’s nutty nougat (aka snowballs) is still on the plate.

Jim and Myra Morgan, my neighbors.houses mirrored each other and shared a driveway.
Here is a picture from the KC Star of Dennis’s Dad, Jim Morgan, with the kids. Jim and Myra moved to KC from Alabama. Mr. Morgan at that time was an airline pilot for TWA and Myra was a southern belle and mother of three kids, Dink, Dennis and Denise (Missy). Doo, Jim Morgan’s mother, also lived with them. I’m not sure if this was from the outset or after Myra became busier  with the gallery. They both started Morgan Gallery in the 60s after Mr. Morgan had some kind of heart thing while flying and was grounded.

You can google Morgan Gallery, but Myra and Jim had the ins with the art galleries on both coasts in this era taking KC trips to NYC to Leo Castelli’s and Lillian Nassau to buy art and art nouveau. Both were highly creative with all that entails. Jim Morgan collected Arts and Crafts pottery, Roseville, etc. long before anyone else. Their social sphere was fascinating for me, for their friends were quite a bit wilder than the creative-conservatives with whom my parents socialized.

KC Star May 26, 1968. News About Women and Society. Note that Mrs. Jack O'Hara's garden is also featured, so I have included it.

They mention Taffy in the article. Taffy was a really great dog, I don’t know the breed. But I will have to find out. He was a mellow yellow hound of some sort.  Very methodically, he would trot around his two joint estates everyday, checking in and on everything. I’ve never had a dog with this kind of temperament, though it’s probably partially due to the owners.

John Buck Sculpture
The sculpture is by John Buck who was a graduate student at the K.C. Art Institute. This sculpture has had a colorful live, witnessing many a deal and an ordeal between the dramas in the Morgan and Graves families in both generations. But, most importantly, it was home base for kick the can. Dennis has the sculpture in storage and he and Dink have said that I can have it.  It needs a coat of black paint and rust-oleum mixed together. Dennis told me the recipe.
I had envisioned it on my mountaintop at the XIT Ranch. This is the high point along the Cimarron River at the Crossing to where I would run every day, sprinting the hill for reward of the river view. I am confident that the Plains Indians used this place as a burial ground it is so beautiful. I’m not sure it I would have gotten approval, but I know I could have sneaked in onto this place somewhere.

(excuse me…note to Dennis)


I still want this sculpture, so please don’t give it away if you have not yet already. A bit of a problem is that I may not have any land in the near future where it could be erected.  As will getting it from Dick Belger’s warehouse to the proposed site. And, since it’s a fairly permanent installation involving concrete this does need some thought for appropriate context.  I think it would look great in Santa Fe and likely no problems with the neighbors depending upon the size of the lot, but I’m not sure yet if I want to be there.  

I’d mainly be motivated in this southwest direction because you and I could have a great road trip hauling this thing to someplace west of the 98th meridian. As you can see below, we have a history of wheels and road, inherited from our parents, I guess. 

Dennis Morgan and Paula Adams on our bikes. Mine has training wheels.

a) love the picnic tablecloth fabric of my dress, white knee socks with vertical pattern up the leg, and my red Mary Janes.  Kudos Ginny Graves. My mother made me!!

b) training wheels into grade school. Dennis, aren’t they on your bike, too? it was scarring to learn to ride without these wheels with my marine corps father. he is such a patient man, but not as patient with lack of coordination and confidence. Seriously, everyone learns differently. If I had had a physics lesson first, I know I would have grasped concept of momentum sooner.  
c) Dennis, enough about me, you look great. :), like the mustard and grey combo. 
many loving thoughts,
(end of letter).

Little did I know at the time I would come to know water tanks well...

The above picture was taken getting ready for a Morgan-Graves Circle Party when we were in high school. The beer was iced and stationed in the water tanks on our joint lots.

Dennis’s Crowd vis-a-vis Paula’s Crowd

Dennis ran with a more diverse crowd than I; swimmers, baseball players, and pretty hardcore party’ers, at least in mind. That is, they smoked marijuana, maybe even tried other stuff! Since we were childhood friends, I didn’t really think that much about the fact that we didn’t hang out in the same social (partying) circles. I was cheerleader with jocks, of course.

Prairie Village Pool

We worked together at the Prairie Village Pool and lived next door to each other, so I always felt like we really shared the same friends. So many of us that lived in Prairie Village and swam at the Village Pool had parents (mothers) who insisted that at 15 we would take Red Cross and Lifeguard Training at the Pool. This is so that we would be gainfully employed at sixteen in a 45 hr. 6 day-a-week job that paid rather well (minimum wage adds up when it’s a real work week). Mostly for mothers, we were out-of-the-house.

Dennis and I really shared our friends in a sense. That is, his buddies were always and still very nice to me just as my girlfriends express fond memories of sweet, kind, interesting Dennis. One reason is because our driveway was really the hub for all kinds of Prairie Village people with these party’ing habits, even my jocky SME athlete buddies I was recently told. As usual, all going on around me and my head is in the real clouds.

Parental Control vs. Sense of Place

Back in the day, neither of our sets of parents seemed to care much about legal issues relative to our fun habits as dominates parental fears today. I’m sure philosophy for some was the same as it is for parents now. Knowing your kids were in a safe place was of primary importance; their mischief, a parent could hardly have time to monitor for the parent is usually busy with their own misbehaving. Anyway, I would pass these guys and their row of cars in our very long driveway to get to my garage. It was called “the circle” as the John Buck sculpture is on a round grass island around which the drive circulates.  “The Fort” was two lots to the east which was Peter Wilkin’s hub. Peter was the son of another neighborhood architect who attended Highlands but transferred to Pembroke-Hill. This is another story, but “the Fort” brought the private school laddies to the other side of the tracks (Mission Road).

I always felt like a totally square goofball in that d@mn cheerleading uniform and, of course, was and still am.

We were on the way to some birthday party.

I like my dress and mod gift paper, but Dennis is the star fashion icon here.

Such a cool blue plaid with the leather lacing.

And his loafers with the high tongues and white crews are classic.

Old School Preppy goes Wyoming Western.

What the Morgan-Graves were most famous for…GREAT PARTIES!

Our parents had their friends from KC Arts-Social Scene (my parents friends, dad’s clients, Morgan Gallery Clients, Contemporary Arts Society people, Alabama Folks). We invited all of our friends, but I guess it was really open to anyone as people I would meet at KU from SM South would tell me “I was at a party at your house in high school.” There were lights, tamale vendors, the ice cream truck, peanuts, beer, and Riverrock Played on a stage in the gravel rockbed in the landscaping that linked our two houses.

This is excerpts from an email from DWG giving a bit of resumé-history of some of the people pictured clarifying some of my earlier notes I took from our last phone conversation re: people. Exhausts me to get it close to right, so I’m just going to put in his red notes from his email and mine are in black. This is the best Dean and Paula combo with which I can feel comfortable. Apologize to all, I am responsible.

From: Dean Graves <dgraves@cubekc.org>

Subject: Re: id photos

Date: November 14, 2011 3:53:03 PM CST

To: Paula Adams <paulagravesadams@gmail.com>

Wm. T. Wiley, Bob Stark, World’s Greatest Artist
Sam Perkins Pres. of Bank in Olathe in photo just to the right of GG
Eileen and Byron Cohen: Panache (real estate), lived at 61st and Ward Parkway
Jan Pescanofsky and Giles Fowler CLARIFICATION : husband and wife; Giles wrote/reported for KCStar and Maybe Jan , too . Could probably google KCStar 1978July and find something. hmmmm…ignoring that last part Dean, already too many trees in forest…having inherited both parents genepools and talents, I’m not committed yet & would like to remain so. Anyone else? Please post. 
Ted Coe…Director of Nelson Gallery, after Lawrence Sickman who amassed chinese collection. [CLARIFICATION : TED CAME FROM CLEVELAND MUSEUM OF ART and after Nelson Gallery moved to and lived rest of his life in Santa Fe Died plus or minus two yrs. ago .  Was very much an expert in Northwest American/Canadian Indian Art .] In picture on btm. row just to right of Laddie Hurst Mann. Ted came from back East, who had gallery directorships, into contemporary scene.


You know, Dennis will always be my best first friend and a boy. We have survived our lives and our wonderful families and mostly the way we are made: two emotional, sensitive, and very shy people.

Shy that wore itself in different clothes but is the same.

Love you Dennis. Tell Nancy hi, her Morgan boys Christmas cards always earn first prize in the card sort each year. I guess we’re all still working the arts gig in one way or another, squeaking out the dollar but doing what inspires us. We have to get the kids together in their lifetimes. Or, maybe they will just cross paths…I bet they will. 

Plurality: Little Love, women have many husbands.Not Dan Rockhill. He has a quote.

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Dan RockhillDan Rockhill

Why would anyone want more than one wife?  Dan the Man, KU circa 1991. see Marvin Hall

Well, I would suggest multiple husbands. And, living on a ranch and being pretty isolated, I always thought that Big Love sounded like a blast for the women. It seems like a nightmare for Bill Paxton. I have a sneaking suspicion that many happy people are really only connecting with their spouses in whatever way, dinner, deep talks, budget discussions, logistics, social a few times a week, if even that.  Here are my current.

  • The philosophical Mennonite contractor, I’ll fix the wood slider doors on the closet one time, Ken.
  • The handyman Delbert Cash who can explain everything I didn’t learn or understand in my dumbed down for architects KU engineering classes and doesn’t even turn off the electricity when changing plates from cream to white, tough guy.
  • The honeydo, Thomas Cash, who follows every intricate thought process of getting lights on at Christmas.  Also detects micromanagement, “didn’t John want some sandwiches for the horse shoer” during cord placement
"Delbert and Thomas Cash, Paula's bathroom

Delbert and Thomas Cash in Paula's 1960 bathroom, reducing the carbon footprint XIT style

  • The flat tire fixers, at Don’s Farm Tire, Plains Co-op, Clingan’s, Weaver’s, and stray men along 54 hwy.
  • The shared cowboys: Corey Rickard, Dustin Ellis, Cooper, H.G. (these are really shared cowboy sons) and Kell Adams
Dustin & Corey unloading a bench at guest house

Dustin & Corey unloading a bench at the guest house

"Tanner Rollins, H.G. and Cooper Adams, Nat'l Geographic Dec 07, p. 122

Tanner Rollins, H.G. and Cooper Adams, Nat'l Geogrpahic Dec 07, p. 122

Paula and Kell Adams

Paula and Kell Adams, early in their relationship when they were both a little uptight

  • And of course, the sweet smile and companion husband, the boss man.

John waving

Exposing Emmanuel to the Flint Hills Symphony: The French farm garçon-son I never had.

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Paula sans chapeau et Emmanuel at Flint Hills Symphony

From: Emmanuel Magisson <e_magisson@yahoo.com>

Subject: Re: l’art de la bicyclette

Date: June 10, 2011 6:33:20 PM CDT

To: Paula Adams <paulagravesadams@gmail.com>

The bike show seem interesting. 🙂
Attached is the route to my place from Wichita.
The route to the Concert will be pretty!!!
We can stop at Cottonwood falls and look at the Church!
For the time, it is up to you. Wichita-Volland is a 3 hour drive.
Your time is my time.
Bring a large chapeau for the sun. Like a Audrey Hepburn hat you know. 🙂
The black hat you have is a smaller version of the one she wears in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Very elegant.
A bientot,
Well, what can I say?
Yes, it’s embarrassing for both me and more so for Emmanuel, I’m assuming. But, we’re over that.
first meeting
I met him at The Good Egg where we were both sitting at the counter on a Sunday. I had blown in from outside after walking here with Rosie who was waiting outside for her bacon. After hearing him ask the waitress for something, I seized the opportunity, being pretty confident it was a French accent. J’ai sauté et j’ai parlé. When in Wichita with the French, do as the Frenchmen.
So, we then had a bit of background about my summer in France and subsequent trips, and his youth growing up on his father’s family’s cattle farm outside of Lorraine before escaping to engineering school in Paris. After that, we were quick copains, and he walked me home with Rosie.
He also told me of various French cultural events in Wichita sponsored by fellow Frenchwoman Claude Puntel of the CCAI Institute but that’s another post.
How the friendly French say, “How-dee'”
So, here’s Emmanuel and how he said, “How-dee!” as he is very receptive and tries, at least in part and at first, to “when in Kansas, do as the Kansans.”  That is, he let me take the picture. I would have gotten a disdainful look and promptly recoiled in France, I am sure. And, he is a farm boy at heart, hard-working, practical with money, true to his roots. The style this is a little different though….there are farm boys and there are farm boys…

Emmanuel and Paula at The Good Egg. March 2011

So, we’ve advanced to me helping him get his game on with the ladies in the US. He is very polite and reserved, a gentleman, and lives up in Newton doing high level mechanical engineering prototype design for agricultural implements. And, not getting any younger. So, my unsolicited advice was in the form of a comment re: the number of years he has been in the states and that he better get on it. Or at least, back on. And who will really ever know what he does back home on the farm?
So, we’ve decided the l’été-l’automne thing of being seen in public together might work for our respective programs though I am trying really hard to find him younger, fun’er female companions. But, he’s not pulling his weight on this part.
Emmanuel’s program as I see it for him, unsolicited of course:  to highlight what I have told him are the cultural stereotypes that he will always have to endure to include the following…
a) the men thinking he is a snotty socialistic bastard and jealous of his ways with women.
b) the women thinking he is a great lover.
Paula’s program:  to get attention for my blog which has no point except for me to have fun with hopes of a future design client to pay for this fun to include…
a) practicing my French
b) to promote one of a few good hardworking kind men with rural roots that I know on FB to women.
c) To allow my American men friends (C Michael Bailey) to have an actual Frenchman at whom they might hurl their European socialist political slurs.
[note: He bikes in Kansas with many men like this, so when a new rider takes him on as bait and his older buddy jumps in, Emmanuel says, “I can handle it.” Much of the time he takes it on the chin. In general, we don’t talk politics. Values are basically the same.]
c) to promote idea that I am really leading a secret wild life to work with basic “attention” program above
d) to flaunt c) so openly as to hide the possibility that this might in fact be a reality….no, that was a joke.
Yes, we tend to get our picture taken alot for some reason, possibly because we are speaking in French.
And so you’ll know,  Emmanuel has no tolerance for a photographer asking his name once and then having to tell another person. He will say, “ask that guy.”
[He thinks that he blends in, does not have an accent, and is a totally polite Frenchman adopting all American ways. But I seem to always capture that inner French look of disdain that they are born with, humble and respectful and americanophile that he is.]
And possibly, we are also noticed because of how we dress in Kansas.
Emmanuel wears those black shirts that have like flat tabs on the shoulders, a very European look. He has about 20 and they all look the same. I think his jeans are levis, old school, but the history of  “de Nimes” is another post.  He was appalled at the cost of jeans in Brick’s in Wichita.
I wear my usual Paula clothes…a Degas-like tutu netted top with red belt, my black patent pale pink French whore platforms with cutouts, a small black hat with a big fuschia flower, that type of thing. Not all together of course, only a piece at a time and with French restraint. No “matchy-matchy.”
So, no. I do not want to be pictured in next year’s brochure for the Flint Hills Symphony, “Emmanuel Magisson with un-named much older woman.”  Would I want the father of my children to be photographed and pictured in a brochure when he is touring the Frank Lloyd Wright house in Wichita (he has done this in Oak Park) with Emmanuelle Seigneur? We must have some respect for each other’s territory.
And especially not in Kansas… those Puritan roots run deep.  Ah, but the French have always had a tolerance for such things. They call the after-office-hours ­rendezvous of a man with his ­mistress the ‘cinq a sept’ – after which he goes home, happy and relaxed, to his wife and family.  It might be something we should adopt in the next century….but don’t tell my father I said that.
And, since I’ve spent this entire blog post making excuses for why I’m hanging out with a much younger French guy named Emmanuel, I’ll have to do the post of the evening in Volland at the Flint Hills Symphony in another place. So, I will just have to say….”whatever….” to what anyone thinks.
Okay, stay tuned for The Symphony and two concerts at The Bartlett Arboretum with Paula and Emmanuel. No more excuses.

Accosting young Frenchmen in Kansas…

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I’m kind of doing payback for the Frenchmen that bothered me the summer of ’80 in France. The Italo-French Architect in the Louvre who admired my sketches, the man from Marseilles who followed me off the subway, the curly-headed copain who nuded me in the auberge laundry room.

Now, if  I hear un peu de l’accent français, je saute et je parle.  So this was my first subject…..

Faridj et Paule, Latteland. Plaza, KC.

I found this jeune homme speaking on his cell au bas de l’escalier at The Palace Theatre on the Plaza. Faridj Air is actually Berber (Northwest Africa, primarily arabic) of origin, but grew up in Paris. His (wife) and mother of his child are from Wichita where she lives with their son on the Plaza in KC. Thus, he wants to spend more time in ol’ Possum Trot to be with his son.  But, he caters private parties and lives in New York. When in Kansas City, he also serves a client down in Houston.

He was also doing an event for an artist Patrick Courtois in NYC (Chelsea) over my birthday and there were many French people traveling to New York to attend, so he invited me to come.  Being a week’s notice and I just met the garçon, I thought it premature to attend as well expensive at the last minute, but perhaps in a near future life I could live with such abandon.  He put me on the phone with Patrick Courtois so that I might hear l’accent français d’un homme de Marseilles, in the south of France.  It is quite different, more earthy and guttural but still sec-zee’.

Faridj has many interesting friends from France and beyond. He has another business as a middleman with a group that exports products such as what I would call “elite olive oils” sold in very very specialty food markets, each produced on local farms.  As you can imagine, the packaging, brochure about the people and place, and the included pour spout is everything and very well-done.  As it must be for a $12 3 oz. can of olive oil…maybe for my purse? Then again, that could be a mess.

So, might point is that he gets it with my website. Or at least the part that has to do with history, place, buildings, people, products, and food. Many of his connections live in French countryside producing food on their land in small family businesses, they invest loving hands in historic French farmhouses for guest travelers, and they make art.  They appreciate good food from native growers, fine wine or water, and moments with friends, new and old. I get that.

Lace, mr. diCaprio, and Greensburg

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"We love creative minds"

We love creative minds

Breaking the rule about my children with this one.  Lace was with Leo from the very beginning. She is also a psych(o) major.

Lace about the time of Gilbert Grape

Lace about the time of Gilbert Grape

She’s always had your back.

Mother:  “But what’s the deal with the models?”

Lace:  “He’s just going through a phase.”

Mother:  “But be careful what you wish for, it’s not always what it seems, look at Katie & Tom, look at Kelly & John.”

Lace: “Who’s talking about marriage?”  (see a girl child’s fear of rings)

Branding June 09. Jack and Lace, Kevin Lewis, the crew.

Branding June 09. Jack and Lace, Kevin Lewis, the crew. Lace is the one whose horse is pointing north.

And, we have some connections in Greensburg where we really appreciate your support.