Galveston Art Deco

Rare and priceless as a pirate’s bullion, washed up on a modern shore—in my book, maybe more. And not just in Galveston.

A rare instance of residential Art Deco

A rare instance of residential Art Deco

And so it was, about a month ago, that Tip and I were on a walk and, on an impulse (mine), decided to take a leisurely side trip through a unique little neighborhood, just a smidgen northeast of us, known as Cedar Lawn.

Originally established in 1925, Cedar Lawn is a tiny enclave of roughly nine square blocks, distinctively shaped by an odd internal circular drive that is at once both its single entrance and exit. Cedar Lawn is one of the earliest examples of a “modern” planned neighborhood and now, having been fenced off at some later date by stately wrought iron, has become something of a gated community, deep in the heart of Galveston but somehow separate from it. Read the rest of this entry »

Under a canopy of live oaks

Michel B. Menard home

Michel B. Menard home

Quiet, peaceful, lovely.

It’s October now, but back in September, while the first two weeks of the month ticked slowly by, as if on a hand-carved nineteenth-century wooden grandfather clock, I dusted off my cherished Galveston history books and read again, in memorium, not about the more recent events of Hurricane Ike in 2008, ugly though they were, but of a foggier past, the long-ago but not forgotten, almost inconceivable tragedy, that was the Great Storm of 1900.

Truly, Galveston is a city of ghosts, a town that has witnessed past suffering and sorrow and rueful, wretched loss beyond any sort of present-day comprehension. And for some reason, maybe for that very reason, I feel a pressing need, at this time of year, to acknowledge it. Read the rest of this entry »

Mannish mermaid?

Mer-man?

Mer-man?

I’m thinking so. Or is it just me?

Okay, let me back up a second.

The home is gorgeous; the garden, colorful and tidy; and the intent to memorialize a giant, old, cherished live oak tree, lost to the winds and waters of Hurricane Ike, by carving its remains into a lasting work of artistic expression, more than commendable.

Close-up

Close-up

I am empathetic to the nth degree.

But the sculpture springing forth from this hulk of a dead tree trunk? Uh, seriously odd.

First, let’s cut right to the chase. Take a gander at this gal’s face—is this really a woman? And would you let your teenage son date her, even without the fin? Gosh, I’m thinking not.

Or is it just me? Read the rest of this entry »