That'll do, Dallas...that'll do (Part 1)

Yep, this was not a good idea but at least the reason it isn't centered is because I wasn't looking when I took it. Hello, Dallas!

Jack and I completed our second road trip (and first solo) with a visit to Dallas/Fort Worth and back and it was mighty fine. The ride was smooth, the roads were clear, and the sky was vast; I was mesmerized by the splendor of the Texas landscape.

On the suggestion of my cousin who lives in the area, I traversed first to a coffeehouse tucked into a pocket of Dallas known as Uptown called Crooked Tree. With one audible "Whoops" I stumbled onto my street where I quickly spotted a crooked tree and took that as my sign, parking with an excited glance up and down noting no restrictions to stop me. Ok, Dallas, +1 for not being completely terrible so far.

Too bad that was the wrong crooked tree...but a half block walk later and I could see the bottoms of boots and swishing skirts below the tree line. A few more steps and I could see leggings and a pipe (yes, an old man's pipe) and fedoras. Without warning from my cousin regarding the level of Hipster, I quickly determined it was Def-Con 5.

The questioning glances were fast to come, almost as if they could smell someone unlike their own (perhaps the lack of patcholi, incense and hashish perfume?), as I walked past them, up the steps of the adorable converted bungalow and opened the door. It clanged shut behind me and I walked up to the counter and waited as the barista finished her conversation with the patron ahead of me.

I checked out the menu, wanting to make sure I didn't out myself as a frequenter of Starbucks, and couldn't help but overhear the conversation going on beside me.

Fedora: "So what's on your plate next?"
Ankle boots: "I want to travel. I really want to get to Portland." At which point I couldn't suppress the smirk.
F: "Oh? Do you know people there?"
AB: "Oh yes, some dear friends of ours live there. We want to open a Bar/Coffeehouse." At which point the smirk grew and I had to suppress a laugh. What hipster doesn't want to go to Portland? It truly is their Holy Land, their Zion, if you will.

I placed my order and we chatted about her adorable dress, of which I would wear, and she thanked me for the compliment. After grabbing my coffee (in a non-recyclable, non-compostible cup, bee tee dubbs) I turned and scanned the house. There were three interconnected rooms, small of course, and spotted with more of the same. Knit caps that would topple off with merely a whisp of wind, scarves, and Apple products.

I located a lovely 1960's yellow chair and plopped down with a great view of the front door and stoop. I can claim I studied solid for the next two+ hours but the ebb and flow of kids walking in and out, skinny jeans making me think, "He must not want kids," and hoodies, hoodies, hoodies were more than a bit distracting. Plus, I swear they had tuned in to my Pandora station....wait, what? AM I A HIPSTER?

No. I don't seek out ironic situations. I don't go out of my way to swaddle myself in layers of clothing unless it's cold. I own off-brand Toms because they're comfortable and I listen to the same music because I liked it first. It's Bluegrass and folksy and Celtic and I've been in love with all of this for ages.

But after questioning my ability to have drive in life and plans for the future involving more than coffee, liquor, hemp or organic food, I began to think of all the things I'm grateful for from the rise of this group. They made folk music prominent again. Styles are shifting toward modesty similar to that of the 1950's with demure dresses and precious shoes. Small businesses are thriving because people seek them out purposefully to support them.

I will always mock them relentlessly but that won't ever stop me from grabbing coffee at the independently owned local shop, or from traversing to the trendy, adorable bar in The Heights or even from shopping for mid-century dresses and 1920's shoes. I love it all too much. :-)