A siren sounds dimly in the distance. A corner of condensation obscures the lower part of the window. A city still sleeps, frozen in time. I was scheduled to depart today, but the ice storm cancelled my flight. Now I stand looking out over the city of Dallas. An extra day is a luxury, often better shared with another, but I must make do with myself. The hotel has reserved my room for me for an extra night. I have nothing but hours to explore. I’m glad I hadn’t taken the time to peruse the many hallways of the place – it will give me something to do in the afternoon. Transportation is still sketchy, so I make no moves to go outside. It’s only in the twenties anyway. The lobby alone is too chilly unless one is lucky enough to get a spot by the fire. For now, I remain alone, in a high room, as the day begins its slow slide into night.

An arsenal of blank letters sits on the desk. A book lies on the bedside table. A description of the acclaimed steakhouse in the hotel sits on a cardboard stand. Together, they comprise the plan for the day, and an early evening. If I’m to brave the perilous ice-ridden trek to the airport the next day, and a possibly chaotic scene upon arrival, I’ll need an early night. But again, this is all in the future. I want to stop for a moment, to slow down and commemorate this extra day. I am so often alone, by choice, but this time it feels different. It feels, and I don’t often feel this, lonely.

I pace in front of the window, like some caged creature still hoping for a way out. I twist one hand in the other, taking deep breaths, walking and walking and going nowhere. Hurriedly, I gather my book, a pad of paper, some letters, and a pen, then quickly exit that suddenly-suffocating room. I need to be where other people have been. My time in Dallas has come to a close.

The ice storm arrives that night. Against my hotel window, little pellets of ice perform the lightest percussive touches, a late-night soundtrack to lull one off to sleep. Before that though – and before it gets too slick – a dinner at Oak. Sparsely-populated and quiet (the way I like a restaurant to be), I sit at the bar and watch the world go around.

Couples sit at tufted booths, staring into each other’s eyes. Businessmen sit across from each other alternately serious and jovial. The wait-staff outnumbers the diners on this dismal night, but those who have made the trek seem happy to be here.

The food does not disappoint either – and in the land where the deer and the antelope roam, I accept the recommendation for the latter. It arrives on a bone, tender and not the least bit gamey. It is a cozy dish for a frightening night, and after digesting it I just make it back to the hotel intact. It will need to sustain, for the next morning it proves impossible to go anywhere. An inch or two of solid ice has crippled the entire city. Everything from schools and churches to the zoo is closed beneath the thick sheet of frozen water. Somehow, though, wrapped in the sheets and blankets of a large bed, I do not mind it in the least. High above the city, I look over an icy world, safely warm and embraced by the sweet folds of sleep, gently cradled in a lazy morning of having nothing to do and nowhere to go, and a breakfast tray arriving at any moment.

Dealey Plaza, the site of the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35^th President of the United States. If there was one place in Dallas that I wanted to see, other than Neiman Marcus, it was this. The warehouse from which Lee Harvey Oswald shot the President has been turned into The Sixth Floor Museum – a disturbing and somewhat morbid commemoration of the events that took the life of a young President.

My mother was fascinated by the Kennedys, and I was raised with an active interest in the history and story of JFK’s assassination. She had books on the subject, and even a bust of the President that should still be somewhere in their attic. Each November 22 we would go over the sad events, and as I walked through the museum it brought back a childhood of learning, and a fascination of what could never be fully explained.

The museum does an excellent job of presenting the historical background of the time period, and then an excruciating follow-through of the shooting and the various theories and evidence behind it. Questions still linger, doubts remain, and in the end all I was left with was a feeling of profound sadness for what can never be understood – the senseless end of a promising life. I think it was the image of Mrs. Kennedy in her pink suit, climbing over the back of the car, helpless and alone, that struck me the most.

Then there were the boxes ~ the storage boxes that Oswald hid behind while staking out his striking point from the 6^th floor window. They stood, piled high, disguising the small space of a murderer – and it was such a small space, such a small life, that still somehow managed to snuff out such a large one.

Afterward, in the cold, I walked across the street and took these photos of Dealey Plaza. Sometimes nothing makes sense. Sometimes all is forlorn.

If you ask me where I’m most comfortable, chances are my answer will be at a hotel bar. If it doubles as the lobby, so much the better. The Joule in downtown Dallas has such a set-up, and while it was too early for a cocktail, I sat in close enough proximity to the bartender to have him smile and ask what I wanted. After a polite declination, I took out a book and read a little, raising my eyes to watch a few people check-in, and hotel employees welcome them to Dallas. Families and couples met in the lobby to start their day. Luggage and bags were taken by porters and whisked upwards once the elevator doors closed. Large bouquets of white peonies accented by white twigs made an incongruously spring-like winter wonderland, while a large industrial gear spun slowly in the center of the room.

Biding time until lunch, I unwrapped my scarves. The bartender polished some glasses as a few seats began to fill. This was the in-between time ~ the moment before and after some clearly demarcated event ~ whether that be lunch or a meeting or dinner or a play. Life is about the in-between times. We think it’s the opposite, but it’s not.

My in-between time was almost over, as my stomach called, and the cold demanded a bowl of pho. That night, an electrical fire would rage in front of the Joule, forcing the hotel to be evacuated. But I escaped before then, bundling back up before crossing the street to a Vietnamese restaurant.

The cold had deepened, and the brief walk sucked all the warmth out of me in minutes. The ice storm was in the air ~ gray and foreboding ~ and the damp chill drained any holiday cheer. Yet salvation was on the way, in a bowl of hot pho ~ a bowl of sustenance, a bowl of love, a bowl to warm from the inside out. It was the only way to get warm.

Everyone assumed I would hate Dallas. Apparently some Texans don’t take kindly to my kind. Yet I had a grand time – even in the midst of an ice storm that rendered the city completely shut-down. Originally, I planned the trip to coincide with the start of the kitchen renovation, but that was postponed, so I sort of went for nothing – ahh, sweet tragic irony of life. In truth, I’ve always wanted to visit Dallas, and I figured this would be a good time to head to a warmer clime. Another cosmic joke on me after the first day, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

On Wednesday, I arrived to blue skies and 75 degree sunny weather. It felt like heaven after the brutality of upstate New York. After traversing what seemed an endless expanse of rather tiresome and depressing highways and chains (hello Waffle House and Olive Garden, and a questionable billboard for a sexy lady lawyer named Coffey – “If you drink and drive at night, have Coffey in the morning”) the shuttle dropped me on the edge of downtown Dallas, which afforded a great view of the city skyline.

An impromptu dinner at Mesa Veracruz delivered some excellent guacamole and a sinfully scrumptious lobster enchilada. Coupled with a friendly waiter and a salt-rimmed margarita, it was an enchanting evening. Outside though, the temperature was dropping – quickly. Back in the hotel, a hot shower provided a coda to a relatively good travel day. The last good travel day, for a while…