1. As Brad Pearson told us yesterday, an HPISD teacher job fair slated for later this month is now cancelled — thanks, apparently, to budget cuts. And according to this article, DISD trustees will meet today to decide whether such cuts warrant a financial emergency (DISD’s website notes a heavily reduced budget plan).
Read HPISD supe Dawson Orr’s take on the funding cuts here, and look for Brad’s full story this week in Park Cities People.
On to art and literature (outside the classroom):
2. Painter Sonya Edwards is featured artist at an open house tonight in Highland Park Village. Drop by Stephanie Ann boutique at 5:30 p.m. for hors d’oeuvres and a 20 percent discount on Edwards’ work.
3. A focus on six-man football has landed Preston Hollow photographer Laura Wilson* in the midst of careening players, flying mud, and all the pride and heartache of small-town life.
Claire St. Amant has a great story about Wilson’s latest book, Grit and Glory, in Friday’s paper. You can meet Wilson yourself at 12:15 p.m. tomorrow, when she’ll discuss her work during a presentation at SMU’s Meadows Museum.
In the meantime, check out her website. It just absorbed the past 23 minutes of my workday, and I’m not ready to peel myself away.
*Mother to none other than actors Andrew, Owen, and Luke.
4. Irish-American author and Turtle Creek resident Patricia Falvey will sign her second novel, The Linen Queen, a week from today at Barnes & Noble. Aside from being popular as all get-out at Lucky’s (where I had breakfast with her last week/bore witness to a long American Idol play-by-play between Falvey and one of the waiters), she’s brave enough to quit a decades-long CPA gig to be a professional writer. Plus she merrily refers to her childhood self as a “wee ginger girl.”
You can find out more about Falvey in Park Cities People. But for now, a teaser from The Linen Queen:
The American soldiers were like no men we had ever seen. They were tall and suntanned and handsome. Their uniforms were immaculately clean and well pressed. Their hair was cut short under their jaunty caps and their teeth were shining white. It was if they had stepped down off the screen right out an American film, and to a group of mill girls who had never seen anybody like them, they were gods.