I'm in Austin. Two days after Christmas we flew to Texas for another of Worcester State's basketball tournaments. Bruce's motto is, "I didn't miss any of David's games in high school-- and he played three sports-- why start now?"
My motto is, "I didn't make all of his games in high school-- nor did I try. The least I can do is go to the ones that require traveling to a place I've never been."
David spends his days with the team. When they are not playing or practicing, the coaches take the kids out to see the sights.
We have plenty of free time to see the sights and to relax, which is what I'm after, basketball aside. Today we headed 80 miles south to San Antonio and sauntered along the River Walk-- the much corralled and exploited, but nicely so, San Antonio River-- in sun and sixty plus temps. We visited the Alamo, and absorbed a bit of Texas's interesting history and culture.
Beautiful! Eye candy! Never ashamed to lug a camera and look impressed, I took lots of pictures.
Enjoyment of this unfamiliar city got me thinking about Boston. Having lived twenty miles south all my life, I've taken it for granted. It's chock full of beauty, history and culture. I've watched tourists as wide-eyed and appreciative about Boston as I was today in San Antonio.
I need to get myself into Boston again, soon, on a home-state appreciation trip.
How sad that so much of what is right under our noses is so little valued.
River Walk explained~
~~~~~
In Rome you long for the country; in the country - oh inconstant! - you praise the distant city to the stars. ~Horace, Satires
Comments
V.
V~ It feels like spring to me, although I'm sure the native Texans would disagree. It's all so relative.
Wanda~ I'll return home with a new eyes, and it's not as if I don't see plenty of beauty all around as is.
These are gorgeous pictures. I could walk right into them. And look at people in their shirt sleeves! *sigh*
Happy New Year to all of you.
thinking about San Antonio. I last visited the city
somewhere around 1940. At that time the Alamo was a
ruin. I walked up to a window and looked in. Dirt floor,
with a few wadded-up newspapers lying in the corners.
Front door locked. It was a good deal quieter than when
Santa Anna attacked. I thought of Davy Crockett, one of
the heroes I'd read about in my Texas history class. The
river was just a river, greenish, trash floating slowly
down, pushed by a quiet current. No beautiful stone
wall--you could stand there with a fishing pole if you
didn't slip on that muddy bank. Can't remember the
bridge, but if there was one, it was nothing like the one
in your picture.
But everybody liked San Antone. We sang that Bob
Wills song, and thought of the dark beauties we saw
everywhere. I used to have an old vinyl record of it, but
now it's on my computer for those times when I pine for
the old days.
Thank you for the pictures. :-)
Carter