The topics of posts you have been reading most over the last six months are wide-ranging. Concerns about the Alamo and Alamo Plaza tend to be remain your high priority, and the primary battle between Jerry Patterson and George P. Bush for Land Commissioner will keep these issues on the front page. I love it that you continue to help me promote Helen Madarasz as a ghost actively haunting Brackenridge Park.
The interest in our favorite restaurant in Budapest might arise not as much from regular followers as from Fricska’s loyal fans on facebook. San Antonio’s current Tricentennial Celebration seemed to send more people in search of “The San Antonio Song” written in 1907 by Williams and Alstyne. Thanks for your interest in my quest for a mini-Kate, and it makes me happy some of you heading to Guanajuato were aided by our restaurant suggestions.
So here’s your top 12, with the numbers in parentheses representing the rankings from six months ago:
And the best part of number 12 on your list is that our bidding ciao to Italy “for now” appears accurate. Will be taking you there through pictures later in 2018. For now, though, delivery of postcards from the fall trip to Mexico City was delayed by the holidays. They will be dribbled out over the next month.
Thanks for dropping by periodically. Always welcome your feedback.
Every Christmas Day save two of the past 40 years has found us hoisting margaritas and brunching at Mi Tierra Café y Panaderia, the heart of San Antonio’s Market Square since 1941.
We are far from alone celebrating in the restaurant known for its festive over-the-top Christmas decorations, most of which remain year-round. Seemingly thousands of other San Antonians choose to embrace the city’s Tex-Mex roots for the holiday. Year after year after year.
Wait time for a table hovers around an hour, but that provides the opportunity to take a number at the bakery to purchase some of the best and freshest pralines ever to melt in your mouth. And, of course, there is the bar.
Our headquarters during our stay was in Roma Norte, but we wandered afoot a far piece from there. These snapshots of street art were gathered during those ramblings.
My grandmother, Thelma Virginia Tarrall Williams (1899-1999), did not believe in keeping her hands idle. She lived a long, long time so had plenty of time to crochet. Afghans. Afghans for her children, her grandchildren and even some of her great-grandchildren before retiring her needles. Aside from one that burned in our house in 1975, most of the coverlets probably still exist, cherished as family heirlooms.
Whenever I see a contemporary take on knitting or crocheting, such as the one cloaking the tree trunk above, I think what fun Grana would have had liberating her craft from the confines of domesticity into public spaces. I can almost hear her chuckling with pleasure over transforming a tree for all to see.
The serendipitous pleasure of encountering street art lies in the exuberant freedom of expression of its creators.