Forty-nine ago, my first winter in San Antonio, it was 21 degrees on the 4th of January. This week we're having spring-like weather in the high-70s.
In 1968, I bundled up to walk to my classes at San Antonio College, then the next year I drove the Volkswagen to St. Mary's University, walking to classes as fast as I could. Tony, my German Shepherd puppy, waited for me in the cold car. It was the year of Hemisfair, but we only went once--when my parents came to visit.
I loved San Antonio with its new-to-me Mexican food, mariachis, colorful paper flowers, pinatas, and chili peppers. I loved the open-air mercado, huge fruit displays, and Mexican hot chocolate. In those first two years, we lived on three streets, all named for trees--Huisache, Mistletoe and Magnolia.
During our second year, there was a crime spree, and two of our best friends were among the victims of a pair of robbers/rapists who called themselves the Thieves of Baghdad. What little our friends had was stolen after an agonizing night of terror. For a while, our neighborhood felt dangerous, and we were all jumpy until the Thieves were finally caught. We sat on our front porch with a shotgun--but it was Tony's ferocious bark that kept us safe.
We moved to Helotes--thirty minutes north--and my babies were born and grew up there. In the Eighties, we had a thirteen-inch snow--and we made sleds out of cardboard boxes. I bought the kids snow boots after that, just in case, but they were never worn.
Twenty years ago, I moved back to San Antonio, on my own. I found this house, just a couple of miles from Huisache, Mistletoe and Magnolia. I often drive those streets, and I remember what it felt like to be the 19-year-old girl I used to be, walking to San Antonio College, driving to the grocery store or laundromat, or just riding around with Tony, listening to music on the radio.
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