Come and take it!

Day 2:

I haven't yet stabbed a Texas-shpaed hole in my head, but it's been close. Turns out, we get to spend all day tomorrow with grandparents, including his grandmother, who makes it seem like I was the sweetest little princess of a hostess to HJK. Seriously.

Sanseveria should be called "Grandmother-in-Law's tongue", not "Mother-in-law's tongue".

. . .

In The Alamo's gift shop, there are tons and tons of Alamo and Texas shaped things. Also, of course, twelve billion items that proclaim "Remember!" and "The Alamo!" and so forth.

However, someone must've misordered tchotchkes at some point in time, because there was a whole bucket of tiny coffee mugs that read:

I (heart) CHICAGO

Funny.

. . .

At the Alamo, they always speak with derision about Goliad and how they were sissies for turning back and not coming to the rescue.

We also heard repeated more than once the story of how Travis drew a line in the sand with his sword and asked that all the men who would stand and fight with him to cross the line. Without fail, the story is told that every single man crossed the line . . . except for one.

At first I figured, "That must be Jim Bowie who didn't cross the line, being in his hospital bed and all."

But!

The second time I heard it told, the docent made a point of saying "Even Jim Bowie crossed the line in his hospital cot."

This begs the question: Who's the guy who didn't cross the line? Why wouldn't history record this infamous name? If the story isn't true, why not just say "everyone crossed the line" and leave it at that? Why point out the sucker who didn't and then deprive us of knowing his name?

You would think that I would go up and ask who this guy was, but our parking meter was running out.

Also, a little mystery is good in life, no?

Although . . . if you ever find out who this guy was, let me know. I'm kind of wishing I'd asked, now.

. . .

Pictures here