Home for the holidays

I was returning to Austin via the scenic route from an assignment in San Marcos. On RR150 I caught up to this bus delivering kids home from school. They don't go back until January. I wish work was like that.

La Morena de Tepeyac

December 12 was the anniversary of the Virgen de Guadalupe's appearance to the Indian Juan Diego. In East Austin a long procession was held in honor of that anniversary. Hundreds and hundreds of people participated, despite the gloomy weather. I was lucky to run into them late in the morning, I thought surely the celebration would be over by the time I drove to that side of town (when I was kid, our procession happened at six in the morning), but there they were, still making their long trek to Our Lady of Guadalupe church. I shot tons of pictures.

Winter row

As autumn comes closer to an end and winter lingers in the days ahead, a rower takes advantage of a relatively warm and dry day to go for a spin on the Colorado River, or Lady Bird Lake, as it's called in this part of Austin.

Bridge shadows

Two cyclists stop their bike rides for a moment of communication on a bridge over Lamar Blvd.

One night

... and old, fat women with diabetic builds and shoes they can barely walk in, but in which they can dance like ballerinas. Wearing bright-colored dresses that are few sizes too small for them, their belly rolls clearly delineated. Raspy voices and cigarette coughs. Stories they've told a million times, each time just different enough to sound different. The smell of beer that's been on the floor as long as the most loyal patron, jumpy accordian music screaming from the juke box, the clack of pool balls and the sound of confidence from the guy who just broke, grinning unabashedly, showing the gap where teeth once hung. The cold of the fluorescent beer light over the table illuminating the the smoke from cigarettes and the sad faces of those sitting nearby. The bartender pulling out another cold one and hoping the crowd sticks around long enough to make him a little money. On the street, the last bus from downtown drops off the last fare -- a woman who cleans office buildings downtown and has a few kids who don't pay attention and probably won't amount to much. She casts a disapproving glance toward the bar and makes her way home with quick, tired steps. A mangy old dog barks. On the dark porch of a house that's about to fall over she sees the glow of a cigarette being puffed on, but not the smoker. At the same time someone at the bar has become angry over something stupid and is ready to cause some bleeding. Knives are drawn, women are slapped, chests heave, voices rise, the bartender wonders how smart it would be to call the cops. Maybe not, it'll just blow over. Lucky it's just about closing time. Tomorrow's another day.

EL amanecer

Sunrise over Corpus Christi Bay in Corpus Christi, Texas.

Downtown

The disparity and the indifference.

Otra vez

The last time I posted it was dreary out. A slow rain, low-hanging gray clouds, a subdued light throughout the day, and a feeling melancholy as luxurious as a satin sheet.
It's that day again.

Grey area

I was on my way to an assignment and as I crossed the Congress Ave. Bridge I noticed these two women who had stopped in the middle of the bridge to peer over the railing at who knows what. I quickly rolled down my window and shot this photo -- a drive-by shooting. It was a dreary day, rather looked like what I imagine Eastern European countries look like. But it felt good anyway and I was happy to be out shooting pictures instead of editing them.

Morning rain...

... sort of. The walks in the courtyard are reflecting the early morning sky after a little rain fell. It's a wonderful thing to see even though it is only rain enough to keep the dust blowing for a while, certainly not enough to make any difference to the drought that has Texas -- especially Central Texas -- cracking from the dryness. There have been some beautiful days lately; sunny; mild; perfect, really. But oh, what I would give for good torrential rain. One that transforms any small creek into raging rivers, that brings thunder and lightning and big fat drops of rain that make a loud thud when they hit the ground. What I would give for the metallic smell that fills the air just before a storm, and the smell of dirt getting its first few drops of quenching rain.
I can't even remember the last time that that happened. I think it's been a year, maybe. It hurts to see the effect of that on the Hill Country surrounding Austin. It shows, too, on livestock -- skinny cows, scraggly sheep, and goats that aren't being very productive.
I know it will rain again. I only hope it's my lifetime.

Another turn

It was bound to happen. Sooner or later I knew I would succumb to something like this, after all, I don't have a television to numb my mind and while away the time. So, a blog.