Remember The Alamo

 

Lest we forget:

At 4 o’clock on the morning of March 6, 1836, Santa Anna advanced his men to within 200 yards of the Alamo’s walls. Just as dawn was breaking, the Mexican bloodcurdling bugle call of the Deguello echoed the meaning of the scarlet flag above San Fernando: no quarter. It was Captain Juan Seguin’s Tejanos, the native-born Mexicans fighting in the Texan army, who interpreted the chilling music for the other defenders.

Santa Anna’s first charge was repulsed, as was the second, by the deadly fire of Travis’ artillery. At the third charge, one Mexican column attacked near a breach in the north wall, another in the area of the chapel, and a third, the Toluca Battalion, commenced to scale the walls. All suffered severely. Out of 800 men in the Toluca Battalion, only 130 were left alive. Fighting was hand to hand with knives, pistols, clubbed rifles, lances, pikes, knees and fists. The dead lay everywhere. Blood spilled in the convent, the barracks, the entrance to the church, and finally in the rubble-strewn church interior itself. Ninety minutes after it began, it was over.

All the Texans died. Santa Anna’s loss was 1,544 men.

 

Never surrender,

LSP

I Fought The Law

Just kidding. I didn't fight the Law at all but dutifully went to get the rig tested and registered. This meant driving to the "shop" and discovering you have to wear a weird mask, like a robber, to get in the door. So I did, being a law-abiding citizen of the great Republic of Texas.

The Shop

They're a good crew at the "shop" and only charged $7 for the inspection, it didn't even take long. Thanks, guys, appreciate it. Next stop? The Court House, because that's where you register your vehicle.

Fortress

In the old days, people were less lawful in this part of the world and the imposing edifice to Justice still has metal shutters in place for fear of banditry, mayhem and insurrection. Like a fort, which in a way it was and might be again if the going gets weird. See Portland.

All Hail Texas

Of course I'd be happier if it was a collegiate church in a pleasant plaza with fountains, cafes, statues of saints and Confederate generals but there it is. The place burned down a little while ago and Willie Nelson helped to rebuild it, before he degenerated into a completely useless old hippy.

Willie aside, the Courthouse has gone full COVID. A pleasant young policeman asked if I had any symptoms of the Red Death, then took my temperature with a handheld machine which was doubtless made in China. 

Huh

I wished him a muffled joy of the day through my annoying and stupid mask and offered an informal salute. Defend the Police, Thin Blue Line. 

And then it was wait in line because the Kung Flu says only two people at a time are allowed in the registration office. Still, it wasn't too bad. A couple of veterans noticed each others' hat insignia in the queue.

"You served with the...?!?"

"What?!?"

"You served with..."

"Jets. Jet engines all day every day!"

"Can't hear you. What!"

A Rig

Good men, respect, and all too soon the line was at an end and I was forking over $75 for the white privilege of being road legal. Where does this money go? To the police and army of Texas, I hope.

Remember the Alamo,

LSP

Paint Your House

I like older houses. They tend to have better proportions, higher ceilings, more space and sturdier construction. To me at least, they look better and are better than their modern equivalents but in Texas, an older house often means a wooden house. 

That means a painted house which has to repainted when the old paint's had its day. If you don't, the place is going to fall apart. To avoid this fate, we contracted a painting crew.

This needs painting

They started off boldly, painting the interior of one of the mission churches and even got so far as the main door to the templo. It looked good, well done, Lupe and the Gang. Then they stopped. "What's happened to the painters?" I asked. No one knew, they weren't on the job and fortunately hadn't been paid. They mysteriously returned, after a month or so, and did a bit more work. And then disappeared, no one knew where.

Look! A Can of Paint!

This went on for months, with vague promises of a return to work while I gazed at the peeling paint of the house. Perhaps they'd come back and finish the job when the house had fallen down. "Sorry, Lupe, the house is no mas."

Then, as if by magic, they came back and they're working on the church now. In fact, they've been on the job for two whole days. Remarkable, call me a dreamer but the house may get its of coat paint yet; I look forward to the day.

A typical Front Office in need of paint

This fascinating tale is filed under Country Life in Texas, or would that be Tejas?

Remember the Alamo,

LSP

This is Texas

Yes, Texas in August, where the temperatures rarely raise above the mid 80s and it rains constantly. Not what you expected, eh? No, and neither did we. What does this mean?

Well, obviously, that everyone's wet. Not politically, don't worry, no one's turning into a progleft shill for the New World Order! On the contrary, here on the compounds we're standing tall against all of that. But we do so in the deluge and some say this signifies a victory in the War on Weather, because it's colder.

Wrong. It's a defeat. Climate logic says that the warmer it is the colder it gets, and it's colder here than it should be, so we're obviously making the climate warmer. Settled science. Texans obviously need to pay more climate taxes, then they'll be warmer and richer.

She's no Hater, She's the Attorney General

In similar news, Dallas has said no to Obama's transgenderist school bathroom policy. This means that boys who think they're girls can't use girls bathrooms and vice versa. Does oppression know no bounds?

In the wake of the flood,

LSP