Columbus Day Celebration at Christopher Columbus Italian Society
Genuine Italian Spaghetti and Meatball feast Sunday, October 10, 2010, 11-5
Hello everyone! It's Columbus Day weekend! Columbus Day is Monday, October 11, 2010. It is a Federal Holiday, so mail won't be delivered, US Government offices across America will be closed. Most bank doors won't be open. But, most Americans across the nation will be hard at work.
However, on Sunday, October 10, 2010 from 11:00 am to 5:00 pm, the Christopher Columbus Italian Society will be proudly hosting a celebration of Christopher Columbus' discovery of America in 1492. Head on over to the Italian Hall in San Antonio for a genuine Italian spaghetti and meatball feast with homemade Italian deserts (Canoli, Spumoni, and Pizzelle.) Live music, Italian dancers, a car show, a Bocci tournament, pumpkin carving and pumpkin patch for the kids will be there too.
Also, see the unveiling of "Little Italy District" San Antonio, Texas II Villaggio Vecchia Italia on Sunday. See the scale model of the "Little Italy" project sponsored by the Christopher Columbus Italian Society.
All events are held at the Christopher Columbus Italian Hall, 201 Piazza Italia, near the intersection of IH 10 and Martin Street, San Antonio, Texas. Price: Adults $7.00 children under 7 $5.00 Phone: (210) 223-8284
Over last winter and spring, we were in the habit of taking our dogs with us and hiking stretches of the Salado Way – sometimes the portion between the old Voelcker Farm and Huebner Road – or along various lengths between McAllister Park south to where it peters out after crossing Rittiman Road near the north-east corner of Fort Sam. Some day, when all the segments are one long continuous stretch, from the North Side all the way down to the Mission Park on the South side, it will be a fantastic adventure to walk or bike the whole thing. Until that day comes, we'll just have to pick and choose.
The last time we did this – in May, I think – we went from the McAllister Park trailhead, all the way down to Los Patios restaurant (enjoy dog friendly dining) and back. No, it was not possible to carry enough water for both of us and the dog, and the last half mile or so was an endless, broiling-in-the-sun and not-a-scrap-of shade misery. We gave it up until the cooler weather of fall . . . which, darn it, still hasn't arrived to the point where we can turn off the AC and open the windows, but at least it rained a bit over the weekend, just when I am about sure that everyone in San Antonio had absolutely forgotten what the stuff looked like.
So on Sunday morning we went to Ladybird Park and walked to Tobin, seeing if there was any water from the rain filling up the various stagnant pools which appear at intervals in the dry-as-a-desert-bone creek-bed, to admire what autumn color there was, if any – and finally, and most importantly, to see if the link underneath 410 had been completed. In the spring, they were just building up the forms for the concrete roadway to go underneath the highway overpass, and link up the two segments of the trail.
Otherwise, one had to make a long trek along the access road to Starcrest Road, cross over and trek back to Tobin Park . . . or what most hikers and cyclists did, which was to pick a careful way down into what was essentially an open storm drain, cross underneath, and scramble up the other side. It was rather icky, picking a way through the trash and the mud and flotsam cast up underneath the overpass. Anyway – we were looking forward to the newly constructed, completely safe, legal and relatively clean passageway and we were not disappointed. It was open, in use, and there were two city workers, collecting up whatever had been washed down in the most recent rain. The far side was beautifully sloped, edged with limestone blocks, and landscaped. What is that strange, lush, green stuff covering the ground? I do believe it is new grass . . . which I have nearly forgotten about.
There were lots of cyclists – this must be one of the favorite venues; certainly one of the few where there is no danger of being walloped by a car or truck, unless you are not paying attention at those few places where it does cross a thoroughfare on the same level. There were some autumn leaves turning to gold, red and brown . . . although in a few cases we were worried that those leaves weren't an autumn-brown, they were a pining-for-the-fjords, deader-than-doornail brown. So, that was my weekend – what was yours?
One of the things that drew me to the house that I eventually bought when I was first 
Over time, the Stahl end of the green belt was sold off and built up, and the Nacogdoches frontage as well, but the bit that surrounds St. Helenas' remains open – for which I remain extremely grateful, for otherwise I would have someone's upstairs windows looking straight down into my kitchen, dining room and little back porch from a distance of about thirty feet. And I really like to watch the sunset over St. Helena's from the back porch, and I couldn't, if there was another house blocking the way.
So, we're exceedingly grateful to St. Helenas' and take a friendly interest in their parish doings, especially when they have their regular autumn festival – which they did this last weekend. It's an all day and into the evening bash – and we don't need to look at the calendar, because we could see them on Friday, setting up the stage, and the various pavilions, just by looking out our back windows. Except for a regular local farmer's market, nothing is more down-home and community than a large church bash of this kind . . . and though I think they were a little hampered by a sudden rain-shower late Saturday afternoon, the live band started playing again as soon as the heavy clouds rolled back a little.
We were there in mid-afternoon, for the kid's costume contest, a procession of motorbikes and the Knights of Columbus in all their glory . . . and for the most important part for my daughter – the Queen of All Yard Sales – a rummage sale in what we would call the parish hall. I think my daughter and I were the first ones in, since everyone else seemed to be admiring the children in their costumes, and buying tickets for the food and games.
And the Queen of All Yard Sales zeroed in, focused like a laser on one particular item: a Japanese gold luster-ware tea set, with a set of three cups, saucers and plates – and a tea pot, sugar and creamer, which in all her years of snorkeling through local antique shops, she had never ever seen the like. Yes, the cup and saucer combo, but never the pot-creamer-sugar, even though the teapot was so small and the sugar bowl so large, that they were practically the same size. Unadorned, just pale blue on the inside, gold luster on the outside: she hasn't found anything like it in an afternoon of diligently searching on line.
I think, by any measurement, that the enduring tomato-growing curse laid upon my poor innocent back-yard has been lifted. Never mind that we did everything wrong in planting three Topsy-turvy planters: we planted them two a planter with barely-alive generic tomato plants from off the severely-marked-down, one-day-from-being-pitched-into-the-dumpster shelf at Walmart, which we stuffed in the wrong way, forgot to add fertilizer to the plants until we had already filled the container with potting soil (which was the cheap stuff anyway) and didn't have enough of it to fill all three nearly to the top as directed. And they were leggy and top-heavy plants: we should have kept much of the stem inside the soil. About the only thing we did right was to hang them in a place where they would get plenty of sun for most of the afternoon . . . and since then, to water them without fail, each and every day. After some weeks, the poor half-dead tomato plants began to leaf out vigorously, to produce branches that went first went down, and then up, and put out ever more leaves, and finally scatterings of tiny yellow blossoms. With the 
About two or three weeks ago, – my daughter spotted a tiny green tomato, about the size of a pea. And then another, and a handful more, to the number of about fifteen, in varying sizes from seed-pearl to the biggest being about the size of a Bing cherry. And there are even more blooms coming out still, so it might be that we will have an avalanche of tomatoes after all, although my fingers are crossed for the safety and continuing ripening of those tiny embryo tomatoes. I would so like that. Fresh tomatoes in salads, mixed with cooked pasta and toasted pine nuts, sliced and dried in the dehydrator, frozen whole – so that one can skin them easily with a vegetable peeler. I can deal happily with a flood of tomatoes, as they have an infinite number of uses. It's not like zucchini – which, let's face it – has a comparatively a small number of ways to dish it up: Zucchini pickles, steamed fresh, grated to make a frittata and in zucchini bread. And speak as one who basically likes zucchini, too.
And finally, my daughter found another two Topsy-turvy containers on the marked-down shelf at our local HEB – containers to plant humming-bird attractive plants. So now our back yard is transformed into the fabled Hanging Gardens of Spring Creek Forest, since they two are full of salvias, jasmine and other humming-bird and butterfly delights. And we have already spotted a hummingbird visiting, almost as soon as they were planted, and this morning a Monarch butterfly, doodling around from flower to flower.
And there was another item, accompanying her, upon this expeditionary trip into another neighborhood: something live, black-furred, wiggly and friendly. A small and relatively well-kept dog, about twenty pounds at a guess, somewhat gray about the muzzle – which the Queen of All Yard Sales found, running around in the street, a heavily-trafficked suburban street adjacent to the yard sale – a venue which could easily spell death to small dogs.
So – the rough translation is 'patriotic festival' – to observe and celebrate the independence of Mexico from Spain, and my daughter had happened to hear that there would be a more or less 'free' event scheduled at the Freeman Coliseum complex this weekend – so, what the heck? I've lived in the Texas borderlands for fifteen years, and grew up in another borderland – Southern California, where . . . to put it mildly, the Spanish and Mexican cultural influence is so strong, and so permeates the atmosphere so richly that you take it in without even realizing it, and only realize how powerful it has become when you go to someplace without it. As my daughter wondered, upon participating in a nationwide Lutheran church youth gathering in Atlanta some years ago – "Where do you get a breakfast taco in this town?" Later, upon being assigned to a Marine base in North Carolina, she made the appalling discovery that 'salsa' in the local area meant something with only a trifle more kick than the house sauce at Taco Bell . . . about the strength of tomato ketchup. She took to smuggling back containers of local high-octane salsas and sauces in an attempt to enlighten her fellow Marines, but there seems to me much work to be done still. #honeypot#
Once accustomed to the zesty flavors and brilliant colors of the borderlands, it seems quite often as if there's no color, or flavor anywhere else – so we went to the Fiestas Patrias at the Freeman – fortunately expecting to pay the customary five dollars for parking – and the festival was actually being staged around in back, in one of the huge exhibition halls where the Stock Show and Rodeo is usually staged. Thank the tender mercies that it was inside, because it is still well up in the high nineties and the wind that kicked up on Sunday was dry and hot.
It turned out to be not quite what my daughter had been expecting – she had thought there would be more exhibits, more cultural demonstrations, and specialty food-booths; a more local bash, something like Wurst-fest in 
