It was very warm when we landed and Mom and Dad met us at the airport in McAllen.  Palm trees and high humidity also greeted us, along with grapefruit trees and orange trees growing like apple trees in Minnesota.  I've never squeezed an apple for its juice, but I suggest it doesn't com-pare to fresh-squeezed orange juice and 80-degree temperatures in the middle of winter.   
January never felt so good as we strolled in sandals and tee-shirts, the next day, down the main drag of the little border town.  Strolling is our first order of business in Progresso, practically our only order of business. 
We went to stroll and look at the wares of street vendors and listen to the strum-mers.  Mexicans love to strum their guitars and they also play xylophones and squeeze boxes on street corners and in alleys.  They sell silver jewelry and marble chess sets, nativity scenes and carved teakwood, avocados and tortillas.  There is activity all around and we enjoy the change of scenery and friendly culture.
Beautiful brown-eyed Mexican child-ren put on their forlorn look with furrowed brows as they put out their cupped little hands in our direction.  "Money, lady?"  Or they sell packs of Chiclets at 1,000% mark-up.  Some things never change, at least not in the twenty-five plus years we've been visiting my parents who winter down near the Rio Grande.
But this year I witnessed a first-time phenomenon related to Addie, 4, and Gunnar, 2, who were first-time visitors to the winter home of their great grand-parents, and also Mexico.  When Addie and Gunny reached out to give coins to a couple of the little street urchins, the furrowed brows became straight and the cupped hands receded.  They wouldn't take the coins from Addie and Gunnar.  The begging chatter stopped.
The Mexican mother, standing in shadows off to the side, prompted her wide-eyed children from a distance, how-ever, and then the little cupped hands came slowly forward and accepted the money.
A routine had obviously been inter-rupted when the little Mexican children came face to face with their peers.  There was perhaps no precedent for this situation since almost all the street strollers in Progresso are Winter Texans and other adults.  There are some babies in strollers, but interaction between Mexican and American toddlers in the tourist town seemed an unexpected and unusual occurrence and it brought the begging to a standstill for at least a few moments.
I recognized that the roles being played by these particular children from two neighboring nations were directly opposite each other, though their sources were identical.  The little Mexican children were taking because their parents put 'em up to it, and the American children were giving because their parents put 'em up to it.

The next day it was 50 degrees, cloudy, windy, and damp.  Snowstorms raged across western Texas and dumped the tail-end of its fury into the Rio Grande Valley.  Brrrrr.   But we still drove over to South Padre Island so Miss Adeline could pick up seashells.
We were intrigued by the continuing commercial and residential development along Padre Boulevard, which is the only road that runs for several lonely miles almost to the end of the narrow island.  The road gets covered in some places by trail-ing edges of sand dunes. 
After we saw a pickup truck buried to its axel, we counted our blessings for we had just driven so close to the ocean that the end of a wave wet the tires of our rented van.
Since South Padre Island lies in the Gulf and is subject to hurricane winds and waves, the ground floors of homes and townhomes are not habitable.  They're constructed as garages that can be opened from both ends.  Guess it's better to see a car washed away rather than a couch ... or a bed with a person in it.

The occasion was my mother's 80^th birthday on January 16^th.  In spite of being the celebrated person of the family, Mom still ended up doing some of the major meals.  Her Shrimp Pad Thai, using a recipe from Jenny, was delectable, delightful, delicious.  Thank you, good Mother.  My salivary glands are working overtime as I write.  The homemade key lime pie was refreshing, just excellent.
For another evening dinner at their home, located in the beautiful Alamo Country Club, Mom baked a ham that was so tender, sweet, and moist you would have bet she had it flown in directly from Mackenthun's St. Boni, that meat and deli shop soon to also open in Victoria.
Thank you also, Dad, for your hospitality and for the excellent meal at Furr's.  We must go there again next time.  My favorite was the Teriyaki Chicken.  And thank you for the Kendall Jackson.

Of course I took pictures during our winter whirlwind trip.  The pictures, which tell the story better than words, are in Sue's Album at www.VictoriaGazette.com.  You can get lots of details there that are not found anywhere else in the whole wide world.