Strolling around the pretty Spanish plaza at the heart of Old La Mesilla, Texas, watching children play and families chat in the public square, I thought: Why aren’t there more places like this in the U.S.?
The last time I saw the sun, it was setting over Tucson, Ariz.
Oggi and I started our cross-country drive in sunny Los Angeles. But somewhere in western Texas, we awoke to a cold drizzle, which turned into a week of rainstorms and unrelenting gray skies that we managed to follow, thanks to the jet stream, all the way to Boston. Where, as I write this a day after our arrival, the rain has just turned to — you guessed it — snow.
Few of us welcome snow in New York, where it perhaps looks picturesque for a half-hour in the park — but then mostly just snarls up commutes, collects in dirty piles on the corner and fouls up sidewalks with slush.