A SISTER-IN-LAW lives nearby. Most of the family reside elsewhere. Distance assists good relations.
This sister-in-law, whom I see almost every day, smokes nonstop. It’s not pretty, and it smells awful.
I smoked cigarettes, cigars and pipes for years. I was not a heavy smoker, however, and I stopped in the early 1990s using a tapering-off routine that was pretty easy.
In a supermarket checkout line today I got a good look at a cigarette rack and was amused by the packaging. It was a popular brand in Mexico called Montana.
At least a quarter of a package face displayed a dead rat. Another was a photo of an open human mouth full of cigarette butts, the implication being that you’ll stink like an ashtray, which is quite true.
Cigarette packages, last time I paid attention, simply informed buyers that they’re dangerous. Times have changed.
My sister-in-law will tell you in all seriousness that she won’t stop smoking because doing so increases the risk of lung cancer. She says she knows too many people who stopped smoking and immediately died of cancer.
Her twisted logic always leans her way. She smokes to maintain her good health, her stinky well-being.
Are dead rats on cigarette packs in the United States?
* * * *
Speaking of death, our Day of the Dead celebration is about a week away, and the town is putting on its best face.
Streets are being cleaned. Tree trunks are whitewashed. Curbs are splashed yellow, and road stripes are repainted. We look almost new — as new as a six-century town can look.
The Hacienda is getting cleaned up too, unrelated to the Day of the Dead. Workmen are here painting, scraping, cementing, attaching, repairing, all manner of improvements.
It’s a yearly event.
The downside is that I’m trapped here today because much of the work is inside, and going off and leaving them here alone isn’t a bright idea. I don’t know them.
An upside is that I’m killing time by typing away.
And thinking of you.