It’s Springtime!

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WINTER PACKED UP yesterday and headed home, wherever that is.

Now it’s Springtime, the season of hope and rejuvenation. I’m feeling rejuvenated already. Are you? Worried about the coronavirus?* It’s winding down in China where it began. Worldwide, about 10,000 people have died so far.

Yes, it will likely get somewhat worse, but think of this:

Every year, the seasonal flu kills about 650,000. Every year. Do we quiver in our homes each flu season? Do we torpedo the economy? Do we stock up on tons of T-P?

Do we initiate “social distancing”?

Every single, solitary year there is a pandemic of flu that kills hundreds of thousands, and what do we do? We are accustomed to it, so we shrug it off.

This flu season in the United States, which hasn’t ended, from 12,000 to 30,000 people have died. That’s just this season in the United States. That’s quite a bit more than the global fatalities from coronavirus. Getting the picture?

Also remember, most coronavirus cases are mild.

Life at the Hacienda is going on mostly as usual. The only extra precaution we’re taking is that we’re not doing the Mexican kissy-kissy and huggy-huggy for a spell. Of course, I stopped that about a year ago, but now my child bride is on board.

We lunched yesterday in a nice new Japanese restaurant here in town. We eat out every Thursday and Sunday, and we’ll continue with that.

Today our lunch is Greek chicken that I made in the crockpot. It includes onion, potatoes and garlic up the kazoo.

My child bride will be downtown on the main plaza tomorrow hawking her pastries, a regular Saturday event. Come on by. And she’s still going to the gym. Muscling her out of the gym would be a major undertaking.

In spite of warnings, even here in Mexico, to avoid large gatherings, there was a monster blowout last night on our neighborhood plaza. Tons in attendance to celebrate some saint, which is our usual excuse to make a racket and get drunk.

We two did not go, of course.

Nico the Curtain Man was here Wednesday to take measurements and give us a price to replace parts of the canvas curtains on the upstairs terraza after they were damaged — one totally blown out — by the horrendous hailstorm last week.

So life goes on, as it should. After an abortive trip to Costco in the nearby capital city on Tuesday, a trip we make every week, we’re short on some items, so this afternoon I’ll be going to a supermarket here in town.

Maybe they’ll  have some T-P. You always have to wipe yourself.

In any event, don’t worry! Be happy!

* * * *

* A prominent political wag called it Kung Flu recently and was promptly labeled A RACIST! Those nutty Democrats never give it a rest, do they? Sad.

A week of misery

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The swept sidewalk and the stone steps.

I’M ALMOST back to normal after a week of suffering from a cold.

It wasn’t a horrible cold as colds go, but no cold is a good cold. During the past week, I have done virtually nothing but sit it out, which is my approach to colds. My child bride’s approach, on the other hand, is to go to the gym and work out. She’s loca.

During the week, chores piled up. One, which had piled up far longer than a week, was to sweep the sidewalk out on the street. If you don’t sweep your sidewalk, it doesn’t get swept. The municipality does not sweep it. Our town has no street sweeper.

So I swept my sidewalk this morning. It had the usual collection of Styrofoam cups, candy wrappers and whatever else the slobs enjoy tossing out car windows.

Also this morning, I did my daily exercise walk around the nearby plaza. Thursday is market day, so there were stalls selling lots of stuff. I bought broccoli for lunch tomorrow. I have a nice spaghetti recipe that requires broccoli and garlic.

There were about 150 people lined up on the plaza for some reason or another, likely to benefit from some government giveaway.

In a month or so, we’ll start this year’s renovations. One must wait till the monsoon season ends. It used to end in October. Now it ends in November. Cursed climate change!

We need you, Greta Thunberg! Do you speak Spanish?

On the schedule is to paint the wall in the photo and get rid of that garish color we never requested in the first place. It was done a few years back during another series of renovations. I had asked for an adobe color. What I got was reddish-orange.

My attention must have been elsewhere when that paint was applied.

The stone steps rise to that steel door which leads into my child bride’s pastry kitchen, built in 2014. We added that door so the space could be used as a storefront one day. That day has never arrived and, I hope, never will in my lifetime.

Those stone steps are a very popular place for people to sit and rest a spell as they head down the sidewalk, especially kids. And lovers at night.

Thankfully, my head has mostly cleared up and chores are getting done. Scheduled for later today are buying breakfast biscuits in a pastry shop, washing the Honda (not me, a car wash), getting cash from an ATM and sitting at the coffee shop on the downtown plaza with my Kindle* and a nice, hot café Americano negro.

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* Just started Inside Trump’s White House: The Real Story of his Presidency which came out this week. It’s stupendous to have honest information about a man who’s turning out to be one of America’s greatest presidents. The author, Doug Wead, is a former adviser to two presidents and served as a special assistant to President George H.W. Bush. His numerous books are known for their primary sources (not partisan rumor).

De common code

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I GODDA CODE. Yes, a cold. Started last Friday night, and it’s marching on, day by day, not improving, not worsening.

I loathe colds with a passion. Everybody dislikes them, but my feeling toward them is red-hot, sizzling. And if anyone around me has a cold, expect me to stay 10 feet away.

That, or I’ll be running out the door, screaming.

My biggest fear is that it will lead to a sinus infection, which it can do. Sinus infections are hell on earth or, at least, that’s how I see them. Any ailment above the neck is dreadful.

Since moving to Mexico, I’ve been fascinated with the locals’ cavalier attitude toward colds. First off, few seem to make a distinction between the common cold and the flu, which is a whole different ballgame.

The Spanish-English dictionary defines cold as resfriado, but I’ve never heard anybody use that word. The word they use is gripa, which the dictionary defines as flu.

Go figger.

No Mexican I know shares my horror of the common cold. You can have red eyes, a scarlet nose and be dripping snot all over the place,  sneezing your head off, and you still get the damnable cheek kiss if someone wanders by.

Last Saturday when my current cold was still iffy, I was downtown, and my sister-in-law appeared.

She leaned over to plant the damnable Latino cheek kiss on me, and I said, “Better not. I have a cold.” “I don’t care,” she replied, and let me have it. These people are loco.

Many years ago, when I still lived above the Rio Bravo, I often neglected the yearly flu shot. Then I got a case of the flu, which a doctor told me was rather mild. If that was mild, I sure didn’t want to risk the whole enchilada.

Now I get a flu shot yearly. Been doing it for ages. My child bride never got a flu shot before she knew me, but now she does, at my insistence.

I haven’t been away from the Hacienda since Saturday. I live in my pajamas. My feet are in Polar Pairs (c) shoe-socks. My cold remains relatively low-grade, and I am waiting it out.

After breakfast, I wandered out to the yard, noticed the view above, and snapped a photo. Gotta have artwork.

Now it’s time for another movie on Netflix.

Embrace the misery

porch
Sitting still.

BEEN A LOUSY week because I’ve had a cold. I loathe colds. When my child bride gets one, which she rarely does, she pretends it’s not there, ignoring it.

She even works out at the gym, which is nuts.

I don’t ignore it. I embrace the misery, and misery there is in spades. I sit still until the cold goes away.

It’s been a full week so far.

Mexicans, at least the ones I know — mostly relatives — ignore contagion. Not even the most horrific affliction — leprosy, you name it — will prevent the social smootching.

It’s appalling.

But they’ve learned not to come my way with their hugging and kissing if they’ve got a cold. I bolt like lightning.

The photo is not recent. Actually, it’s seven or eight years old, but it captures my mood this lamentable week.

If the Goddess smiles upon me, perhaps I’ll be back to normal mañana. Jeez, I sure do hope so.