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!

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* 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.

The paper issue

sign

THERE ARE TWO primary rules for living in Mexico. Everyone knows the first: Don’t drink tap water.

The second is less known, except in U.S. border states where we Mexicans are all over the place: Don’t deposit toilet paper into the toilet bowl. It’ll clog the pipes.

I doubt we’ll ever be able to drink tap water because bottled water is a billion-peso industry here run, to a large degree, by Coca-Cola and Pepsi. They don’t want you to be able to drink tap water, ever.

Dang capitalists! Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them.

When we moved into the Hacienda almost 13 years ago, we didn’t ask anybody about flushing toilet paper. We just did it, and we’ve been doing it ever since with no problem, which is kinda weird considering the backwoods neighborhood in which we live.

The Hacienda’s wastewater goes out to pipes that run under the back street, and from there it goes to a big hole in a ravine about a block away. Yeah, nearby. I remember when they dug that hole, but I haven’t been down that way in years. It was open when I last saw it, but I assume it’s been covered. Lord, I hope so.

Now we have a new situation with the pastry workshop/storefront we recently had constructed. It has its own septic tank. I had never seen inside a septic tank before. I sure had not been down into one, but I have now. See photo below. The tank was cherry at that point. Unused as a starry-eyed virgin in Victorian times.

We’ve decided that perhaps it’s best to deposit only bodily material down here. Toilet paper will degrade in time, but we’re not gonna put toilet paper in there. So I hung a cute sign that’s directly in your face if you’re sitting on the throne in the new bathroom. That’s the sign in the top photo.

In Spanish, it says “Use trash can for paper. Thanks.”

dump

sink

Just for the fun of it, here’s the sink in the new bathroom. Today a carpenter came to give us a price on installing the Formica countertops in the pastry workshop. He’ll make a Formica-topped worktable too. When that’s installed I’ll post a photo of our totally finished situation.

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(Note: A friend in Mexico City told me years ago that she always drops the paper into the toilet unless there is something specifically indicating that you should not. Truth is that much of Mexico has modernized on this issue, but old habits die hard, especially among the ill-informed.)