Quarantine days

WE EASED into it, gradual-like. At first, early last month, during our habitual afternoon stays on the downtown plaza with a hot café Americano negro and the Kindle, I’d just keep away from the passing mob to the best of my ability.

During that time, the two of us were driving downtown afternoons in both cars as usual because my child bride required more time chewing the chorizo (Mexican fat) with her sister than I was willing to sit and wait for it all to peter out.

Great God Almighty, women can talk. No fleeting thought is kept inside.

Then we started driving down there in one car, returning together. A week or so later, we stopped going altogether as things seemed to worsen a bit, especially the first report of Kung Flu here on the mountaintop. That report remains questionable.

We stopped shopping entirely except for necessities. Grub and knitting material. Now we’re at home. I ordered face masks online, and we began using them yesterday during our weekly shopping trip to the nearby capital city. Costco and Chedraui.

Our governor announced, starting yesterday, that it is absolutely forbidden to leave one’s home for anything other than essentials. And masks required! The penalties include fines and community service.

The governor of the abutting state of Jalisco has issued the same order.

Clearly, these two think they’re talking to Germans or Swiss, not Mexicans.

During our shopping trip yesterday to the state capital, we encountered exactly what I knew we would encounter: life as usual. People out walking around, riding bikes, eating sidewalk tacos, the same ole same ole. Some wore masks, some not.

Yesterday afternoon we drove downtown here on the mountaintop for knitting gear. Again, everyone was doing the same as last week. Nothing had changed.

Humorously, the Gringos seem to be hunkering down at home, fearful not just of the Kung Flu but of being arrested, fined or whatever. There is an online forum that focuses on Gringos hereabouts, and it’s a hoot to read their hysterics.

Here at the Hacienda, the days go like this: My child bride does a daily frenzy of calisthenics and she knits. She dearly misses her gym. I read my Kindle and see stuff online, especially film noir from the 1950s and cheesy horror/sci fi from the 1960s.

The evenings have not changed. Salads and Netflix.

And we continue our exercise walks on the neighborhood plaza weekdays. I doubt we will be fined or pressed onto community service chain gangs.

I sure hope not.

Is this what awaits me?