Red-letter afternoon

red letter - Bing imagesSOMETHING SO incredibly astounding happened yesterday that I absolutely must share it with one and all.

Around 5 p.m., I stepped out to the upstairs terraza with my Kindle. I sat in one of the cushy chairs facing the mountains in the soft afternoon air.

And I did not immediately fall asleep.

This has never happened before. It’s perplexing. I actually read my Kindle for about an hour with not one moment of drowsiness. The upstairs terraza is so comfy that merely sitting usually puts one to sleep. Not just me, but my hyperactive child bride too.

It’s hypnotic.

The book I am reading is Bill Bryson’s In a Sunburned Country. It’s about Australia, a nation about which I knew little before reading the book. I would like to visit there now, but it’s too far away and too late. I should have done it decades ago.

We made our weekly shopping trip to the nearby capital city yesterday, quite early. Entering both Chedraui and Costco, we sported our N95 face masks that we purchased on Mercado Libre. They were delivered right to our front gate a week ago.

Mexico is currently in its Phase Three of Kung Flu, and cases/deaths increase daily. I read a news story from above the border yesterday that claimed Mexico’s Kung Flu will be even worse than what’s happened in the United States. Meanwhile, our megalomaniac president who goes by his initials, AMLO, has declared it under control here.

The man is a nincompoop.

An exquisitely detailed website provides case/death count, plus other data, on every city and about every little village in Mexico. That is, after you learn how to use it. Looking at my mountaintop town, it says we’ve had just one confirmed case and one death, the same person, one deduces, and that over the past two weeks, there have been two additional “suspicious” cases. So, maybe, maybe not.

In the nearby capital city, 50 kilometers away, where the urban area population is just under one million, and about 600,000 live inside the city limits, there have been 37 confirmed cases, four deaths, and 43 suspicious cases in the last two weeks.

Clearly, this is not a raging plague, laying waste to all in its path, especially on my mountaintop where the population is about 95,000. Again, just one confirmed case, one death.

So I have a plan, and my child bride is on board. After watching the excellent video on my previous post, here’s what we’re gonna do. Wait two more weeks, and if the situation remains mild, we’re not hiding at home anymore.

A return to our normal life won’t be drastic. We will eat in restaurants again now and then, if we can find one open, and we’ll head downtown to the main plaza afternoons for my café Americano negro plus endless gossip between my child bride and her chain-smoking sister whom we’ve not seen in over a month now.

Enough already.

The nonstop knitter

Morning in the bedroom.

QUARANTINE FOR my child bride presents no problems. She knits. Hours and hours and hours of knitting sitting bolt upright. Women are strange.

Her days pass with knitting and calisthenics, the latter being quite time-consuming too. Her gym being closed has been hard for her. She has been going to the gym regularly for more than 30 years. These days, she tosses back a rug in the living room and finds gym classes on YouTube. She props up the Samsung tablet in front of her.

Then it’s bam, boom, bam, boom! On and on and on. Every freaking day.

After I shot the above photo this morning, I did a Hacienda walkabout, and came up with the photos below. I don’t knit or do calisthenics. Old boys gotta stay busy.

To date there has been just one Kung Flu case officially reported in my mountaintop town, and that person died. In the last two weeks, no further cases have been reported.

Amusingly, on an internet forum dedicated to Gringos in our area, the old coots, which is what most are, are chomping at the bit to get their “Economic Impact Payments” from Uncle Sam, in spite of virtually none of them having jobs or having suffering economically in the slightest due to the Kung Flu. They want their cash!

And that, mis amigos, is what’s wrong with America.

Ms. Bones has stood 17 years in the living room.
Wall on the downstairs veranda. That iron has a history.
Sombreros in the hallway.
Rockers, of course. At times, I’m off mine. Allegedly.