Chronicles of the Virus Day 3
The third day of our imposed containment is here. The nice thing is that it's sunny and the temperatures are rising above yesterday's chill. The bad thing is the strong north wind is still blowing.
The optimists are saying that in ten days, if all goes well, we might begin to notice changes, and that the number of infections will start to go down in about a month. But that's if people stay home and don't wander around at will. Or go to work on crowded trains, I suppose. So, I wouldn't make any plans for May just yet.
All you hear on the news or read online is coronavirus, coronavirus. If it weren't for that, the biggest story of the day would be the tension in the royal household. It seems the old king, Juan Carlos, was given an illegal "gift" by the Saudis of one hundred million dollars, that he squirrelled away in Switzerland. After a British newspaper published the story earlier this month, Felipe VI decided to stop the state salary of almost two hundred thousand euros his father has, and to renounce his inheritance from Juan Carlos. He did this just now, after the story broke, though he knew about it since last year.
Hold it right there. By Spanish law, you cannot renounce your inheritance until the person who mentions you in their will, dies. The other part of the law is that you cannot renounce only a part of the inheritance; it's all or nothing. The wording in the Constitution on the royal succession calls it an "inheritance." So, Felipe's words are simply pretty words that are meant as a nice white wash.
Back to the quarantine.
On Sunday, a priest in Herrera, a small town to the south of Córdoba, went out in procession, calling people to come out to Mass. He was followed by one altar boy ringing a bell and a few, senior women. The first day of confinement, and some neighbors couldn't believe their eyes. Someone made a video, which the mayor saw, who then called the local police, and they convinced everyone to go back home. The priest replied he only wanted to do good. The police replied that they, too, only want to do good by telling them all to go home.
That priest must have been educated the old-fashioned way at the seminary. Back in 1918, when the Spanish flu was ravaging the world, there was a bishop in Zamora who believed more in faith than in the evolving science of public health care. When the first soldiers fell ill at the local barracks, the Inspector General of Health ordered people to stop congregating in crowds to avoid spreading the disease. But the bishop had other ways of thinking. He ordered novenas, Masses, and a procession in honor of San Roque (patron saint of plagues). The bishop was convinced that the flu was a consequence of sin and ingratitude to God. The religous services were packed. Of a total of almost three hundred thousand inhabitants of the province, over twelve thousand died, with black days of over two hundred daily deaths.
Pray at home. God, and your neighbors, will love you for it.
There are moments of humor, if you care to look for them. There are people who take care when they leave the house for valid reasons, such as walking the dog, to cover up. Since face masks have been missing in action since mid-February, one fellow wore a storm trooper helmet. May the Force be with him. Another, who might be a bit of a hypochondriac, wore a full-body dinosaur costume to take out the trash. T-Rex would do a face palm if it could see him waddle back to the door at full speed.
Of course, there are those who go out to walk... the dog. A stuffed dog. Or even a turtle. Or, in one instance, a crab. Though I think the last might have already been prepped for the dinner table. There is at least one instance in which it wasn't funny to the police officer who discovered the lack of bark in the pet, and fined the walker. So, don't go for the funny photo, it might get expensive.
Life continues.
The optimists are saying that in ten days, if all goes well, we might begin to notice changes, and that the number of infections will start to go down in about a month. But that's if people stay home and don't wander around at will. Or go to work on crowded trains, I suppose. So, I wouldn't make any plans for May just yet.
All you hear on the news or read online is coronavirus, coronavirus. If it weren't for that, the biggest story of the day would be the tension in the royal household. It seems the old king, Juan Carlos, was given an illegal "gift" by the Saudis of one hundred million dollars, that he squirrelled away in Switzerland. After a British newspaper published the story earlier this month, Felipe VI decided to stop the state salary of almost two hundred thousand euros his father has, and to renounce his inheritance from Juan Carlos. He did this just now, after the story broke, though he knew about it since last year.
Hold it right there. By Spanish law, you cannot renounce your inheritance until the person who mentions you in their will, dies. The other part of the law is that you cannot renounce only a part of the inheritance; it's all or nothing. The wording in the Constitution on the royal succession calls it an "inheritance." So, Felipe's words are simply pretty words that are meant as a nice white wash.
Back to the quarantine.
On Sunday, a priest in Herrera, a small town to the south of Córdoba, went out in procession, calling people to come out to Mass. He was followed by one altar boy ringing a bell and a few, senior women. The first day of confinement, and some neighbors couldn't believe their eyes. Someone made a video, which the mayor saw, who then called the local police, and they convinced everyone to go back home. The priest replied he only wanted to do good. The police replied that they, too, only want to do good by telling them all to go home.
That priest must have been educated the old-fashioned way at the seminary. Back in 1918, when the Spanish flu was ravaging the world, there was a bishop in Zamora who believed more in faith than in the evolving science of public health care. When the first soldiers fell ill at the local barracks, the Inspector General of Health ordered people to stop congregating in crowds to avoid spreading the disease. But the bishop had other ways of thinking. He ordered novenas, Masses, and a procession in honor of San Roque (patron saint of plagues). The bishop was convinced that the flu was a consequence of sin and ingratitude to God. The religous services were packed. Of a total of almost three hundred thousand inhabitants of the province, over twelve thousand died, with black days of over two hundred daily deaths.
Pray at home. God, and your neighbors, will love you for it.
There are moments of humor, if you care to look for them. There are people who take care when they leave the house for valid reasons, such as walking the dog, to cover up. Since face masks have been missing in action since mid-February, one fellow wore a storm trooper helmet. May the Force be with him. Another, who might be a bit of a hypochondriac, wore a full-body dinosaur costume to take out the trash. T-Rex would do a face palm if it could see him waddle back to the door at full speed.
Of course, there are those who go out to walk... the dog. A stuffed dog. Or even a turtle. Or, in one instance, a crab. Though I think the last might have already been prepped for the dinner table. There is at least one instance in which it wasn't funny to the police officer who discovered the lack of bark in the pet, and fined the walker. So, don't go for the funny photo, it might get expensive.
Life continues.
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