Tsunami, 19. Another Storm.

So, Carnival is over, not that there was much of one this year. Our township had a virtual celebration, in which everyone could send in videos of themselves dressed up, as well as of how they lamented the burial of the sardine, the Toribiño, on Ash Wednesday. I didn't participate, and don't know how many did, but there were cash prizes for the best costumes. At any rate, now onward to Holy Week.

Which will not be celebrated this year, either. At least, the processions have been cancelled just about everywhere. I assume that, if restrictions are relaxed, Masses will be allowed, but with many fewer attendees allowed. At the moment, for example, funerals are only allowed to have fifteen mourners. 

Restrictions will probably be further relaxed next week. I hope so, though not as much as in Madrid. There, things are very relaxed. On the midday news, they showed café terraces filled with people sitting not so far apart, and mostly without masks. This, despite Madrid having the highest incidence of contagion in the country. But, of course, to the regional president, the economy takes precedent over public health.  

A new winter storm is supposed to approach us, its cold front washing over us, literally. Upwards of 80 liters per square meter is forecast between today and tomorrow, as well as winds of around a hundred kilometers per hour. The storm has been baptized Karim. We're down to K; at this rate, we'll reach Z.

At least we won't be as bad as in Texas. Even if the lights go out, it's not as cold. Nor would we stay days without power. Our power grid would be supplemented by energy from other areas of Spain, and if need be, from Portugal or France. The last time we were without electricity for a longish period of time was about fifteen years ago, when Storm Klaus came through. From the actual storm, we were only a few hours in the dark. Our headache was the next day when lightning struck a power line in front of our house, burning the circuits of one of the kitchen lights, the DVD, and the television.

Things have gotten better in the power department, though they still have far to go. When we first moved back here, thirty years ago, blackouts would be frequent. Now, with deregulation, the biggest problem is maintenance. Blackouts now tend to come from lack of it. The big forest fire in March of a couple of years ago was also because of lack of maintenance. 

When my parents built this house in 1955, they had no electricity. They had a wood stove, like we still do, and lanterns. Instead of candles, they had what we call mariposas, butterflies. These were little wicks fastened in a cardboard disc. My mother would fill a glass half way up with water, and then add a quarter of oil. Then, she would place the wick on top, let it soak, and light it. The wick burns for as long as there's oil on top of the water. I remember using them back in the 1980's on vacation here, but this time in front of the ambulatory saint that makes the rounds of the village. A wooden box arrives, you open the doors like those of a cabinet, there's an image or statue there, and you place it on a table with a candle before it for a night, before sending it off to the next neighbor. I think, that if I went searching for mariposas in small grocery stores, I might still find a box or two for sale. 

Hopefully, neither tonight nor tomorrow, they won't be necessary. I might not have mariposas, but I do have a drawer full of candles. And a kerosene lamp, like in the Little House books, just in case.

Life continues.