Spanish views from a small town

After a couple of days of sunny weather, the clouds are back. Yesterday, despite the sun, was quite cool, and a vegetable soup was in order. Today, the wind makes it feel colder, and a nice chicken stew was bubbling for lunch earlier.  It seems protests have begun, and attempts to stop counting votes, as well, in the United States. Trump has asked for injunctions against continuing counting votes in several states and for a recount in one, at least. It's heartbreaking to see how democracy in the U.S. has devolved. Here, we prepare to pass November without being able to go everywhere we want, and with bars, cafés, and restaurants closed in the hardest hit urban areas. Undoubtedly, there will be more closures when winter, and the virus, is done with us. That is tremendously disheartening. A little more enraging is seeing photos in the online newspapers of the King's nephew, Froilan, going out on the town with a bottle under his arm, on his way to a binge drinking fest with his fr...

The month of November has always been blah to me. Even its name seems boring and dark. As a child, October was filled with falling leaves, orange, yellow and red flames in unsuspecting places on city streets, and sweater-worthy temperatures. If I was lucky, I would see the first snowflakes in October. December was a stellar month. It was the month of more likelihood of snow, of Christmas morning and Christmas vacation. December was like a crisp apple, sweet and challenging to the teeth. But all November had was Thanksgiving, a boring brown celebration filled only with food that would last for a week in the fridge. November had grey skies and cold rain. Temperatures would fall low enough for a hat, but there would be little chance of white fluffy streets. Yes, it might snow, but it wouldn't last long, and it would likely be washed away the next day by cold rain. My childhood November was an eternal wait between bright October and sparkling December. Of late, November has kept it...