Spanish views from a small town

Coronavirus. It has nothing to do with Corona beer (Drink it without any more fear than that of a thumping headache if you get soused.).  It isn't the common flu (It can cause viral pneumonia, and that, believe me, is no fun. Been there, done that.). It wasn't developed in a laboratory to decimate the human population (For the love of God, conspiracy nuts, there are much more effective, naturally occurring diseases out there that would do that!). It's not hovering in the air above us (Unless you're in contact with someone who's been in contact with someone who's gotten infected, you're safe; the ether theory of illnesses has long been disproven.). The best way of avoiding infection is by the simple method of washing your hands , not by wearing surgical masks or wrapping yourself up like an extra from Contagion . (And if you have to be reminded to wash your hands, you've forgotten one of the most basic lessons of kindergarten, you ignorant lout....

My father used to be strong and healthy. Used to be. I only remember him sick once in my childhood, when I was already a teenager. He also once had a broken foot, but that was it. But the work he did when he was a child, teenager, and young adult finally caught up with him; stonemason, breaking up stones and carving them. But without any protection, so all the stone dust finally settled in his lungs. What also caught up with him was a smoking habit of over three hundred cigarettes a week. I remember sitting on the floor in the darkened living room with only the bluish light from the black and white television making the smoke cloud glow. I would end up lying on the floor on my stomach to avoid the cloud which would hang lower as the evening progressed. I tried to escape from that cloud as a teenager by spending the evenings in my room with the door closed. The mother of a friend thought I was a smoker, and never quite believed me when I said it was my father. My clothes reeked like ...