peeping with pepys

I may be missing a literary opportunity.

If a naval bureaucrat like Samuel Pepys could become famous with his 1665 diary about the plague in London, why can't I take similar advantage of our own private plague?

You probably remember Pepys from high school where we read about his description of watching a louse circumnavigate a woman's hat during a church service. Well, that is how I remember him.

But it was for his plague entries that he is renowned. And I may be missing a sure thing.

Of course, this only seems like the plague to us because of our rather anachronistic sense of history. My almost-isolation in my house is not going to lend itself to any interesting entries like: "Candles are gone. We ate the dog."

But here are a few observations on this Tuesday morning in the year of covid-19.

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There was something odd in the morning birdsong. Usually, there is a mixed chorus of sparrow chirps, grackle impersonations, and the bicycle horn of golden-cheeked woodpeckers. Not this morning. The only sound was several calls and responses from what sounded like the Mormon Owl Tabernacle Choir.

Of course, it was not owls. Not in the daylight. It was several pairs of Eurasian collared doves cooing their hearts out. Unlike the Mourning dove with its somewhat melancholy call, the invasive collared doves have a coo that could easily be mistaken for a cuckoo -- or an owl.

Knowing the source still does not answer the question why the rest of the birds have stopped singing to give center stage to the Florence Foster Jenkins of birds.

Maybe it is similar to Senator Hruska's defense that Harold Carswell, a nominee to the Supreme Court, was a mediocre judge. "Even if he were mediocre, there are a lot of mediocre judges and people and lawyers. They are entitled to a little representation, aren't they, and a little chance?"

The senate did not give Carswell a chance to speak up for mediocrity. Maybe the collared doves can fill that gap.

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Today is Omar's birthday. He is 21.

When I was his age, that meant I could vote. 21 just does not have the ring it once did.

We are not having a birthday celebration in the house. He celebrated over the weekend jointly with a friend. I am not certain where the party was, but he says it was well-attended.

If anyone is surprised that a young Mexican is going to celebrate his birthday with a group of friends during a time when the government is requesting people to stay at home, you are expecting too much. Even though the nightly Semana Santa parties did not take place last week, special occasions are not going to be denied.

I did manage to beg off of a birthday abrazo, and that disappointed him. Considering the fact that both Omar and Yoana regularly come and go from the house, I should have made the sacrifice. After all, I stand right next to both of them when I talk to them.

So, happy birthday, Omar. The day is yours.

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For a couple of days, I have been anticipating an exchange on Facebook. In The Before Times, the conversation would have occurred over dinner. But personal cordon sanitaires have now pushed the topic to Facebook.

The complaint is how cold our nights have turned. For me, they have been pleasantly cool. This morning, the temperature was a pleasant 65.

But, this is tropical Mexico and people are stunned to see such low temperatures in April. Of course, there are people who tend to politicize everything and blame all sorts of modern living for this iceberg-creating cold wave.

The only problem is that we have the same conversation every April. When the Ides of the month approaches and tax-filing draws nigh, the temperature around our bay cools off for a couple of weeks.

I do not know this, but I suspect the temperature in the bay water must be cool, as well, because the breeze blowing across its surface is pleasantly refreshing -- even a bit chilly.

However, like the collared dove singing monoply, I have no scientific data to support my observation. It just happens every year.

And, just as quickly, it will be gone -- to be replaced by weather that feels as if that fat guy in the sauna has just dumped another coffee can of water on the coals.

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Our beaches remained empty during Semana Santa. You can see proof of that from my pal Vern Gazvoda's drone video of the Melaque beach.

During Semana Santa, the beach looks like the third runner-up in the Chinese Holiday Beach Look-alike Contest. Not this year. If J.J. Abrams wants to remake On the Beach, I have just the location for him.

I need to confess something here. I was skeptical that Mexico could enforce (or even attempt) a closure of its beaches during a major holiday. Not to indulge in stereotypes, but most Mexicans do not believe what their government says and they are not inclined to comply with governmental dictates.

This time, it worked -- just as it did in 2009. The beaches were generally bare.

But, not entirely. Last night, I was thumbing through Facebook videos. Most were of the usual humdrum, here-we-are-at-the-pool, me-at-the-kitchen-table, cute-puppy-eating-cat's-food-just-before-being-clawed. You know the type.

Then, something different showed up. One of the local skimboarders showed his disdain for the local authorities. He scanned the deserted beach, dashed across the sand, performed a double twist on the crest of a wave, and skedaddled back to safety.

Having got away with that, he did it a second time. This time without his board shorts.

Now, I do not know how much money was won on that bet (most young Mexican men would never be seen in public exposed), but it summed up the sense of joy that no government orders are going to crush.

Was it foolhardy? Probably. Was it a danger to the public? Probably not. It was simply a good joke well-executed.

There will be those who raise the old philosophical question of: "What would happen if everyone did that?" But, the question has no more validity than the classic: "What would happen if everyone went to the same restaurant on the same night and ordered chicken?"

And the answer is the same. Nothing. Because it is not going to happen. If we cannot laugh at outliers, we have been stuck too long without social interaction.

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OK. Pepys it isn't. But this is also not the Black Death.

I will not be surprised when this is all over that some wag will write: "It was just like Kohoutek."

And he might even be correct.

Until next time.