Lying in the hospital for three days, she vehemently longed for many things. At first my cell phone did not remember where I left it and my daughter was the one who passed me the calls from his, the people who had the gesture of finding a way to communicate with me. My main conversation was person-to-person, like before so much technology, as you really enjoy yourself because you can see into the eyes, embrace with the gaze, intuit the other and let you apapachar.

Eating well was another thing that I longed for especially good bread, all that was served in that clinical tray, when I finished the soft diet, it was box bread in several presentations: sandwich, French bread, crotones . The smell of freshly baked bread, however, transports unexpectedly home. In sight, the grain bread blurs so much variety of seeds that make it so rich! Almost magical! As well as observing the varieties of particles that make up a fist of sand in La Boquilla Bay, in Oaxaca, inserted with tiny shells. In an instant my thought traveled far, as Cousteau would say: "La Mar, a Once you cast your spell, it catches you in your net of wonders forever.

I returned to the bread, wanted a real firm and soft rye. That creaks its crust with a hollow and gaseous sound. That inside the leavened pasta with time and mother dough, saturates the palate with that characteristic flavor that amalgamates perfectly with any food, with butter or even alone.

Why do you eat so badly in a hospital when health is promoted? Or only in hospitals in Mexico? Will it be a strategy to keep patients for a long time and to hasten their return home? Why do I think about bread? What an idle head of mine, if it is true that: "Not only of bread lives man" neither of the electronic devices nor of that discomfort that oneself creates. I remembered Juan de la Cruz:

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