I wrote that I wanted to say more about the BnB in Odeceixe, but I find it isn’t much, just this: it was run by a mother & daughter, the mother is 92, she put a pot of some kind of fruit tea on the table & pushed Bruce & me to have some, ascribing her longevity to it & a mixed fruit dish, and she made these covers for the water & juice glasses: Of course, my dad lived to 96 & was still moving pretty good past 92 & he liked to get up in the middle of the night and have split two hot dogs with cheese & mustard with his dog. So what does she know? Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s sonnets are pretty overwrought & full of poetic devices that detract from the sincerity of the message, but they get better as they go along. I think Dad would have been able to recite the most famous one from memory even a few weeks ago: XLIII How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight...