Odeceixe BnB

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

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

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