We did not last three nights at Cordevalle in San Martin. Jim was too restless and I was too worn out to deal. Returned home a day early and Mr. Maggie thought we were Christmas gifts. There's often an up-side.
Travel is getting more difficult unless it's to Cabo at our favorite respite (Las Ventanas al Paraiso) where the small villa is hosted by Enrique who adores Jim.
Meanwhile, Christmas holds no more magic for me. It done all leaked out over the years. Except for the music (no snowman, no reindeer, no drummer boy, no Santa coming to fucking town, no swing, no jazz, no sappy Victorian carols).
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