Recently, I took a trip to visit my sister Linda, who just turned 89, in the lovely small town of Ajijic, not far from Guadalajara. I’d never been to Mexico before, and the last time I was really fluent in Spanish was around 1958.
Bill and I flew to Denver, where we joined Linda’s daughter Jennifer and her husband Kevin. A couple of days later, we flew to Guadalajara, rented a car, and drove the rest of the way. They visit every three months or so, and use the same accommodations each time. Our lovely apartment had a full kitchen, though we didn’t use it much.
I worked to exhume my Spanish, and enjoyed telling everyone in Linda’s house that “Yo soy su hermanita, porque ella tiene ochenta y nueve años, y yo no tengo que ochenta y siete!”
“Muy joven!” they’d respond.
Here we are at La Paloma, where she lives. I’m the tall one.
