Home. That is, nearly home, at least to our New Mexican home. But first - between Albuquerque and Eldorado - dinner at Harry's, which, especially when seated near the fire, and with a margarita in hand, feels like a home from home. I cannot get my head around the fact that I was last there on Saturday, wondering how to get everything done before heading "home" - to NJ, to England. I am never very good when invited to gloss the meaning of "home"...
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