Unanswerable questions, maybe?

I am sending out questions to the universe, and wondering if I'll get any answers.

--Maxito wants to know if the sun will ever die.

--Do babies dream?

--Someone please tell me where my birth certificate is hiding.

--Is there a museum of doors in Scotland, or did Jenny just wish there was one?

--How high is the mouse that spins? (My cousin Keri wrote this question two decades ago. I actually know the answer: The higher the few.)

--What is it about Fluevogs that makes them take over my thoughts?

Baby Paradise is Fresh Papaya

Genevieve's been having a great time these days. She loved our vacation to Mexico--getting passed around, toes tickled, cheeks kissed, sung to.

And she loved all the new foods: fresh papaya every morning, pan dulce, quesadillas, guacamole, sopes, empanadas de huitlacoche (oh, that last one was mine; I truly dig that corn fungus).

This adventure of motherhood is eternally fascinating (except when it's absolutely tedious). Today, when she tried hummus, I felt a thrill imagining what a first taste of something so distinctive must be like.

I wonder, too, if she experiences frustration. Having returned to Portland, does she long for the papaya? Or does it all fade in the face of the old US standbys of oat cereal, green beans, sweet potato puffs, and veggie booty? All the more reason to return to Mexico, I guess, because there is no papaya like papaya in the sun, where you can see and smell the ocean, and where your mind spins about while rehearsing the Spanish to express delight over said papaya.

Everybody's Working for the Weekend

Yeah, I always thought that Loverboy captured the idea that "work's for jerks" best. That was until I read 40-Hour Man! This graphic novel is hilarious, recounting all the menial things we have to do and all the craziness of bosses that we must suffer through just to bring home the bacon.

My husband, Steve Lafler, drew the book, which includes masterful renditions of a Jamaican Go Go club and a Nazi statue at a miniature golf course. Congratulations, Steve!

Viva Mexico

We just returned from a quick visit to Mexico. Rather than do the whole urban adventurer route, we did the easy version and stayed at an all-inclusive resort.

Strange.

I've never seen so few Mexicanos in Mexico. That said, we pulled Maxito out of the swimming pool and baby Genevieve out of the all-you-can-eat buffet and dragged them into town, to the zocalo, which is the Mexico I know and love.

And that's when the trip reminded me most of Jenny because she and I (and Steve, or Mom) always sought out the centro, where the markets and la Michoacana and the funky calavera or gorgeous Huichol boutiques surround a bandstand. On Sunday night, the place was jumping with tamale vendors, kids pulling balloon creatures, babies snoozing in strollers, and guitarists shouting out to people from Guadalajara, La Paz, Zacatecas, D.F.

In that moment were all our other journeys to Oaxaca, Guanajuato, even small-town Melaque where Jenny did karaoke to "Eensy Weensy Spider." I can see her in my mind impersonating the karaoke host: "Bienvenidos a Cascan! Soy Ramon." And I can still see her and Steve doing their Beatles duet while I laughed.