Mexicans who don’t know me very well often ask why I don’t take my wife and kids up north where the living is easy. There are so many reasons, I don’t know where to begin, so I usually just say I think the quality of life is better here in Mazatlan. Which is true, especially if you’re a practicing alcoholic with no car. But sad to say, I’m on my way, flying into SeaTac Airport with the familia Brady for a nice long visit. Needless to add, I am dreading it. On the positive side, it’s always wonderful to see Mom, but I think I like it better when she comes down here. Of course, the most important thing is that the kids will experience the Great Northwest in all its midsummer glory. We’ll hike around snow capped mountains, swim in freshwater lakes, breathe the clean firry air and roast trout over campfire stories. We’ll eat authentic American food, read fair and balanced American newspapers, watch the latest American TV and maybe even speak a little English once in a while. I expect everyone will have the time of their lives except me. What really worries me is the possibility that Sra. Brady will like it too much. Grandma’s house is literally over the river and through the woods, a Christmas tree farm out of a fairy tale. It’s full of deer and chipmunks and raccoons and adventures. It probably won’t rain or drop below sixty degrees the whole time we’re there. I tell her that the cold rainy season lasts ten months and that we would be dreaming of a vacation in Mazatlan every miserable gray soggy day. I tell her that we wouldn’t be living on the farm. We’d be among the