It’s always nice to come home from a vacation, especially when home is Mazatlan. Like this summer, for example. For the first time, Sra Brady used her new visa and los bambinos tried out their passports (worked like a charm) and we wafted our way up the coast to SeaTac airport. We arrived in mid-July, one day after the winter rains stopped, and the good weather held until we left a month later. Dammit. Like everything else, it all went too well, and now I’m dealing with the aftereffects. Core problem: the wife and kids loved it up there. My mother was wonderful. She loved playing hostess for us, I think, most of the time. When we were arranging the trip, I asked her what would be the longest she could stand us and now we know how long that is: thirty one days. She held up pretty well, considering her tranquil home was suddenly filled with little galloping noisemakers and their immature squabbling parents. We had lots of good clean wholesome family fun, paddling a rubber boat around the pond, walking through tall timber looking for bear sign, that sort of thing. Best of all, the kids turned a big corner and suddenly “got” English, which was worth the trip right there. I must admit I had a pretty good time once my liver acclimatized. Undoubtedly, the highlight was the renewing of our vows. Since here in Mazatlan we were married not in La Catedral like her sisters, not even in a humble little country church, but merely civilly in a government office, Sra Brady (and her family) never really considered us married all