This morning Ouest asked in a hopeful voice, “We go sailing today, Mama?”

Ali: “No, remember Grammy is coming to visit? We’ll go sailing after that.”

Ouest: “Grammy go sailing?”

Ali: “No, Grammy isn’t going sailing.”

Ouest: “Why Grammy not go sailing?”

Ali: “Grammy doesn’t know how.”

Ouest: “Why?”

Ali: “Because she lives in a house.”

Ouest: “Why she lives in a house?”

Ali: “That’s just what people do. Not everyone lives on a boat. Grammy lives in her house with her puppy, remember?”

Ouest: “Grammy bring Winston (the dog) sailing?”

And on and on. She has reached that age where there is just no way to bring conversations to a close. There are simply too many questions to be answered for that to happen.

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Marina de La Paz next door is sort of like a retirement community for cruisers, complete with clubhouse. Next to the clubhouse is a small playground where Ali and the kids go each morning while I work on the boat. As part of their club they offer coffee and snacks every morning for five pesos—just enough to cover their costs. It’s nice—they can all sit up there each morning and talk boats or whatever. And while it’s not a members only thing, I do think they meant for it to be for cruisers only. Which is why I found this rather amusing.

Ali was standing nearby the other day when she overheard a Mexican—who had stopped at the window of the clubhouse—ask in disbelief, “Cinco pesos?”

The guy in charge of the coffee pot stuttered, “Ummm, yeah. Err, si.”

“Con leche y azúcar?” With milk and sugar he asked, just to be clear.

“Mmm hmm, sure.”

“Y galletas?” he asked, pointing at the tray.

“Yes, cookies too.”

It seemed too good to be true. He slapped down his five pesos, poured a cup of coffee, grabbed a handful of cookies, and walked right out the gate without a single word about blocked up heads or water in the bilge.