The little town of Why is pretty centrally located in this land. It's in a green valley surrounded by misty hills. Hang a left at the stone of "how come?" and push past the forest of "what would happen if..." and you're there. You'll recognize the place by the incessant buzzing-whining sound of "why why why why?" It seems that questions, like bees, can pollinate and make things grow and bloom.
My dear husband has had a lot of evening meetings lately, which means that Sweet Girl and I have had a lot of dinners with just the two of us...well, three, counting her worn bear Trumpkin. Trumpkin was the lovely brown bear I took with me to college (a gift from my Dad). I had no idea he would come out of retirement so many years later and become my daughter's bear. He's about 20 now, and definitely looking a bit thin these days, especially since he's been pulled, prodded, smushed and slept on for the last two years, and dressed and re-dressed in numerous baby clothes for the last two months. He often sits on a little stool right next to my daughter's chair at the kitchen table, looking on at the proceedings with his shiny brown eyes. I have a feeling he's muffling laughter when he hears exchanges like this evening's:
Sweet Girl: Why are we having corn?
Mommy: Because we like it.
Sweet Girl: Why do we like it?
Mommy: (slurping butter off the cob) Because it tastes yummy.
Sweet Girl: (scandalized by slurping) Why am I getting corn all over my face?
Mommy: Sometimes that happens when you eat corn.
Sweet Girl: Why does it taste yummy?
Mommy: Because that's how God made it.
Sweet Girl: What would happen if we ate the cob?