Dulywed: Quinceanera

Mack, 

Hey there. How are you? It's been a couple years since I last reflected on this happily ever after of ours. Last year around this time, my dad died, and, as Metallica says, nothing else mattered. Thank you for being there for me to fall into after his quiet departure. I will always love you for that. And since you never read these things, I know you forgive me for letting it slip by.

Back when we were way less grey, with way less understanding of the kick in the balls life can dole out.

I fully recognize I've been a squishy mess since my dad died, and I appreciate your patience and support, even though it sometimes comes across as frustration and annoyance. 

I remember after I got back from a trip home for the 4th of July, me sitting on the floor in a fat mess (thanks, grief, booze, and cortisol) and you across the room, looking at the window. We finally got the courage to say, "I don't like this relationship between us." It was full of me being pathetic and you being the bright spot. You brought energy, and I took it all. And then I did nothing with it. 

I was lost, and I have never been lost before. I was depressed. I was wearing us both down. So thank you for having that conversation with me. It opened my eyes that the happiness that normally comes so easy to me was slipping away, and I needed to fight for it, like so many other people do their whole lives. I went to therapy, cried a lot, opened up my heart, reconnected with my mind, and finally got better. 

And we got better. I started existing again, speaking up for myself, making choices for myself, taking action for myself. At first, because I know you so well, I thought you'd respond with anger when I gave myself permission to expect certain accommodations from you. But you pleasantly surprised me. You took the Love Languages test, and you added physical touch and words of affirmation to your programming. I went back to school to get my master's, started going to the gym to get me out of the house every day, and gradually the squish got less and less. Well, not on my body but in my mood anyway.

Despite the goo of me-ness that I've been swimming in, we've managed lots of memory making this year. We moved our whole life to a 30-square-mile rock in the Caribbean. We got rid of one business and started another, making some lawyers very rich. We got vaccines against Covid-19, bought an abandoned crackhouse to flip, and spent weekends bombing over waves and looking for creatures under water. Well, I looked. You sat on the boat playing polka music full blast while I did "science" with the turtles. You also procured the coconuts.

I had surgery, you almost had a tumor (thanks, lab errors). We took Goldie to the snowy mountain roads of Big Bear and drove through absolute road lakes. We went to June Lake to catch some fall colors. We took hikes and were extra cautious about the potential for one of us to "wild crimes" the other. Luckily the most egregious thing I did to you was make you watch me paint rocks. We bought a new old sailboat, Andante, and took her on her first voyage to Catalina. You were brave enough to enjoy a swim, but this life on that rock in the Caribbean has ruined me for cold water. Andante has so many other charms, like how handsome you are captaining, so she's still worth being on even if the water she's surrounded by is dark and full of terrors. 

You remained your peculiarly hilarious self, thank god. I remember during the Olympics we were watching a swimming match, and you reached over, touched my boob, and claimed yourself to be the best breast stroker. You also came up with such hits as "You Know You Like It When I Do It Like This" and "Uno Mas Dia." As they were rooting in your brain (and mine), I definitely wanted to kill you, but I love you so I didn't. 

Couple of grey haired bandits, not killing each other.

To celebrate 15 years of marriage, you're supposed to give the gift of crystal, "an enduring material that symbolizes the lightness, clarity, and durability of your love." Or a watch, "representing the many hours and minutes you've spent together, as well as the years to come." 

Without even meaning to, we did both, got fancy as hell watches with sapphire crystal glass. Because you know what, we've earned them. We've put in a lot of time, understanding, forgiveness, arguments, resentment, cheerleading, sacrifice, hard work, energy, indifference, patience, tough truths, and love into this thing between us, and having an exquisite timepiece to show for it somehow validates it. Heads up, I'm gonna need the Pearlmaster for the 30th anniversary, kay?

Thanks for the last 473 million seconds you have spent at my side. You really are my best friend, and I appreciate all you have been for me this year especially. Happy anniversary.

Love, 

Pipi Rodriguez

Island Life

Things that do not get old living on an island: the views and that warm clear water.

Things that do get old living on an island: all the rest.

Our swimming spot.

Literally the moon.

Just looking out the window.

What exactly are these skies doing??

Come on, Nature.

Stop it.

Just stop it right now.

I know, I am a spoiled asshole. I have been my entire life. And I want to smack my own face. But I'm gonna say it: island life is hard.

Sure, being able to take your half finished drink with you when you're done eating is amazing. The smell of the rain is intoxicating. The afternoon dips to cool off are pure therapy. 

But the loneliness is achy. The struggle to find something interesting that makes you leave the house is real. The cost of groceries is staggering... $8 for Triscuits, guys... and the unreliability of them is frustrating. And even though I love Mack, not having a way to get out of each other's sight is maddening.

It's been a year since we made the move to island life. Given the fuck shit stack that was 2020-2021, living on an island whose temperature is always 82 was some quiet constant that my soul needed. Each day feels like a month, yet somehow we get half as much done. 

Which is good, because there is nothing to do so you gotta spread that stuff out.

The times we've had visitors has made this place perfection. But then they leave and it's just us and here and, well, I started therapy it's that bad. So is my hair. 

Good vibes only. Except Mala.

Pure medicine. Especially in her giggle.

My daughter-sister. 

A couple other Covid runaways.

The Queen of Open Water

The co-inventor of Rail Racing!

The Griswolds even made it, despite a flight cancellation and Covid test requirements!

Chungus loved drinking that salty water.

Tater probably would've swam home if we'd let him. 

I have been trying to get connected to this place so it feels like home, but even after a year together, there's friction between us. I can't figure it out. I hate myself for that, because it really is so amazing. The critters are everywhere, providing constant and delightful entertainment. But somehow, even though I've seen a damn octopus in the wild, it's not enough to fill the void.

I've met no fewer than 100 baby chicks. 

These guys do pushups on the balcony, and I'm like, guys, stop, I'm married.

Donkeys! Also there are goats!

Oh, this is my friend. We've hung out a couple times.

Another buddy. You can just see the annoyance on his face. 

Luckily he only likes to eat the stuff on the bottom.

Oh hi, you killed Steve. On accident. I get it. 

Another casual lunch with a dinosaur.

I have found a few awesome people to spend time with. Really, they found me and didn't give up on me after a few shy encounters. They live a couple doors down, cook curried lentils like pros, and are so generous that they let me cling to them like family. 

Afternoon cocktails on the porch with the mayor.

And drunch with this power couple.

I'm a person who needs to put down roots, to put energy into something and be rewarded by watching it grow over time. I can't seem to get anything to root to, to anchor myself. Maybe it's because we come and go a lot. Maybe it's because there's no dirt around my condo... it's all rocks and water. Being a tiny life nomad requires you to neglect things a lot, either due to time or space, which makes me feel like nothing that takes a personal investment is worth doing. In other news, it's also forced me to find clever band-aids. Like, now I know an embroidery hobby will fit in a gallon-size baggie. But I don't want to put things I enjoy in a baggie and leave them behind. I want them to surround me all the time and take up space and see how they change over time. 

Then these rainbows show up, and are you really whining about life on an island, you idiot? Look what time does to them. They appear out of nowhere, change, grow, disappear, reappear, double in size, and capture the attention of everyone who sees them, forcing us all to stand still and look up at them in amazement. If only they could hug me, make me laugh, and give me something to do... that's what I need more than anything.

Life on the sunny side

Home-ish sweet home-ish

My Chubby Bubby

I don’t know why the baby makers in my life won’t coordinate their pregnancies so I can get a fresh baby every couple of years instead of all at once. The last time I got babies, Shannon had Nynie, Lee had Mateo, and Leiah had Beatrix in a span of 8 months. No one listens to me, so for this, which is likely my final baby season, Leiah and Lee decided to have babies at practically the exact same time. Of course.

And, to add to it, as they were discussing names, Leiah mentioned she was thinking they may name their son Elliott BUT LEE AND BUBBA HAD ALREADY DECIDED TO NAME THEIR SON ELLIOTT. Finally, Leiah took pity on me and took Elliott of her list.

Lee headed to the delivery room 3 DAYS before Leiah to bring our newest nephew to the world, a guy we’d watched growing in his momma’s belly all summer. In the couple months before his big arrival, his family moved into a new house, his daddy started a new job, and all they needed was this new baby to settle into life as they’d know it.

Having a baby during a pandemic means no one can come to the hospital to see you. And you get to huff and puff and push and get that baby out thru a surgical mask. Lee took it all like a champ, and then, at 4:53 pm on Nov. 25, our little Ching Ching showed up.

Ching Ching is apparently how you say cubby in Tagalog, and though this little bag of sugar is only 6lbs. 5oz. and 19 inches long, he is a whole pound bigger than his big brother was. And it shows.

We didn’t get to meet this sweet baby until this month, and I am not exaggerating when I say he is absolutely the best baby I have ever been around. We’ve been staying with Bubba and Lee for a few weeks and I have not heard one cry out of him - not one. He likes to lay in his basinet and listen to jazz or take naps in his swing. When he wakes up, he’ll listen for his mom’s voice to say hello to him and a smile will creep across his face. He likes it when Mack talks to him like they’re doing important business negotiations and then when Mack finishes it all with “Agoo,” Bubby just beams. I’m ruining him by snatching him up to hold him, but I’m his Tita and that’s what I’m supposed to do. I like to make him do “nexercises” and just the other day this butterball rolled over! He eats all his food, sleeps good at night, and is one of those babies you could forget about because he’s just so content. He doesn’t spit up. He doesn’t have diaper explosions. He’s unreal, except that I’ve held him and he is so real. 

I can’t wait to watch this one grow up alongside his brother, Mr. Personality. I mean just look at them! I’m going to have no money.

The One Who Tried to Kill My Sister

The Saturday after Thanksgiving, the day after we buried my Uncle Vince, Nico Alistair Galownia burst forth from his mother, my little sister, and brought with him exuberance and despair in a matter of seconds in a true demonstration of the universe’s capacity to fuck your shit up.

We were gathered at Camp Grampa, where Shannon was improvising a dinner out of some frozen hamburgers and turnips, seeing if a change of scenery could put the grief one layer lower for my sweet Aunt Becky, a woman who just a month before was in this same kitchen, improvising a dinner of fried green tomatoes and fried blue gill that she and Vince had caught, in an effort to get our grief one layer lower. 

We got word earlier in the day that Leiah was headed to the hospital to deliver her son, a fella who’d made her belly so big strangers couldn’t contain their “whoa”s when she walked by, earlier that day, so I sent a text to David at 5:50pm to see how it was going. We got right in on the action when he replied “Dialted and pushing. Home stretch.”

In an attempt to do something with all the excitement, Susan and Becky trimmed the little Christmas tree Susan had put up in the living room. I collected bets for weight from everybody in the room to make it competitive. 

Finally at 7:37pm my phone tings and there is my nephew, Nico Alistair. A beefy red baby, 19 inches long, 8lbs. 13 oz. Isaac won. 

His dad let us in on his name, which wasn’t a guarantee, and told us that he was a super chill baby. And just as quickly as joy filled every cell in my body, fear crept in. Leiah had a huge 800 gram clot that was preventing her uterus from clamping down. She was hemorrhaging, and even though she was in the best place to hemorrhage, a place with blood and surgeons, and even though I knew they’d take the whole uterus out before they’d let it kill my sister, I was afraid. Leiah later told me she didn’t realize that many hands could fit in a vagina. David said, “The whole hospital was in there.”

Fortunately the fear only lasted for an hour before Leiah stabilized. She got blood and the hands that were inside her body did what they needed to do. We got pictures of her, smiling, pale and covered with a mountain of blankets, but alive and having achieved another echelon of love. 

Her family was complete, bookended by boys, little girls in the sweet center, and her record for biggest cheeks broken. Though it didn’t take away the loss that brought us together, Nico’s arrival bandaged our family with hope, with certainty that life goes on, that happiness will still bridge the sadness. He reminded me that the terrible things that are going to come our way will be made better by our cohesion and that even in the darkest times, there are beams of light to cling to. 

Welcome to the tribe, little man. I hope you love being one of us as much as we love you.