Pixie in Paradise

(I don’t know, it’s a play on Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants)

Don’t worry, this post isn’t just for Ralph, you can read it too. The high level topic seems rather inconsequential – first-world, if you will – but let me explain. It’s deeper than you think. While this is an ode to a pair of pants, we’re really going to unzip some feelings around that – pun intended. And, this is all I can give you right now.

This is all I am capable of churning out for you today, besides cat stories of  course. I just turned in a huge chunk of writing to my editor, for the book I’m working on, 33,000 words. Did you know I’m working on a book? Just kidding, if you read my blog you must be well aware of that fact as I’ve probably mentioned it a thousand times in the last year. Even if I haven’t stated so in one of these numerous posts I’ve told hundreds of people – mostly strangers. If you’ve ever been in a plane, bus or Uber with me, behind me in  a supermarket line, at a bank, dance club, restaurant or even a doctor’s office at the same time, I’ve most likely mentioned it. 

Living abroad taught me so many things, changed me so profoundly that it would be a disservice not to share those musings and life lessons. If for no other reason, those words needed to come out of me so I could forever remember them, but also let them go internally. I need to heal. That is what was necessary for the section I just finished. It brought up all the feelings, not always the ones you want in the forefront either. When I am finally ready to share that book with you all of these stories from the blog will have more context behind it. And you, dear ones, have a leg up: you’ve been pre-gaming so to speak. You’ve been at the Pixie in Paradise tailgate party which precedes the superbowl: that is the book.

About 20 years ago I picked up this random pair of pants at a discount clothing store like TJ Maxx or Marshall’s. I don’t remember if there was a specific trip or event I bought them for or not. They are baggy cargo pants made of thin, rip-stop fabric, made by Ralph Lauren. These pants are sort of a drab khaki green and I’m addicted to the color and the feel of these pants. They are huge on me and are more than three sizes bigger than what I actually wear but they are one of the most special items I possess.

Material possessions don’t mean shit to me anymore, especially after living out of two suitcases and a backpack for the better part of last year. Even before that back in the US in my little rented casita I always told people the only things truly important to me are the little animals inside I am the guardian of and one laptop. You can take everything else but don’t take the cat and leave a laptop. That still remained true for me this past year but took on some extra meaning.

I left Belize in November and couldn’t bring everything with me that I arrived  on the island with. In fact, I left more than two large suitcases full of my most prized possessions behind, items and clothing that were important for tropical life in the Caribbean. There were a few things I brought that I’d never be able to use there but I just didn’t know until I lived in that climate. Oppressive heat and humidity, spontaneous flash floods and storms. On muddy gravel roads walking or biking everywhere there was no point in wearing a cute pair of wedge sandals. It was flip flops every day and the baggiest cotton or linen clothing you could find to throw over your undergarments, which was a bikini. I rarely wore underwear, opting for swimsuits most days. You had to be ready for the sea.

Before moving to Costa Rica that same month I would end up leaving behind so much clothing, my SCUBA and snorkel gear and outfits, my best shoes, my heels for latin dancing, extra first aid kits, secondary technology items I didn’t use, toiletries, kitchen staples and more. I left my stovetop coffee maker and had just been to the grocery store, purchasing at least $100 USD worth of groceries. My landlord received it all and was very grateful, not that I was leaving but for the items left behind since resources and money are few and far between there. She split the food items with our sweet neighbor and took all of the clothes to a very poor area of the mainland, near Orange Walk, where people could use all of the items I couldn’t take with me. I was more than happy that she could do that, but before she did I had to pack the essentials that I would be moving forward with.

One backpack, one carry on and one medium sized suitcase was all I could fill. And, I had to make sure that I could lift each one because I could not assume someone would be there to help me at each stop along the way, and there were a lot of stops between Caye Caulker, Belize and Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica.

In the end I had enough room for my two laptops, most swimwear, some warm-weather pants and long-sleeved shirts used as cover ups. I took charging cords, a medicine bag for emergencies, small safety tools like cable locks, a hidden camera detector, my charging cables, an e-reader, two pairs of flip flops and one pair of tennis shoes that could also be used in water. I’m sure there are a couple of things I’m forgetting, but two of the most important items to me were my coral and white print blanket I “borrowed” from the Fiji Airways flight in 2014, and these baggy cargo pants.

They do not fit and without the cinch string at the waist and a huge belt tightened around me, they have a tendency to fall down. I wish you could see the faces of all of the TSA agents that I’ve tried to explain this to, especially the ones whose first language isn’t English. I specifically remember the guard in Panamá on November 18th. I had lost a lot of weight living on the island in Belize, with heat, humidity and having to hunt for food by walking and biking everywhere. I burned all of the calories I was eating and then some, coupled with the tropical virus I got there on arrival. I was a few cookies short of a backside thick enough to hold those pants up. I walked through every airport x-ray machine in deep prayer that the pants would hold up and if they didn’t that I was wearing cute underwear.

I wear them when I travel because they are so comfortable and I can store and hide lots of things in those huge deep pockets sewn all over the pants. They’ve traveled through all of the countries I’ve been to, except Spain. The pants are a huge comfort to me not just physically but emotionally, it’s hard to explain. I’ve had to take them to a seamstress at least twice because they work hard for me, taking me to beautiful countries and on countless adventures. 

I managed to wear the pants from Belize to Panamá to Costa Rica in November, but they couldn’t bring me back to the US a few months ago in April. There were just too many holes, too many weak spots. I placed them in my backpack which never leaves my side and brought them back, determined to find someone capable and worthy of repairing them. This also required that I find a job and start receiving paychecks again, as I anticipated this repair running me a pretty penny. I searched for small alteration businesses who I thought could help but I had no personal experience with them. Finally, a few weeks ago a dear friend was talking about the professional alterations she gets from a wonderful woman in North Tucson. I asked for the seamstress’s phone number and contacted her. We agreed to meet at her little shop last Friday. This lady is a tiny woman with a beautiful accent, curly auburn hair and bright eyes. She was short and sweet but I bet she is feisty, all five feet of her.

I pulled the pants out of a bag and I let her assess them. I didn’t want to give away my whole hand at first, wanting to hear what she had to say and get a quote before I impressed upon her just how much they meant to me. She gave me all of the information, assessed where they had been repaired before and warned me that the pants were very old and somewhat fragile. I understood and told her that I wanted her to proceed. I let her know that if something goes very wrong and we can’t salvage them as pants, that I still need them and we will either retire them to a memory box or turn them into something else, like a tiny commemorative blanket, or some weird keepsake. But I needed them. 

She understood and then I dropped a few tears. It felt as though I was speaking to a doctor who was performing surgery on a loved one and came out of the operating room to update me on their condition. That’s when I gave her a brief run-down of where the pants had been over the last 20 years and where they had been recently, why they are so important. She was fascinated by the story and my courage, as I told yet another stranger about the book and how she, too, could read the tales of the cougar and her traveling pants.