actually it’s pronounced “an-hel”
Our new favorite thing (in the last 24 hours) is to try to pronounce all English words like they are in Spanish. My dad and I find this hilarious, “Look at those people jumping off the pier!” “I believe it’s pronounced “yump.” And so on and so forth. This is what we talk about when one person isn’t accusing the other person of having an autoimmune disease, “It’s an autoimmune thing like that spot on your leg?” “It’s an autoimmune thing like your face!”
This could keep us busy for hours except it doesn’t so we have to find something else to do, and that thing is swimming! My parents love to swim, like literally their goal in life is to find bodies of water to get into. I have mixed feelings about open water, and those feelings are that I like it in theory, but as soon as I get in I start to have acid flashbacks of that one scene in The Beach, when one of the Swedes gets mauled by a shark. I try to hide this feeling from my parents by writing about it on the internet, but acting super stoic while I’m in the water. Like “Oh yeah let’s do swim out to where it drops off steeply into a black abyss. Fun!” Then I mentally hyperventilate, and then I think something like, “a coward dies a thousand deaths, a brave man dies but one – by shark attack.”
These were the thoughts I was thinking while paddling around this beautiful cove in Baja California today. Basically, I was a sea lion pup waiting for death, but happy to do it (have it done to me) in such a nice setting.
We were driving back to town for lunch when we spot this osprey sitting on the tip of a Seguro cactus, and we pretty much simultaneously realize that it is the exact scene depicted in a beautiful painting by my late uncle Michael. For some reason, we are determined to capture badly on camera what he already painted very well. My dad throws the car into reverse around a blind curve, and I’m leaning out the window with my camera snapping madly. At one point my mom instructs me to get out of the car to get closer, and I open my door to get out, but my dad refuses to stop backing up so it’s like this horrible slow-motion not-action movie, and then the bird looks at me like I’m an idiot and flies away.
After that excitement the only thing we could really do was go get a margarita and a nap.