Cristina Gonzalez

Summertime with Mama G

Happy belated 4th of July everyone. I hope your holiday was safe yet eventful. We hosted my dear friend Megan Stewards and her beautiful children on the last leg of their 3-week Out West vacation. Aside from two 7-year old lil lass’ disappearing at the start of the city-wide parade and enlisting the help of local police to find said girls- we had a sparkling dandy, neighborhood fireworks show extravaganza, barefoot and breezy good time. 

The month of July keeps Mama G. at the top of my “thinking about you” playlist. The 4th of July showcased Mom’s neighborhood famous staples: pico de gallo, pesto pasta, margaritas, the watermelon and strawberries she bought from a roadside market on our way back from Sandbridge cut to perfection, brownie flag cake, and Rice Krispies that were perfectly soft yet dense with a deep crunch that would scrape the front of my upper palate- IYKYK. Our house would come alive with neighbors: adults mingling and kids running feral between houses. Patty was ever the gracious host: filling drinks, pointing her finger and telling a guest exactly where to find what they needed, refilling bowls of food, and floating in and out of conversations through it all. She was in her element and she was the queen of hosting. 

In the middle of the month, towards the early 2000’s we celebrated Anna and Art's marriage. Though I wasn’t present during the planning phase, Mama G. would share the adventures her and the blushing bride-to-be would have. When the location and menu were set, we thought it was a thoughtful blend of an "elegant neighborhood social". During this period of time, Mom had found great pleasure, wonder, and peace at The Chrysler Museum of Art. She would go with a girlfriend and marvel at the fine glass work, the sweeping tapestries; pieces of beauty encased for all to cherish. The menu was a savory contrast to the delicateness of our venue: enchiladas, pico de gallo, guacamole, and much more. But they weren’t just any enchiladas y mas. Mom’s recipes were such a favorite for the groom he requested that Anna and Mama G supply the caterers with her recipes to replicate for the feast- nothing less would suffice. 

Now, as blessed as this wedding was, I would be remiss if I didn’t make an honorable mention of a few notorious moments. It began with a sun burn and ended with a family friend attempting to slide ass first down the marble staircase railing from the second floor. See what had happened was. . . 

Pops went golfing with the boys and neglected to apply sunscreen. We're pretty sure it was 18 holes of golf with maaaybe one application of sunscreen. . . in July. . . in Virginia. He arrived at the Museum redder than a tomato and was, in fact, so burnt he was practically purple in some spots. Between my sister Jessica and I, we couldn’t decide if his head was as red as our red dresses, or redder than our red dresses. He was so burnt, I thought you could see a pulse in his forehead. But it was nothing that a little bit of tequila and freshly made lumpia couldn’t fix. 

As most weddings go, the bride and groom are buzzing from table to table with nary a moment to actually sit and eat. The same would be true of our dear Art. We knew Art was one of the good ones when Anna first brought him around for Patty’s infamous enchilada dinner. Some would argue that he would sell his first born son to have Mama G make that dinner once a week in perpetuity. Just kidding George, he would never. . . Sadly though, Art never tasted a morsel of the perfectly replicated Patty/ Mom cuisine. Twenty-something years later he continues to feel the sting of not getting his most favorite of meals on his most memorable of days. 

Like any gathering amongst longtime friends and family- you hate to see a good time end; at least not without a bang. As you can guess, the Chrysler Museum had in their rental contract something to the effect of: “If you break it, you buy it.” But that would not stop our beloved friend, “The BDC”, from racing to the top of the marble staircase, swinging a long and liquored-loose leg over the railing, and fixing to zip down ass-first. Lingering guests worked to intervene on the unfolding events but it was Mama G in her dusted purple shift gown, hair done to the nines with a face beat for the gods, rocking her most ABSOLUTELY OVER IT Mom Face, and veiled threats of violence that ultimately thwarted our dear friend from making a grave mistake. The queen of hosting would not allow such shenanigans in her second most sacred of places. Ultimately, The BDC left the Chrysler Museum intact, tummies were full (except for Art’s), and Patty/ Mom floated away from hosting yet another successful gathering amongst friends.  

I truly could go on sharing memory after memory of how Mama G could work a party but will finish off with saying that some of my favorite childhood memories are of my mom in the summertime. Being out of school for the summer and her being a stay at home goddess, it was the most day in and day out time I would spend with her and creating the majority of my childhood memories. Our trips out to Sandbridge; the moment I was old enough to soak with her during adult swim at the Great Bridge Swim and Racquet club; being forced to sit at the table until I finished my chicken salad sandwich (which I refused and missed out on evening playtime); being dropped off at summer camps and getting care packages midweek, snuggling up to her after playing “Ghost in the Graveyard” with the neighborhood kids even though I was sticky with bug spray and dried sweat. As the kids would say, “She could Mom the shit outta summer”. 

Honestly, Patty could “mom the shit” outta anything. But that’s who she was: a powerhouse, a host, a giver, a disciplinarian who loved you with her full chest, a chef who cooked with her heart, and one helluva lady. We are all better for knowing her and being a guest at her table where the margaritas flowed like water and the pico de gallo was plentiful. 

Photo: Mama G, Anna, Cristina, and Jessica taking shots of tequila at Anna’s bachelorette party. One of us is a pro and the rest of us are cabbage.

A Faithful Companion

Did you know that I was selected to run with the Alzheimer’s Association Team in 2023? Yessss, I was. Picture it: August 2023, Shoshoni National Forest- Sheep’s Bridge trail junction. There I was, on the last 6 miles of an 18 mile run when I stopped at Sheep’s Bridge to stretch, collect more water from the creek, and finish off the last 6 miles before heading home to have dinner with a friend. Long story short: I was attacked by a dog. And not just any dog, it was the thing of nightmares: a black, hulking, broad shouldered, 80 pound pitbull with gnashing white teeth. Search and rescue was dispatched, I hiked out the last 6 miles to rendezvous with SAR- not knowing how much blood, skin, or digits I may have lost, was taken to the emergency room and emergency surgery to clean and close the wounds. Though I was unable to run in the 2023 marathon, after many months of occupational and mental health therapy I was able to return to the trails, pick up where I left off and ultimately reclaim my position to raise the remainder of my funds and run in the 2024 marathon. 

About six months after the attack and two years since we walked our 17-year old family dog, Bean, over the rainbow bridge we decided as a family it was time to open our hearts and minds to another dog. After a couple months of searching, Frankie came across my Facebook page through our local adoption agency. We met, fell in love, and honestly- there hasn’t been a run I completed without him by my side. 

When people hear my story about the dog attack and learn our pup is a pitbull, their first question is “why would you get a dog of the same breed that attacked you?” Well, first things first: I can’t blame the dog for being vicious- he wasn’t born that way. I place blame on the owner who neglected to care, love, and lead his canine companion. Second, pitbulls are loyal and athletic creatures. And that’s a little like me: loyal to a fault and hella athletic. After three years of his constant companionship, I have yet to figure out how to adequately tire him out. Even on the 20+ mile runs; sure he might be a bit ragged but give him a five hour “disco” nap and by dinner time he’s ready to rally. 

As I begin the training season this year, so does Frankie. Side by side we pound down the miles, panting, and excited for what is coming over the horizon. He is a faithful trail companion, a reason for getting out in the dark of morning, and a smile maker. I am utterly grateful to have him by my side.

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