Friends,

By our clock, as of this afternoon at around 2PM, we will have been residents of Pittsburgh for an entire year. This, for us, is strange to think about.

In the past year, to begin sadly, we have missed: four births, Jack, Emerson, Jackson and Samuel, and the beginnings of several other pregnancies, of the children of our close friends; the first birthdays of two others; my sister’s entire pregnancy; the growing up of our nephews and niece, and so on. We are of the age when our generation makes a new one, and we’re stuck all the way out here in Pittsburgh while it’s happening to the ones we love. And this makes us sad. We have missed weddings, engagements, nights with beer and chips and Jager. And, aside from events, we’ve missed our friends, who still breathe life into us, very very much. (Happy birthday, Jim and Bob and James.)

One year ago today, we drove through the Ft. Pitt Tunnel and saw Pittsburgh in all its Midwestern-East Coast -Hybrid glory. And then, passing by all the cool-looking, charming, old brick buildings, we drove into the ghetto, to our new apartment (for which we’d already paid in advance and could not change our minds about) in a little neighborhood called Wilkinsburg (nicknamed, we came to find, with the local pronunciation of the plural ‘yinz’ which means ‘you all,’ We’llkillyinzburg). We cried for a little while. Then we had to go out and buy shower curtains and paper towels and toilet paper and an air mattress really quickly because, due to crime, everything in We’llkillyinzburg closes around sundown.

It was a hard first day.

Within a few months, though, we were homeowners, and far away from We’llkillyinzburg, and we’d made friends with the Morrises, who live around the corner from us and who are a family we love very much.

We became Steelers fans, and watched them underdog their way through the playoffs, and now we say things like "Big Ben" and "The Bus" and "One for the thumb!" (and if we don’t actually say them, we know what they mean, and that’s almost as bad), which makes us alien to you, but local to us. We do not, however—not yet, anyway—wear black and yellow on Fridays.

We experienced winter. We hope that winter does not come but once every few years, like El Niño.

I have made some great friends of several very good writers, Brendan, Adam, Ian, Colin, Michael, Cathy, and so on, who help me to become better at this writing thing. Also, I met Tobias Wolff, who has a terrific mustache.

Once, when we missed our exit on the highway, we ended up in Ohio. That was weird.

I have quit smoking. I have not smoked in over seven months.

We bought a dog named Kenny, a Pennsylvania native, who brings all kinds of laughter into our lives, because, even though we tell him things like, "True love waits," he humps pretty much anything. That little slut.

Our neighbors are our friends. Helen and Dan, on either side of us, say hello every day. Luci down the street brings over her dog, Elsie (who pees everywhere, and I mean everywhere), and we always ‘chat’ for a little while. Ken, married to Barb, are a few houses down and Ken, being a Vet, gave us an American flag to wave on Memorial Day. Richard and Dave across the street sell homemade jewelry and are always gardening and bickering at each other. Down a few blocks are the Smiths, a kind couple from our church, with whom we made fast friends. And, as always, the Morrises are around the corner, and we thank God for them. In this way we have come to feel at home on our block, and in our neighborhood. It is familiar now, and lovely to be in and around.

We barbeque. And, thanks to a writer-friend Derek, I now make a mean burger.

Alli’s friend, Catherine, the girlfriend of my friend, Ian, has helped make Pittsburgh a place like home for her. They talk sometimes like sisters, and laugh like you’ve never heard. They talk for hours over wine and become alternately serious and silly, over and over, and it is beautiful to know that this happens.

I play basketball with some kids from the MFA program every Thursday. I am taller than most of them—because people who study English are usually pale and small and have funny hair on their thighs—so I, ahem, dominate the floor. You never saw an Ecuadorian who was good at basketball, until now (but only when I play against the sickly MFA kids). If I’m playing against real players, I repeat to myself the advice Dave gave me one day, a few years ago: "Carlos, just repeat this to yourself…’I am not an impact player.’" Thanks, Dave. You are always in my heart.

We have a church. We love our church.

School starts up again in a few weeks, and I am the ‘New Student Mentor’ for our program which means I help kids who need help finding stuff, like office buildings and bars and bus stops; this means that there are people here newer than I. I am a kind of older brother now. I helped a new student move into her apartment yesterday, and she was the nervous one. Also, I will begin teaching undergrad composition, showing my kids that there is life beyond the five-paragraph essay.

All this is to say that, one year later, we have made something of a home for ourselves, and, while there is sadness in our having left California—and plenty of that, sure—you should not pity us. We are alive and well in Pittsburgh. Life has taken shape around us, and we have become part of the ‘ecosystem’ here. The only thing we can’t stand is the poison ivy.

We love and miss you very much.

Carlos & Alli