Rochambeau
Lately Jacob is regularly accusing me of being “uncultured.” It mostly stems from my complete lack of familiarity with globally popular memes, movie lines, and music.
It’s the story of my life and I gave up worrying about it when I was his age. I did not have MTV. I’ve always been too sleepy for SNL. I grew-up on a mountain with five TV channels that I can recite to this day: 2, 8, 11, 35 and 46. My dad only listened to classical music. My mom only listened to jazz. And Lionel Richie. I am an expert when it comes to Lionel Richie. This is infinitely useful…
Most of these conversations come up in the car while we’re listening to the radio. At least the boys appreciate my rendition of the Sexy Baby song. We really don’t understand this reference to everyone being a sexy baby, but we sing it just the same. It’s very Whoville. We are monsters on the hill. (Side note: It’s a Taylor Swift song… I’ve heard it one meellion times and I’m shocked. See? Child of elevator music and smooth jazz.)
Yesterday JoJo finally plays a new song, which is refreshing given the overplayed Sexy Baby and the I Wish I Knew You Wanted Me song. He tells us it’s sung by SZA. It sounds like Scissor, but with a thick New York accent.
And I ask, “Did he just say her name is Scizzuh? Yo. My name is Scizzuh… and this is my sisduh…” and I don’t have a punchline.
Jacob immediately responds with a perfectly timed, “Paypuh.”
Oh how I want to be this clever.
SLO United
Last Friday I speed pack the Audi for Bako Round 2. This is the big one. The All Stars Section 10 playoffs. There can only be one winner. And that winner goes to Western States to face the best AYSO All Star teams from California, Arizona, Nevada, Oregon, Washington, and Alaska.
We hit the road and it’s the pinnacle of pretty. The drive to Bakersfield is never more scenic than the March after sequential atmospheric rivers. Carpets of wildflowers in golds and violets. It almost distracts you from the moonscape of randomly placed ant-like oil drills. Almost.
Per the yoozh, we check-in to the same hotel, one room over. We have dinner at the same Mexican restaurant we went to with Dad last year. I lay everything out so the 5:30am alarm is less alarming.
Saturday we hit the pitch with our first game against Magic Mountain. Technically they call themselves Castaic but clearly Magic Mountain is better branding. We win 6:0. Our second game is against Santa Barbara. We know not to discount the gauchos. We win 6:2. If we’d had them more than once, this ref crew most certainly would have earned themselves a secret Spanish nickname. We code name all the worst refs. Cruz started it with Las Hamburguesas. Of course one of the Hamburguesas is in Bakersfield. She is everywhere.
Our third game was against Kern River Valley, which is a more picturesque name for Bakersfield. We won 7:0. Their best kid got megged a couple of times by our players and rather than hanging his head, he jokingly asked Jose for his autograph. It was the best example of sportsmanship I’ve ever seen– the kids just had fun and didn’t let the score ruin their last game as a team.
That night we eat a big birthday dinner at Hungry Hunter with Grandma and Granddad and go to bed early. We arrive back at the frigid tundra at 7AM. Jacob makes his car nest with his new down blanket, all the pillows, and a hot spot. I’m smart enough to hide the individually wrapped pieces of Nate’s birthday Texas sheet cake.
The semifinal game is against Sherman Oaks/Van Nuys. Unfortunately, they’re not lucky enough to live near a Magical Mountain. It’s a hard fought game. We’re winning at halftime 1:0 but then they come back and score. We win 2:1. The boys go to the corner and create an olé olé olé olééééééééé huddle that even Brazil would admire.
The final is next. This is what we’ve been waiting for. And who do you think it’s against?
You guessed it.
Cutler-Orosi.
Say it with a sneer.
We recognize Blue Hair. He’s gone from #12 to #9. But #6 is still #6. Let the battle begin.
Rogelio scores our first goal.
They score on us.
Nate scores our second.
The next quarter we watch helplessly.
In a matter of moments we’re down by 2 goals.
Their goalie’s drop kick is 80% of the field.
We watch multiple mistaken reads as the ball bounces over our defenders, and then our goalie.
Blue Hair powers one under the crossbar from the top of the box.
There’s still a lot of game left people!
Rogelio scores our third goal and it’s beautiful.
He kisses his knuckle and points to the sky.
The momentum shifts.
We can do this.
At halftime we’re losing 3:4.
Nate comes back in, dribbles, cracks a hard shot.
The goalie baubles it and Easton crashes the net.
We’re tied. Let’s go!
One of the Cutler coaches angrily lashes out at the refs.
He’s a giant bear of a man… he’s calmed by the Cake Moms.
This is the Cutler crowd I remember from last year.
We’ve all had multiple out-of-body heart attacks by this point.
Emotions are high. Our brains are not fully functioning.
It’s 4:4 and the fourth quarter.
Please, please don’t make me endure penalty kicks.
Rogelio has a beautiful cross to Nate, volley, gooooooooal.
The crowd explodes.
We win 5:4.
We’re elated. Cutler’s in tears. Looks like they had the good sense not to bring cake. It’s the third back-to-back Bakersfield title for SLO Boys U12 All Stars.
As we drive home it begins to rain. Big fat drops. And I’m reminded that last weekend, as we climbed the hill in James’ car, we passed the exact point when last year I’d called him to tell him about our Sunday. My eyes tear-up as I feel it wash through me. At that exact moment, Santería, comes on the radio. And I know he knows.
It was the best, most beautiful weekend in Bakersfied. Bet you’ve never heard that before…
Bako
Last year I did a series of posts leading-up to Bakersfield and then fell off the blog wagon. This year’s an opportunity for redemption.
Last Friday I pack up the Audi, pick the boys up after Jacob’s soccer tryouts, and drive two-and-a-half hours to where Southern California’s rec soccer youth’s dreams go to live and die— Bakersfield. Or Bako as the cool kids call it.
You may recall that sometime during the pandemic, Nate told me his dream was to play in Bakersfield. Then I took him twice and he told me it was terrible. What, you don’t like Oildale?
Now his dreams are even bigger. Recently Nate calculated whether Mbappe will retire before he can play with him. Love that growth mindset.
So this past weekend was with the FBI. If you’ve skipped the tutorial, this is our season team made-up of some boys who are brand new to soccer and some boys who are deeply offended if you don’t immediately recite Mbappe, Neymar, and Messi as the starting forwards for PSG. Extra credit if you name drop Ekitike. And pronounce it right. So it’s a mix of skill levels and there is a lot of opportunity for dramatic up’s and down’s based on our substitution plans. 5 games over 2 days. Most kids haven’t played much since the season ended the first weekend in December.
Our first game is against Agoura Hills/Westlake. So… L.A. We’re up 5:2 at halftime and run away with it by the end, winning 11:4.
Next game is Quartz Hills. So… L.A. It’s tied 3:3 at halftime and the opposing coach is pretty confident. But we pull ahead and the quartzie crumbles. One of their players disappears behind the goal and doesn’t want to come back. Their coach yelled at him. He’s kind of losing it. He pulls his goalie out of goal, which Nate and Rogelio (pronounced Ro-hell-ee-o) just can’t resist. The coach starts yelling snide remarks at us from across the field. He’s under some mistaken belief that we’ll lose points for every goal we score over 7. Read the rules, Bruv. This is Bako. We move our front line to the back and still win 11:3. After the game, the 6’2″ coach accuses our littlest player of staring him down and hitting him during the high-five walk. The one where you walk in a line and purposely hit each others’ hands. He makes a big scene and I usher the boys back to our camp for Uno and sandwiches.
We show up to our third game against South Oxnard, yeah… L.A., and these poor kids are already done. They’re not built for 3 games in a day. We win 9:1. Nate has 5 assists, which is something we’re working on. Sadly, our team also suffers some tears and a concussion and we’re down to two subs.
The next morning we’re back out in the freezing cold at 7:15am. That extra 15 minutes is pure luxury. Our first game is against one of the two Cutler-Orosi’s.
What’s that? What are you saying?
I asked the same thing last year when Coach Ben said these words to me. I thought maybe it was a coach’s hyphenated last name. Or a brand of multi-level marketing for kitchen knives. Turns out it’s two towns in Tulare County… combined population 18,180. They eat, sleep, and breathe soccer. They come to Bakersfield and expect to win it.
Last year we lost to them in semi-final penalty kicks and the Raptors took fourth place. We returned two weekends later with the All Star Legends and wouldn’t you know it… our final game was against, you guessed it… Cutler-Orosi. They are our nemesis.
So on Sunday morning we face-off against one of the Cutler teams. They have 2 in the final 4. Of course they do. Twice the nemesis.
There are several big guys– #12 with blue hair is definitely a threat.
We’re winning.
They come back and tie it up.
Nate fouls a kid in the box.
They’re awarded a penalty.
Blue hair misses!
We’re down 2:3 at halftime.
Cutler comes up with a new fast break plan where little #6 slips past our defense over and over.
4 times to be exact.
Calvin has 6 big saves in goal.
We lose the game 5:7.
Our team’s in tears.
We feed them sandwiches.
They’re happy again.
A couple hours later we play Santa Ynez for third and win 7:2. The final is Cutler versus Cutler. The team we lost to takes first place. They were the underdog of the Cutlers so they’re ecstatic. While we’re playing Santa Ynez, their parents start watching our game. They notice the passing and scoring happening between Nate and Roge and it really is fun to watch. I hear one dad say, “Man… that’s next level.” For posterity: Over the course of the weekend, Nate had 17 goals/16 assists and Roge had 22 goals/7 assists. Bradley and Genoah also scored twice each. FBI played as a team and it showed. We were so proud. And next weekend the All Stars have one more chance at Bakersfield redemption.
I’ll never forget when we won the All Stars final last year with the Legends. Against Cutler-Orosi. It was close, but we beat them. And I remember the Cutler moms passing out the championship celebration cake they’d brought. The kids were half-heartedly eating that cake. It didn’t taste good. You could just tell.
Because nothing tastes better than victory.
Cheat Sheet
Nate plays a lot of soccer. Just ask Uncle B. Late last year, he generously came to help with shuttling the boys around. Explaining Nate’s practice schedule was like trying to understand Brett’s career path in the fire fighting system. I’ve been trying to follow it for years but just never really get how it works… Guess we’re even.
So yes, Nate’s technically been playing on four teams. It’s not as bad as that sounds. Here’s a quick tutorial with the added bonus that the first two have retired permanently and the third is close behind.
Pacheco Panthers: The school district had a goal to get a bunch of kids outside and in that, it succeeded. Best described as after school recess. Practices are Tuesdays and Thursdays but earlier than Mustangs. “Games” are on Fridays. Red jersey.
FBI: This is our AYSO rec team that I assistant coached. We just got back from Bakersfield and our FBI final finale– will recap in my next post. Practices are Mondays and Wednesdays and games are on Saturdays. Jersey is a black and gray jail inmate stripe. Shiny short ’80’s shorts.
SLO United: This is our AYSO All Stars team. We only play weekend tournaments and are nearing the end with playoffs coming up in two weeks… back in Bako. Practices are Mondays and Wednesdays and combined with the FBI as needed. Gray or white jersey with snazzy yellow socks.
CCU Mustangs: Central Coast United Soccer Club. The team came together from last year’s All Stars program. This competitive team plays year round. Practices are Tuesdays and Thursdays and we call it training because we’re British. Or at least the British Commonwealth. Green jersey for away games and white for home.
Pass this test and you may get promoted to Battalion Chief, or Assistant Chief, or Team Manager…
Every Day
Yesterday was Valentine’s Day. And when I woke-up I had this almost instant recollection that James and I got engaged on Valentine’s Day. He’d never really bought into the holiday. Hallmark holiday blah blah blah. But he thought that maybe if he proposed it would change his mind. It didn’t really work. Maybe because he proposed on a hand-me-down beige loveseat in a one bedroom apartment in Mountain View and I was sick as a dog. Romantic.
Still… I was really missing my Valentine.
Nate and I dropped Jacob at school and continued down LOVR, the coincidentally romantic acronym for Los Osos Valley Road. As we’re driving he’s like, “Why do we even have Valentine’s Day anyway?” Hmmm, maybe it’s genetic…
“Well it’s a day to make sure your loved ones know how much you love them.”
“But that’s basically every day.” So sweet, right? And then he adds…
“I like it because I get candy at school.”
In Nate’s class they did an exercise where you walk around and write nice adjectives about each other. I think the last one says “funny” but he swears it says “furry.” He erased “Hot.”
Banzai
I was expecting last week to be a hard one. I knew once the celebration was over, the weight of James’ absence and the rest of our lives would spread out before us. But dude, it was a WEEK. And to be honest, I’m still recovering…
Monday: After school Jacob and I went to his orthodontist appointment. He came out, got a blackberry ginger ale from their free mini fridge, sat down in the lobby, and proceeded to pass out and spill the entire can on the floor. I caught him as he keeled over. Fortunately the Arroyo Grande EMTs are located next to the orthodontist and were almost immediately on the scene. All his vitals were normal and he was so mature through it all. Dr. Antsy says teenagers faint all the time. Jacob’s always had a bit of his dad’s vasovagal in him. He’s been perfectly normal ever since and the good news is he’s back to eating breakfast.
Tuesday: In the morning Nate’s reaching for the chicken bowl by the kitchen sink and knocks a pair of his dad’s bonsai clippers off the counter. We’ll come back to this.
Wednesday: I’m helping to coach Nate’s soccer practice and in a moment of quiet transition, as I’m blinded by the afternoon sun, Coach’s son drills me straight in the chest with a ball. No warning. As all air leaves my body, I hear a crack and think my sunglasses are tucked into my collar. They are not. After several minutes I recover and his teammates eagerly rat him out. That evening the boys make me toasty microwaveable heat wraps and a cozy place on the couch.
Thursday: I go to Pilates with Casey and remember why the boys called it Killates when they were little. It’s crazy hard but nothing seems to be wrong with my ribs. That evening I arrive home to find water gushing onto the porch from the little condensate pipe under the hot water heater. I learn all the water shutoff options and valves outside.
Friday: My newest go-to plumbers come out and declare the hot water heater finito. Our well water has wrecked it and the best solution is of course, very expensive. I’m reminded that my life’s priorities go: 1. The health of my children. 2. Hot water. Nate climbs into bed with his usual muddy knees.
Saturday: The plumbers work the entire day to restore us to civility. Poor Jake has no water while Nate and I are at Damon for the SLO Surf ‘n Turf tournament. He drinks Gatorade. He wanted to stay home but does finally get bored and bakes us cookies. Our friend and real life Brazilian soccer teammate falls in the first game and breaks his arm. SLO United is down to one sub and a rotating bench of mysterious stomach aches and limps.
Sunday: We return to the pitch and Santa Ynez sends Beverly Hills packing, finishing the job we came here to do. We bring home the second place medal after a hard fought final against Santa Ynez. I notice their cheer is a real mouthful.
And that was our week. Circling back to Tuesday… so Nate knocks these bonsai shears off the counter and stabs himself in the thigh. Right before we’re headed out the door to school. As I’ve mentioned, this kid doesn’t really feel pain. We stop the bleeding, bandage him up, and we’re on our way. The boys helpfully ponder whether he needs a tetanus shot as we make our way down the mountain. Fortunately, I confirm he got one last year. Because what I do not need is a full day worrying about lockjaw.
Now I know at James’ celebration, Uncle Bryan taught us the difference between the Japanese art of “bone-sigh” and the attacking war cry of “ban-zai.”
Last week was definitely banzai.
The Story of Jaimie and James
A long, long time ago… back when getting email was thrilling and Amazon was our favorite rainforest, I lived in a townhouse with Alesia, Jenny, and Karen. Melanie lived next door and Jill was always over. The townhouse was just around the corner from Nate’s school. I was eighteen, it was our very first apartment, and I was a sophomore at Cal Poly. Remember how it goes? Freshman, sophomore, junior, senior.
We’d just moved in and there were a bunch of boys across the driveway. Their second story porch faced our second story porch. One day I proposed we make chocolate chip cookies and introduce ourselves. They ate our cookies, told us their names, and we gathered they were from the Central Valley. Auntie Karen had already taught us we were from “The Coast.” Most of them wore baseball hats and drove big trucks. They said “ammond” and we said “almond.”
A day or two later, we heard a commotion. There was shouting and laughing and the general sound of shenanigans outside. We rushed to our upper porch to look out and see the boys across the driveway. They had a big, ugly recliner chair and were hoisting it over their balcony… they cheered as it crashed in the driveway in front of our garage. What do you think those twenty-one year olds were drinking? Yep, they were drinking beer. And yes, alcohol can make people do crazy things.
They thought it was so much fun that they ran outside and carried it all the way back upstairs so they could throw it over again. Then they threw a rice cooker over the railing. We found out they were mad at their roommate who’d left and hadn’t paid his rent.
And that’s how I met your dad.
Actually, first I liked his friend, Scott. Scott was cute but he was famous for his stinky feet. Seriously. But after my birthday in October, Scott mysteriously stopped coming around. Later I found out Dad had a talk with him in the quad at school and scared him off. Something about how I wasn’t the kind of girl you just casually date. And then one night I couldn’t find my drivers license (sound familiar?) and so I went into the garage to check Harrison Ford. That was the name of my Ford Explorer. Dad followed me downstairs and kissed me in the passenger seat and that was it, the end. I’m kidding!
I’ll never forget the day we were driving in his truck on Highland Avenue and he told me his favorite pizza was ham and pineapple. Jackpot.
I loved that Dad was a lefty, like you JJ. And I loved his kind brown eyes, like yours Nate. He could raise one eyebrow and he had a dimple in his chin. He also had this annoying habit of clicking the cap on his highlighter in class. He was smart and funny and so proud when he got a better grade than me in Business Law. And even though he beat me, one of the first things he taught me was that we were always on the same team. That’s where our family motto comes from: Brothers Stick Together. Because you are a team. And we are a team.
One of our most special moments was after we were almost two years into the pandemic. Dad and I were lying in our bed upstairs and we could hear you both talking to each other in your beds in the dark. You’d spent SO much time together and yet you still had things to talk about.
And I had that with Dad. I could talk to him forever. We never ran out of things to talk about.
And we never ran out of things we wanted to do together.
We wrestled marlin with Papa and Uncle B in Mexico. We nodded off on the second story of a red double decker bus ride around London. We ate chocolate lava cake every night with Emily in Paris. Dad visited me when I lived in Spain and people would elbow me out of the way to ask him things in Spanish. I spoke WAY better Spanish. We got married at Kennoyln. On our honeymoon, we slept in an Italian grandmother’s attic where we had to take showers in a hall closet. We went to New York and Oregon and Yosemite and wine country. We loved old houses and good food and exploring.
One time we went to a country bar in San Jose called the Saddle Rack. It had dancing and a bucking mechanical bull. And Jennifer Anne, Alesia’s little sister, really wanted to ride that bull. She told Dad. I found out when he came out of the bathroom wearing… wait for it… a jean skirt. He gave Jennifer his jeans so she could ride the bull and he put on her skirt. Isn’t that the funniest thing? He wasn’t worried someone would give him a hard time for wearing a jean skirt at a country bar. He was all about helping people do what they wanted to do.
Then he surprised me with a trip to Peru. We climbed the peaks of Machu Picchu. And then we came home and started our next big adventure– Baby Jacob.
And JJ, you were a force. You knew what you wanted and you were determined to get it. One day I came home and you and Daddy were hanging out. And you know what you were doing? Dad had invented a new game. You were running back and forth in front of the big window in the living room… with your mouth open… chasing this slow fly. Trying to catch it. I was completely grossed out. You and Dad thought it was hilarious.
And then almost exactly two years later, Baby Nate was born. And just like he’s one of the fastest out there on the soccer field, you came into our family crazy fast. At the hospital, Daddy turned around and there was Nate. Dad was still wearing his backpack. He hadn’t even had time to take it off.
The four of us set out on a new set of adventures. We chased squirrels at Happy Hollow, and birds at the San Francisco zoo. We went to the beach and ran away from the waves. Nate would scream “Run for your lives!” We ate francese toast with smoked salmon and poached eggs at Kelly’s in Santa Cruz. We had water fights in the backyard and picnics in the front yard.
Dad and I had even bigger dreams. We wanted you to have more space and more sky. We wanted to build a house from scratch. And we wanted you to grow up in a special community where you could go to Farmers’ Market with your friends, and baristas at Scout would ask me if I was Nate’s mom. So we set a goal and we made it happen. We packed it all up and moved to San Luis.
Where we created even more stories. We built the barn and opened Office Hours. We went to Pennsylvania and Dad lit fireworks on the dock at Flatrock. We went dogsledding in Banff and he took you snorkeling in Maui. You ate all the things at Disneyland. He shared your love of Marvel movies and taught us about the Premier League and trained you to arrive early, to make eye contact, and to thank your coaches.
And all of this time we’ve had a beautiful, joyful life. We’ll continue to have a beautiful, joyful life. Things will happen that we can’t anticipate, or that we don’t want to happen. But we’ll figure it out.
Like we did this Christmas in Yosemite. When we got to the Valley floor and our tire chains had flown off? And there was a blizzard. And we learned that people are kind and generous. And we are resourceful and resilient. And we can reassure all these loving people here today that we are crazy strong and smart, and good with YouTube. That we’re going to be more than OK. Because we’re a team of All Stars, and look how many fans we have.
And this entire story has taught us we have everything we need right here inside us. You HAVE the best dad. And he is part of us. I see him in Jacob’s creativity and entrepreneurial spirit. And your cute swoopy nose. And I see him in Nate’s big toes, your generosity, and your ability to learn everything there is to know about soccer. Dad is always with us in our hearts. We will love and miss him forever. And he’s taught us everything we need:
- Brothers Stick Together.
- To spend our lives with someone you never get tired of talking to.
- To dream big dreams. Never put those dreams on hold. Set goals because you choose your own adventure.
For the longest time, I was so worried about losing Dad. I just couldn’t believe the story of Jaimie and James would end.
And then I realized the story of Jaimie and James isn’t one story. It’s hundreds. It’s thousands. The story of Jaimie and James is the story of Jake and Nate. It is all the past memories and future stories that we have with every person here.
So that’s what this story is. It’s a Choose Your Own Adventure. And just like our favorite books, this story is a cliffhanger.
Duh duh duh.
And like all good cliffhangers, I can’t wait to see what happens next.
To Be Continued…
Always With Us
James Patrick Terra Fucillo was born on June 25, 1975 in Merced, California. He passed on December 20, 2022, at the age of 47, after a six year journey with cancer.
James grew up in Atwater, California with his mom and dad, Kathy and Vince Fucillo. He had a special childhood surrounded by his five aunts and his feisty grandfather, Lionel “Papa” Terra. He was a proud falcon from Atwater High School, class of ‘93, where he played baseball and revered his favorite teacher, Ms. Brewer. Some of his funniest stories were from his time as a bag boy at Save Mart. He went on to Merced Community College and transferred to Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo (SLO), where he graduated with a degree in Graphic Communication.
While at Cal Poly, James met his future wife, Jaimie, and they never looked back. In 2022, they celebrated their 20th wedding anniversary.
James had friends everywhere. Whether he was walking down the streets of SLO, or the little town of Bellefonte, Pennsylvania– you can almost guarantee someone would shout a friendly “James!” Or stop to compliment his shoes, his jacket, his backpack. He had a lifelong love for art, design, and craftsmanship.
There was nothing James couldn’t learn or do. He was a serial entrepreneur, managing two successful businesses– a real estate brokerage, and a menswear shop in downtown SLO called Office Hours. He studied construction, architecture, and real estate. He renovated three houses and helped countless families to find their homes. He taught himself to hem jeans. He could make a perfect cappuccino, with latte art. His barbecue was legendary. He recently fell in love with bonsai– collecting trees and visiting Chinese and Japanese gardens up and down the west coast.
And he saw the world. He wrestled marlin with his dad in Mexico. Climbed the peaks of Machu Picchu. Nodded off on the second story of a red double decker bus ride around London. He ate chocolate lava cake every night with Emily in Paris, hiked the Spanish Sierra Nevada, and drank prosecco on the rooftops overlooking the Roman Pantheon. He drove Route 66 with his mom to Sedona. He took his boys dog-sledding in Banff and snorkeling in Maui. Yet his most favorite places were closer to home– looking out over Half Dome in Yosemite, and on the sidelines of his sons’ soccer games.
James is profoundly missed by his wife Jaimie, and his two sons, Jacob James (age 13), and Nathaniel James (age 11) of San Luis Obispo. He is survived by his mother Kathy Fucillo of Atwater, his sister’s family, Erin and Bryan Tassey of Atwater, and his brother’s family, Brett and Trisha Fucillo of Los Banos. His dad, Vince, also passed away too soon in 2021. James was an exceptional co-captain in life, a loving and pragmatic dad, a loyal friend, big brother, and mentor to many. We will love and miss him forever.
Text
Today it’s raining again. We got a brief taste of blue skies and our weather apps are full of little sunshines without emoji clouds, but my rain boots and my Banff coat tell another story. I’m currently tucked into a coffee shop booth as my car is serviced and I wait for a spa appointment. I think I’ve earned it…
Over the last week or so I’ve been driving myself a bit crazy. I can’t find James’ wedding ring. Like anywhere. And I’m feeling this terrible gnawing need to hear from him. Like I need a message or a note or a surprise. I’m sure someone will tell me this is normal. Oh Grief you impish little scoundrel.
Needless to say and per some prior posts, this is not my happy place.
I scour every bathroom drawer. I go through his dopp kit. I check the hundred zippered pockets of his Osprey backpack. And the dark, sandy corners of his Orvis duffel bag. I pat down his jacket pockets, and his jeans pockets, and check the drawer near the phone chargers. I pull out his clothes from the dresser and then have to put them all back. I check all the little drawers of my jewelry box. I go to sleep. I wake-up and pull down his dusty watch box and check all those drawers. Could it be in his car? I shut my eyes and try to imagine, if I were James where would I put it? I conclude that I usually find the most important things when I’m not looking for them. That’s actually how I found James.
But not without first doing what I’d normally do… I text James and ask him where he put it. That was on Tuesday.
Today we’re getting ready for school and I throw some receipts away from my backpack and I go upstairs to put socks on. I pull my straw purse down from the shelf. It’s kind of my “summer purse” because the top is open and like I said, it’s made of horse bedding. I dig around in it and I’m about to put it back up on the shelf and then I’m like, doesn’t this purse have a zippered pocket? And I open the pocket and I stick my hand down into its cute plaid depths and I pull up James’ wedding ring. Tucked into the corner. I feel so relieved. “Jacob I found it!”
How did it get there? Did I put it there when we were checking into the ER? Who even knows.
I love you Jame. I’ll text you later.
Car Talk
A big thanks to everyone for your patience as we’ve traversed California during the final weeks of the holiday break. Yesterday was the day “Back to Life… Back to Reality” was on a continuous loop in my head. And today was the day I had to do some hard things.
After dropping the boys at school I went to the mortuary to pick-up James’ ashes. I was a little early so I had some alone time in my car in the parking lot. Had the entire lot to myself. I cried. “This is How We Do It” came on the radio. It made me laugh. The lady at the mortuary is incredibly sweet and there was no hard sell, but in the end, I was glad to get James outta that place.
We drove home. I continued on the never-ending bureaucratic paperwork projects, went on a walk with my neighbor, and then headed to a tour of the Octagon Barn. Now I know everyone has been riveted to the salacious weather news coming out of California. And yes, that storm was something else. The boys and I were holed-up on the mountain for the better part of two days due to the roads being flooded. But we live on top of a mountain. And I am a lifelong trained BFE-living warrior– we were safe and dry and so lucky we never lost power or heaven forbid, the internet.
So my friend Ineke (pronounced ee-nih-kah) and I toured the barn today and I love it. It’s totally safe and fine and not in danger of flooding. It could be a little chilly in January so dress accordingly. It just feels right. It’s a barn. We live in a barn. It’s got 8 sides. Nate the Great is Number 8. And it’s close to home.
I picked the boys up and we had a treat at Insomnia Cookies before Nate’s creative soccer practice on the outdoor roller hockey rink. Jacob and I had a nice little hour-long car talk while we waited. I wanted to talk about my day and I was like, “I mean I can tell Dad about it but I don’t get much feedback… which, now that I think about it, isn’t really that different than telling you guys.”
He had the good manners to snort appreciatively.