Years ago we coined the term: A James Day. For a hot second I lobbied for A Jaimie Day, but it never caught on. What constitutes a James Day you ask? It’s a bit loosey goosey. Maybe that’s the point.
It usually involves a drive somewhere. Combined with a lot of walking and exploring. Ideally it has both cappuccinos with latte art and a tasty lunch. It might include a salvage yard or an antique faire, and most certainly a bookshop. Recently it’s included a garden and a nursery.
I’ve noticed friends and family perplexed by our mastery of places and spaces in Los Gatos, Saratoga, Campbell, downtown San Jose, Santa Clara, Mountain View, Los Altos, Palo Alto, Menlo Park, Redwood City, San Carlos, Burlingame, Half Moon Bay, and Pescadero. And that’s just when we headed north. All James Days.
So yesterday, the boys and I had ourselves a James Day.
It started with Daddy Brekkie Sammies. James invented these back when Jacob was about seven and careening his way in and out of extreme hanger à la NASCAR. Every day we stretched our culinary talents in an effort to pump that kid full of protein. And so, Daddy Brekkie Sammies were born. After eating my version yesterday, which included a fried egg and cheese, the boys confirmed authentic Daddy Brekkie Sammies are on brioche with a sausage patty. No egg. “The whole reason he made it was because we were sick of eggs, Mom.” Like duh, rolling eye emoji.
Bruh.
It rains all morning. I find poor Chicken Perfect lying in the rain and move her to the comfort of a warm, dry nesting box. Post breakfast, I announce the tree planting ceremony will take place at 1:30pm, rain or shine.
Fortunately, the rain stops just before and a bit of sun breaks through. Jacob and I look out the window and a baby deer is nibbling right where I’ve started digging the hole– a well-timed reminder our tree requires protection. The deer has two little horns and is joined by his two mommies. I’ve noticed all mama deer are single moms. They make it work.
Last year James planted two trees between the house and the barn– one was a Chinese pistache and the other, a Japanese maple. Unfortunately, the maple was hammered by atmospheric rivers last winter and never came back. Jacob and I have decided Japanese maples don’t like it at our house. Or they only like James. In any case, we had a pre-dug hole with irrigation ready and waiting.
So the boys and I plant a second Chinese pistache. Jacob is in charge of watering and somehow gets both me and his brother wet. Nate’s wearing two shoes for the first time in awhile. We share some heartfelt thoughts and a hawk declares the ceremony complete from the oak above our heads.
Then we pile into Dad’s car for Jacob’s haircut at Colin’s, James’ barber. Unfortunately, the cut isn’t as good as last time. Every boy we know hates their haircuts. It’s a thing.
We end the evening at the Cambria Christmas Market. We time it perfectly, discovering a mountainside staircase that allows us to cut our shuttle ride down to one-way. The grilled onions and french fries carry dinner. The brats and cocoa are mid. As we make our way through the lights, we remember the year Nate slipped in the mud and walked the entire light show with a racing stripe. We look for my favorite booth selling hand-carved driftwood Santas to no avail. The boys remember a previous magic show and sitting with their dad, listening to a guitarist under the night sky. Jacob’s not up for our Airstream photo booth tradition. I understand.
The lights are magical. And a special ending to a special James Day.