Forever
Speaking of movie quotes… this is undeniably one of my top personal weaknesses. It has inspired true disappointment in the eyes of countless guy friends as they strategically insert the perfect movie quote into a conversation and I smile… but not with my eyes. They can’t believe me. How can I not know this? How can I not reenact this scene with them?
Must I remind you of the time my parents made me attend a Kenny G concert instead of the biggest party of the school year?
And yet, I know I’ve seen hundreds of movies. James was a movie maniac. A cinema connoisseur. A feature film fanatic. I’m pretty sure the very first movie we ever saw together was Inventing the Abbotts. He totally had a thing for Jennifer Connelly. Some of his faves were Blazing Saddles, Coming to America, Three Amigos, The Princess Bride, and A Christmas Story. His favorite Saturday evening was, hands down, dinner and a movie. In the theatre.
Over the years we saw so many movies. And I can’t quote any of them. I like to think I’m just completely present during the show– immersing myself in the story and just letting it wash over me. Plus I have enough to remember. Why would I devote valuable space to recording movie lines on the disk drive of my brain?
The last movie we saw in the theatre together was Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, in Kahului. We had an entire day to fill before our plane ride home from Maui. It was dark. And it was raining. Of course all the boys had already seen it. James cried during the post-credits scene, when we meet Black Panther’s son. Apologies but a spoiler alert was ruining the flow…
In late December, James waited to watch A Christmas Story Christmas with his sister, Erin. It wasn’t nearly as good as the first, but it felt exactly right.
A few weeks ago, Nate and I were talking and somehow I said the word “forever” as part of the conversation. And then was possessed to say “For-eh-ver. For-eh-ver.” Yeah it was weird. Me quoting a movie? What is happening…
I look to Nate and I’m like, “That’s from a movie, right? Daddy always said that. Where’s that from?” And he says, “It’s from the one with the big, scary dog. Where they play baseball.”
Totally. Sandlot. Dad’s so proud.
Imani Izzi
Back when I was an intern, yeah, waaaay back, I had a boss named Richard. One day he asked me for my perspective on something and I expressed uncertainty about what I thought. And he said, “Jaimie, you’re here to have an opinion. So you better have one.” Clearly I didn’t need to learn that lesson twice… I most certainly have never gotten that feedback again.
So when James and I discovered that one of the core contributors to our harmonious life was that Nate rarely had a strong opinion, we got to work. He naturally defers to his brother. Or his buddy Cruz. He has these tricky stalling tactics like answering most decisions with an “I don’t know.” He is masterful at the noncommittal grunt. Or asking me what I want. Or what I want him to choose. He’s genuinely unbothered by handing over his choices to more dominant voices. In many cases, I genuinely believe it makes absolutely no difference to him. But speaking up for oneself and being in touch with what you want is an important life skill and so we practice it regularly.
A couple of months ago, I took him to Target for Gatorade and asked him to choose. He couldn’t decide. He tried to get me to do it. So we broke it into smaller choices.
“Well if you narrowed it down to two colors, what would they be?” (Yes, Gatorade comes in colors, not flavors.)
“I guess red and blue.”
“Great. Red and blue. Way to narrow it down. Now which do you think would be better, red? Or blue?”
“I don’t know. You pick it.”
“Nope, this is your decision. Let’s think about this. You know you like red, right? And that blue is new so it could be good?”
“Yeah.”
“OK, so red is the good and safe choice. And blue is a risk and something you want to try, yeah? Which do you choose… the safe bet or take a risk?”
He chose blue. I like that he took the risk.
Over Spring Break, Nate asked me if I wanted to watch a movie together. He loves doing this. Just like his dad. He proposes we watch Coming to America. Also just like his dad. I’m certain he nominated this because it was one of James’ faves, and I’m also certain he was thinking about the topless bathing scene… he told me as much.
James always quoted this movie… one of his main go to’s was “Whatever youuuuu like.” He would drive me crazy when trying to come up with weekend plans with a string of sing-songy “Whatever youuuuu likes.” Luckily Nate hasn’t picked-up this trick.
A few weeks later, Cruz’s dad asks me if Nate wants to go to a week of soccer camp in Santa Barbara this summer. Nate already has two overnight camps on the calendar. Plus a week of soccer day camp. He’s on the couch and I ask him to pause his game.
“Nate, do you want to go with Cruz to a week of overnight soccer camp in Santa Barbara?”
“Yes.”
No pause. No hesitation. No analysis of pros and cons. Impressive improvement.
Nate, you’re here to have an opinion. So you better have one. And I don’t mean just one Kiddo.
Warning Label
I was recently reminiscing with Jake about all the warnings he used to create and post. He’d draw signs and tape them to his bedroom door. He’d surround his Lego projects with threatening notes to the cleaning crew– they usually had a skull and crossbones at the top. We credit Pokémon for Jacob learning to read… and threatening adults for why he learned to write.
I got to thinking this blog may need its own warning label. One of my friends read a post during hospice and thought I was changing careers to become a nurse. Making me realize that I must warn all my readers that I use a lot of sarcasm. Like a LOT. I like observational and self-deprecating humor. And clever repartee. And puns. If it gives you pause… I’m usually joking. Sometimes I’ll tell you. Sometimes I like the idea of making you squirm. So for my more literal readers… I’m most definitely not planning to become a nurse… and Genevieve is a beautiful bathtub.
After my last post I got the best text from our friend. It makes me smile to know he and his wife are reading this blog…
“By the way we love your new tub and we thought for a second you were dating a woman <crying laughing emoji crying laughing emoji>
Which would be fine except please not a French <crying laughing emoji>”
He’s Italian. <crying laughing emoji>
And I got ’em good.
Consider yourselves warned…
Springtime
I’m in love. And she’s beautiful. Both inside and out.
What? Jaimie, so soon? It’s only been 5-months as of today. Plus I can’t help but notice the feminine pronoun...
What can I say? I believe we should all be free to love who we love. And I love Genevieve.
We met online. As many romances start these days. James’ Aunt Laurie actually introduced us. Originally I was taken with her cousin. But she was totally out of my league. So I scrolled and I scrolled. I swiped left. I swiped right. And as the pressure built to make a decision, the universe sent her to me. It was love at first site.
We met yesterday. For the very first time. And she was even more stunning in person. Her complexion flawless. Her inner strength evident. Her Parisian accent noticeable, but completely at home in the country.
Of course she made a bit of an entrance. Showing-up in an enormous truck and perching precariously on the back as she was lowered to the ground like the princess she is. I stared deep into her soul. I climbed right into her embrace and let myself sink down.
A few hours later, Rey came with his guys to carry her up to her room. Her feet never touched the ground.
Stoplights
Thursday marked our twenty-first wedding anniversary, also known as May the 4th Be With You. And no, we most certainly did not have a Star Wars themed wedding, *gag*. I was hoping to spend the day doing James and Jaimie things, but the hours got away from me with electrician work and some guys who came all the way from Redondo Beach to fix the French doors we’ve had zip-tied all winter (Grandma’s good idea). I did make a dinner reservation at one of our favorite spots so the boys and I would have a date to look forward to.
In the morning, I stepped outside to check James’ little bonsais and gather my handful of beach rocks drying in the sun. I have a little morning ritual where I put one rock into a little bowl of water and tell James something I miss about him. It’s a special little marigold-colored bowl I bought at the Portland Japanese garden. My rocks are a diverse collection from the beach in Avila. Once I’ve used all my rocks, I pour the water into a little bonsai and start again. As my grief counselor says– we can adopt anything that helps make this easier to carry. So I’m all about appreciating little signs. They make me reflect, laugh, wonder. Things we can all use more of.
Which is why the boys and I light a candle every night when we sit down to dinner and place it at James’ spot at the table. We take turns as the boys are not confident users of the lighter (skill issue), and share a story or something we miss about Dad. The boys recently shared that when they were little they thought their Dad had special powers. He’d countdown at stoplights and predict exactly when it would turn green. Pure magic.
So on Thursday morning I place my rock in the bowl, make my way downstairs, and freeze in my tracks. There’s a little rainbow on the floor. We have a bit of a thing for rainbows. Have I ever seen this before? That’s so weird. I can’t find where it’s coming from, but there it is, in the center of the foyer so we’ll walk right through it on the way out the door.
I drop the boys at school and am driving up Highland. My eyes are blurring with tears. There’s something about this spot… just up the street from where we met… the exact spot where he told me he loved Hawaiian pizza. Through my tears, I have a bit of tunnel vision. And then all I can see is a guy on an electric scooter zipping up the hill past me– he’s wearing beige shorts and has The. Worst. Wedgie. I literally laugh out loud and say, “Oh that is not a good look.” It’s like James has sent me this menswear inspired laugh at this exact moment.
I stop for coffee and have a typically challenging and rewarding workout with Casey. The week before I’d given her two big boxes from the shop, hoping her husband Clay would find some things he likes. She shares their try-on experience and it is so nostalgic and heartfelt. We get some Kleenex and hoist the boxes back into my car.
That afternoon I sit down for a moment with my journal. As I’m taking some time to reflect, two little birds keep coming and going… landing on the tiny horizontal grilles of the French doors. Last summer, James brought home a baby fiddle leaf fig from the shop that wasn’t doing well. It was the Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree of fiddle leaf figs. Over the winter, I accidentally left it on the deck one night where a storm battered it so badly all the leaves fell off. I was pretty sure it was dead. But I watered it and placed it by the aforementioned zip-tied doors. Where it has remained as a leafless, lifeless stick for countless months.
Until I’m watching the little lovebirds and a tiny green leaf catches my eye. A new green shoot. I’m dismayed.
After Nate’s practice, the boys and I head downtown to the Bear and the Wren. We pick-up a tradition James and I started on our first anniversary… we each articulate a goal we have for the year ahead in our journal. Nate proclaims the Bee Stang the best pizza of his life: red sauce, mozzarella, spicy calabrese salami, basil, and calabrian hot honey. I’m envious he has found the pinnacle of pizza perfection at the age of twelve.
We head home and our sweetest Auntie Jill has door-dashed us a little anniversary treat. I open the bag and I’m just laughing and shaking my head. It’s filled with these brightly colored French macarons from downtown. A shop that James and I visited recently, but just once. The macarons are covered in glitter. And after he ate them his face was sparkly for days.
I love you so much Jame. We miss you every single day. No amount of time would ever have been enough. Thank you for the rainbows, the laughs, the new growth, the sparkles. And the magic.
Spirit Guides
When the boys were little, they loved to talk about spirit animals. I have no idea how it started, but it’s one of my favorite sources of interesting thoughts and questions. Plus I felt especially prepared when I was sipping wine at an afternoon winery work function and a colleague leaned over and asked, “What’s your spirit animal?” And without missing a beat I casually replied, “Hummingbird… you?” And he replied, “Red-tailed hawk.” He’s a ginger.
So I’ve been quite steadfast about my spirit animal for many years. Until I started noticing other animals circling me.
One time I had a particularly stressful day at pandemic zoom work. I headed out to walk the loop and clear my head and Jesse found me. Jesse is our neighbor’s elderly black lab. She somehow walks to our house most days because she loves trucks and construction and tradies. She can’t hear anything… except my heart. She walked the entire loop with me that day– my sweet therapy dog.
Then after the great bonsai bunny mystery, my friend Arlene was convinced bunnies were my spirit animal. She was seeing them everywhere. She may be right. But in my typical style, I pointed out it was almost Easter.
Then one afternoon, I’m on the phone with Alesia and I look out to see a bobcat perched on the edge of the hill in the front yard. She was about the size of a spaniel. I’d forgotten about it until two Sundays ago… I’m doing laundry and Nate’s playing X-box and Jacob’s at the movies with Hollis. I come out of the laundry room and freeze. The bobcat is napping on the concrete patio next to my fig tree. She’s beautiful and relaxed and lulled to sleep by the constant monologue of Nate sitting on the floor playing Fortnite.
Someone recommends looking up the meaning of bobcat spirit animals and I find the following:
Bobcat symbolism and meanings include self-reliance, perception, moxie, stealth, friskiness, beauty, and affection. The bobcat spirit animal embodies the famous quote penned by Shakespeare: “This above all: to thine own self be true.” The bobcat reminds you that learning to trust yourself and to stand on your own two feet is an important part of your spiritual growth.
I also learn that there are spirit animals and totems and spirit guides. I like to think of her as our spirit guide. This past weekend I spent several hours chasing turkeys away from the doors. They keep coming up, fanning their feathers, strutting around, and then fighting themselves in the glass. ‘
Yeah, I’m pretty confident I don’t need to manifest more turkey energy in my life…

Inside Jokes
Losing your best friend and partner since college is like breaking your heart and then losing half your brain. One day 50% of your knowledge and memories are stored safely in someone else’s noggin and then poof. You’ve lost where the water and gas hookups are at your house. Where the german car goes to be serviced. How many times you’ve been to England. And how to stop the incessant beeping of the espresso machine. You also lose the other half to all your inside jokes.
So today a friend sends a screen shot of the weather app and it’s predicting 5 straight days of little rainclouds– some with mini lightning bolts. It’s been sunny and beautiful since it rained over spring break. We’ve already forgotten what it was like to be trapped on the mountain, surrounded by water. Most days I find myself regularly stepping into the sun and proclaiming, “Ahh, the sun feels good on my baboon heart.”
Say what? Yep. James always said it. He swore it was from Saturday Night Live. And we’ve been saying it since I was nineteen. But there was no YouTube back then so I just had to trust him it was a thing. I’m a sleeper.
I literally just watched the skit for the first time ever… yes Jacob… “uncultured”– Take Your Shirt Off – SNL. Take 7 short minutes and watch it. I’m still giggling… except that I can’t unsee that outie. Anyway, all this time and I had no idea it had so many famous actors and comedians– Woody Harrelson, Chris Farley, Kevin Nealon, Adam Sandler, Mike Myers, Dana Carvey, and David Spade. Well, whose ever heard of Kevin? But my pop uncultured brain definitely recognizes him.
One time, in college, I said it while driving James’ truck down Foothill Boulevard. And then a police car immediately turned on their lights and pulled me over. So then we started saying, “Ahh, the sun feels good on my baboon heart. Woop woop.”
Next time you step into the sun, try it out. I guarantee you’ll smile. And now you and me, we have an inside joke.
Easter
I love Easter. I love freesias and mini daffodils and ranunculus. I love Easter eggs and Easter dresses and Easter foods. Especially brunch foods like honey baked ham and cheesy au gratin potatoes and asparagus with lemony hollandaise sauce. And I love my mom’s coconut cream pie.
From the moment I met him, James claimed to hate shredded coconut. He had this great comedic bit where he spit and spat when he detected shredded coconut and claimed it tasted like plastic Easter basket grass. It was also his basis for a lifelong boycott of Mounds and Almond Joy.
This year we spent a beautiful Easter in Los Osos with all the Fucillos and Tasseys. The weather was perfect. There has never been more perfect weather in the history of Los Osos Easters. We ate a big breakfast and had four Easter egg hunts. I don’t know who hid the first hunt but clearly they didn’t notice Jack is no longer two. It was over in three minutes as they raced around and picked eggs up off the open pavement. Round two was harder, but the Littles aced it. Then the grown-ups hid the eggs for the Bigs. They loved it. Then the Bigs hid eggs for the grown-ups. It was so hard… it took us forever. Nonna and Trisha were the star hunters. At some point I gave up. We never could find the last egg. We left it for next year, when it’s nice and moldy. Every good hunt needs a disgusting leftover from the year prior.
When we got home I made my mom’s coconut cream– but I like to make it as a parfait rather than a pie. I would have made it for Easter brunch, but I’d brought two kinds of tiramisoup the night before and was too tired to make a third dessert.
I opted for coconut flakes, rather than shredded coconut, thinking this might cut down on the James-inspired Easter basket grass feedback. After dinner, I serve it up to the boys and it’s as good as always.
I ask Jacob if he likes it and he says it’s “bussin'”– that means really good in Middle Schooler– but, “it would have been better with less of the stuff on top.” He’s talking about the toasted coconut. I’m not sure exactly how he described it…. All I can hear is his dad spitting like Porky Pig and wiping his tongue with a paper napkin to rid himself of plastic Easter grass in his dessert.
Like father, like son.
Sweetie’s Coconut Cream Chiffon Pie
This recipe comes from my maternal grandmother, Sweetie. The commentary comes from Grandma Suzy.
- ¾ c. shredded coconut
- 1 T. (1 envelope) unflavored gelatin
- ¼ c. cold water
- 3 eggs, separated
- ½ c. sugar
- ¼ t. salt
- 1 t. vanilla
- 1 c. scalded milk
- 1 c. whipping cream
- 1 T. powdered sugar
- ¼ t. vanilla
- 1 baked pie crust—good made w/ 1 T. added sesame seeds
Sprinkle gelatin in the cold water (use a mug) & set aside. Combine egg yolks, sugar, salt & vanilla. Add the egg mixture to the hot milk & cook over medium-low (maybe medium) heat in a saucepan until the mixture coats the back of a spoon. Add gelatin to the hot mixture & stir until dissolved. Chill until syrupy. (I use the freezer & stir about every 5 min.) This is actually a thin vanilla pudding you have created.
In a 425-degree oven, toast ¼ c. of the coconut in a pie pan, stirring with a fork & shaking every 2 minutes. Watch—it can burn quickly!
Whip cream, adding 1 T. powdered sugar and the ¼ t. vanilla near the end. Whip egg whites, using cream of tartar, if you have it (amount is shown on the container).
To the chilled vanilla pudding mixture, stir in ½ c. untoasted coconut & fold in whipped cream & egg whites, using a spatula. Pour into the pie shell. Top with the ¼ c. toasted coconut. Cover with plastic wrap and chill—BEST IF CHILLED 24 HOURS BEFORE SERVING TO DEVELOP THE FLAVOR.
(If your vanilla pudding gets too thick, just let it warm up a bit & whip it with the electric beater until it becomes more fluid.)
Know Your Peeps
As I’m general contracting the new house, my brain is constantly crunching construction. I’m getting to a place where things are progressing beyond house guts to the pretty.
It’s had me thinking that sharing some thoughts and learnings could be helpful to others. So in honor of the two foot skewer of Peeps I watched my niece Sofia inhale on Easter… today is all about designinig your house and knowing your peeps.
Years ago I read an article about whether you were a Piler or a Filer. This was in relation to paperwork management, which is truly the bane of my existence. I’m totally a Piler who aspires to be a Filer. But, I generally live by the principle that you should work with who you are. Life is hard enough, why fight yourself?
Hooks or Crooks: And by crooks I mean towel bars and their generally ransacked vibe. We are exceptional users of towel hooks. Wet towels are never anywhere they’re not supposed to be. But towel bars? No way, no how. Towel rings do work for us but are not 100% fail safe. The only risk I’m considering is heated towel bars hung vertically, like a big hook. I saw this on my Australian renovation series and it’s kind of brilliant.
Closed or Posed: Mudrooms are my favorite. Or as they call them in England, boot rooms. But most of the photographers in the world take the backpacks and cleats and high-tops and sweatshirts and chuck them in a pile out of the camera shot. They then place a beautiful woven basket on one hook, farmers market flowers casually spilling from the top, and trick you into some imaginary life. I will not fall for this drop zone nonsense. No open storage. None. Not for sweatshirts. Not for shoes. Not for us. Examples of a yes, a no, and a hell no. For the record, I wrote that line about flowers and then found the hell no.
Drawers or Hangar Wars: I had this moment, late last year, where I realized I’d tried to have matching closet hangars my entire adult life… and had utterly failed. My closet was evidence of my attempt in college, my attempt as a newlywed, and my attempt when I visited my first Container Store. Needless to say, we’re drawer people. All of the boys’ clothes each fit in two drawers under their window seats. For the record, someday I will have matching hangars. If I can just find the ones from the shop in the shipping container….
Keyless or Clueless: There is basically nothing I miss about our old orange house except being footloose and key free. Last week we took the Audi to school because I couldn’t find my keys and Geoff put the Audi key on a life-sized-Cal Poly-t-shirt-wearing-lion key chain. I felt super chic when I handed it over to the RH valet in West Hollywood while visiting my future cloud couch. Most mornings I find myself standing impatiently… waiting for Nate to put his shoes on so I can lock the door. I long for my old keyless entry life. The keypad was perfect for kids, the cleaning crew, guests. For the two doors we use regularly, the boys want them like they want their clocks: digital.
Footboards or Floorboards: Every single person in this home needs a bed with a footboard. Otherwise our duvets are found on the floor… with the wet towels that have fallen off the towel bars.
Goldfish
After we were freed from Zoom School and the boys descended the mountain, our school system announced free meals. James and I gladly shoved the lunch bags to the darkest back corner of the deepest cupboard and embraced the simplification of our morning routine. True freedom and luxury can be found in eliminating the daily squeegeeing of shower glass and the packing of school lunches.
So every day when I pick-up Nate from school I ask him what he had for prison lunch. That about sums up his general feedback on the school lunches at Pacheco. I’m told the chicken strips are “wet,” the hamburgers have “sawdust,” and the cheese in the mac and cheese is radioactive and “glows.” He does like the orange chicken, but they only give you “two bites.”
Please note, this does not reflect all school district lunches. The ones in Merced are famously delicious and overseen by one of the best in the biz. She makes most of my holiday meals and my craft cocktails and that one knows how to cook.
As you can imagine, our prison lunch conversations are generally pretty entertaining. Nate likes the spicy chicken sandwich, but it’s never spicy enough. I mean this is Pacheco, where we’re learning in Spanish and English– we eat real Taki’s… not those faux Taki’s from Trader Joe’s. I once heard a parent use this fun fact to disparage our rival school near the country club.
We recently learned all of the lunches are made at Jacob’s school and then shipped out to the rest of the district. Apparently Laguna is the prison where Martha Stewart did her time. This may explain why Jacob loves just about everything they serve for prison lunch. Or he’s fourteen. He especially raves about their salad bar.
A few months ago, I pick Nate up and ask him my usual series of questions. He also likes to talk about PE… but that’s only Tuesdays and Thursdays which is definitely not enough for him. He’s looking forward to daily PE at Laguna. Just another middle school prison perk. So I ask him what he had for prison lunch and he tells me “dog food.”
“What? Dog food? C’mon now… it couldn’t have been that bad.”
“It was like a Lunchable.”
“I don’t understand. Was it like wet dog food or dry dog food?”
“Dry.”
“Like Kibble?”
“Yeah. It was pretty good.”
This exchange had previously earned itself top ranking in Letterman’s Prison Lunch Countdown. Till a couple of weeks ago.
“So what was for prison lunch today?”
“Goldfish.”
“Goldfish?! That’s not a lunch.”
“That’s all they had.”
“Seriously? What else was there?”
“Well, you could get a piece of cheese.”
“What about fruit?”
“Yeah. They had those mini orange things where you eat the skin.”
“Kumquats?”
Silence.
We checked the website and it said lunch was (sawdust) hamburgers. Nate said they don’t have a late lunch. They hadn’t run out of hamburgers and desperately turned to goldfish. I text Cruz’s mom for an independent third party data source. Unprompted, Cruz confirms goldfish.
I’m not one to really ever call the school except to lie about absences. They really do want me to lie. I hate it, but I can just tell that’s what they want me to do. So I call the school and Amy answers.
“Hi Amy. My son just told me all they served for lunch today was goldfish. Is that true?”
“Mmmm, that can’t be right.” She says as though it’s preposterous.
“I’m wondering if maybe you could look into that and give me a call back?”
“Oh yes, of course. I’ll check, but that just doesn’t sound possible.”
Yeah, I didn’t get a call back from Amy…