bubba

He had a rather mischievous Tom Sawyer look to him most of the time. If out to dine, his hair would be combed and set as if for Sunday school when he was a kid. Considering his age, and though mostly white, even with his very thick mustache he still kept that boyish look.

His name, James. Saint James was just one nickname and very fitting as his beloved wife Magdalena, and others, so often sang his praises.

A Texas boy at heart, James was rarely out without a cowboy hat, and if you were lucky he might tell you stories of home or show you his talents with wallet and belt making, but you best lean in toward him, so soft spoken was he. The little turtle he formed from the wire cage of one of the many Cava bottles we opened one night, sits in my kitchen window sill.

He had a, perhaps favorite, black hat when he and his wife came to a Bistro event, Givingthanks. We held it the day after Thanksgiving on James' birthday. He had not felt well for quite a while, but gave it his ever-present Saint's effort, hanging in with the group for hours.

The black hat has been by Magdalena's side since James' passing Friday, in his sleep. It is striking in its deeply dark hue, a thin braid wrapped 'round.  At a visit with Magdalena yesterday, she told me to look inside the hat. 

James had lost quite a bit of weight over recent months and the hat no longer fit snugly. At the Givingthanks gathering, he had apparently at some point, discreetly lined the inner band of the hat with torn and folded pieces of party napkins, hoping to make the fit tighter. When I peered inside to see, two little owls greeted me. My heart was trapped between laughing and crying.

That was his last visit to Bistro 3906, but I get great comfort thinking he went home with a little bit of the Bistro with him. He will be missed but remembered.