Sin Cera (condensed)

It was a gorgeous Saturday morning and I decided to go for a long run. I drove through the city, crossed the Golden Gate bridge, then headed to Muir Woods in Marin County. I’d always felt a spiritual connection to that forest; there seems to be something mystical about the huge redwoods there. After running uphill past the fog line about five miles to the point in Mt. Tamalpais State Park where you can see the Pacific on one side and San Francisco Bay on the other, I stopped a moment to hydrate and admire the vistas, after which I headed back down the beautiful Dipsea trail. As I entered the wooded area before the steep grade leading to the Muir Woods parking lot, I noticed a woman in pink running ahead of me.

I caught up with her as we entered the dreaded steps section of the trail – the cause of many injuries on this otherwise beautiful run. The steps are narrow, framed with redwood planks, with exposed roots dominating many of the steps. I thought that the way her pony tail bobbed up and down with each downhill stride was so cute. Halfway down I was a step behind her when she suddenly tripped on a root and since I was so close, I fell right over her, making adjustments to allow her to fall on top of me to cushion her fall.

As we got up and brushed ourselves off, she apologized, “I’m so sorry, I’m kind of clumsy sometimes.”

“No, I probably startled you since I was so close behind you.”

“How about we just chalk it up as being one of those things?”

“OK, but I have to admit something. I was distracted because I was admiring the view.”

“Muir Woods really is beautiful.”

“It is; but what I was admiring was you and your pony tail. You’re magnificent going away; but Wow! You are so beautiful from the front.”

She broke out into a full blown blush.

“I recognize the accent; Canadian, eh?”

“Yes, originally from Vancouver.”

“That’s one of my favorite cities. I ski Whistler/Blackcomb whenever I can.”

“I grew up on those slopes!”

Other than a few scrapes neither of us was hurt, so we continued our conversation as we jogged down to the parking lot. We kept talking after we got to her car – both of us not wanting to lose the moment until we satisfied our curiosity about each other.

After a while the wind came up, so I asked, “Do you have time to join me for coffee at Café Trieste?”

“Sure, I love that place, and I adore Sausalito.”

Jillian was visiting her sister in Mill Valley, and worked for an auction house in New York as an appraiser, specializing in European antiquities. She was rather young to be in that field, but she explained that her parents were in the business and she’d been helping them since her early teens. She was so animated and full of life as having coffee turned into a long lunch, where we talked about anything and everything. We then took a stroll through downtown Sausalito and she put her arm through mine as we looked at the wares in the shop windows. I can recall the warmth I felt from her as she grabbed my arm with both her hands and put her head on my shoulder at times as we walked and talked.

We ended up along a rail at the marina looking at the sailboats and after a few minutes we found ourselves locked in an embrace that led to a long, tender kiss. During and after the kiss I remember thinking, ‘That’s so perfect.’ I so wanted to ask her to join me for dinner, but I had an evening appointment back home in San Mateo, some thirty miles away, so we exchanged contact info and made plans to meet the next day for Sunday brunch at the Sheraton Palace in San Francisco. I walked her to her car and after she was seated kissed her goodbye. Jillian dominated my thoughts until we met up again the next morning. I’d only known her for about six hours, but it seemed like we’d known each other for a very long time.
This was the start of my first ever long distance relationship. There were times when I had dated women from other areas, but this was something totally different, it was a situation where we both wanted to be together for the long run. We alternated visiting each other about twice a month, and for the sake of variation met up somewhere in-between at times at places we thought we’d enjoy visiting together. I found that I loved my trips to New York. While San Francisco possesses a unique charm, New York has its own allure – where everything happens on a very big scale.

Three months later, Jillian had an assignment in Italy and asked me to join her for a vacation, working around her schedule. With my being an artist, and both of us having an interest in art history and medieval architecture, we had a full schedule and a perfect vacation.

We felt a tremendous sense of history as we experienced the magnificence of Rome, the romance of Venice, the incredible artistry in Florence and Naples, the charm of Positano and the isle of Capri, where I stole a kiss in the Blue Grotto. When you’re with someone you care about in those surroundings it’s hard not to fall in love or deeper in love.

On the next to last day of our trip we went to the Sistine Chapel and found ourselves transfixed for about a half hour by Michelangelo’s The Pieta. We were admiring what I consider to be the epitome of virtuosity in sculpture. Its perfection made my eyes mist up as I had my arm around Jillian. Being caught up in the moment, I took both of her hands in mine and said, “From the moment our eyes first met, I knew that you’d be an important part of my life. The perfection of this amazing piece allows me to also recognize the perfection in you. For the first time in my life, I love someone: you, ‘without wax’.”

She had a puzzled look in her eyes as I took her in my arms and kissed her. Knowing that whatever I’d said had been a good thing, she readily kissed me back; but as soon as the kiss ended, she pulled away to look me in the eyes and as she put my face between both of her hands asked, “What do you mean by that?”

“By what?” I replied innocently.

“What does ‘without wax’ mean?”

I was actually surprised that in light of what she did for work, she didn’t know. But I was going to have fun with it for a bit. I replied, “What it means is… that I’ll tell you… when the time’s right.”

Over the next few weeks, she asked numerous times about it, but I kept telling her to be patient – I’d tell her when the time was right. What I didn’t tell her was that I had a plan.

From that point on, I signed off on all my letters to her

………Without wax,

Joseph

Two months later, Jillian had a two week assignment in France. She invited me to join her, and assuming that I would of course say “Yes,” bought me the ticket even before she asked me. But, why wouldn’t I say yes? Not only was I going to spend a good chunk of time with the love of my life in one of the most romantic cities in the world, I’d developed an affinity for everything French when I’d played tennis in Europe a few years back.

We compressed so much into our time in Paris. Even though I’d done many of the things we did together before, it was special because it was with Jillian. We took pictures of each other on the steps of Montmartre with the Sacré Coeur as a backdrop, drank coffee and ate croissants at dozens of sidewalk cafés, lunched at one of my favorite spots, Café de la Paix, dined at Le Coupole, and saw La Traviata at the famous Opera House. But our favorite thing to do was exploring the Louvre and Musée d’Orsay to see the works of the Renaissance masters.

About a week into our trip, as we were leaving the Louvre, she stopped me, grabbed my arms and put them around her. She pulled my head towards her and kissed me passionately. She then looked up at me and said, “So, do you still love me ‘without wax’?”

“More than ever every day.”

“I’ve been patient… well for me anyway. You know that’s not one of my strong suits. Are you ever going to tell me what you mean? I’ve asked everyone I know, and no one has a clue. You can’t torture me like this anymore.”
What it means is that I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone before. I promise that if you don’t ask again, you’ll know the meaning before the day is over. Can you wait that long?”

She gave me one of those pouts that I absolutely adored, and I almost gave in – but then she smiled and acquiesced, “I’ve waited this long. What’s a few more hours?”

We left the museum and went back to the hotel where we had a late lunch and some afternoon delight. Later, we walked to the Tower De Eiffel and rode to the first stage of the tower on one of the creaky elevators. We then took the open steel staircase to the observation deck where we looked upon the splendor of the city below as I stood behind Jillian and surrounded her with my arms from behind.

After a few minutes I turned her around and kissed her. As our lips parted, she timidly said, “I know how much you love me because I’ve never felt so loved before. But do you love me enough to tell me now?” She had a devilish, sexy grin, and I found myself getting lost in her eyes.

But I had to milk it some more. I replied, “Remember, I was only going to tell you if you didn’t ask again. Now you’re going to have to wait another few months.”

“What?” She looked like she was about to cry.

I decided that it was the right place and the right time. I smiled, and as I took both of her hands in mine and looked deeply into her eyes, I explained, “In the renaissance period, sculptors would fix chips and blemishes on their statues with wax to smooth out the inconsistencies. ‘Without wax’ in Italian is ‘sin cera’, which was later translated to ‘sincerely’ in English. I love you with my entire being – I have a love for you that’s without blemish or fault – needing no fixing or adjustment. I also feel that you’re the perfect woman – totally without fault. I couldn’t imagine a life without you.”

I got on my knees, took out from my pocket the ring I’d designed and my friend Alex had crafted for me, and while I slipped it onto her finger asked, “Jillian, will you marry me?”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she gasped, “Oh Joseph! Yes! Yes!”

As I stood up she jumped up and wrapped her arms and one of her legs around me to kiss me. It was the kiss of all kisses – every kind of kiss rolled into one.

Sometimes when you’re lost in the moment, you feel like you’re in a bubble – not aware of anything or anyone around you. While our little moment had slowly unfolded, an audience had gathered around us; they clapped, cheered and congratulated us in a number of different languages. Muting a sheepish, “Merci,” I took Jillian’s hand in mine as I led her away, and we said “Au revoir,” in unison as we quickly left the observation deck and headed down the stairs.

When we got back to the hotel, we continued our celebration over dinner. I ordered a bottle of Perrier Jouet and poured a glass for both of us. Jillian took my hand and said, “Joseph, I have a surprise for you too. You know it’s my favorite, but I can’t drink the champagne. I was too scared to tell you, but I’m… we’re having a baby.”

“Oh my God. How could you be afraid to tell me that? I don’t know if anyone could ever be as happy as I am right now. We’re going to be a family! I can’t believe it!”

We spent two more days in Paris, then took the rail to Provence, which was a much more relaxed environment than Paris. I found the people there to be much warmer than in Paris too. The landscapes of quaint towns surrounded by vineyards was breathtaking, and called out to the artist in me. On a whim we visited a real estate attorney and told him that we were interested in seeing a country house with some acreage. We made an appointment to view some property the next morning.

Jillian and I fell in love with the first place we visited – a small chateau that sat on a hilltop that was totally surrounded by vineyards. We loved the charm of the French Normandy style house, but what really blew us away was the view. The early autumn sun seemed to paint the landscape with a different palette from that of the rest of the world, gilding the hills and vineyard trellises in a rose gold hue, while random majestic oaks throughout the valley stood in sharp contrast to the delicate recently-harvested vines. The house needed some minor cosmetic work and I’d have to modernize the electrical and plumbing system, but it was for sale at what we thought to be an incredible price. The favorable exchange rate, plus the fact that many of the young people had been gravitating to the big cities left a lot of country property vacant, bringing prices down. While the lawyer walked with Jillian through the rose garden, I stood by myself in silent reverie, entranced by the surrounding landscape.

I envisioned myself renovating and modernizing the beautiful old stone house and imagined children playing in the yard and running through the vineyards.

We told the lawyer that we needed some time to discuss the possibilities and that I’d get in touch with him before day’s end. Jillian was as excited as I was about the role the property would play in our lives. Over a very long lunch we contemplated my converting the barn into an art studio where I could work on my paintings, and Jillian opening a gallery in Aix en Provence, about three miles away, while still consulting for the auction house she was currently associated with. Her family had a warehouse full of antique furniture that we could integrate with what I already had along with some modern pieces. I knew some vintners in Napa who I believed might be interested in entering into a joint venture with me to import vines to California. It was all so perfect – a plan that fulfilled all our dreams of a life together where we would raise a family in very simple surroundings.

I’d just sold my interest in a restaurant and Jillian had some family money that could be used to renovate the house and to start her gallery. The owners of the villa were traveling in Africa at the time, so we submitted an offer in writing and told the owners’ agent that I would negotiate with him by phone or telex when the owners returned from their trip.

We flew back to New York and the next evening had dinner with Jillian’s parents, John and Margot, at Le Cirque, where we told them about all our good news and the plans we had for our future. Margot asked when and where, and Jillian replied, “We should probably do it within the month due to the pregnancy, but we haven’t picked where yet.”

Margot enthusiastically said, “Why don’t you have it at our house on the coast? The weather will be perfect. What do you think, Jill?”

I looked at Jillian and she smiled enthusiastically as she said to me, “You’ll love it, Joseph. It would be the perfect place for an outdoor wedding like I want.”

“It’s your special day. Whatever you want is yours. You know I’d move mountains to make you happy.”

The next day I flew back to San Francisco, filled with excitement about my future life with Jillian and my child. It wouldn’t matter to me if it were a boy or girl – I just knew that I would love either because he/she would be a part of Jillian.

When I got back to the Bay Area I talked to some potential investors I knew and they were excited about my plan to import live vines from Provence that could be used to start wineries in the Napa/Sonoma area where many vintners were already starting to buy up land. I was introduced by a friend who owned a French restaurant to the owner of the largest wine importer in California, and we strategized about importing a Nouveau Beaujolais using grapes from my vineyard and other surrounding land through his company. If things went well, along with some partners, I could buy up more nearby land to grow and harvest grapes since it was so inexpensive. I couldn’t believe how everything was falling into place. I talked to Jillian a couple of times a day, and every time we talked we seemed to have more to add to our story.

A week after I got back to San Francisco, she excitedly told me that she and her mom were heading out to the coast to prepare everything for the wedding.

The next morning I picked up the phone and on the other end was Jillian’s dad, John, who was rather distraught. “Joseph,” he said… then there was a pause. “Bear with me – I’m having a hard time.”

“What’s the matter, John?”

“Jill and Margot were on their way to the Hamptons when a truck crossed over a median and hit their car head-on, killing them both instantly.”

We both commiserated about the loss of our loved ones. I tried to console him, and him me – but I couldn’t continue, so I said, “John, I have to hang up. I’ll get in touch later.”

“Understand… later, Joseph.”

The phone fell out of my hands and I heard the clunk of it hitting the floor. I was devastated; but at that moment I felt nothing, and wouldn’t be able to feel anything for probably the next 24 hours. I guess a protective instinct kicked in to prevent me from hurting too much. In an instant, my love, my child, and our dreams of a seemingly perfect future were crushed by a Mack truck. I’d never before experienced anything close to the pain I felt from that loss. I hope and pray that I never will again.