I first met Jim when I was housemates with Emily. One day the doorbell rang and I answered it, finding a slightly nervous young man asking if Emily was home. They had met at work, and after that house call, things were never really in doubt. Jim was easy to talk to, warm and kind, and funny as hell. One day we were interviewing potential new housemates, and a young woman came to look at the house. We showed her around, and toward the end of the tour, she asked us if we had any additional questions for her. Jim said, “How do you feel about late-night satanic rituals?” I don’t think she ever called back but I still laugh at the memory.

I also went to visit Jim and Emily in Belfast, in pre-Kiyo days. There I got a glimpse at Jim’s passion for Northern Ireland. The two of them took me, fresh off the plane, to a “Republican drinking club” — I thought, okay, whatever. Well, it seemed like Jim knew everyone there, and everyone there seemed to buy me a Guinness. It was a great introduction, what I remember of it. He saw people as people, not as aligned one way or another.

When Kiyo was about 10, a bunch of us rented an old house in Maine for a week. That was the first I saw of Jim-as-Dad, which was funny, patient, instructive, and full of beans. Who wouldn’t want a dad like that? We met again at a Red Sox victory parade in Boston (I’m adding a photo of them when we were there). And most recently we met in Boston this past winter, Jim and Emily in post-dim-sum contentedness, to catch up one another on our doings.

I’ll miss Jim; and my heart breaks for Emily and Kiyo. All my love to you both, and to everyone who is hurting at his loss. Wherever he is, he’s making things a whole lot more fun.