Last weekend I had my first Dim Sum in Chinatown, Chicago. I huddled with my nieces over pots of tea, dumplings, and custard filled desserts shaped like pigs.
Dim Sum is officially defined as a meal of small plates, usually in steamer baskets, served with tea.
Dim Sum is delish.
I dove into Dim Sum. And after I decided that my tummy could fit……. One. More. Dumpling, my dear friend Poling explained Dim Sum to me.
Dim Sum is not just a meal, it’s a meaning.
“Dim, is a dot, or a speck. Sum means heart. Dim Sum is a bit of heart,” she said.
Well, that is a lovely definition for a meal.
“That is amazing and so poetic,” I said. “We just call it brunch.”
I met dear friends for brunch yesterday. The items ordered were a tad different than last week. A flight of mimosa’s replaced a pot of tea. Do beignets counts as little piggies filled with custard?
Shrimp and grits? I don’t know how that would translate to a Dim Sum menu.
But the meaning was the same.
Bit of Heart.
I left both Dim Sum and Brunch full in my belly and full in my heart.
Maybe gathering around a meal with Loves is always a bit of heart.
And while I still find it odd that for two years now, I can get camera ready in about 15 minutes, find a top that is business-casually enough while still being cozy and yoga pants that provide enough, stretch and give to remind me that this is not a cuddly Saturday…..this is in fact a Wednesday. And attention must be paid.
I have found several hidden delights to working from home.
One of them is music.
Today I found a break in my meetings, served up a cuppa tea and cranked up the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack on Spotify.
I’m a crazy cat.
It’s a lovely soundtrack if you are looking for a moment to unwind, sip a little Earl Grey and pretend you are in the English Countryside instead of your office……. which smells oddly of curry.
It is Winter. And therefore it should snow. All is right in the world when it’s covered in a blanket of white.
Yesterday it was -1 degrees. Delightful. The cold hit my nose as I inhaled- reminding me I was alive.
Crowded House sings a song, called ‘Always Take the Weather.’ It was released in the 90’s and became a favorite song during my Germany days. Now when the weather gets a tad temperamental, I think of this song…..
Everywhere you go…..alwaystake the weather with you……
But it never really made sense to me…… because weather is something that kind of happens to you. You have no control…..everywhere you go…..
So I looked up the meaning of this song on ‘the Google’. And now I love this song even more…Neil Finn from Crowded House told how this story came about…
We were trying to imagine a time and a place, and the line ‘Walking ’round the room singing Stormy Weather’ helped us get into some atmosphere of somebody troubled who is always on their own in a room. We were trying to find lines that described the scene, like the ‘small boat made of china’, and that feeling of ennui or languishing that permeates the song. Ultimately, the theme of the song is, of course, that you are creating your own weather, you are making your own environment, always.
So tonight is about three delights…..
The Delight of Winter Days
The Delight of a song that brings memories
The Delight that you are making your own environment, always…. everywhere you go.
Walking ’round the room singing Stormy Weather At Fifty Seven Mount Pleasant Street Well it’s the same room, but everything’s different You can fight the sleep, but not the dream
Things ain’t cookin’ in my kitchen Strange affliction wash over me Julius Caesar and the Roman Empire Couldn’t conquer the blue sky
Well, there’s a small boat made of china It’s going nowhere on the mantelpiece Well, do I lie like a lounge-room lizard Or do I sing like a bird released?
Everywhere you go, always take the weather with you Everywhere you go, always take the weather Everywhere you go, always take the weather with you Everywhere you go, always take the weather, the weather with you
Tonight this rowdy crew was kind enough to gather for my birthday. But my birthday didn’t matter…..any time I have a chance to gather with this group is a celebration. I would celebrate national Lost Sock Memorial Day just to be with them
For the record, National Lost Sock Memorial Day is May 9th.
I love these people. I love that I met them all at work and despite career changes, life changes, and many other changes, we all are still dear friends.
Work can be hard. Work can challenge your ego. Work can challenge your friendships.
I love that this picture is peppered with love and respect. Love for who we are as friends and respect for the savvy, talented colleagues I have had the privilege to work with.
I’ve been thinking about these delights quite a lot lately.
What qualifies as a delight? There are quick shots of delight- they dance on your tongue like dark chocolate.
And then there are delights that brew in your head. They are not immediate- it is not instant. Perhaps a process that sooner or later it becomes a delight- a little more lasting a little more precious- laced with complexity and life.
My latest delight is around a conversation, albeit born out of intense pain, it is a quiet, coveted delight. I can delight in this honesty and our ability as a family to touch something that at times seemed untouchable.
Last week I sat with my dad and my Hubs. We stopped in for lunch after skiing. Conversations evolved from small talk to tough talk.
My dad has a dear friend that just lost a grandson in a horrible accident. Our collective heart aches for them.
“How is Mr. B?” I asked
“Well, you know. Not good? Okay? Sad? Hanging in there? It’s heartbreaking knowing the hard days ahead for him and his family. I want to tell him just to hang on. It can be really awful for a while and I just don’t know how to say it.”
“I always think of the Sara McLaughan song…..hold on, hold on to yourself, cause thisis gonna hurt like hell…”
I grabbed a napkin and held it to my eyes, “it still makes me cry.”
I blew my nose and we all took a long drink of our Mary Jane ale. And watched the Olympics. Because you know, when you don’t know what to say……sports…and beer.
And then I broke the silence.
Because ugh……silence.
“But you should tell him something Dad. Seriously. You should tell him that he is going to be okay. That his family is going to be okay. That sometimes is feels like you never, ever will. But you need to tell him that you trust, you know that Mr. B is going to be okay. You telling him that you know he can survive this, that trust when it seems like the whole world is doubting…..that trust is everything.”
“I know….I know.”
“Trust is good, Hubs interjected, “A stiff upper lip can be good too.”
I grabbed Hubs’ hand and squeezed it, “And sometimes you have to tell yourself that we all grieve in different times, in different spaces and in different ways. And the only thing you can do is honor everyone’s process,” I bit Hubs’ finger in thought and angst. “Please tell him you know. You know, he will be okay.”
We watched the Super G. People missed gates, missed times, racers fell and for some, the race, the dream they had been planning for a lifetime was shattered.
It was nothing compared to the shatter we just discussed.
But somehow, we all get up. Maybe we get up because someone on the side tells us they know we can. Maybe it’s just our shear will and moxie. But we do it. And it hurts like hell.
And years later we sit around a pitcher of Mary Jane Ale and chicken nachos, dab teary eyes with rough napkins, knowing that we survived. Is it delightful? No, it’s not. But it is peppered with delight, gratitude, moxie and survival. I’ll take that spicy blend any day.
And to Mr. B and family. We see you you. We grieve your enormous loss. Trust in this shitty process. We have nachos and beer when you are ready.
Samsmom 