Mornings with Asian family
Are the very best way to start the day.
My phone fell out of my pocket while biking to work on Friday. Before I could retrieve it, a construction truck rolled by and crunched it. The guts still work so I hear buzzing every time I get a message, but the screen’s kaputt. So I know messages are there, but can’t see them. It’s a funny metaphor for how communication goes between people sometimes.
Last night, I got an email from my Jieh telling me that baby eagles are called eaglets (something we’d been trying to remember on our Sunday ride out on Harsen’s Island). In the morning, there was another note telling me to come over for breakfast early because Jieh had made the most delicious rhubarb blackberry buttermilk cake and I should have some.
A little after seven, post a.m. ablutions and some puttering about, I biked over with boiled eggs and strawberries and a tube of sunscreen to stash in Jieh’s car for our adventure.
I arranged cake on Jieh’s pretty ceramic plates and halved the eggs and sprinkled them with special soy; we made coffee and poured ourselves mango lassi and went outside to the deck. It was sunny and fresh and dewy and we ate our breakfast and talked about our day and upcoming travel. Jieh’s Asian hubby (the other essential member of our little clan) came down from his apartment with adorable bed head and drip coffee and we enjoyed each others company til it was time for me to go and start my day in earnest.
I miss my Daniels and the Chan Clan, and I feel so blessed to have found my way into our little family here in Detroit. It means a lot to belong.