What the Fuss (2)

Too little time to take my maintenance pills, take off my shoes, put up my feet, close my blurry eyes, and put new batteries in my hearing aid . . . before we hied to Oriental Palace (a Chinese restaurant) for an authentic Chinese “lauriat” (derived from the Hokkien word "lao diat," meaning "special occasion"). It was one of Tony’s favorite haunts.     

Son #3, who volunteered to foot the bill promised, “Nothing fancy, just family.” 

Family—the Chit-Chat (our Group Chat nickname for our small clan on my mother’s side)—was there ahead of us. In a true Chinese tradition on birthday celebrations, everyone, including my two-year-old grand nephew, Atom, wore red. All told, there were 13 of us (the rest live abroad).

I was ecstaticc to receive a surprise gift (left) sent by my grandson Adrian from the US. He knitted “Bahas” (Baboy/Ahas), a character he created when he was 10, and which he painted. The day before, his parents (son #2 and daughter-in-love) sent yummy belly lechon and other go-withs).

My ading Aie had a photo (right) of Tony and me (enlarged and framed) when he was officially welcomed as member of the V-Clan after our wedding. He introduced himself as the King of Siam, and me, his 32nd concubine. From that day forward, all 300+ members of our V-clan called him ading, manong, uncle, tito, or lolo. 

I was likewise deluged with wrapped gifts from everyone. 

Each dish was explained by son #3, but it was Tony’s voice I heard. “This is pricey because . . . this is rare because … this is made of . . . this is cooked with . . . etc.) 

How ironic that the only person in the clan, who was a true-blue Chinese, who spoke Hookien, who grew up on these dishes and therefore knew them like the palm of his hand, could not come and was profoundly missed. 

Through 12 courses, we chatted, joked around, reminisced non-stop about the years gone by. There are no-nos on occasions such as this: you don’t flip over a whole fish dish, you don’t do “sharon,” chats happen before the first dish is served, and you leave before or immediately after dessert. 

The fish was flipped over relentlessly, we had bags and bags of “sharon,” chatted before and long, long after dessert—nearing midnight.  

July 20, 2025 was a day of fussing, of overflowing and overwhelming grace. 

Psalm 90:10 (ESV)”The years of our life are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty; yet their span is but toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away.” . . . to our eternal home where age and birthday celebrations are irrelevant.