My Love(s) (written in 2016)
As I’ve grown older, feelings like fluttering excitement seem to have quietly packed their bags and moved out—without leaving a forwarding address.
Life feels… well, life-ish. The world is so-so, curiosity has gone on an extended vacation, and my days have settled into a polite dullness.
And then, somehow, Saturdays began to change everything.
Like green shoots pushing through a long-dead tree, little buds of excitement started sprouting in my blunted emotional landscape. My heart—long retired from such duties—found itself back on the job.
The reason?
My granddaughter Sadie.
Ever since Sadie was born—and especially since she moved in with us—she has been a life-giving rain to my increasingly arid existence. So whenever Saturday rolls around and I head home, just the thought of seeing Sadie performs a small miracle: my heart grows younger. My knees do not, but one miracle at a time.
This past Saturday, I was particularly excited.
Since I usually stay in Brooklyn during the week, there’s rarely anything proper to eat at home. So Saturdays typically mean grabbing dinner outside before heading home.
But then a problem arose.
Work ran late. If I ate out first, I’d get home after Sadie’s bedtime—which meant missing her entirely. And seeing Sadie is not something I can afford to miss. She’s not someone I see every day—only on Saturdays, Sundays, and occasionally Mondays if the stars align.
Missing Sadie would be nothing short of a major life loss.
In fact, on days when I suspect I might get home even a little late, I’ve been known to ask my daughter to delay putting Sadie to bed until after I arrive.
Dinner and Sadie—both were non-negotiable.
So I confessed my dilemma to my wife.
As always, she proved herself a master problem-solver.
“Why don’t we meet halfway?” she said.
“Call our eldest daughter and have her bring Sadie out to eat with us at Hamung Naengmyeon in Closter. You get dinner and Sadie.”
Genius.
And since Sadie’s mom happens to love cold noodles, there could not possibly be a wiser solution on Earth. This was not just killing two birds with one stone—it was eating the bird and keeping the stone as a souvenir.
I slapped my knee.
I thought to myself: Had my wife been born in ancient times, she could easily have gone head-to-head with King Solomon. And won.
And so we rendezvoused at Hamung Naengmyeon and shared a delicious, joyful evening.
A meal with Sadie is always magical—somehow both tasty and transcendent.
My dear Sadie.
And my eldest daughter who gave birth to Sadie.
And my wife who gave birth to that daughter.
Living among such beautiful and wise women, am I not a man blessed with extraordinary fortune?
In fact, the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I must have saved an entire nation in a past life.
Not a small one, mind you—but a vast and powerful empire.
There is simply no other explanation.
And so, as we ate, I spent the entire meal quietly basking in smug contentment—
a fact I now confess, just a little sheepishly.
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