I slept through the night! I had a shower! It’s not even nine am and I am drinking coffee, watching it snow outside! Oh, and Eydie and I podcasted yesterday and will create another today.

Going back to something one loves – for me recording this levity-filled, yet often profound little podcast of ours, 2 Chitchat Chicks – felt a little iffy because Eydie and I knew it could never be quite the same. In the early days after Emily’s passing, I was quite sure the 2 Chit Chat Chicks would also go the way of memories. After all, who can or should chitchat and laugh in the face of catastrophe?

This is a lesson I am learning in fits and starts: laughter is essential, even if it sometimes subsides into tears. The two live so closely together, probably even share the same bed. Even in my my most somber of times and sharing about the most challenging of topics, there has always had humour hiding in the wings. I’m a little bit famous (in small circles that mostly include students) for my storytelling skills, and even the saddest of stories is always fringed with funny. 

I was even able to make Emily laugh fairly often, bring her to lighter places – and she was a tough audience. She had strong opinions about what made for good humour, but huddling up with the family, Emily often in the middle, on the sofa or the bed with a popcorn bowl shared between our laps, we would watch Shitt’s Creek, Kim’s Convenience, Brooklyn 99, The Good Place, and of course Ted Lasso, with the laptop screen perched on the coffee table or on a pillow. Our family prioritised this snuggling sweetness over visual acuity when it came to our comedy-watching, for which I am now so grateful. 

(Btw, If you wish to honour Emily and have not yet watched one of these series, this is one way you might do it. She knew quality. As I write this, I know she is saying, “Yes, Mama, this is a great idea.” You might also want to combine your watching with Don’s famous popcorn that Emily and I never said no to: olive oil, gently heated in the wok on lower-than-usual heat, put in just a few kernels until they pop, and then pour in a bunch more, jiggle-shake the wok continuously, and voila. I’ve never made this myself, so Don may have more advice, but that’s it from what I can tell. He’s been making it for me since we met in Taiwan, fell in love our first day together, he learned I was a serious popcorn eater and we had only a wok and a burner. It’s been one of his many acts of love these 30 odd years. When I am sad, he will often ask, “Can I make you some popcorn?” That’s the kind of guy he is.)

But I digress. Emily was a serious student of film. She could’ve have and might’ve been a film maker. While erring on the serious, deep and metaphorical, she always made time for comedy. And her laughter was magic. Her smile, oh my: how her eyes crinkled up and nearly closed when she smiled…

So today, on this New Year’s Eve, when we will be going to Steve and Jeanie’s for pot roast, not on the town for a party, I will laugh and I will smile. Of course, I will cry a bit too, but it won’t overtake me.

Emily loved to laugh. She invites you to laugh also. Some people say it’s the best medicine. Let’s all give it a go. Emily would love that.