THE TINY MIRACLE at 655 FOLSUM STREET

It was a dark and not-too-stormy night, though rain drops kept falling as I trudged upward Folsom Street toward that brightly lit sign reading Canton Dim Sum & Seafood.  Garish, perhaps, but well-lighted.  And behold, the large glass door was open, as though to announce a welcome to the Talkies.

Perhaps Dim Sum—poetically translated, I am told, means the heart’s delight.  It was this heart’s delight, to travel but 4 more steps to a dry spot and warmth.  Ah, yes, warmth is always comparative.  Though some may have felt the room a bit chilly later on, at that moment , standing at the threshold of a brightly lit room, aware of the various Chinese decorations, I felt only warmth.  Unfortunately our photographer was not at her best, and a bit forgetful, thus no photos of the gourmet spread nor the décor of the room, that really was an overly large, colorless room, with the white table cloths seeming more dominant than they should have been.  Note in this small photo (borrowed from the restaurant web page) the pillar.  A foreshadowing clue perhaps.  Nah, it is close to this pillar that Jane and Chet sat.

But read on, dear Talkies, and check the links to find smiling faces and  amusing expressions.  One apology, though, must be made to Melinda whose picture is a bit blurred….no fault but the photographer’s efforts to capture images sans flash. At least she wore her wired talkies' button.

Ah, the photographer digresses.  Let us return to the Tiny Miracle at 655 Folsum Street.  

Behold, a table round and large, positioned near the pillar, was designated the Talkies’ table. Fourteen places had been set.  Hmmm that is 1 more than depicted at the Last Supper, though we know not who daVinci may have omitted in his rendition.  Alas, one setting was removed, causing our number to become 13.  Was Wendell to be the savior of the night?  The one to lead us to greater glory, to anoint us to go among our brethren to spread the word on rhetoric, composition, literature, and media studies?  Was Wendell to save us from our inclination to gluttony by creating a feast served family style, forcing us to remember that as we dipped into each platter of food, we must restrain ourselves to be sure enough was left for those in the circle who had not tasted from that plate?  Was it Wendell who would set the tone of the night, with his warmth, his charm, his obvious delight that we had gathered?

Each place setting included 4 plates, a napkin, a traditional tea cup, and green chopsticks.  No western style utensils.  For some, such as Susanna, the absences of such utensils was of no concern, but for others, less dexterous, less worldly, there was.  How we of this group wished all the foods would be finger friendly, for none of us wanted to ask for a fork!  

At table when I arrived, were Kate and Jim, Wendell and Allyssa, Heather, Ted, and Melinda, Chet and Robert—though he was standing.  Susanna whom I have known for a while, arrived.  And then, in appropriate fashionable mode, Anita and Jane arrived late.  Chet hoped they had not been delayed in some BART tunnel as he gathered his wits and pursued ordering Courvoisier and water.  Allyssa requested some green drink whose name I could not understand.  Alexandra probably would have requested a dark rum, but the bar was closed, and even if it had been open, the waiter could  not understand  more than the words white and red wine, oh, and beer.  Robert ordered a Pinot Grigio that some member of the group shared while Chet selected a glass of red wine and Ted requested beer. . Yes, the staff  (3-4 of this large group) was authentic, perhaps needing ESL instructors, but certainly able to serve our various courses and calculate the bill.   Eventually the bartender returned and mixed a green drink for  Allyssa, who managed, with the help of the waiter to spill it over one Wendellian leg and other parts, eliciting a quite but emphatic, “Oh, my that is cold!”   No one ever seemed to figure out whether or not brandy of any sort was available for Chet, so he drank red wine.  We all wondered why C and water before dinner…well….let me tell you….no….Chet best share his tale for it is a delightful story of imitating others as only Chet can relate.   

Wendell must have exercised some magic for there were no other patrons in the room; it was as though the room had been reserved for the Talkies.  In the center of the large table, perhaps 5 feet in diameter, a lazy susan, perhaps 4 feet in diameter, revolving when urged by the touch of a hand.  Oh, more than once, hands extended to push the revolving table more quickly, to cause a whirl, but the efforts were slowed or stopped by more prudent hands.  Eventually all of the courses, save the soup, were placed upon the revolving table, where people could reach easily.  

First the hot/sour soup was served.  How good to have glasses of water waiting!!  
And then sponge bread and slivers of peking duck.  Other courses followed, each one delighting the pallets of the tasters, some moreso than others. Anita pondered where to begin.  Platters of shrimp, chicken, crab, (how big were the crab?) duck and veggies were placed before us. The pieces were big enough that one could use fingers or even chopsticks to pick up morsels and enjoy.  Only the rice was a bit of a challenge.  A spoon had been provided for the soup.   Miraculously, surreptitiously a fork appeared in the hands of Chet.  Jane wondered how he had acquired such a utensil. He spoke no words to reveal the source.  The table top revolved, paused, revolved again until almost all the platters were empty.  

Conversation was lively, now and again it extended cross-table, sometimes confined to immediate groups of those sitting side by side.  Laugher prevailed. Memory lane was traveled.  Questions for updates of experiences were asked.  Getting-to-know you inquiries made. Eventually a toast to Wendell for his adroit planning and execution of this grand feast.  Fortune cookies were served; Jim reached for his; we all enjoyed the various fortunes; and no, this narrator cannot remember them.  

Then, alas, the evening was to end.  The money counted to cover the bill. One tired family began to exit, but not without hugs and waves.  Others stayed for a bit longer and then ventured into the night to yet another spot where they might visit.  The one tired family ventured into the dark and no longer not-so-stormy night to hail a cab and return to the hotel.  Happy was the trio to have gathered with the Talkies and their guests.  

You may wonder as this tale comes to its end, why the title: Little Miracle at 655 Folsum Street.  Prior to the gathering of the Talkies and their guests, the members of the list had but recently waged long, sometimes challenging discussions, taking one another to task for this post or that, sometimes speaking privately, often publicly.  Even this sometimes acerbic tongued narrator spoke seemingly harsh words, only to be told she might be out of place. And so she wondered what would this night be like.  She had not met face-to-face some of these folks who were to gather. In fact she was unaware of the final guest list compiled by Wendell.  How anxious she was to meet Wendell, never expecting his boyish face but delighting in it.  How her body still reacts from the immense bear hug he gave her when she left.  Oh, no, she did not swoon, for it was not that type of hug…but rather one so warm, so encompassing, so genuine that it warmed her being, her soul.

As she was introduced to the group already seated, she gasped when she was told the grey haired woman was Kate Mura.  She stumbled in her words as she greeted Kate, for Kate was nothing as she had imagined, nor had she expected to see her.  She could not stop gazing on this slightly built woman with a radiant smile, recalling her various posts.  How did the narrator picture her?  Who knows! But seeing her changed forever the way her messages will be interpreted.  And perhaps this is true of Wendell’s messages as well.

So what of the others?  Anita was known, though now she is more scarlet in her appearance; and Jane---has anyone ever compared her to Betty White?  And Chet and Ted…oh….they were just Chet and Ted….  Smiling now in reverie…..

The miracle is in the uniqueness of meeting face-to-face and suddenly realizing that whatever words may be written by a Talkie, whatever thoughts are offered, they are read and received in a vacuum, though we forget this is so.  Words written by the Talkies unite us in causes, divide us in times of disagreement.  Words bring alive this image or that, but we never are sure we are sharing the exact image the writer depicts.  

When the narrator began searching for a theme, the miracle of 34th St. kept popping into her head as did “rain drops keep falling on my head.”  She could not remember other lyrics of the song, but has since read them…ah yes…perhaps some of this song relates to all the conversations the Talkies share.  Sometimes nothing seems to fit, but then, everything seems to fit.  And rain, be it the drops from the heavens, or the showers of thoughts, feelings, and emotions we share on engteach-talk, that rain makes us free and though we may complain, or cheer, we must hope that the rain of thoughts and ideas, of emotions and dreams, keeps falling, dancing in the puddles created, and eventually absorbed by all of us…..

It is this narrator’s wish that the Tiny Miracle at 655 Folsum St occurs again and again each time old and new Talkies meet, celebrate, and learn.

As for the kisses?....well a photographer can't always have her camera in hand. .....