Thinking about Siam Rice and Basil Chicken

It was three years ago today that a loud knock rapped on the door to my condo in Chicago. Taylor went ballistic. When I opened the door, I would find a week’s worth of basil chicken from my favourite lunch spot in the city – Siam Rice. Over a four year period working in The Loop, I averaged eating at Siam Rice almost 2.5 times a week. It was that good. At almost ten dollars a pop, between myself and all the people I would bring into the restaurant, I was a major contributor to its thriving lunch business.

The food was accompanied by a large card from the teams in my group, signed by most all 55 people belonging to it.

Just two days prior, one of the best days I’d ever had going to a ballgame at Wrigley Field, meeting up for drinks with one group of friends at Sports Corner and another group of friends at another bar in Wrigleyville, then dinner with another group of friends at Rose Angelis in Lincoln Park, then drinks with another group of friends at the Hubbard Inn in River North… ended with getting mugged on the way home, my head being slammed against the concrete sidewalks, almost getting thrown off the Randolph Street Bridge before a group of kids intervened to save me, and spending the night with a painful neck brace in the ER at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.

I actually remember more from the last moments of that night in retrospect more than I did while I was going through it.

When I reflect upon the day and the night, what I really remember is what a wonderful day it was. I had close buddies flying in from Philadelphia and from Los Angeles, close friends who lived in Chicago, all of whom I had the best time with doing the things that I love and loved. I remember the outpouring of love from family and friends that I received all that week once news spread. I remember what the teams reporting to me at the office did for me in lifting my spirits. I remember my brother having my back, checking in on me. I remember my folks calling to give me moral support. And I remember my dog Taylor never leaving my side.

I learned that day that you never know how a day will turn out once you get out of bed. Might as well make the most of it and live it as fully as you can with as much love in your heart that you can muster, cos you never know if it will be your last. Luckily, that day was not my last, and I’ve lived many days since and hopefully will continue to live many, many more. But I still do wake up every morning thinking today’s going to be a great day, time to make the most of it.