Lingonberries, Legacies, and Life Lessons
Is it really Sunday night already? I feel like my brain is basically a half-melted block of brie.
This week has been a lot. A beautiful, messy, heart-wrenching, Swedish-meatball, lingonberry scented "a lot." If you’ve been following along you know that life at Graze usually involves a healthy dose of chaos, but this week took that to a whole new level of "Abby, go take a nap."
The IKEA Expedition (Or: How I Accidentally Rebranded St. Paddy’s)
So, Tuesday happened. I went to IKEA with my mom. Now, if you’ve ever gone to IKEA with a Swedish mother, you know it’s not just a shopping trip. It’s a pilgrimage. It’s a tactical maneuver. My mom is Swedish, which means she has very specific opinions on everything from the thread count of the napkins to the exact ratio of pork-to-beef in a meatball.
I was wandering through those winding halls, clutching jars of lingonberry jam like Gollum and trying to figure out what to put on the meal prep menu for my clients this week. I realized with a massive "whoops" that I totally missed the ball on St. Patrick’s Day. Everyone else in the world is doing corned beef, cabbage, and green beer, and I’m over here like... ohhh Swedish week!
Pivot! We’re doing a Swedish-inspired menu. Sorry, St. Paddy, but the meatballs are calling.
I spent the rest of the week knee-deep in gravy and lingonberries. I made traditional Swedish meatballs (the secret is the allspice and a little bit of nutmeg, don't tell anyone), and of course, I had to include all the lingonberry goodies. Lingonberries are like the Swedish soul in berry form, tart, sweet, and bright red.
The real test, though? My mom. Since she’s the resident expert on all things Nordic, I’m dreading waiting for the final verdict, and let me tell you, nothing is more nerve-wracking than a Swedish woman critiquing your gravy. Wish me luck. Fingers crossed I survive the critique.
Heavy Hearts and Rainbows
While the week started with meatballs, it ended with something much heavier. My godfather passed away recently, and Saturday was spent celebrating his life.
It was one of those services that just stays with you. It was lovely and peaceful, but man, does it make you realize how many special people we’re losing. It’s that weird age where you start seeing the pillars of your life start to lean or fall, and it just hits different.
There was this moment during the service that actually gave me chills. One of the songs his family picked was "Somewhere Over the Rainbow", specifically the Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwoʻole version. I also chose that exact same song for my dad when he passed. I don’t even know if anyone knows that.
The connection didn't stop there. My godfather and my dad were actually born only a few days apart. Seeing those parallels, the timing of their lives, the shared song that brought us all to tears, it felt like a giant, cosmic "I see you" from the universe. Like they were both hanging out somewhere, probably belly laughing about something silly, and decided to send a little signal down to us.
The 3 AM Magic
I’ve been obsessed with deep rabbit holing lyrics and song histories but for that specific recording if you haven't looked it up, please do yourself a favor and do it tonight.
The story goes that IZ called the recording studio at 3:00 in the morning. He just had this urge to record it. He walked in, sat down with his ukulele, and did the whole thing in one take. No edits. No fancy production. Just raw, 3 AM soul.
It resonated with me so deeply because of my dad. My dad was one of those people who would wake up in the middle of the night to take notes. He’d have an idea, or a thought he couldn't shake, and he’d be up with a yellow legal pad, scribbling away. I used to think it was just "dad being dad," but now that I’m running Graze and dealing with the beautiful chaos, I get it. The 3 AM brain is real. It’s when the noise of the world stops and the real stuff: the creativity, the grief, the legacy: actually has room to breathe.
My dad’s mother was born in Hawaii, and we visited throughout the years. That song hits a very specific chord in my DNA. It’s about longing, but also about hope. It’s about the "somewhere" that we all hope our loved ones are residing in now.
Grazing Through the Grief
Business doesn't stop just because life gets heavy, right? Well I mean, I did stop working for 6 months but I think I’m better now! I’m still pushing forward with my NYC partnership and finalizing my website. So exciting! More on that soon!
But moments like this past Saturday remind me why I do this. Food isn't just about nutrition; it's about comfort. It’s about a meatball that tastes like your grandma’s kitchen. It’s about a tray of food that shows up when you’re too tired to cook because you’ve been mourning.
Whether I’m prepping for a book club meetup or just boxing up Swedish meatballs for a busy family, I’m trying to put a little bit of that "legacy" into the boxes. I want people to feel cared for. I want the food to feel like a hug (or at least a very friendly handshake).
Reflections for the Week Ahead
So, what have we learned this week?
1. Always listen to your Swedish mother (even if her critique is just a raised eyebrow).
2. Lingonberries make everything better.
3. 3 AM isn't just for sleep deprivation; it's for magic.
4. The people we love never truly leave us, especially if they have a good soundtrack.
If you’re feeling a little bit like that 3 AM recording: a little unedited, a little raw, maybe a little tired: just know you’re in good company. We’re all just trying to find our way over that rainbow, right?
So again, thank you for being part of this journey with me, through the meatballs and the memories. For more of my ramblings on how precious life is you can check out: https://www.grazellcchelmsford.com/here-we-go/a-live-well-lived-and-loved
Miss you, Dad. Honestly hasn’t gotten any easier over here.
Song of the day: "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" (the Israel IZ version, obviously). Go listen to it and think of someone you love.
XX,
Abby
