I’m thinking about immigrants this morning. No, not the undocumented ones who are being forced to take buses from Texas to scattered cities around the country so that Greg Abbott and his supporters can make a political statement. Rather, the ones who’ve touched my life in the past week.

This morning, I fixed Frenchy’s Eggs for my wife. These are scrambled eggs with grated gruyere cheese, chopped scallions and Parisian seasonings cooked gently in butter. Not runny, but short of firm, just the way one of my immigrant classmates taught me at our 50-year reunion not too long ago. Frenchy’s family came to America in the 1950s when he was a little boy. He was the star distance runner on our track team and for many years after ran a restaurant in Greenwich Village. His young daughter watched the twin towers collapse on September 11, 2001, but they stayed and helped rebuild their neighborhood.

The pastry we had this morning was homemade by Armenian immigrants we met at the State Farmers Market. A kind man and wife who have a pop-up kiosk near the Christmas tree shed. It was a wonderful combination of fresh plums and currents in an open shell of unleavened dough. All natural ingredients with just a healthy amount of sugar. Scrumptious.

We’re basking in the joy of the season after attending Home for the Holidays at the Koger Center on Dec. 21. The South Carolina Philharmonic was joined by amazing and culturally diverse singers and dancers from the Columbia area. What talent we have here, especially the voices of African Americans whose ancestors did not choose to emigrate to America.

Peruse the musician’s names in the program and you’ll see many are foreigners, or first-generation sons and daughters. And the one who has melded our orchestra for world-class sound is the conductor, Japanese-born Morihiko Nakahara. He’s dynamic, funny and fun to watch. His love for the music and his musicians is infectious. As we listened to “Sleigh Ride” and “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer” with a giant video of the stories displayed behind the orchestra, my son-in-law remarked the music sounded just like the best Christmas CD he’d ever heard. Culturally diverse musicians and conductor all coming together in perfect balance and harmony.

I could easily go on with the immigrant connections in my life this week. My Slovak grandmother, who knew her way around the kitchen, would have invited the Armenian couple to share recipes. We have Scandinavian-American friends who hosted a gathering of choristers on Tuesday, leading us in Christmas carols — with four-part harmony no less.

But I’ll close for now. I woke up with sinus congestion and my wife is encouraging me to contact my primary physician. My doctor was a little girl when her family escaped Vietnam in 1975 as the communists were taking over. She now helps hundreds of patients like me stay healthy for the holidays.

Oh, sorry, one last thing I have to announce. My company just hired a brilliant scientist who grew up in India. She loved Columbia on first inspection and will join us right after the holidays. Now we just need to figure out how to get her a Green Card so she can work here permanently and add to Columbia’s growing vibrancy.

I love immigrants.