friendliness

Searching through photos for one thing inevitably surprises us with something else. Especially when you have the amount of photos that I do.

This is a photo I took when visiting my cousin in Portugal when I was 23 years old. He and his family lived here, in a small fishing village, Vila Nova de Cerveira, at the mouth of the Minho River, just minutes from Spain. It was an indescribable experience, and looking back now, even more so, especially as the area has evolved so since.

Truly, it was a village. There was a tinker (today’s handyman/carpenter), a small bakery/grocery store, a church, a police station, and a few other shops. There was also a castle, and a variety of homes. The streets were cobblestone, and it seemed that everyone knew everyone. Many people grew or raised their own food.

In the morning, we heard the clanging of the bell at the long driveway gate. A neighbor had brought a clean bucket of milk, fresh from her cow. Wherever my cousin and I walked, there were young children skipping after us, fascinated by the visitor with her light-colored eyes.

Coming across this photo brought back so many memories, which could probably fill a short memoir of its own. My cousin, his wife, children, and dogs were my warm and wonderful hosts. With all I experienced in that too-short week, I existed in a slice of time never to be known again.

I also remember the train ride home, first to Porto, then a switch to a second train to Lisbon. In my compartment were five Portuguese men and women, none of whom spoke English. During the 5-hour ride, they brought out their lunch, and so generously offered everything to me – bread, cheese, some kind of meat, wine. With hand signs and broken language, we talked and laughed all the way to Lisbon.

I remember wondering even then if Americans would be so utterly kind to strangers who spoke no English in a traveling compartment. The importance of that entire experience has deepened ever since. Would we all be as kind and generous as they? Can we still share? Can we still love?

If there is one thing that is always true it is that everything always changes. I have had holidays so filled with the presence of people, dogs (when I did rescue), and other animals, that I barely had a minute to myself. And then I’ve had quieter ones, which is where I am now.

In the New Year, I will be losing a decent chunk of my second floor, as it is going to be annexed to the adjoining house next door. I can’t say I’m happy about losing this space, but there have been some unexpected upsides. One is that I am being forced to purge and clear out a good amount of belongings and furniture.

Ultimately, that means clearing out items from every area of the house, including the basement, as I sort what I want and don’t want and find new places for the “good stuff” to go. Several large Christmas boxes have been in the basement, never opened since I moved here – no time, no full-size tree. I’ve had/have furniture that I have no deep attachment to anymore. So why do I have it? I’m used to it being there.

Drawers/closets need to be gone through and sorted to make room for what I’m keeping. But here’s the other upside. I was alerted to a small, hyper-local organization called Buy Nothing that serves only my town and the town adjacent. It is a Facebook site purely for gifting things we don’t want or need that others might use or appreciate. In addition to #gift, you can also #ask if there’s something you are looking for.

Here’s how that’s working. The ornaments were requested by a desperate family who were unable to find what had happened to their own ornaments. When they picked up the box, they left a jar of homemade candied jalapenos in its place. The sheet music was requested by a mom who, along with her husband and son, plays piano and is eager to try some of the classics. The organizer (never used) was requested by several women to help them get 2024 together. And so on.

But what’s particularly lovely is how eager our local residents are to help one another. The beautiful gnome bread above was baked just to give away to someone who would like it. Another baker had sourdough starter to offer, and was rewarded by a photo of the recipient’s first sourdough loaf ever.

This makes a quiet Christmas such a different experience. I will miss the space, but am happy to not have so many things that I no longer need or care about. I sometimes feel a little lonely this year, but I know that I am surrounded by many more caring people than I ever suspected. I believe this is the spirit of love and giving at its best.

Happy Christmas, Hanukah, or whatever holiday you celebrate. May the spirit of love and giving be yours.