Adventures in hospitality #2

old neighbors and a bunch of messy-haired kids

I’m sharing this post today from an old blog of mine; hospitality has been on my mind a lot lately. I can think of many meals and treats in other’s homes and it’s never looked like a Pinterest picture or anything from a magazine. If it had, I probably wouldn’t have been invited. 

We visited the old neighborhood after church. Sterling needed to work on something with his younger brother, who bought the 2-bedroom house from us a few years ago. My two oldest, at ages four and five learned to bike here. Our front yard had the perfect stretch of sidewalk.

When babies became big boys starting to walk, we taught them which sidewalk line not to cross. We had no fences, and we liked it that way. The neighbors graciously shared their yards, knowing at any moment a five-year-old might wander over wanting to pet the dog and ask all the questions.

---

Photo by Will Tarpey on Unsplash

I was ten when we moved from my first childhood home. There’s a lot I've forgotten about it, but not Mrs. M and her raspberry bushes- its stems always extending over and through the fence like a friendly hello.

We learned young to treat the berry bushes with respect, working carefully around the thorns. It was almost mandatory during a picking session that one of us kids had to go find mom and show her our red hands, certain that the berry juice running down could fool her into thinking we had been pricked by the thorns.

I don’t know how many times we crossed over to share our artwork with the neighbor. She made us believe our drawings were of great value. While we sat at the table, Mrs. M would pull out a glass bowl of the most beautiful sight. She would tell us again about her son in Switzerland who sent her chocolates. “These are Swiss chocolates.” Mrs. M would say, with emphasis on the “Swiss.”

I would stare longingly at the pile of chocolates in their shiny square wrappers, until it was my turn to take one. They seemed far too nice for a few messy-haired kids. We accepted them gladly anyway.

---

Sterling needed to work awhile, so not long after parking, I head across the street with the kids, big grins on their faces. I pause in front of their house for a long second, wondering if I knock on the side or front door, and I pick the front.

The door doesn't matter. I know I'm welcome at any of them.

We're greeted with Jane's Special-K bars. In that moment I resolve to be the kind of woman ready to greet a family of 8 with a plate full of Special-K bars. It's added to the official "Life Goals" list, right up there with sending cards in the mail and remembering birthdays.

I end up making sandwiches in Jane’s kitchen, with some of my ingredients and some of hers, giving life updates. She makes me coffee and pours the kids milk in tiny glasses. I can’t stay long but she doesn’t let us go without a bag of snacks for the road, and wraps up the extra sandwiches for Sterling.

I asked her once if she could share her recipe for the Special-K bars. There must be a secret to their special abilities.

Her answer: It's just the one from the box.

Here I've been searching for The Recipe and it's been there all along on the back of a cereal box.

Have you had people in your life like this? What are your thoughts on neighborhood hospitality? I would love to hear.