This article reminded me of an event in my life when I was five or six years old. We had just moved into our home on John Street in Manhattan Beach, California. The doorbell rang, and my mother answered it. There was a neighbor from the block, a basket in her arms filled with welcome goodies. I think it was called The Welcome Wagon and organized by the entire block, with duties rotated. To me, it was not a duty but a very interesting lesson that made a lasting impression, obviously. My mother explained to me that it is normal to welcome the new family on the block. When my mom baked a casserole for the next-door neighbor who was ill, I was right there with her, cooking away (sort of), and I loved accompanying her to deliver it just to see the recipient smile, and some even had tears.
Living in Germany has been another lesson regarding neighbors and friendships. Most families and neighbors mingle at group functions, then attend to their families and duties otherwise. I’m so grateful that I have my international friends. They seem to read each other without words: a call, a stop-by visit, or a coffee date. I thought to myself, why not institute something here in my apartment building? This article from Psychology Today offers research-based advice on the power of connecting with your neighborhood. It even provides a super activity sheet to help you get started interacting. Check it out. It’s a start, right? It’s not about their politics, their religion, or their choice of partners; it’s just the right thing to do. It’s about caring and giving a little of yourself now and then to build community. I hope you check this out, and bravo to all of you for making steps at this time in our world.
I'm Melinda Stevens and living the life of a beach bum was inevitable since my father was a lifeguard for the city of Los Angeles. My memories of growing up on John Street in Manhattan Beach, California were filled with joy, excitement and adventures; until my world, as I knew it, fell apart when we moved to Del Mar, California. My father was offered the position as Captain of the lifeguards and we started the slow migration to the small deserted stretch of beach in 1963. At twelve years old, this seemed like the end of my life. Remember, I’m writing with clear hindsight now, ok somewhat clearer… Little did I know this would be the beginning of a new journey and give a bit more clarity to many of the events that led me to this new cooking adventure.