Corndogs + Avocados

A few weeks ago my friend Amanda and I made a sort of pact to each of us go better get to know a neighbor. My neighbor was my landlord. It’s hard for me to figure out how to strike up a conversation with a neighbor that I just never see. It had been so long since we had talked that I couldn’t even remember my landlord’s wife’s name.

Two weeks ago I took over some banana bread—well, mine turns out to be more of a chocolate bread with some banana in it due to all the chocolate chips I throw in. Knocked on the door and handed Rafail (Ukrainian) the plate of goodies and we chatted a bit. It was dark outside, and a little late, and it looked like some family was over for a nightcap. Note to self: do this in the day light. I did manage to lean over and in all embarrassment ask what his wife’s name was again. He chuckled and leaned in, whispering with a Russian accent, “It won’t be hard to forget because it means ‘chicken’ in Spanish. Her name is Galina.” (Actually spelled “gallina” in Spanish.)

After the goodnights were said I was full of the warm fuzzies the Spirit brings whenever you make an effort to reach out, however clumsily, and started to plot my next move. Can you just show up on the doorstep and say, “Hi! I think you’re very interesting and would like to sit and learn all about you for at least half an hour”? That’s what I want to do. Can I pull it off?

But the Lord does not only bless you spiritually, but physically as well. In a word: BISCOTTI. Just last Thursday afternoon Galina knocked on our door with a plate full of this:

The most amazing biscotti-like cookies I’ve ever had, bar none. What would happen if I brought them meatballs? Would they come over with steaks? How many neighbors do I have?

The following weekend we heard Elder Ballard say during the Church’s General Conference (Sunday morning session) that today the Lord “isn’t asking us to walk across a continent; He’s asking us to walk across the street to visit our neighbor.” I can do that.