El cumple de Gorka & its gift to us all

This Sunday the boys and I were picked up by our friend Gorka, a Madrileño that we had met in the States.  Gorka came to Montana to study Nursing; his brother Jon had come some years before him and had the good fortune of marrying Becky, an amazing woman and dear friend from my past.  This connection to Spain and to Becky was fantastic all-around, and only got better when, on a holiday break in Spain, Gorka met his lovely future wife, Helena.  He returned to Madrid to be with her, and if you meet her it is obvious why.

Let me point out that the picture is of a weird guy;
Gorka is not the weird guy. 

Gorka's lovely and interesting family lives about forty-five minutes north of Madrid in a quiet pueblo full of twisted streets and iron-gated stucco walls. We were invited to celebrate his birthday with family and friends and Gorka was kind enough to pick us up at noon. (With gas prices near $7 per gallon, this gesture is to be appreciated.) The boys loved seeing Gorka again, and enjoyed his presence, the space and freedom of his family's private yard and the comfort of their two sweet dogs - it was the most similar experience to home that they had known here thus far.

A weekend meal with friends in Spain has no comparison in our culture, however. Perhaps a Sunday barbeque over the Fourth of July might compete, but this experience in Spain is a typical weekend activity, minus the fireworks, excessive drinking and parade.  Because it was a beautiful, sunny 65º day, we ate outside beside the lavender, under the olive tree.  Three tables were pulled together, dressed in linen, set with dinnerware for 19 people and prepared for a literal feast.



We enjoyed an incredible meal fit for royalty and in ample quantities: fresh bread, homemade Spanish tortilla with onion, spinach salad with sauteed-mushrooms and homemade mustard dressing, octopus portions marinated in garlic and olive oil, tomato salad, Russian vegetable salad with carrots, peas, beans, hard-boiled egg, roasted red peppers and homemade mayonnaise, brick-oven roasted chicken and lamb for the meat-eaters, followed by espresso, orange cake, tiramisu and various liqueurs. The entire meal lasted a little under three hours, with no other goal but to celebrate Gorka, his people and their communion.

After doing dishes together, followed by a few games of ping-pong, some television for those who need a little quiet time or Skyping with loved ones in the States, we again gathered around a table to chat and discuss the week ahead. At around 8:30 PM, we headed home, feeling full with the day and our having taken advantage of it.  Although the novelty of these all-day meals together has worn off, my appreciation for them has not.  I know that every time I leave Spain, I leave thinking that I am going to make a bigger commitment in my American life to make these times happen. And yet, somehow either I or they don't.

I suppose that when we go camping with friends or get together with family over the holidays we can recall times such as these.  But, in general, Americans are more independent, more solitary.  I want my children to know this life, where friends and family spend leisurely afternoons under one roof, discussing their lives and their community, politics and frustrations, their joys and mindless banter. Where people create rather than purchase experiences, where the gift is in the moment together.  I have long declared that, as soon as our house project is done, we'll have monthly dance nights, bonfires and neighborhood potlucks. We'll make sure to plan open weekly dinners with friends at our house, where we start early enough that kids can get in a full day of play. I'm going to try. Again.  And just maybe this time I can make it happen. In the meantime, I am going to savor every moment while I'm here.  ¡FELICIDADES, GORKA! Y gracias.

Gorka, Helena, Becky & Jon
Photo courtesy of Rebecca Hofstad