“You should join us for Tuesday night dinners,” he said.

“This Tuesday?” I asked.

“Any Tuesday. Just show up at my place and they’ll be food and people.”

“I’ll have to check my calendar and get back to you,” I said.

“You don’t have to tell me if you’re coming or not. You can just show up.”

“If you don’t know who’s coming, how do you know how much to cook?”

“Somehow it just works out,” he said.

“What should I bring?” I asked.

“You don’t have to bring anything,” he said. “If you want to bring something, go ahead. But we’d rather have people come empty-handed than not come at all.”

“And you do this every Tuesday?”

“Every Tuesday.”

“What if you go on vacation?”

“Someone else runs it. I leave them my keys.”

The whole concept intrigued me. But getting up the nerve to just show up at someone’s apartment and expect some food. . . well, sure, as an Italian-American I knew I could show up to any relative’s house and get fed. And I’d do the same for them.

But I hardly knew this guy. He was a work colleague. I’d chatted with him at some after-hours social events. And we were on a few projects together. But just show up at his home?

“Maria is usually there. Jeremy, too.” He named a few other colleagues I knew. I conferred with them. “You should definitely come!” they said.

And so it was that I showed up one night and was welcomed in as if I was family.

I did bring something.

And then I watched as others showed up empty-handed and were welcomed all the same.

So sometimes I, too, would come with nothing but a hunger–for food and for company.

It was like the loaves and fishes story in the Bible. Somehow there always seemed to enough food for everyone.

At the end of the meal, our host would set up the timer on his camera and take a picture of all of us. Then he’d open a book and write down what was served and who was there. And once the film was developed, the picture would get inserted.

Eighteen years later, this memory came back to me as I was thinking about why I enjoy walking the Camino de Santiago on my own. I just have to show up. No one has to know I’m coming. There will always be food. Pictures will be taken. Names written down. And, after just a few days, I’ll show up and see others there I know, who will welcome me in like family.

Well, at least, that’s how it used to be. . . .

(To Be Continued)

(And to those of you that thought I was going to say I’m pregnant. . . I would have thought you knew me by now!)