Long ago and far away, my older sister and I "hung out." We did things and went places together.

A sister between us, Cindy, had married and left home, the moment she turned 18. So Cris "made do" with me. Four years older than I, it somehow worked out, and went well.

One thing we occasionally did was drive south-of-the border, to eat in the restaurants, and see a cousin, Sylvia. We went shopping in the main district of Tijuana, picking her up before heading there. Sylvia often spent weeks at our home in California during the summers and had told us: "If you go shopping without me, you're going to pay a lot more for your things."

So (and because we were cousins and loved her) we picked her up at her home just across the way, and she bartered for us knowingly, with skills that amazed us. We chose our hippie leather purses and belts, embroidered peasant tops, knickknacks and even tiny bottles of liquor. (How did THAT happen, I think now!!) But shop we did, and fun it was, especially because we didn't know then we should have guilt over not giving people their due; we were young and only wanted all we could get, for our money.

The first time we had shopped without Sylvia produced a life-long memory and message that had nothing to do with the marketplace. We must have known that Sylvia was either working or at school, and so we planned on eating and shopping alone but to stop at her house anyway before heading back home, to say hello to her mother.

"Chuy" (Spanish nickname often and somehow derived from "Maria de Jesus") was this lovely, sweet-tempered woman, a favorite person in my mom's life, as was Sylvia, too. There were many children in the family, as I remember I think they eventually added up to 10. Filling the small house with fine furnishings and lots of toys never happened! Instead the children played with each other outdoors a lot, inventively and creatively. I remember when younger, that exploring the countryside in groups was not forbidden but encouraged, that no one ever squabbled as much as stayed cheerful, mostly contented with each other. They were always happy to see the cousins from "el norte."

They were welcoming. When Cris and I showed up unexpectedly that late afternoon, Chuy's face lit up to greet us. She urged us into her humble kitchen, and fussed that we should sit and visit at the table with her.

But Chuy didn't sit. She called to one of her young sons, and pulled from a cupboard a jar with dollars and change. We didn't know what was being said. Although Cris and I were more than happy to visit her, we had a lack of good verbal communication because we sadly weren't fluent in Spanish, and she not in English. We assumed she was sending her young man to the store as a common thing, and settled in to "chat" while she began fixing the supper for her family.

Into a skillet she sautéed rice; I remember she used water from a big jug of water the family used for cooking and drinking. She puttered and cooked, adding the newly-purchased ingredients when "Hector" returned from the store. It promised to be a delicious meal, traditional enchiladas but made with a white cheese our mother didn't use in her own version.

Cooking for her big family was something we supposed she did every day about this time. We didn't give it a thought, really. But when after awhile she served food generously onto plates and set them in front of US, we knew--she had sent her son to the store for an unplanned meal--special food for special guests. What might be left over, she would add to and fill out later for the rest of the household.

But THIS food, these filled platters, were for US. For me and Cris.

And me and Cris, JUST before arrival to Chuy's kitchen, had JUST finished eating huge platters of food, in a restaurant in town.

We were STUFFED. Not one bit hungry, crammed to the gills, no room at the inn. Not one bit able to communicate our mixture of gratitude and dismay, at not realizing her efforts were for US.

My sister and I locked eyes, and picked up our forks. Nothing to do, but try to eat.

So try to eat we did. We moved the food around, and nibbled, as if the time we took would give us time to get hungrier, and we could make more headway. It took all our unwilling regrets, to attempt to convey to her how appreciative we were, but we just could not eat a thing.

Oh, to have not wasted that food!! That was special fare, for that day of the week we knew. How lacking in us, not to have taken better notice, of what might be happening. We gave our apologies the best we could, but to this day I have to wonder: Did we miss her offer of a meal? Were we that careless, because surely I know how to say these many words now: "Muchos gracias, y lo siento, pero nosotros no tiene hambre ahorita." ("Thank you, and we're sorry but we're not hungry right now." Ahead of time, so as not to see that work and that graciousness, and that food, go to waste.

I've always wanted to say more. I know what it is to want to nurture! I know that nurture and generosity adds up to kindness and love, the greatest gestures to both give and receive.

I may have seen "Chuy" a handful of times since then, if that. I never relayed being at a loss that day. It wasn't a small thing! It did make me very happy in later years to hear that Chuy's life became much changed; she has been nurtured beyond that which she might ever have imagined, and it may be she has long forgotten my and Cris's experience in her kitchen.

I hope so!! But I never have.