The refrigerator in the apartment we’re renting for our first two months in Buenos Aires had nothing more than condiments so I was surprised by the delicious smell of hot bread wafting out of the kitchen. As I came to the doorway Tim said, “Memo and Janelle have brought over toast and smoothies for us all.” Then looking down at the heavily laden table —the delicious whole wheat bread from a nearby bakery, dulce de leche caramel spread, butter, whipped honey, Nutella, and various fruit jams—Tim exclaimed, “It's so great to arrive and have friends who take such good care of us. It’s like we landed on a cushion of friends.”
Our whole transition has been aided by dozens of people in both countries who have given us their time, their sorting/packing ability, their backs, their storage space and rides to and from the airport to help us relocate.
But why, you might ask as we do, why do we have so much stuff when we left Mexico with pretty much just what fit into the back of our car? Tim has solved the mystery: our stuff had kids. It must have snuck into the closet while we weren’t looking and multiplied.