A few days before Christmas, my husband brought in a package that had just arrived on our porch. I was upstairs in our home office and he came up with the cold box, instructing me to open it. I had no clue what could possibly be inside nor why it couldn’t wait until Christmas. I was unable to see the label so there was no need for Mister Rain to tell me not to look at it to or be concerned that I would learn where the box had originated. Reaching for the scissors in the mug on the desk, I cut the tape on the box. Pulling back the flaps, I reached inside, lifting out a bag containing something I could not yet identify. Many times with gifts, I have to be told what they are. I gently squeezed the bag’s contents, finally realizing it was bread. He had purchased four loaves of Portuguese bread for me from Nantucket Bake Shop in Nantucket, Massachusetts.
I had read about the bread in many Nancy Thayer and Elin Hilderbrand books; everyone said it made great toast. When we were on the island a few years ago, we bought a loaf, bringing it home with us. Since then, we have asked at local specialty bakeries but have not been able to find any who make it close to home.
As I drank my coffee and ate my Portuguese toast the next day, with the Christmas tree lights casting a warm glow across the room, I could hear the gusting winds outside. I thought about the wonderful week we had spent 30 miles off the coast of Cape Cod. What a gift that as humans our memories live inside us, able to be called to mind whenever we want. But sometimes they show up on our doorstep, bringing with them the smell of salt air and the feeling of sand under our feet. What a gift indeed.
#sisterrain #alittlesightalotofheart #legallyblindtraveler #nantucket #nantucketbakeshop #portugesebread #breadbox