Around this time of year, a lot of us are visiting relatives, playing the "Which is better: Being correct socially, or feeling good?" game. I'm usually pretty prepared for visits to relatives, bringing loads of goodies, our own cutting board and knives, etc. This year, our visit became extended, and I pretty much reached the end of my GF rope.

My sister had bought some loaves of primo French bread, and my brother had specially purchased a Honey Baked ham ... the only ham on the planet, I think, that uses flour in the ingredient list. Plates of cookies covered the countertop. Everyone used the same dishtowel. Pots of glutenated soup simmered on the stove. Even the playing cards from our mutual poker game were contaminated. Not to mention the little kids, who wanted to hug Auntie while visibly full of crumbs from their last French-bread encounter.

Ok, I had the usual thoughts about lack of empathy. Esp. about the 3rd hour of hearing "Oh! This is AMAZING French bread." or "Would you mind if we made some roll-out cookies?" or "Oh, Heather, you should try this soup! oh ... I forgot, you can't" (how many years does it take for people to figure this out?). I suppose earlier this wouldn't have bothered me, but this year I had the most amazing visit with a client who showed true hospitality, and the contrast really hit me. It's all about how much care one person has, towards another.

But the newer thought that occurred to me, was how much this dinner was like one from my childhood. In that era, everyone, it seemed, smoked. Except my Mom and Dad. Dad really hated smoke. Not that he knew it was unhealthy ... in that era no one did. But he hated the smell of it, and that it polluted his house even after the smoker was gone. So smokers had to smoke outside, on the porch.

This made Dad very unpopular with my sister's boyfriends, and our neighbors, and pretty much everyone, because he was being so "weird". Who in the world could dislike cigarettes? So Christmas and Thanksgiving was often about "Dad's thing with cigarettes" ... with the visitors out smoking on the porch. (It also brings up another aspect of hospitality: how much do you work with the guest's needs (nicotine) when those needs conflict with the other guests?)

Looking back on it nowadays though, I think on how my asthmatic brother and mother were probably saved by that bit of weirdness. Our house simply did not have smoke in it, ever, because Dad was willing to be unpopular, for reasons no one really understood.

Someday, looking back, people will look at "second hand gluten" a lot like we look at "second hand smoke" today. If you want to eat gluten, you shouldn't be scattering the crumbs all over the shared counter, you should wash your hands before playing cards. There will be some set of rules about the allergens, that will define "socially correct" behavior.

Meanwhile, I came home and luxuriated in my safe, GF home, and took a long, hot, shower.

 

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