Hosting, graciousness go together

Jennifer Ditlevson Haglund

Whenever the matter of hosting guests comes up, I imagine illustrated women’s magazine articles from the mid-20th Century offering advice about what to cook and how to create a comfortable living space for the duration of an overnight stay.

Southern Living suggests that I provide snacks and current magazines for them in the bedroom I don’t have, make up toiletry baskets, and plan activities they would like.

In my dreams, I have a spare bedroom with a comfortable bed and extra fluffy pillows, two bathrooms, a child who sleeps in past 6:45 a.m. and a space for her to play quietly until company feels ready for the blast of the horn on her model Chinese speed train. She naps while we’re out exploring or doesn’t get cranky if she misses a little sleep. I also know and stock all drinks and snacks my guests like best without having to ask their favorites.

For the last seven years, all I could offer was my own bed, a couch, or a blow-up twin mattress made up with the old, flat pillows my spouse and I forfeit using for the night. Because I rarely use pillows, I don’t think of why I would need a decent set — let alone an extra one — until I wish I could give something better than my worn-out cheap set to my family or friends.

My child wakes up early, and when she must deviate from her schedule, it doesn’t go well. She skipped a nap and screamed in exhausted horror for two hours while my brother, who I hadn’t seen for more than a year, visited with his girlfriend over the weekend. Instead of getting to ask them more about their time in China, their new jobs, or take time to joke about things we’ve always thought were funny, I was trying not to lose it because my kid was crying about how Minnie Mouse’s dress was wrinkled and wouldn’t take a nap.

As a host, I want my guests to feel welcome, entertained, and cozy. It isn’t until I open my home that I find I want to feel all those things, too, all while being responsible for creating a pleasant atmosphere and experience for others. If I could buy the secret to making that possible, I wouldn’t sell my soul, but I’d be tempted to put it up for a short-term lease.

The more frequently I host guests for longer than a few hours, I notice that no matter how easy-going or flexible I might be, I’m not. Even on vacation, I like routine and order, plans, waking and going somewhere by 9 a.m., and I prefer to eat homemade vegetarian and vegan food. I don’t keep soda, alcohol, sweets, or much prepackaged food in our home, and I don’t own a television.

I am the person who lives the kind of life from which most people need a vacation. Knowing this about myself makes me nervous that I won’t get it right, no matter how I much I vacuum, if there’s ice cream in the freezer, or what activity I plan. Away from my usual diet and timetable, I don’t know what to do or what to provide for people who want to rest more, and eat or manage their time differently, so I focus on accommodating and try to fight my urges to place my preferences above my guests. Add to this that when I alter my norms, I end up feeling sick, tired, and almost as out of it as my two-year-old without her nap.

Somehow, despite all my failings as a novice host, people still come to see my family. They might be coming for Tim. He’s more affable than I am, and I hear he makes good chicken and pork chops for our meat-eating guests.

I’m being hard on myself, but honest as well. I’m difficult, and I could console myself by remembering that for every annoying quirk and offensive habit I have and cannot hide from my guests, they have theirs, too. That, however, doesn’t motivate me to improve my manners or expand my understanding of hospitality. It relieves some of my anxiety, but if I consider why it’s so hard to host, it comes down to facing how much I would rather keep on with regularly scheduled programming than sacrifice my own comfort to enjoy the company of others.

Jennifer Ditlevson Haglund is a former news reporter for the Maryville Daily Forum, now living and writing in New York City.