When was the last time you were a guest in your own house? And I mean, slept in your guest bed? Showered and prepared for the day in your guest bath? I’m going to take a stab at your answer: Never. I travel and stay in guest rooms a lot. I have a packing routine, a car-loading routine, and a move-in routine. I feel like I’m prepared for almost any daily need, but occasionally I’ll have to go on the hunt for a hair tie or contact case or nail clippers in the guest bath. And I usually come up empty. So then I have to track down my host, make my request, watch them search frantically, or even make a late-night trip to the nearest store. It’s difficult for everyone, because we both feel unprepared. So here’s what I recommend: Be your own guest. Start with your guest bedroom/suite. I’ve had to very gently tell a few hosts their guest bed is extremely uncomfortable. I usually make a suggestion, like, “You might look into a gel mattress topper. Walmart has some great options!” Most guest beds naturally have the oldest mattress in the house. I mean, who sleeps there? Not you! Ah…but you’re gonna. Climb into that bed one night. Is it comfortable? Are the sheets, blankets and pillows appropriate for the season? Flannel in the summer = misery. How’s the bedside lighting? Do you have to get up to turn it off, then stumble back to bed in the dark? Tricky. Do the blinds/curtains close? Is a fan—overhead or portable—handy? How’s the noise level? Can you hear the washer/dryer running? Is the morning smoothie maker like a jackhammer in your head? Do doors slam? Dogs bark? Children shout? Do you just want to move into a hotel? Then we have some work to do. Get ready in your guest bath one morning. How’s the lighting? Glaring? Dim? Could you shave or put on makeup quite happily? Lighting is a pretty easy thing to fix. And here’s a good tip: No one, not even a vampire, looks good in fluorescent lighting. Use the guest shower. Does the water barely trickle out? New shower heads are pretty affordable and easy to install. Is your towel handy? Ditto for wall hooks and over-the-door hangers. Do you step out onto a slick floor? Bath mats are available everywhere. How’s your toilet paper supply? Down to the last two squares? Sooooo awkward. Restock immediately! All of this—every bit of it—is easy and affordable to remedy. Half the battle is just being aware of what’s working/not working, handy/not handy, comfortable/cumbersome. Make a plan to fix everything within the week. You’ll be prepared the next time your college roommate pops into town, your favorite aunt comes to visit, or your best friend needs a place to crash for the night. And you might just create such a wonderful oasis that you’ll hear yourself tell your family, “I think I’ll be my own guest tonight. See you in the morning!”
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A few months ago, I finally got up the nerve to say to a client what I’d been dying to say for more than a year: “Do I need to do a drive-by planting?” Every week, I’d show up at the front door, see those poor, unloved pots framing the entrance with their dry soil and dead plants, and I’d cringe. Several times I’d stopped myself from just pulling out the dead whatever-it-was and flinging it behind the shrubbery. Even that change would’ve been an improvement. Much to my surprise and delight, my client said with excitement, “Do you do that?? That would be fantastic!” Before long, we were talking colors and seasons and plant combinations. We discussed possible changes to the whole front porch that would make it beautiful and usable. We unearthed a petite watering can, two old-but-usable obelisks, and some window boxes. One week later, I filled those pots with pre-sprouted tulips, hyacinths and primrose. The obelisks created height and the colors popped. A new outdoor rug and pillows completed the scene. And just like that, the front entrance was happy and inviting. It was a small task for me, but a HUGE win for her. I had no idea she’d been embarrassed about the condition of her front porch and door for more than a year. She knew that entrance was a terrible first impression, so guest invitations were few and far between. Now she felt far more confident and excited. She took photos for her mom and sister. She talked about having a friend over for porch coffee. And I thought, My work here is done. If your entrance is looking a little tired or sad, I encourage you to get out there and change just one thing. Sweep and dust it off, then add a pot of flowers. If that brings a smile, add an outdoor table or chair. If you have an outlet nearby, add a table lamp and leave it on. It will glow at dusk and whisper to evening strollers, Friendly people live here. Before long, you might find yourself sitting on that porch, waving to neighbors, counting fireflies. Happy. Inviting. Then our work will be done. I once got a C in hosting.
My college buddy, Hank, was in town and we invited over an agent to pitch a TV show. I think I made Shepherds Pie or lasagna or some other signature meal. I probably used a linen tablecloth and crystal glasses. Undoubtedly, I placed vases of cut flowers near each place setting. And I know, for a fact, I lit tapered candles in brass holders as a centerpiece. Because this is where I earned the C. Dinner and the show pitch went smoothly. I remember popping brownies into the oven when the doorbell rang, so the intoxicating fragrance of baking chocolate would fill my little townhouse as we chatted and laughed and found each other brilliant. And when the oven timer dinged, I jumped up, pulled out the brownies, walked to the table, and blew out the candles. I’ll wait as you recover from your gasp of dismay. Hank shot me a what-the-heck look, I turned to our guest and said, “Shall we move into the living room for dessert?” Both men seemed confused, so I picked up my wine glass and led the way. They eventually followed, awkwardly found seating, and I disappeared to plate up the brownies. As the door closed on the agent, I said, “I think that went well.” Hank rounded on me and said, “I hope so, because you just earned a C in hosting.” I was speechless. He ticked off the reasons: “You blew out the candles, then forced us to move into the living room—where you abandoned us to make small talk while you messed around with brownies!” This was all true. This is also the beauty of having an old Yankee friend for dinner: They get right to the point. I took my ego out of the equation and evaluated the dinner scorecard. Why had I blown out the candles and forced guests out of their chairs? They were comfortably chatting at the still-beautiful table. I could have simply cleared the plates and worked on the brownies 15 feet away, engaging in conversation. Why had I insisted they move into the living room? Well, I was proud of its off-white seating, soft lighting, and baby grand piano. I didn’t need to transition to a new space, create an awkward moment and show off a fancy tableau to make the meeting successful. Why had I abandoned them to “mess around with brownies”? I had an ulterior motive. I wanted to rinse the dinner plates and get them into the dishwasher before serving dessert. I fight a constant urge to tidy up the kitchen during every dinner party to this day. Here’s the truth: Dinner guests don’t care about the condition of the dinner table at the end of a meal. They are always—-always--happy to lounge around the table and chat…especially if you have comfortable chairs. Clearing the table signals to a guest, true or not, social time is winding down. I now say, “Let me get these out of the way to make room for dessert!” Rinsing and loading plates into the dishwasher is a social cue for “you should probably leave.” Guess what? It doesn’t actually kill me to stack them in the sink. I check my hosting score with Hank during every visit now. He consistently says, “You get an A. You’re welcome.” Yes, old friend, I am. Thank you. Over the past two decades in the mid-South, I’ve developed a mantra: I can fix anything with food and flowers.
Now, that may sound a bit cocky, but for just an hour, a day, even a weekend, I’ve fixed grieving souls, troubled marriages, sudden illnesses, scraped knees, lonely hearts, bruised egos, empty nests, crushed spirits. And I’ve done it with dinner invitations, porch pastries, and drive-by plantings. I’ve even rescued a party or two with an apron and a Google search. You see, I discovered something as I aged: Hospitality is a sure thing. People rarely turn down a home-cooked meal, banana bread or bouquet of flowers. Those are instant hits. Guests in my home may not like every food item on the dinner table, but they appreciate the invitation. They admire the tiny vases of cut blooms and the tea lights. The usual comment is, “You did all this for me?” Yes. Yes I did. A surprise quick bread on the front porch never fails. Sometimes I ding-dong-dash, grinning madly as I imagine the quick glance around, landing on a gift bag of warm pastry. Sometimes I text, “Check your front door for a little happiness!” Sometimes the “happiness” is a covertly-planted pot of daisies or begonias. They’re such joyful flowers. Now, Southerners didn’t invent the art of hospitality, but they’ve certainly cornered the market. I learned hospitality from my mid-Michigan farming family, who regularly hosted exchange students, missionaries, relatives, local pastors, community leaders, and a small army of children. I fine-tuned my hosting skills at every southern dinner table, party and casual coffee in gracious hosts’ homes. I can do that, I thought. So I did. And you can, too. My hope in this video hospitality venture is two-fold: generosity and kindness. It costs nothing to be kind. But wouldn’t it be generous to double the ingredients and cost of your winning pumpkin loaf recipe and deposit the bonus loaf on your neighbor’s porch? And what might happen if you used one of those gift bags you just couldn’t throw out, added a little tissue and a sticky note with “Enjoy!” in your best penmanship? Would it make someone’s day? You bet it would. Hospitality doesn’t have to be fancy or expensive to warm a friend’s heart. Cut a few of those spring, summer or fall blooms in your yard and bring them to the table. Use a mason jar or garage-sale vase. Tie a little ribbon or twine around it. Use what you have on hand. Will those little, extra touches bring a smile or maybe even a squeal? The answer is yes. I hope you’re encouraged and entertained by my videos. You have it in you to up your hosting game with a few, quick changes. Look around your kitchen. Break out the crystal stemware. Unearth the fancy napkins. Use the seasonal tablecloth. Then pick up that phone, throw out an invitation, and make sure someone feels special tonight. |
Christine SchaubA Michigan farm girl transplanted to the South offering hospitality hacks. Categories
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