I still remember a time when visiting someone’s home meant something different.
Back then, the first thing that happened when you walked through the door — wasn’t small talk or “make yourself comfortable.” It was food. You got fed.
Didn’t matter where you came from, what time it was, or how long you planned to stay — the rule was simple: first, you eat.
Nobody really asked if you were hungry. They’d just say, “We’ve got mashed potatoes and meatloaf today — you’ll have some, right?” And if you said no, they’d look genuinely puzzled and ask, “Well, what would you like then?” Refusing food was almost impolite.
Meals were shared at one table — always together. You talked, got to know each other better, and they quietly watched how you ate, because that, too, said a lot about a person.
Then came tea or coffee. That part was sacred. And it was considered good manners to bring something sweet “for the table.” Sure, you could show up empty-handed — but that, too, said something about you.
After tea, sometimes the men would drift off to another room to talk, and the women would stay behind — cleaning up together, washing dishes, chatting.
It was polite for a guest to offer help, and polite for the host to refuse — but still accept a little, just for form’s sake. It was all part of a beautiful, quiet ritual.
Only after all that — the meal, the tea, the conversation — could you finally get to why you came in the first place.
That whole culture of visiting — real visiting — is nearly gone now.
And with it, so many small details that gave life its texture.
If a guest came for the first time, it was custom to show them around the house — like a mini tour. You’d proudly display your books, your record collection, your stamps, your curiosities. And the guest was expected to show interest, even if they didn’t care much. You never criticized someone else’s home — that was bad manners.
There were rules for everything — when to arrive, when to leave, how to wash your hands before eating, even whether you knew who Boris Pasternak was.
Looking back now, it feels like an entire civilization — a culture of visiting — quietly disappeared.
I vividly recall going to visit all my extended relatives during Christmas time. It was a must to see their decorations and share in their holiday fare. You had to reserve about 2 hours per house. We used to take the whole Octave until New Years Day to be sure include everyone. Plus we had to make time to be 'at home' to receive our own guests. None of this sleeping in and watching TV all day!