If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you probably already have a sense of this, but let me remind you: I’m kind of an anxious person.
That said, I’m also a forgetful person. This combination means that sometimes I forget to be anxious until after something has already happened. It’s like my brain decides, “Hang on a second, I didn’t hear your heart racing. Let’s try that again.”
Throughout my school years, this tendency manifested itself in anxiety dreams about tests and report cards after I’d already received my grades. And, not to brag, but they were generally good ones—so what was I so worried about? Today, I keep up the tradition at work by hitting “send” on emails only to immediately scroll through them to check for typos or misaddressed salutations or other pernicious little errors—too late to take it back, but not too late to stress about it.
And, of course, if I run out of fodder for my after-the-fact fretting, there’s always gluten.
Take this recent example: my sister and I bought a table.
“What’s so stressful about that?,” you might ask (if you didn’t read the post’s title, that is; otherwise, you’ve probably already guessed, you smartypants, you). Here’s what’s stressful about that:
It’s a used table.
A used wooden table.
Now, a used wooden table is not in and of itself stressful. In fact, when my sister and I were at the store picking it out, I was quite relaxed. We spotted the table almost right away, so I didn’t have to worry we wouldn’t find one that day. We’d thought to take measurements of our kitchen before heading out, so I didn’t have to worry that it wouldn’t fit. We haggled down the price a bit and got some chairs thrown into the bargain, so I didn’t have to worry about price. And Salvation Army delivers—every few weeks, at least—so we didn’t have to worry about transport.
I didn’t even think to worry about gluten.
But yesterday, the table arrived (no returns allowed), and all of a sudden I thought to worry. People (including me) throw out wooden spoons and cutting boards after diagnosis, after all. How many times have you read that “wood is a porous material that can trap small amounts of gluten” (on sites like About.com). Wood is pretty much the first thing to go, after, you know, the sack of semolina you’ve been hoarding to make your own pasta with one day. And here I’d gone and introduced a big hunk of used wood right into my gluten-free kitchen sanctuary.
I thought it over. Just how much gluten could be in that table? Had its previous owners used it as a cutting board for bread, or rolled out cookies directly on its surface? Was there a baby in its former home who mashed her cereal—or Play-Doh—into its wooden grains? Did the family eat dumplings or empanadas or pierogies at this table? Pasta or pizza or pie dough? And how much of it, if so, would have gotten into the table itself? Was the table, even now, dropping crumbs onto the floor beneath it? (It didn’t seem to be…but gluten is small.) Would I gluten myself just by touching the table or eating at it? Should we leave it wrapped in the plastic in which it came? Or should I simply avoid eating at my own table? If I didn’t, would I steadily lose the gains I’ve made, and gain the antibodies I’ve lost?
In short: What. Had. We. Done?
I chewed my lip, wrung my hands, and ambushed my sister the moment she got home from work.
“We have a table!” she said, happily.
“Yeah!” I said, feigning cheeriness just for a moment. Then I dropped the ruse. “What if it has gluten on it?” I said.
My sister—clever, even-keeled sister—thought that one over for about half a second, and replied, “Well, we could just eat off of plates. And maybe use a tablecloth.”
People use plates and tablecloths, don’t they? Somewhat regularly, even. Nice, comforting things, plates and tablecloths: things through which gluten—real or imaginary—cannot penetrate.
Feeling foolish, I nodded. “Yes, or placemats.”
“Placemats,” Althea agreed decisively. “I like that.”
With that, all my buyer’s remorse and postmortem nerves—suddenly as silly seeming as any of those report card nightmares in the light of day—evaporated.
When buying secondhand, there’s always one thing left to worry about: that is, of course, bedbugs.
Indulge me with your thoughts on whether, say, an Udi’s cookie dropped onto a washed wooden table should be considered cross-contaminated, or tell me about the last time you made a mountain out of a molehill. Otherwise, have a worry-free weekend.
Ha, well it’s good to see Althea’s memory of home meals is good; you’d think you never saw plates, placemats or table cloths at home. When people ask “Did you grow up in a barn?” are you answering yes? LOL!
Haha! Good question…maybe I’ve lost my memory along with my mind. :p
I said I thought we should make DIY-decorated placemats! I must have been subconsciously remembering the ones we had as kids with photos on them. Also, I’m sure that Udi’s cookie was completely hypothetical, but if it were to have fallen, it probably would have fallen on the floor (not the table), which was unwashed, but gluten-free. The lesser of two evils?
My first thought was resealing the table. Tablecloths, placemats and plates also works.
Another good practical suggestion! The tablecloth/placemats are definitely the lazyman-friendly solution, if not as elegant as this one. 😉
A good scrub down (which, it’s used, so that would be par for the course anyway, right?) followed by using tableware should stand you in good stead. And, you know, make your parents proud.
My table was used when I bought it, with a slightly damaged finish on the top. I planned to refinish it when I bought it. That was 8 years (and one really messy rainstorm) ago, so I have a good collection of tablecloths, which are washable. That’s my solution.
It’ll take me at least as long as it took you to get it together to refinish the table, that’s for sure. Even things as simple as putting pictures on the wall and finding a spot for my cookbooks seem a bit beyond me when it comes to kitchen home improvement!
Haha this is great! I can totally relate to the anxiety, especially over gluten. I’m not even celiac (just very gluten sensitive), and I got a little upset the other day when I picked up some flour for my family at the store and it spilled in my car. I thought ‘what if, one day, I drop a piece of bacon in my car and then eat it? Will I get glutened??’
Sometimes I wonder if my health would improve if I lived in a gluten free environment, but usually I just try not to think about it since I’m not celiac, and any worrying will likely do more harm than good.
I think you’re definitely correct that the endless worrying is counterproductive, given how bad for us stress is. And yet… 🙂
I’m sure a good vacuum should do the trick for your car floor! But I’d be thinking the exact same thing. IN FACT, I probably would have refused to pick up the flour in the first place, heh.
[…] When you were first diagnosed with celiac or gluten intolerance, you wasted no time in clearing out the pantry, wiping down every surface, and perhaps even lining your drawers and resealing the dining room table. […]