Chefs, Some Insight?

When I tell you that I don't understand, will you think I am being sarcastic?

I once received the most glorious little package in the mail from a friend who had moved away. It was homemade toffee. I had never been a huge fan of toffee, since quite frankly, I like to hold onto the few teeth I have. But this toffee was different. It snapped when you bit it. It was covered with delicious dark chocolate and adorned in roasted chopped pecans. Heavenly. If I had allowed my husband to have any, he may have agreed with me.
So, I sent a letter asking for the recipe.

There! YOU! Yes, YOU who gasped when I said that. You are specifically who I am writing to today, because this really escapes my understanding.

My friend never responded.

Ok, to say we were "friends" may be stretching it a bit, we were more like people who respectfully enjoyed each other's company because we were in the same home business together. So it wasn't like my BFF just didn't write back.

I don't take hints well, so one day when she called, I again oozed compliments and gratitude for her candy-making abilities and asked her if she'd share the recipe.

There was a slight, deadly silent pause and then she informed me that the person that had given her the recipe had SWORN her to secrecy. I was picturing a dark little corner where our exchange was taking place and her telling me, "If I gave you that information, I'd have to kill you".
I respectfully dropped my inquest, but had to wonder...

Um, it's a recipe. Not her bank account. And she, like my "friend", had moved away from our state.
I don't get it.

I used to joke about my mother's oatmeal cake and how I "would never share the recipe, so don't ask" but did and even allowed it to be put in a church book.
I have sat among the bubble blowers and errant birthday balloons telling other mothers, "Oh these? They're from a box".

You gasped again, I heard you.

Someone even pulled me aside and told me, "You're not supposed to admit it's from a box."

Why is that?

Who cares?

I make some mean food, as our scales can attest to, but quite frequently, I pour Betty Crocker into my cupcake liners. And unless you're running a catering business with a speciality you don't want stolen, why do you care that I make your dish for my family? I would think of it as a compliment.
Don't you know, that every time I make the Pecan Cream Cheese cracker dip I think of the woman that gave me the recipe? Years later and thousands of miles between us, it's like she attends every party where I serve it. My friend Max's porcupine casserole? I remember the time he had daringly had our entire clan over for dinner when he discovered he had left out the egg and so the meatballs were only ground beef with rice in a tomato sauce. I love Max.
My grandmother's coconut cake (with real coconut milk), sits her down at my table with me for every bite.

So lighten up.
Share. It's not just your recipe, it's a little of you.

And now, every Christmas when I make MY special toffee, I think of the attempts to thwart my culinary progress and wish I had her address to say, "Na na nana na! I figured it out!"

Oooh, success is sweet!