“Remember that time when I was at your house when we were kids?” my friend, Liz, asked recently.

“Yeah, yeah, you were once,” I replied excitedly. “I have a photo of you at the kitchen table.” Elaborating the obvious, I added, “mom and dad were away.” My house was not the hangout. Having people over wasn’t fun for mom and consequently not for anyone. 

Despite no early modelling, I’ve always craved the role of host and have thrown parties wherever I’ve lived. I really hit my stride though when Jack and I got a house. For those few years we were together, we were two Libras doing what Libras do best: Jack was warm, gracious, vivacious, ever attentive to people’s glasses or needs, chatting away while I popped in and out of the kitchen presenting courses of carefully curated food, tailored to the season and the guests’ palates. 

Entertain hits all the buttons for me. Preparation requires a daily to-do list, sometimes a week in advance - lots of crossing things off, giving me a great sense of completion. There’s a creativity required for the meal composition and the presentation. I keep track of menus so no person gets served the same meal or even - if I can avoid it - the same element within a meal. Using my parents’ 1951 wedding dishes makes me happy, connecting me to old family memories and satisfying my need not to jettison things of the past. Ironing beautiful table linens creates a sense of pristine order so absent in our daily lives. Chatting to good friends meets my social needs but hosting provides the introvert in me opportunities to slip away for a battery top-up. That moment when everyone leaves and I’m surrounded by the chaos of dishes, leftovers, empty bottles, and untouched ones brought by guests, gives me a chance to sink into my sofa with one last glass of wine, feeling like maybe I’ve pulled it off, and hoping the guests thought so too. When Jack was alive, we’d do a bit of light clean-up together sharing our private conversations with guests, speculating about whose relationships were rocky, questioning whether someone was really happy in their job, revelling in our friends’ successes - the grand debrief. 

During Jack’s illness, our shared love of entertaining together made it possible for us to stay connected to friends but still allowed him to retire to his bed when he was done-in.  In the months before his death, the responsibility for hosting shifted gradually to me. I didn’t mind - having friends over meant we were both still part of the world we’d created together. And it kept me occupied.

My biggest hosting challenge (and triumph) was five weeks before Jack’s medically assisted death. Months earlier, my step-daughter, Alexa, got engaged with plans to marry a year later. It soon became obvious if she wanted her dad present, she was going to have to move the date up. She and Dennis were saving for the big wedding they’d hoped for. 

“Alexa, trim the list to 65 and you can have the reception here,” I paused and throwing caution to the wind, went on, “and I’ll do the food.” I’d said it. I was caring for a cancer patient and I was putting my hand up to do my first - and likely only - big catering job.  Was I nuts?

“Oh, thank you, that’s a nice offer,” she replied at first.  “But our families and friends are a bigger number than that.” Within a couple of weeks of collecting quotes for venues and food, a small backyard reception with a homemade dinner seemed a better idea. They say “yes.” The menu I proposed wasn’t the one they would have chosen, I know, but it was manageable from my small kitchen and could be served in various locations in the yard and the basement. I had 35 place settings for smaller work parties I’d hosted and grew my collection to 65 with a few trips to discount kitchen supply places. I precooked soups, ribs, and baked countless batches of bread. I washed and chopped veg for days. Jack - my fridge magnate - had given me the largest upright freezer I’d ever seen and by a week before the event, it and our two fridges were jammed. I arranged for four hardworking and generous friends to serve. (still can’t believe the effort they put in - thanks!) Alexa and her friends decorated the back yard and ordered a tent. With a bartender and a DJ, the party was complete. 

They married in a church, with Alexa’s dad and her three brothers present along with many other family and friends. We then all returned to our house.  It was mid-October and guests huddled happily around propane heaters, drinking hot soup, and dancing to Latin music.  I’m told people enjoyed the food. Frankly it was a blur!  Of the many parties I’ve hosted, this was the most challenging logistically and the most special. Alexa and Dennis and their guests may have been the stated reason for the party, but for me, the biggest reward was knowing I could do one last party for Jack, a way to celebrate our mutual love of entertaining. Such fond memories. 

I don’t plan to do anything on that scale again, but while others bemoan the loss of other liberties during COVID, the one thing I long for is hosting. Entertaining is my entertainment - bring on the new normal!