Parties Through The Ages

It’s Saturday night, Dennis is at his high school reunion and the only excitement in Paradise is a view of flooding in San Antonio as reported by the Weather Channel. Saturday night used to be party night.

During my twenties someone would call friends and say, “I’m having a party on Saturday.” When guests arrived at the dumpy apartment, most carrying a six-pack of beer, the host laid out a couple of bowls of potato chips and provided a cooler with ice for the beer. Testosterone dominated the atmosphere.

In my thirties parties were more up-scale. The hosts provided dip made from sour cream and Lipton’s onion soup mix to go with the chips and beer. One year, for my then-husband’s birthday, I made ten pounds of spiced shrimp. We also attended dreadful theme parties at the country club. Once when I refused to dance with a drunk he said, “Well, the hell with you, then.” That was same night I walked into the elegant ladies powder room to witness a tipsy woman tumble off an armless chair onto the floor, passed out, as they say. 

Parties in my forties were vastly different. I had left suburbia and started post-graduate studies. Large groups of my fellow students congregated to listen to music, sit on the floor in semi-darkness and smoke dope or drink jug wine. No one remembers whether there was food, although I do recall that Tim and I once fried twenty pounds of chicken for a gathering in my 1920’s bungalow.

By the time my fifties rolled around parties revolved around academic circles. White wine was in vogue along with cheese trays, crackers and olives. Vegetables or, if you will, crudités, had their debut as party food. Everyone stood up and mingled, searching for common ground beyond the university department. This also the decade when dinner parties were de rigueur. Four couples usually made up the party and the hostess served appetizers and a three-course meal. Wine was served. Conversation again centered on university politics.

In my sixties most parties centered around graduate students in Dennis’ program. These often were pot-luck dinners, with the hostess providing a main course. Various faculty wives took turns providing the venue. Wine was still the drink of choice but the food improved considerably.

Now, in my seventies, the closest thing to a party I’ve participated in was a reception following a memorial service. To quote Lyle Lovett, “It made me happy seeing all those people I ain’t seen since the last time somebody died.”

Tomorrow Dennis will attend another kind of party, his mother’s 95^th birthday celebration. Cake and punch will be served. There won’t be any wine.

Copyright 2013 by Shirley Domer