Party Pooped.
I come from party hearty stock.
On the paternal line my grandfather played the banjo in the town dance band -- his house floor boards offered the only hall in McTaggart Saskatchewan in those years at the end of the dirty thirties when my father was the age of my children today.
On the maternal line my Alberta born mother is from historically large Ukrainian clans both urban and rural. Her own family compact 4 gregarious girls and one stylin' boy. Behind her extends a long history of rowdy road trips and campouts. Upwardly mobile and thanks to a brief stint of 'international work' in the 60's plenty a fancy formal and sophisticates cocktail parties. In my own wonder years my mom fared well in the Elizabeth Baird, Canadian Living Magazine duke it out dinner party circuit. Read my chilled cucumber soup can kick your gazpacho's ass any day.
I come by it naturally. Even before I left home I was a party addict. My parents were always supportive and managed to enjoy my suburban house parties of considerable size; right down to the puke in their bed that time. I was the first of our group to get my own place and from there I was known as Your Hostliness. I regularly fed my friends all through my twenties with weekend dinners and Ukrainian Christmas Eve suppers. I could always count on the rave reviews of expert munchies critters ready to face anything from galantine of duck to the McTaggart Strawberry Shortcake recipe after long rattle-y ride down the side of a mountain or two in Nord Vancouver! There was those Boxing Day chilli buffets and the ever popular community suppers that distinguished those years in the Villa!! You know who you are.
I love to have people over; and to cook for them. I used to never tire of it but now I do TIIIREE my head aching to plan another detail.
My son turned two on Thursday and my father 70 yesterday. Read about 3 parties to fete it all adequately. The little family dinner, the grandpa Saturday night wingding of 40 and the little man pancake breakfast cum birthday party for 50.
My house is littered with rugrat entertainments. My feet hurt. I made so many cupcakes I don't know if this city might have enough mari-poochie left to fuel the need. But as I wrote one dear guest today. We love to party as much when its fuelled by pancakes and white sugar as we did in days of beers or brie.
Hey, I that sounds like a decent menu in the making....
Updated to add: Alpha Dogma you oversell us. We were really quite a lot like this:
On the paternal line my grandfather played the banjo in the town dance band -- his house floor boards offered the only hall in McTaggart Saskatchewan in those years at the end of the dirty thirties when my father was the age of my children today.
On the maternal line my Alberta born mother is from historically large Ukrainian clans both urban and rural. Her own family compact 4 gregarious girls and one stylin' boy. Behind her extends a long history of rowdy road trips and campouts. Upwardly mobile and thanks to a brief stint of 'international work' in the 60's plenty a fancy formal and sophisticates cocktail parties. In my own wonder years my mom fared well in the Elizabeth Baird, Canadian Living Magazine duke it out dinner party circuit. Read my chilled cucumber soup can kick your gazpacho's ass any day.
I come by it naturally. Even before I left home I was a party addict. My parents were always supportive and managed to enjoy my suburban house parties of considerable size; right down to the puke in their bed that time. I was the first of our group to get my own place and from there I was known as Your Hostliness. I regularly fed my friends all through my twenties with weekend dinners and Ukrainian Christmas Eve suppers. I could always count on the rave reviews of expert munchies critters ready to face anything from galantine of duck to the McTaggart Strawberry Shortcake recipe after long rattle-y ride down the side of a mountain or two in Nord Vancouver! There was those Boxing Day chilli buffets and the ever popular community suppers that distinguished those years in the Villa!! You know who you are.
I love to have people over; and to cook for them. I used to never tire of it but now I do TIIIREE my head aching to plan another detail.
My son turned two on Thursday and my father 70 yesterday. Read about 3 parties to fete it all adequately. The little family dinner, the grandpa Saturday night wingding of 40 and the little man pancake breakfast cum birthday party for 50.
My house is littered with rugrat entertainments. My feet hurt. I made so many cupcakes I don't know if this city might have enough mari-poochie left to fuel the need. But as I wrote one dear guest today. We love to party as much when its fuelled by pancakes and white sugar as we did in days of beers or brie.
Hey, I that sounds like a decent menu in the making....
Updated to add: Alpha Dogma you oversell us. We were really quite a lot like this:
Labels: partytime
posted by mo-wo at 9:04 p.m.
3 Comments:
I'm way too anti-social to be a nice hostess. So I bow down to your party girl skills.
I'm a sucky host. I like having people over, but I like to have people just come and make themselves at home. I never think to offer drinks or get out glasses, I jsut tell everyone when they come in that I am a crummy hostess, and point out where everything is, telling them to please remember to help themselves, or they'd go thirsty.
So I am constantly impressed by people like you who actually put on a proper party! Good on you!
Can we start some sort of new urban/suburban community supper paradigm?
I miss community supper, I really do!
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