My sister , Victoria , brother , Michael , and I had made this our gift to our parents , a present of ourselves , to act as two caterers and a bartender . We had left family behind to come to Victoria to put on a party . It was not a frivolous gesture . In our family , entertaining was considered a necessary pleasure , an important way of staying connected to a vast network of friends whose lives had intersected my parents ’ lives over many years .

Memories of our childhood abounded with parties : tables laden with offerings from my talented mother ’ s kitchen , legions of liquor bottles and gleaming glasses , music and voices raised in an exhilarating din . These pictures are framed at first by stair railings as we spied , wide-eyed , on the festive crowds . Later , we were put to work , passing and picking up , absorbing all the while the rhythms and patterns of cocktail conversation , so useful when one really had little to say . The evening would go on and on until the chatter changed to appreciative goodbyes , and my father would turn to my mother and say , “ That really was a good party , wasn ’ t it ?”

They hadn ’ t given a party for a long time . My mother didn ’ t cook much anymore . My father ’ s hand shook when he poured a friend a drink . It ’ s time , we thought , to gather all their friends , fill the house with spring flowers , food and drink and really celebrate again . This party ended a little sooner than the early mornings of my memory . Still , we knew it was a success when my father commented , “ That really was a good party , wasn ’ t it ?

That Christmas we planned on coming back . Remembering Boxing Days of the past when neighbours crowded our house and the season ’ s cheer freely flowed , we decided that another party was in order . Long distance plans were made , menus set and invitations issued .

It was a lively gathering . The coloured lights , the reds and greens of Christmas tree and wreaths heightened the warmth and excitement . To our dismay we couldn ’ t talk our mother into sampling any of our tempting treats . When had she become so thin ? Even our father seemed content to sit and let the waves of partygoers drift his way to chat . Still , as the last guest pulled away , he remarked , “ That really was a good party , wasn ’ t it ?”

The last party we three put on was in early summer of the next year . It wasn ’ t much , just sandwiches and cakes , although my brother tended a well-stocked bar . At first the mood was sombre and subdued , but soon the stories began . Many were a little sentimental , but others caused bursts of warm laughter as memories of a lifetime surfaced and were shared . Through the late afternoon the guests stayed on to reassure us of their love and support . When we had said goodbye to the last of our friends , we had to agree with our father . It really was a very good party .

news & views WINTER 2016 | 47