We threw a party last night. For years I did a summer party and a winter party. Lately I haven't done the summer party, so it was fun to do it again. I picked a tough weekend, the only one that worked for my housemate and I both. Many friends were away, sailing or at weddings or at a conference. So I was afraid it would be a dud. But we ended up getting more than 40 people, who were enthusiastic and friendly, from Vermont and Afghanistan and across the street. Everyone liked the fake tattoos, and I took it on myself to do a bit of a photo essay documenting the various temporary tattoos. (You'll notice from the photos that the label maker came out, later in the evening, as did the feather boas.) Unfortunately the bravest guest, a retired English professor who is over 70 years old, in my book group, and a bit of a shy woman, left before I could take a picture of her henna anklet. It was pretty cool to see the mixing and mingling.
I can't decide if it is a good or a bad mark of my hostessing, that the party only ended when I asked the group of six or seven people playing guitars and singing out in the yard to pack it in. I was beat and wanted to go to bed, and I was afraid my neighbors would be mad at me for having a rousing sing-along after one AM. So I shut down my own party. I think that's okay, sometimes.