A Victorian House Party
Victorian House Parties Are Back
How Hosting One Builds Deeper Friendships Today
It all started innocently enough. My husband and I had only been married a few months, and we invited a few friends to our house to celebrate the new year. We lived in rural Minnesota in the top floor of a duplex at the boarding school where I taught. Our friends were coming from at least an hour away. So we said, "Just plan to stay the night so no one has to drive home." A group of 10 or so piled into our little house bringing with them cases of bad champagne, pounds of good bacon, and sleeping bags.
We listened to music, made wild hats, ate too much bacon, drank too much champagne, and laughed until our sides ached. And we rang in the new year with multiple time zones – out into the Pacific islands. Finally, when everyone had drifted off into the deep sleep of youthful exuberance, the house quieted, the dog snored, and snow fell. It wasn't until the next evening that most of our guests left with some even staying until the following day. And my husband and I thought: this is so fun! Let's do it again!
The next year was Y2K – 1999-2000 for those of you who didn't get the pleasure of the possible meltdown of civility due to a potential computer glitch. But where better to spend the end of days than together at our house in a bacchanalian stupor? So, we issued the invitations, and our guests came, this time with dogs and Baby New Year, the first baby within our group. This was also the first year that friends traveled from afar with one couple coming from Chicago. We holed up for days together in our little duplex, huddled against the cold and impending doom that, fortunately, never materialized.
While we waited for the world to end we played board games, cooked and ate, did lots of dishes, watched movies, listened to music, and talked and laughed and talked and cried and talked. Every day someone went to the grocery store for more supplies, but that was the only departure from our cocoon of joy and friendship.
The next year our house party lasted nearly a week. We had a bigger apartment on campus and with no students around and deep, deep snow, it felt like we were the only people on the planet in the best of all ways – except the pizza delivery guy. We played snow football, and my brother-in-law lost his glasses which we didn't find until the snow melted in the spring. And ate the good bacon, of course. For New Years Eve we dressed up in fancy dress, and as always we used the good china. One guest was a champion dishwasher, and I loved drying while he washed, chatting and catching up for hours at a time – conversations we would never have had otherwise. We played more games, watched movies, and snuggled up together knowing big changes were on the horizon.
That was our last year in Minnesota, and it was the beginning of a sea change in our New Years house party. We moved to California, and another couple moved across the country to Pennsylvania. Suddenly we were cast apart. What to do? The first year – just after 9/11 – we hunkered down. Minneapolis met up with Chicago in Chicago, and we all spent the evening on the phone. Miserable.
Never again, we vowed. And here we are nearly 30 years later – and we still gather for New Years every year. The only other year we have missed? 2020. But we did it on Zoom!
The core of our group has always been the same: six friends who went to college together. Others have come and go – romantic entanglements and serious relationships alike. We are all married now – four couples. Friends and family have sometimes joined us for an evening or an activity. Even some of our parents have popped in from time to time – though they all have marveled "you're still doing that?" in one way or another. The second generation have grown up together – dedicated friends who love each other deeply. And there are always dogs – many of them.
Now far flung, we started a rotation between our homes – California, Pennsylvania, Chicago, and Minneapolis. Lest you get the wrong impression: we were always squished in this arrangement. All of us lived in modest homes with one bathroom. A good candle in the bathroom was a must. There was a lot of sleeping on the floor, showering at odd times, and accommodating one another. Some years we ended up decamping to a parent's home where we could spread out a bit more. But there is a coziness in squeezing together into a house that's too small. And there is an intimacy which you simply can't get in a hotel. There's no substitute for hanging out over coffee or tea in your pajamas in the middle of the afternoon. Or cooking a meal together – or doing dishes – knowing there really isn't an agenda other than amiable hungry people who are munching on cheese and crackers and laughing together.
Some years our gatherings are nearly a week. Other years they are shorter – it is largely dependent on school and work calendars. And Chicago has moved to St. Louis where they have hosted continuously for the last decade as they currently have the most spacious accommodations – more than one bathroom – and are centrally-located.
So what do we do during a house party? Everything is small. By design. We work to make our time as meaningful as possible. Cooking together – and cleaning up. Reading silently, near each other. We always have a craft project of some kind – usually arranged by the Philadelphia contingent. Playing board games. But Scrabble is banned – too contentious, especially with the Minnesota contingent at the board. Playing the piano and singing together. Generation II started writing original plays. Now they make short films together. Occasionally we leave the house – certainly to walk the dogs. But sometimes to shop. Or to eat. Or to go to the zoo or a museum or a park. And now we attend a gala on New Years Eve because St. Louis plays in the symphony. So we get fancy for a few hours – and then get straight back into our pajamas.
We used to see in the New Year across many time zones. Not anymore. We sleep more. But we also used to sleep in late – and now there is a dedicated Morning Crew who meet and breakfast together before the rest get up. My son loves the Morning Crew. He has a dedicated and devoted team of men (it's largely the men who get up early) who include him in their morning chatter until the rest of Gen II emerge.
The beauty of our house party is not in the itinerary, however. It's in the lack of one. That's where we find intimacy and joy. It's sitting at the table chatting about the last year over steaming mugs of tea and freshly-sliced banana bread. At 11 am. With nothing else to do. It's doing the dishes with Gen II and catching up on high school plays and their take on current events and future hopes and dreams. It's listening to someone – and it could be any number of people – playing Christmas carols and singing across the house.
It's in late night cries holding each other in grief or pain, too. We have walked with each other through the loss of parents now. Health crises. Career changes and relationship challenges. Parenting struggles. The wholeness of life and the fractiousness of our world. We fantasize about growing old together – living collectively in one place. For now, careers prevent that, but perhaps that will change. Or the world will change to push us together. I don't know.
The champagne is better now – so is the wine. One part of the St. Louis contingent is a sommelier and owns a wine shop. So we used to consume in quantity, we now enjoy quality. But we still consume an inordinate amount of Cheetos – regular and puffed. That's a mainstay. And always will be. So is bacon. The good stuff from Neuske's.
So why is a house party different from a vacation together?
I've actually considered this a lot. I first encountered the concept of a house party in the Betsy-Tacy books by Maude Hart Lovelace. This series was amongst my favorites as a child, and I read them over and over again. Carney's House Party, a book about the girls in their late teens, tells of a month-long house party hosted by Carney Sibley as she returns home from her first year away at Vassar College. I didn't know then that house parties like this were a real thing. In the 19th century house parties were a mainstay of the wealthy and middle classes. But because travel was so much less convenient, they were also a necessity. Traveling 100 miles (or more!) often took days. So you didn't just turn around and leave – you stayed for weeks or even a month. And the host of the party might invite others to join. This kept meals lively, conversations stimulating, and events fully subscribed.
But the essence of a house party is, frankly, staying together in a house. Not a hotel. A house.
Here's the difference. There is an emotional intimacy – a spiritual connection that happens when you are sharing a space. When you aren't doing something all the time, you have time to BE together. You can talk about the book that someone is reading – which may lead to a conversation about faith, or career tensions, or parenting. The gift of simply bumping into one another while cooking or crafting or planning a meal – there is a deep stillness which brings an emotional intimacy you might not get on a vacation in a hotel. Somehow that physical proximity engenders an emotional vulnerability.
I would also say this: a lack of agenda is important, too. How often are we able to just go with the flow? Almost never. And there have been years when I haven't left the house at New Years once – heavenly, frankly.
For me, being together is more enriching than any retreat. I feel every feeling – joy and love and elation. But also anger and jealousy and despair. It's like having a spiritual massage. Have you ever had a massage and found yourself crying on the massage table? I have. The release of that physical tension can also release emotional tension – perhaps that you didn't even know you were carrying.
That's what our house party is like. It isn't all joy and laughter – and if it was, it wouldn't be real. There is a lot of joy and laughter, but there are also moments where two souls grieve together over the loss of their moms. Or when you stumble upon someone crying and just hold them. Those may be tears that have been held back for months – and suddenly being together allows them to flow. That's the spiritual massage.
Over the years we have come together in every emotional state, and being with each other without an itinerary or a list and relaxed into the rhythm of friendship – that's where the healing magic can begin.
Ultimately, a house party is about creating community. And I completely recognize how privileged we are. This started as a lark nearly 30 years ago. And now it is a rich piece of our yearly rhythm.
But I also should be clear: this is not a rich person's gathering. We are all budget conscious, and some years the expense of travel is much harder than others. We started off staying at each other's homes because that was free, afterall. And continuing to do so not only makes the gathering more intimate, but it also continues to make it more affordable. We share in the cost of meals, too. And groceries. Honestly, it's remarkably inexpensive to feed a group this large when you cook at home most meals. Another advantage to being at someone's house!
And we have been intentional. When we scattered across the continent our gatherings could have ended. It would have been easier. Cheaper. And our friendships would have probably faltered, fluttered away.
But we chose this. It's our holiday. Our retreat. Our chosen family. And I am so thankful!
Here's the thing: in a world that feels so fractured right now, a house party might be just what you need to bolster your spirits and make facing the work of resistance easier. There is strength together. And we all could use a break from reality. Maybe you have a group of friends who live nearby – find a weekend to have a house party together. Or if your friends are farther afield – plan something for the summer.
At any rate, I think a house party can be a tool of resistance – a bolstering for us all against the regime which thrives on isolation and despair.
If you are interested in hosting a house party, here are a few tips which make it easier:
Choose your friends carefully. We are all likeminded. We can talk about politics and about the state of the world because, for the most part, we agree. This is more important now than ever. If you want a group that is loving, compassionate, and supportive, you need to be able to talk about the hard stuff and to support each other. Whatever is important to you: choose people who think similarly.
Cheetos. Lots of cheetos. And remember: original and puffed are both valid forms of artificial cheeziness.
Keep track of expenses and share the cost. When we rotated locations, we often allowed the people hosting to cover most meals acknowledging that travel costs were not insignificant. Now we divide things by day and do some settling up at the end. And we count per person – not per family unit. A family of five contributes more than a family of three or a couple.
Make some art! We always have at least one crafting project going – often more!
Start small. Maybe 2-3 days. It takes a while to find your groove as a group. But you may find that just isn't enough time and plan for longer. Or maybe it's just right!
Choose a GOOD bathroom candle. Especially if you only have one bathroom.
Plan like a slumber party. If you are hosting, ask your guests to bring essentials like towels, pillows, or bedding if needed. That's an easy way to make hosting a little easier.
Limit your phone time – but take lots of pictures. Be intentional about being present.
Costumes and silly hats – maybe even a theme! Get creative. Tap into your inner child. Do the things that you don't do in your regular life.
at the close…
Creating community requires intention. Maybe this is a simple way to create lasting community in your life! I hope you find it as fulfilling as we do.
Share this post with someone you’d like to have a house party with!
Cheers!
Angela
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