Dear Reader,
Years ago, in a creative writing class I took at UAB my professor, Kerry Madden, brought us to the basement of the Birmingham Public Library. There the archivist showed us a collection of treasures they had aquired from everyday people. The table displayed the collection of diaries a shoe salesman wrote that spanned three decades, he opened the jail log and we saw the signatures of MLK and Reverend Shuttlesworth, over the course of an hour we saw photos, signatures, and scrapbooks of all kinds of Alabamans.
The archivist told us that this place could spark creativity—including that of Fannie Flagg who returned to that basement when she needed an idea for her latest novel.
Then he opened up a scrapbook. The black pages were pieced together by a scandalous Birmingham lady who shocked the city by riding her bicycle without a chaperone. She had kept embossed calling cards and advertisements, Mardi Gras invitations and postcards, the archivist pointed towards the blank dancing card she saved and told us that she was known to grab two of printed pretty things. One was for her to dance the night away. One was for us.
I’m also a lady that likes pretty things, but more importantly I feel that our generation often yearns for the parties that our parents used to take us to or the gatherings that are the centerpiece of faded old family photos. I think we crave each other, we crave good food, and we need the hustle and bustle of a good old fashioned holiday party to get us through the chaotic season.
You might be asking: it’s February 7 . . . . why on earth are you writing about a holiday party a month (at best) late?
Well as you can imagine the past several weeks have been a whirlwind for our nation. I feel a strong urge to be with my community and I feel an equally strong urge to encourage people to be together.
Since the pandemic flake culture has gotten out of control. I urge you that when you get home from work, when you are tired and weighed down, follow through with plans. Parties, happy hours, walks in the park, dinners under the stars are all a form of touching grass.
Touching grass to me—has always been about doing whatever fulfills you—whatever lifts your sprits and inspires you forward. There can be no despair when we are executing our needs and succumbing to our wants.
The Favorite Things party began three years ago when one November one of my former colleagues invited me to one she had planned. I impulsively decided that I too would throw one of these parties but it would be after the new year. It was accidental (and financially motivated) to have it after the craziness that is the holiday season but I now find that this is the perfect time of year to have a party.
I feel like it’s the true reset of the year. There I am in my living room surrounded by my closest friends as we relay the woes of the world, as we inspire hope within one another, as we praise the focaccia and brownies and apple bourbon punch.
What is a favorite thing party?
A favorite thing party is inspired by the Julie Andrews song in The Sound of Music (1965). When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when we are feeling sad—we simply relish in our favorite things.
Party rules are simple. Each person picks out (1) favorite thing that costs less than $10. They bring (3) of that favorite thing, unwrapped. They hold the favorite thing like a secret (either close to the heart or open for fellow party goers to see).
I do have one rule though . . . it is a rule that upon the first year attending people are taken aback. They demand that they can be the exception. So far I have yet to budge.
Party goers may not bring: wine, chocolate, or candles as their favorite thing.
I explain there is a method behind this madness. I want people to critically think about their favorite thing. I don’t want the party to sneak up on them and on the day of cry out, “Ah crap! I have to go to Target on the way to Tay’s!”
We throw all of our names into a bowl three times and along the way we are introduced to one another’s favorite thing. I’ve found that over the years no one brings the same thing. One of my favorite parts of this tradition is friends saying to me, “I am obsessed with this face mask/set of coasters/bread dip/craft I got at favorite things, is it happening again this year?”
That’s one of the best things a guest can say to a host, how they can’t wait to come back again.
As you trek through the year I challenge you to dedicate yourself to the art of touching grass via party planning. Buy the vintage punch bowl at the antique store. Craft the girly invitations on Canva and print them out, stick a stamp that imitates the year of the snake in the far right corner, place it into the hand of a postal worker and pray for positive RSVPs. Come together and celebrate, our bodies are still here, we are still alive, and we are still fighting for the best future possible.
Other party ideas:
Blind Date with a Book Party
Everyone brings a book all wrapped up, they’ll write details and we will randomly draw people to pick out a book of their choosing.
Dead Poet Party
We dress up as our favorite dead poets and have a literary salon.
BARBIE-cue
Alabama Barbie hosts a backyard cookout with all the fixin’s and pink lemonade. The air smells like pulled pork and sunscreen, somehow we all end up at the neighborhood pool afterwards.
Cookbook Dinner Party
I didn’t really create this one, but I love the idea of picking out a single cookbook or chef and everyone bringing those recipes to a dinner party.