I went into party planning mode about two weeks ago. Fat Tuesday has become MY HOLIDAY. Maybe it’s the sheer playfulness of it, the full-body embrace around the spirit of pure revelry in preparation for real (if you’re a lent observing Catholic) or symbolic (as it is for most of us) renunciation of favorite indulgences. Maybe it’s the time of year. February needs a fun food festival. Am I right? President’s Day just doesn’t cut it.

This year, I held my third Mardi Gras party. Mardi Gras gatherings chez moi have gotten better each year. I’ve expanded my repertoire of Cajun and Creole specialties and have collected more purple and gold banners and strands of beads from my many shopping excursions to the Dollar Tree. I used to raid my local library’s collection of Basin Street themed CDs and now I simply stream WWOZ, the world’s best loved community radio station beaming their brassy celebratory vibes from their studio near the French Market.

This year’s party promised to be extra fun. Since John and I moved to Whipple Street, I now have two full floors to decorate, three bathrooms, and a kick-ass kitchen. Ours is a perfect place to throw a party. And, I LOVE TO HOST PARTIES.

I love to shut off the TV and see people actually talk with each other. I love to feed people, and I really appreciate the art of karma hosting; encouraging guests to bring appetizers or sweets and just see what shows up.

Two weeks ago, I designed an email invitation with photo of second line bands and clip art images of Mardi Gras beads. Following logistical information, the invitation closed with the rallying cry, Laissez les bon temps rouler. Let the good times roll.

This year’s annual fete almost doubled in size to include John’s AND my peeps. We geared up to expect up to 25 guests and I ratcheted up my event planning attention. Last weekend, we stocked up on Abita Amber, brewed near Lake Pontchartrain. On Monday, we sent out email blasts to offer tips on parking. Last Friday, I set up a spreadsheet with all my recipes so we could prepare a detailed shopping list.

For two days, I hung decorations and arranged colorful Mardi Gras doubloons around the house. I listened to Trombone Shorty practically non-stop, sort of like a person might smudge an area to make it a sacred space.

And it was a GREAT PARTY! But it wasn’t the food, or even WWOZ’s perfect mix of tunes. The PEOPLE MAKE THE PARTY.

While John and I directed guests to the bedroom where they could stash their coats and attempted to make some level of introductions, we were too preoccupied with things like making sure the jambalaya pot didn’t scorch to make sure everyone was socializing and having a good time. It was so wonderful to scan the scene from time to time and see that mingling and laughter was happening on its own.

We saw that John’s former babysitter (Yes, he has kept in touch with someone who watched over his munchkin self over fifty years ago) was exchanging recipes with my friend Nick who is a theatrical set designer, and my friends Joanne and Jeff were making martinis for themselves then talking travel with upstairs and downstairs crowds. It was a delight to see Nancy and Jim breaking cornbread with Beth and Josh in the kitchen, two sets of people who come from as different ends of the political and interest spectrum as I could imagine. And my friend Lynne – God bless her – she talked to everyone; our neighbors from across the street, Rob and his wife, who is originally from East Germany, friends from my old book club. Every party should have a person with her attitude and conversation skills. John and I were so thankful that, considering we were mixing people from so many different periods of our respective lives, everyone played really well together.

When you can trust others to take responsibility for their own good time and enjoy yourself at your own party, it’s no small thing.