Double duty: use items that double as decoration and have a utilitarian purpose. Better yet if your decoration is also a gift or favor. This must be my favorite aspect of décor. I love finding things that look good and serve a purpose at the same time.

Color: especially for those who love color, this can be a fun play on your favorite colors or trying some daring combinations. For the color-averse, this is your chance to experiment a little. A little goes a long way, and I love a neutral or black or white color scheme with one or two pops of pattern or color thrown in. Or play with a certain hue, or all metallic, etc. Just having one color, or playing with elements in a particular color pattern can visually carry the whole theme.

Centerpieces: my favorite! Such an easy, dramatic way to create an instant theme or look and feel. If there’s only one thing you do, focus on creating a centerpiece for your space or tables (and it doesn’t have to be super complex or fancy). Here too I love creating pieces from things that I already have, or buying or making something that I will want to use again for another purpose. There are a million options, but let’s pick a theme and see what we can come up with.

Music: music is one of those unseen but very key elements in creating an atmosphere. Of course, the music you play will directly affect how people feel, and what the mood of the gathering is. Specific songs or pieces will go along with the theme that you choose. Especially if you’re going for a certain era in your gathering, the music of the period obviously brings people into the mood. The same goes for a destination-inspired party theme. But let’s say you’re celebrating a special birthday. In this case, playing songs or music that are meaningful to the individual is a great way to honor them and give a nod to that personal aspect of the gathering itself. It may even become a good topic of conversation or icebreaker.

Venue or space: the venue plays a key role in any gathering, and as such, making the most of what the location or space already supplies in terms of character, décor and furniture will really serve you well and save time and money while making the most of what’s already there.

Use your guests: your guests are the living pieces that make your event or gathering. So use them! Have guests participate by dressing up, bringing something related or otherwise get into character. Or, have something for each guest to don while they’re at the gathering: costume props, buttons, name badges or necklaces, etc. Incorporate them into the classic “Who Am I?” games.

Layer it on! Textures really create a mood and provides visual interest. Using materials in the décor and furnishings that are part of the natural landscape will tie the space together in an organic way. For example, highlighting the building material that are already in the space, such as stone or brick, and using flowers or branches and other foliage from the environment will quickly open up the room. You can also play with patterns to complement the setting or mood. Get creative and historically inspired by incorporating period wallpaper patterns in the table settings, or in other décor or menu or signage.

Little details: lastly, it’s the little details that go a long way, especially when they are consistent and unified. For example, in our Oktoberfest-themed party, the star of the show was in all honesty the food, and in itself the décor. The little signs on the plates served a utilitarian purpose as well as added to the theme. Having a small sign and German chocolates and plates and napkins created a very unified look. We also used everything we had on hand, including: a German flag, a frame with the subway map from Munich, a German map and the little German nutcracker. I love using small pieces that in volume creates something much bigger. Even something small like toothpick flags or bunting or mini candles or napkins scattered across the table can make a big impact because they’re spread out over the space. Details of course show care and gives a more curated feel that contributes to the personalized touch that only you can create. It doesn’t have to be picture-perfect in my book. I love the grittier side and the personal touches that give an event and a place character. Much like why we love antiques and older objects and places. There’s a lived in feel, and that can apply to a gathering as well.

And remember, themes don’t have to be strict. Being inspired by a theme doesn’t mean you’re tied to everything. A Victorian theme doesn’t mean everyone has to dress in bustle skirts and long-tailed coats or use a ton of lace and roses or have tea and sit on antique chairs. Being true to your personal style, sentiments and aesthetics while choosing one or two key elements of your theme and going with those will have the most impact and resonate more.

I flew thousands of miles across the ocean to cross the land by train, and then took two ferries and drove across an island in order to reach a smaller island called the Isle of Iona on the western coast of Scotland.

There are so many reasons that brought me there: a personal pilgrimage like that of so many others; to find my inner spiritual home; to be in the place that has been calling to me ever since I heard of it and was drawn to a dusty book that spoke of Iona. In every sense, it was a personal journey that also spoke of an inexplicable connection to a place that I had until now never set foot on.

Looking at the map of Iona, I was walking on the beach called The White Strand of the Monks. Other areas have descriptive names too, like Martyrs Bay or The Bay at the Back of the Ocean or Hermit’s Cell. Many centuries ago, monks were slaughtered at that beach during a Viking raid. I didn’t really know that when I walked that beach, and it wasn’t on my mind then, but it was a truly haunting experience to wander the beach and walk through the machair-covered land leading to it.

I found this passage from a book called Urban Iona: Celtic Hospitality in the City by Kurt Neilson about this beach:

As I stood on that tiny beach which still seems to mourn the monks butchered by the Norse in that first Viking raid, I felt the confusion and the sadness and the irony of history and the passing of the centuries. There I stood on the beach where my kin slew my kin and voices cried to Christ while voices roared of Odin and the “blood-eagle” was carved by axes on monkish backs. I stooped and ran my hands through the sand. They came away damp, as if the sands were still steeped in blood.

Standing on that same beach, I also knelt down and ran my hands through the white sand. Different areas had purplish, or a dark-blood-colored tinge in the sand. It was cold against my skin, and that dampness underneath also revealed itself under my fingertips as I brushed my hand through the sand.

Getting to that beach was an easy walk from my little “bothy,” or shepherd’s hut that was part of the Iona Hostel. After crossing the cattle fence that led to the faint footpath hidden within the field, it was but a short trek to the larger field beyond, and to the ocean beyond that. There are only one or two houses scattered in this northern part of the island, the hostel being one of them. So I knew I was very close to habitation and at least to a few fellow human beings. But emerging in this second field was like arriving in a different world.

It was an exciting, even thrilling feeling to know that I was moving ever deeper into unexplored territory. And the ocean was calling. I kept walking, following very faint paths or openings in the thick grass where it seemed more welcoming. The grass on Iona stands out to me. From what I gather, “machair” is used to describe different grassy plains along the coastlines in Ireland and Scotland. Here on Iona it reminds me of the long hair of the highland cow. It sweeps across the plain and gives a visual of the wind blowing through. I didn’t see any sheep or cattle, but I knew that two fat sheep ruled over their land high up on the hill that I could see from my bothy window previously, and there were two lazy cattle in the area as well. But as I walked, there was no sign of any other living creature.

Slowly it dawned on me how utterly in solitude I was. The hostel and people were not too far away down the plain, but I have never experienced such a sense of being alone. Yet at the same time, the further I walked, the more I started sensing the presence all around me. The plain, the grass, the rocks were all witness to my being there. A sense of time permeated the landscape, and there was a presence here that I could sense acutely — an eternal presence that I was just convening with temporarily. I was alone, yet amongst an ancient presence.

I was in their realm. My sense was that I was not welcomed, yet nor was I rejected. Just observed. And now, as I walked through the field, getting closer to the edge leading down to the ocean, I felt a sense of terror mixed with delight. It was a terror from that feeling of being so removed from any human thing, yet so surrounded.

I experienced then what the song The Lake by Antony and the Johnsons always felt like to me, and what Edgar Allan Poe’s words that was the poem that inspired the song spoke of: the terror that was not fright, but a tremulous delight.

…So lovely was the loneliness

Of a wild lake, with black rock bound.

And the tall trees that tower’d around.

But when the night had thrown her pall…

My infant spirit would awake

To the terror of the lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright —

But a tremulous delight…

Perhaps inspired by the haunting legend of a real lake in Virginia, but whatever interpretation one has on this poem, Poe captures for me the feeling of the intense connection that can be present with a place and one’s surroundings. The terror is not terror or fear in the traditional sense, but a kind of awakening to the sublime within the place and perhaps one’s place in it. The echoes of the song and those words came to me as I walked through that field, sensing that terror that was not fright.

The path leading down to the beach was somewhat steep, and required careful treading as not to crush the village of snails all along the grassy sand. I hated the idea of stepping on one (I believe I was successful in averting crushing any of them). I followed the grassy snail-littered path until I reached the white sand.

Emerging on that beach I knew that I trod on ancient shores with layers and layers of time before me and after me. It wasn’t a thought process that came from pondering the history there — it was a visceral sense of it that came from being there physically. One of the first things I noticed were the colors; the beautifully balanced way that the soft colors of the sky, sea and sand all merged together to form the most synergistic play of elements. The colors also shifted ever so slightly with the wind and the light.

Standing there, I took in and absorbed everything, but at the same time I felt empty of thoughts or noise in my head, which is unusual. I was aware of the movement, the breath, the pulse of the elements all around me. The sounds of the wind, sea and the soft scramble of the sand as the wind swept over it came together in concert. The light changed before my eyes, and different aspects of the place were revealed.

I kept walking, (was it north?) towards the small islets I could see in the distance. According to the map, they could be Eilean Annraid. Don’t completely trust my geography, it looks to be the little island formation I could see from the shore. They were rocky formations in the distance that caught my eye, and I walked towards them. Here on the beach there was so much to see and experience, and still I felt that sense of solitude. I was a little fascinated by this withering rope-like piece that washed up ashore and that now rested partially buried in the sand. I contemplated it for a few moments.

I marveled at the colors of the rock, and also spotted some animal footprints in the sand. I followed those as well, and then had a sudden sense of terror, because although I saw the paw prints, I didn’t see any human prints alongside them. I thought they looked to be dog paw prints. It made me think about what kind of strange animal would be wandering this beach on its own? And would I come across it?

I felt I could be on that beach forever. Just walking it, being witness to the constant changing of the landscape. Breathing in light and sound. But I had a sense that I wanted to make it back before it became too dark. As I made my way towards the grassy hill again, I was struck my another sense of fear, because I had lost all sense of where my path was up the little hill. I stumbled around, looking in vain for my previous path. All of the foot paths were faint on this island. I didn’t see the snails. Panicking briefly, I just kept going up the hill until I did find an opening. I’m not sure if it was the same one, but I made it back to that field, and found the safety of the familiar cattle fence.

I could feel and hear the ocean behind me. There was still no one around, but I knew my way back. The sun had yet to set, as it didn’t get dark some nights until far past 12 am. I trod back to my little bothy, and listened to the distant waves on that white strand of the monks as it lulled me to sleep.

And now is as good a time as any to celebrate that staple of society from not too long ago — the dinner party. It seems all but lost in our modern world, where life is more hectic, fast-paced, and we are more engaged with our phones and devices than with each other. Technology most definitely serves us, but no matter how many new apps or devices or new ways of connecting through social media there are — there is no substitute for old-fashioned face-to-face interaction between people. (People who are not holding their cell phones and staring into their screens, that is).

In America at least, people are cooking less at home than even 30 years ago. One reason for this is the change in roles. Now that both men and women are working outside the home, the time it takes to prepare a home-cooked meal can be a real challenge. Not to mention the cost, the clean-up at the end and a host of other things that means that the traditional sit-down dinner happens less often, and I imagine leans more towards convenience and packaged meals rather than a cooked-from-scratch full course at the dinner table. How does the average household use the dining table, and has the role of the dining table changed as well? That image most definitely still exists in households, but for some, and possibly many, it might look more like eating in front of the TV or on-the-go, with various members eating at odd times. That was a frequent situation in my own family growing up. My parents worked overlapping hours, so we rarely had an opportunity to sit down together to eat dinner and have the associated time to talk and find out the news of the day.

In a world where we are more connected yet disconnected than ever — something like a dinner party is a small, but powerful way to connect more deeply with our fellow human beings — in part because it does something spectacular: it brings people together in a physical, intellectual, and emotional context that can’t be replicated in a virtual sense.

A toast to the dinner party!

Traditionally a dinner party has been a way for people to show off status, affluence, and to celebrate abundance. But I don’t believe that it’s just about ostentation and status. It is really a microcosm of community, and an essential one. In my view, the dinner party may have had its heyday in Victorian times, although It’s a little difficult to pinpoint its exact beginning and evolution — it depends as much on what one considers a dinner party to look like. A medieval banquet or feast most definitely could be one, as was the first Thanksgiving dinner, or a lavish country house party, or a more formal political dinner.

But in between is the host at home, inviting a small group of friends and acquaintances to gather round the table and see what happens in the mixing of different people, conversation, and food and drink, of course! At it’s heart, it’s a gathering of a group of people in the same place, as part of the same community (at least for a time), over shared food and drink and company. In some instances, people who would otherwise never cross paths have an opportunity to share a table, as well as ideas, conversation, and worldviews. It is this mix of ideas and perspectives that makes the dinner party such a valuable ingredient in our society, and why now more than ever it is essential to bring back the art of the dinner party.

And because it is purposeful and hosted, there is also a ritualistic element involved, which is another way of connecting people. And as a hosted affair, a dinner party is also a way for the host(s) to bring something of themselves and their personality to the gathering. Especially with an at-home dinner party, the hosts open up their homes to their guests, and there’s a personal and communal exchange that happens. The unique mixture of the group as a whole also creates a tangible energy that I like to call magic, or alchemy.

Personally, I’ve always been fascinated by the dynamic between individuals and groups, but have always felt a bit removed in a large group. Groups aren’t as personal to me, which is why I am drawn to smaller, more intimate gatherings. Recently, my husband and I threw a simple Oktoberfest themed party at our home, and as I sat there with our group of family and friends, I realized something as I took a moment to just sit back and take in the atmosphere of the group: I observed (not scientifically or dispassionately, but with enjoyment and presence) the group as a whole. What I realized was that that was what I loved about arranging these gatherings. And what is that? It was the unique mixture of people, place, atmosphere, and how it all came together in just that way that I was appreciating and watching as it unfolded. I planned the details, we invited the guests, and put everything together, but in the end, the dynamic of this mix of people in this particular place was unique, and not something that I or anyone else could predetermine. But I did realize that the setting and environment would have a big effect on how people interacted and how they felt.

I also realized the unique dynamic between me and my husband: he is more outwardly social, and in a group, he’s great at checking in on everyone, making sure each person is included, and has what they need. His demeanor is very warm and friendly, and he really “harmonizes” the group (his “Which Care Bear Are You” quiz confirmed this tendency). Me, on the other hand, I love taking care of people too, but it expresses itself in a more subtle way. I realized that I tend to think about how things will affect people and what would make people feel great ahead of time, in the details, and it’s expressed in the pre-planning and how everything comes together in the end. Once gathered together, I’m aware of what people need, and will see to things and intervene if necessary, but I prefer to let events unfold at that point, and for people to discover their own place and comfort zone within the space. So we make a good team, my husband and I, rounding out each other’s strengths and complementing where needed.

But let’s return to our dinner party. Come on in and join us in our German-themed party. It’s become a tradition with us, celebrating all things sausage and German at least once a year (more on this in a separate post). But right now you’re at our door, and right in front of you is a German sign with prost written on it. You know you’re in for some good drinks already, and the polka music filling the room puts you in the appropriate celebratory mood. As you ring the bell, you can smell the sausage aromas wafting out through the kitchen window, and you’re greeted at the door by your furry host. She wags her tail and welcomes you in. To your left is a small table with flowers and some Toffifay German caramel-and-hazelnut-filled chocolates. Your second host greets you with a warm hello, his hands full of goodies from the kitchen.

You know your nose wasn’t mistaking you, as the bar in the dining room is filled with platefuls of sausages of all kinds. There are little signs indicating the type of sausage, but you decide you’ll try them all (maybe at the same time). Laid out in all their glory are the classic bratwurst, the currywurst, knackwurst and Nuremberg rostbratwurst, the mini sausage. There’s also a “spicy Hungarian” for the more adventurous, and beyond the row of sausage is some liverwurst, a spreadable liver sausage, and slices of mortadella, another pork product with pistachios and spices. Although technically an Italian import, your part-German host grew up enjoying it in Germany. Ok, so he’s technically Austrian, born in Germany, but that’s neither here nor there. As your eyes move upwards, you notice a sausage banner triumphantly lining the walls, with a German flag as the backdrop to the bar. A little German figurine in lederhosen holding the same line of sausage in miniature greets you at the table.

The visual feast continues, with sauerkraut and puffy bread rolls and more German chocolate, called “Mozart balls” created by a Salzburg confectioner in the 1800’s (ok, it’s Austrian, to be exact). Either way, they are delicious balls of chocolate, marzipan and pistachio goodness. Next to these balls are savory meat versions — larger and flatter, but equally delicious. The host is still cooking up some of these in the kitchen as you take your first bite, and they are a mixture of beef and lamb meat squished into patties with onions and bread crumbs and fried to perfection. You are given a dark German lager to wash it all down with, as more people file in, following their noses. This party was not a sit-down-at-the-dinner-table type of party. Most of that was because the hosts eschewed a formal dining table to have a bar in their space because of how small their place is, but it also means that it has a more relaxed, communal atmosphere, where food is accessible everywhere.

As you can see, a hosted affair doesn’t have to be formal or stuffy, although I do absolutely love the ritual involved in something a bit more formal. Just think Downton Abbey or a Jane Austen novel. Mr. Collins’s exclamation at the dinner table upon savoring a bite of potatoes comes to mind: “many years since I have had such an exemplary vegetable.” His statement always brings a chuckle. And because that utterance is so foreign to what might be said today, it inevitably brings me back to a time when having dinner was an event in itself. People sat together, for one, and got dressed for dinner. Then there were the courses, and specific topics of conversation, and then retiring to different rooms for men and women.

At our sausage party (I mean Oktoberfest), we gathered together in the living room after everyone had their fill, and scrounged together some extra seating from our obliging neighbor and guest. So in a sense, we did retire to the next space after the main meal. In our version, we played a trivia game. Chairs and people are positioned in a crescent shape, with the sideboard overflowing with snacks and the TV on one side of the room. We can see each other throughout the game, and the sound of conversation, laughter and so many voices fill the room. And remember your furry host? She’s snuggled up in a corner contentedly, staying close to the sausage and snacks. Someone snuck her a few bites, but I won’t say who.

There’s something very exciting and even primal about gathering people together and partaking in food and satisfying the physical, social and intellectual needs all at once.

Kant refers to dinner parties as the “highest moral-physical good” for some of those reasons; namely, the ability of a good dinner party to merge and satisfy the social and physical levels at once. But it’s also just fun and communal and truly social in terms of interacting. And as you can see, I really love a themed party. It’s an opportunity to get immersed in a different era, culture or atmosphere, and people can participate right off the bat by joining in on the theme. Props if they get dressed up or participate somehow. Getting guests involved from the beginning is a great way to get people interacting and connecting.

What’s most fantastic about a dinner party and any gathering? The relationship between hosts and guests — a unique creation — one with moving parts and real life figures that can’t altogether be molded. And you throw them all together. It is this celebration of the coming together of minds, ideas, personalities and perspectives that makes the classic dinner party so valuable to society and human experience — especially now.

We should get together more often.

In the end, this is isn’t just about being nostalgic and assuming that the past was always better. Perhaps after all, a lot of my conjectures are just that — and in fact, the dinner party is quite alive and well in our society. I would love to know if that is so, and what they tend to look like at home these days. Have you thrown a dinner party recently, or been to one? What does it actually look like? Is it more of a backyard BBQ, or a traditional sit-down meal in your dining room? Did you prepare gifts for your guests, or had a theme? Or is it something altogether different?

Of course people still have dinners with friends and family, whether in their homes or in specific restaurants or venues, but there is something special when the gathering itself is made into an occasion, no matter where and how it takes place. When care and intention is put into hosting it, and when the experience and needs of each guest are a part of the whole, it is a gift from both sides. It is giving and receiving, and we are made more full because of it.

Cheers to your next gathering!