Late Night Revelry

Nearly all the furniture had to go. We needed all floor space for the party.

Some of the furniture didn’t fit easily through the door. It took both of us to figure out how to get the heavy overstuffed couch into the yard, turning it first one way and then another. After clearing the room, Al and I collapsed on straight backed chairs we left against the living room walls, taking a break for a few minutes.

I had been baking… spicy sausage cheese balls, sweet chocolate chip and tangy lemon cookies, homemade toasted seed crackers to couple with cheeses and hummus, no-bake chocolate peanut butter cookies. The sweet and savory smells from the kitchen had us drooling all day. Since we didn’t have time to make dinner, we ate imperfectly shaped ones while I arranged them on a variety of glass, ceramic and wooden platters.

Canned drinks sat in ice. The smells of cinnamon and cardamom wafted from spiced apple cider warming on the stove. Boxes of mugs had been brought up from the basement.

Would anyone come? The wait, before the walkers and cars started arriving was always like this. My stomach knotted. Al paced the floor, before lifting a backless banjo from its stand. He tuned it for a couple minutes, then settled into playing Old Molly Hare. The hypnotic rhythm of the traditional piece calmed us both.

Conversations and laughter floated down the driveway even before the first knocks. The hoped-for guests arrived in twos, threes… or sixes! Some brought snacks to share, some a bottle of wine or bourbon. Wraps piled high in the back room and hung over chairs. Instrument cases lined the walls. Still they came, hungry for food and the chance to be together, to lift voices in song, to dance way into the night.

As the long high-ceilinged room became crowded, folks drifted up the stairs. Some sat on the steps, and others lined the open hallway above, overlooking the room. I could no longer walk from one side of the room to the other. I squeezed through friends and those I didn’t yet know, to leave by the front door and re-enter by the kitchen door and replenish the empty food platters.

“Cool party! These are great! Who made all these?” asked young woman in a flowing floral skirt. She held a plate filled with cookies, crackers and cheese.

I smiled. “I did. I’m Alice. Glad you like ‘em. This is our house. Welcome!”

“Wow! Thanks!” She flashed a grin and turned to talk to another woman.

As I refilled the spiced hot cider, someone I didn’t recognize opened my kitchen cupboards. “Can I help you?”

“I’m just looking for some tea. Where do you think it would be?”

“I’ll get some tea choices out. The electric kettle is on the counter. I’m Alice.”

“This is your house?” She sounded surprised.

“Yes. Glad you’re here.”

Beginning to feel overwhelmed, I made my way outdoors through the kitchen door, back in the living room door, carefully stepping around folks sitting on the stairs, and finally stood above the musicians, leaning against the hallway railing, looking down at the goings-on. I was joined by my friend Marney, who understood my need for just a bit of distance when things got really crowded. Al would take care of most everything needed below.

Jim, Al, Dave, and Glen brought out fiddles, Judith sat at the piano. Kennett picked up his guitar, and Owen got his mandolin. Mary had a bodhran. More fiddlers, a clarinet, a flute… They played a French Canadian tune, a Cajun waltz, then a quick Irish polka. Music filled the air above the crowd. Folks scooched even closer to allow the musicians room to play and small groupings spontaneously formed tight energetic dance sets on the pulsing wooden floor.

When the musicians took a refreshment break, Kent drew all eyes and ears by jumping up on the piano bench to lift up Green Grow the Rushes-O, acting it out with his hands and a twinkle in his eye. His tenor was joined by a houseful of strong voices and hands that echoed his movements. Even the walls hummed in harmony. The rounds began: Pauper Sum Ego, The Peace Round, Oh How Lovely is the Evening, and the heartfelt Onawa’s Waltz, which brought tears to the eyes of many who sang.

Wendy waved a paper plate from the stairs. She had composed this year’s Paper Plate Contra on the spot, especially for tonight. A long line of enthusiastic couples emerged, eager to be the first to do this dance. A crew of musicians reappeared to play. The floor reverberated with pounding feet.

As the evening turned to early morning, the party goers thinned. More energetic dancing ensued, given a bit more space. In response to the music and special dances, cheers and applause punctuated the early morning hours.

Sleep at last calling too loudly to ignore, the guests faded into the night. When the house was ours again, Al and I climbed the stairs to go to bed.

Tomorrow, we’d bring in the furniture, clean, and shim up the floor. A few of the guests were planning to return to help. For now, a satisfying and restorative sleep.


Rose Alice White
Written March 30, 2025

This is a compilation of annual Christmas Country Dance School parties at our house over a period of years. I took the picture from the railing of the hall walkway, looking down at a few of many musicians.

(This story received a Top In Fiction Award for Micro/Flash Fiction for stories written from March 28-April 4, 2025. The link is clickable to see others who also received awards this week in a variety of genre.)

TiF Weekly, Live! #14