An invitation for every kind of gathering.

Black tie, a jazz trio until twelve, then the 1998 bottle we have been saving.

The mulled wine goes on at noon, and we keep refilling the pot until someone finds the bottom.

The table arrives in May. Until then we eat off the box marked KITCHEN.

Brunch is for the grown-ups. The cake is his, and he has opinions.

Her grandchildren are giving the toasts. Dessert is her own recipe.

Cocktail attire. One short toast at eight, then sparklers.

Gaspard built the little chair himself. Come see it before it's sat in.

Abuela is making the mole. Our first college graduate gets the head of the table.

Bar prep starts Monday. Tonight we toast the lawyer three hard years made.

Come between parties. There’s lasagna.

Party jollof and carols, words optional.

Ninety coupes, poured at twelve. Stand back.

Come early to help with the rolls. Stay late for pie.

Benedict grates every potato by hand. Bring your menorah; we light together.

Sworn in on June 2. Cake at four.

A seated dinner among the stacks, then a live auction.

Supper is set out between the rows of Honeycrisps.

No overhead lights tonight. Just tapers, figs and a very long dinner.

Gin fizzes on arrival. The gramophone plays until the band starts at nine.

Fifty years and the same record player. Mom has already edited Dad’s toast.

The band will play their first dance.

Rafi has promised a short speech.

A first trip around the sun, and a cake to match.

Dinner at seven, then dancing until she says stop.

Trout on the grill and stories that get bigger every year.

Not a word to Wendell, who thinks it's a quiet supper for two.

A pan big enough for everyone, and sangria to match.

La Traviata, then a late birthday supper downstairs.

A warm afternoon by the fire before the long nights begin.

Instead of a card, bring a picture book signed for the baby.

Auntie Efua is bringing lunch and a very big umbrella.

Tea under the blossoms while they're at their peak.

Dinner and toasts to four years well spent.

Dessert after the ceremony, and a toast to our newest nurse.

Enter a pie or just come hungry. Ribbons go to best crust, best filling and best story.

Every generation at one table. Fish for abundance, and tangerines for the road home.

Wear your festive best. Diyas on every step, and plenty of sweets after the prayers.

Ma’amoul, Arabic coffee and the whole family, the weekend after Eid al-Fitr.

Bring a coat; the barn is drafty.

Seven courses from the sea, and midnight Mass for anyone still standing.

Oysters, a jazz trio and a champagne tower at the stroke of twelve.

Bring a dish to pass. The cider was pressed that morning.

We’ve got the chili going. Please, no more salads.

Three courses and a good Bordeaux. The silver is coming out of the sideboard.

Each course is paired with a wine from the cellar. Dinner jackets, please.

Stomp a bin of grapes, then taste last year’s barrels with the winemaker.

Ice water drips over sugar, and the trio plays until the bottle is empty.