Welcome to the Third Annual Willow Manor Ball ~!

Welcome to the Willow Manor Ball!  The cyber event of the season is finally here. We have rolled back the carpets of the main hall. Valentino said there's nothing like tile for dancing the tango, but hardwood floors are the next best thing. The manor is bathed in romantic candlelight and the side tables are smothered in my favorite yellow roses.

Please check into the comment section and let us know you've arrived, and who might be accompanying you.  If you would like us to visit your blog, to fully appreciate your lovely attire and date, make sure you sign into the Mr. Linky widget provided at the end of this post.

Thank you so much for coming. I do hope you enjoy the evening, which is miraculously lasting all day long. Remember, everyone who leaves a comment today will be considered a guest and included in the drawing for one of two elegant door prizes. So, please come in and enjoy the manor magic!

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;

No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.

George Gordon, Lord Byron

The ball is scheduled to start tonight at 12:00 midnight sharp, but my dearest friends, Edna St. Vincent Millay and Eugen Jan Boissevain drove all the way from Steepletop in their open Cadillac roadster, arriving scandalously early.  Fresh from the bath, I greet them in my white fluffy terrycloth robe, hair towel wrapped.  

I invite them to make them selves comfortable by the fire, while I attend to making myself glamorous.  Edna looks fabulous in a smart black cashmere coat and Russian style Persian lamb hat.  I'm so envious.  Wonder if she'll consider a swap for my Doctor Zhivago hat?

My escort for the evening is the charming George Sanders, who arrives, back from the other side, arm in arm with his cast from All About Eve, a delightful surprise, since I've always wanted to meet the formidable Bette Davis. As I take her hand, she promptly announces, "Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night."  She obviously knows something is up, because the minute she steps aside to chat with Cro Magnon and Lesley Hornby, Zsa Zsa Gabor appears out of nowhere and takes the arm of her former third husband, who happens to be my date. 

Feeling completely jilted, Sir Anthony Hopkins arrives and gives me that killer gaze with those blue-blue eyes. He is such a dear and never misses a manor ball. I made sure we have plenty of his favorite liver, with some fava beans and a nice chianti. As he comes in close for a quick hug, I "accidentally" spill my glass of red wine on Zsa Zsa's white silk gown. Oopsies!  I whisk her off to the powder room for a tidy up. 

No sooner than I lose Ms. Gabor, a sultry Marilyn Monroe has taken her place. It seems my dear Mr. Sanders is in high demand this evening.  I smile wryly in their direction, with small eyes, and head toward the dance floor to find one solace in of my favorite crushes, the dashing Charles Simic. Maybe I can coax him into reciting some of his fabulous poetry while we take a spin on the dance floor? It's sure to make me weak in the knees and possibly catch the attention of my distracted date. Perhaps if I swoon, George will forget that pesky Marilyn and rush to catch me. It's worth a try.

Not only does Charles whisper enchanting words in my ear, he has me locked in quite a firm grip. You know that "thing" I have for hands, and this particular poet wins the Nobel Prize for Manly Hands this evening. Oh, look, he's wearing a pinkie ring. Love that. Not only are his hand nice, his feet are as light as his words. I so adore the dance of words on a page.  After I disengage my self from Mr. Simic's lusty hold, and steady myself enough to walk across the floor, I am thrilled to spot my good friend, the amazingly spry George Bernard Shaw, waltzing with a striking woman.  Could it be Vita Sackville-West?  Oh, Vita, daaaling! Or might it be the beautiful, enigmatic Virginia Woolf?

Please excuse me for a moment, and make yourself comfortable on this divan, while Alan Rickman recites Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, Act I, Scene V, one of my particular favorites. 

Make me a willow cabin at your gate,

And call upon my soul within the house;

Write loyal cantons of contemned love

And sing them loud even in the dead of night;

Halloo your name to the reverberate hills

And make the babbling gossip of the air

Cry out 'Olivia!' O, You should not rest

Between the elements of air and earth,

But you should pity me!

Don't forget Annie Leibovitz is here, wearing her trademark basic black, armed with her personal digital camera, taking candid shots for the December issue of Vogue, so make sure you and your guest find her and pose extra dramatically. After hearing the history of the manor ghosts, she is concentrating on the front stairway, hoping to get a rare shot of our whispy lady in white. It's highly improbable, though, since she only makes her ghostly appearances between 3:00 and 4:30 a. m.

Speaking of ghosts, Mae West is holding a seance in the candlelit library, in case you're interested. She is set on conjuring Rudlph Valentino back for the evening, rose firmly planted in her teeth, her ample cleavage powdered.

What am I wearing tonight?  Well, I found the most lovely white vintage organdy gown in Paris last week, but it is as stiff as Miss Havisham's wedding cake.  After a dance or two, I find I can't get nearly as close to my partner as required.  I slip upstairs and make a quick change into this fabulous strapless dress worn by Linda Christian on the cover of Vogue in January of 1949. Amazing how much I favor her in the dress. Accordion pleats are perfect for twirling. Now, I can tango the night away in sheer bliss. Shh!  Don't tell, but I have my beloved woolly socks underneath.

You've probably heard by now, that our Master of Ceremonies is once again the indomitable Leonard Cohen, who arrived a little while ago by helicopter on the front lawn, with a bevy of swinging backup babes. I requested "Dance Me to the End of Love", for openers. Stand back ladies, I have reserved his first dance. What's this in his hand? Oh my, dearest Lenny, you shouldn't have! I do believe he has brought me some kind of sparkly gift. He's so sweet, he know's what a magpie I am.

There are crates of marvelous vintage champagne in the cellar, I've been saving for this special occasion, as well as a bar set up with all kinds of goodies.  I've instructed the bar tenders to make delicious and very old fashioned "Last Word" cocktails.  (2 oz gin, 1oz green chartreuse, 1/2 oz maraschino, and 1/2 fresh cut squeezed lime, shake, add a fresh bing cherry for cuteness)  Cheers!  Feel free to throw your glasses and crash them into the fireplace, since they are cyber glasses, after all.

I don't know about you, but all this twirling around the dance floor has made me ravenous. Please help yourself to some of this decadent food.  We've once again spared no expense in hiring the most exquisite caterers in town. Scottish quail eggs are on the menu this year in honor of my Scorbie ancestors. My DNA is definitely tingling. If you see Tom Hanks anywhere near that caviar garnish, shoo him away. He scrapes the entire thing onto his plate every year. Gosh, he just can't get over that You've Got Mail thing. Thank goodness he's no longer sporting that stringy Da Vinci Code hair.  Save room for my favorite part, dessert!  Please don't be shy. Cyber desserts are completely calorie free, remember? Yes, it's that same lethal chocolate mousse we served last year, only this time, it's without that strange Drambuie and mustard concoction, that made everyone grab the nearest partner and head for the privacy of a potted palm.

It's a gorgeous, balmy evening. Let's take a stroll out to the gazebo, shall we? Maybe I can find Mr. Sanders and Ms. Monroe out here amount the shrubberies. Wait, isn't this her shoe? No, it's Mrs. Manion's panties. Near the tennis court, I see an amazon of a woman emerging from the darkness. Oh my gosh, George, is that you?  Sanders strolls up, hides the blonde wig behind his back and quickly attempts to remove the bright red lipstick with his breast pocket hankie. Oh well, I'm certainly not disappointed, since my dance card was filled with all my charming bloggy friends, as well as the dreamy Mr. Simic. After dancing until the wee hours this morning, it's time now for my beauty sleep. Sigh. It's been a magical evening. Please do stop in around noon tomorrow  for brunch, daalings, and we'll catch up on all the delicious ball scuttlebutt.

Ta-ta, my friends! 

Sweet dreams!
Thank you for making 
The Manor Ball a smashing success!

((kiss-kiss))

Leave a comment and you'll be included 
in the drawing for two elegant door prizes...

these lovely little enamel bird boxes.


Don't forget to sign into the Mr. Linky below if you would like us to visit your blog, to see what glamorous clothes you might be wearing, or who your lovely date might be!