Welcome to the cyber event of the year,
the fifth annual Willow Manor Ball!
The manor is awash with soft candlelight and bundles of deep red peonies. The creaky hardwood floors have been polished to a mellow gloss, just begging for some tangos, twists, and trysts!
We should consider every day lost,
on which we have not danced, at least once.
Please check into the comment section of this post and let us know you've arrived, and who might be accompanying you. If you would like us to visit your blog, to admire your lovely attire, and date, be sure to sign the Mr. Linky widget provided at the end of this post.
Come in and join the festivities, which miraculously will last an entire 24 hours. Remember, everyone who leaves a comment today, will be considered a guest, and eligible for one of two door prizes.
My co-host for the evening, the inimitable R.A.D. (Ronaldo Antonio Dent) Stainforth, is responsible for the wonderful music tonight, as well as persuading the legendary Sir George Solti, to lead the band, as well as serve as master of ceremonies. I asked him to open with my favorite song, All The Things You Are. Speaking of, I'm a tad nervous, since Ronaldo looks incredibly like Marcello Mastroianni. When he arrives, I instructed Stevens (yes, he does look a lot like Anthony Hopkins, who is notably absent tonight) to insert a yellow rose into Mr. Stainforth's lapel, to avoid any embarrassing confusion on my part. After a drink or two, I sometimes err on the side of ditziness.
|See what I mean ...|
Speaking of, the caterers have stocked the manor bar with crates of vintage champagne, and are prepared to mix up just about any drink you can imagine, including the specialty of the evening, absinthe. Take care ... the lovely potent green goes down so very easily.
Almost nobody dances sober,
unless they happen to be insane.
Okay, one of them has arrived. Even without a mask, I'm not sure if he is Stainforth or Mastroianni. No yellow rose, so I am assuming he is Marcello ... oh those intense eyes ... I'm flying, and I haven't even touched the absinthe. Ronaldo is not naturally prone to smile, so I wonder if Stevens forgot the rose?
What am I wearing tonight? Tatyana's gorgeous ruby-red satin ball gown, period circa 1836, worn by Liv Tyler in the Martha Fiennes film, Onegin. It fits me beautifully, after it was let out a tad in the bust line. I did the Scarlett O'Hara thing, and tugged it just below my shoulders, for extra ... charm. As always, I like to dance in my creamy Irish knit woolly socks. Perhaps I can coax Mr. Stainforth to remove them for me later ... with his teeth.
Late autumn weather has arrived in Central Ohio. It's cold, dark, and spitting rain. Stevens has stoked the fireplace with logs from the lovely white pine we lost last year. The collection of umbrellas in the entryway is growing. Gene Kelly drove Ronaldo to Ohio in his Withnail Jag, only to have it stall at the end of the drive. He's now in the kitchen, drying his lizard skin shoes in the oven, having a smoke, beautifully contemplating the rain. Gene is still outside, singing, and dancing in it. When will he come inside and twirl me?
There's also a bit of confusion about the two Judes here this evening ... Law ... and Dippold. This might be rather amusing, since they're both wearing masks, and both the same height and weight. Helen, darling, you might want to double check, before you pull him behind the potted palm.
Please feel free to help yourselves to the fabulous buffet. My excellent Central Ohio caterers suggested American fare this year, so the tables are filled with loads of gourmet hamburgers and fries, and of course bottles and bottles of my favorite ketchup. Don't be shy. Go ahead, glug yourself a lovely puddle of ketchup ... for dipping. Finger licking is okay, too.
Have you seen the guy with the chicken mask? Maybe it's the absinthe speaking, but he seems to keep pinching my bottom. When I turn around, he looks at his gloved hand, and points at it, with the other. Something tells me it's Tom and Dinosaur Hand, or perhaps one of the many ghosts who have gathered here tonight. I do hope he doesn't end up floating down the Scioto again this year ... without a raft.
Truman ... yes ... Capote decided he could survive a few hours in the backwoods of Ohio. The Willow Manor Ball doesn't quite match his infamous Black and White ball, but nearly. He seems quite amazed at the gathering of notables here tonight, and has happily placed himself at the door, to personally thank everyone for coming. His wittiness does, at times, border on the rude. I hope the manor guests think it's cute.
Thank you all so very much for coming. The last song is this lovely piece by Scott Joplin ... puts me in a soft sofa mood. Make sure to pop in Monday around noon-ish EST for some brunch and a rehash of all the fun ball scuttlebutt. The winners of the door prizes will also be announced. Now, if you'll please excuse me, I need some assistance with my woolly socks. Toodles!
Oh, wait. There's still a few straggling guests. Sir Solti, will you play something that will detach Christina from Ronaldo, and send her on her merry way? Perfect.
Thank you so much for making
the Willow Manor Ball 2012 so much fun.
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