WILLOW MANOR BALL 2013

Welcome to the 6th Annual Willow Manor Ball! 

Join the heralding of autumn, as well as the celebration of my birthday! Willow Manor is at her most intriguing, laden with soft candlelight, dark corners, just a touch of cobwebs, and a few dead moths. The carpets have been rolled back in the front hall, and the hardwood floors polished to tango perfection. Even the manor ghosts are at their haunting best. Welcome, and enjoy. Remember, anything is possible in cyberspace.

Please check into the comment section of this post, let us know of your arrival, and who might be accompanying you. If you would like us to visit your blog, to admire your stunning attire, and fawn over your remarkable date, sign the Mr. Linky widget provided at the end of this post. 

Everyone who leaves a comment today will be eligible for one of two door prizes. If you leave a comment, you are here!

My co-host for the evening, Ronaldo Antonio Dent (R.A.D.) Stainforth, yes the very same masterful reader of my poetry, has already arrived looking dapper, with a Jag-full of beautiful women, a case of Johnnie Walker under his arm, and his pet badger, Seamus, looking moody on a leash. 

I was most pleased to see his Withnailesque Jaguar Mark 2, with a brand new paint job (Stainforth blue), parked on the lawn. It was quite amusing to see the women emerge, all wearing blue! They are obviously keen on impressing him, by wearing his favorite color, but none too happy about having to share the limelight. Ronaldo mentioned something about Tracey Emin's rack. Does that mean she's going to be hanging some artwork? I'm not sure.

As I welcomed him with our customary squeeze, I noticed a cheeky pink bra tucked in his breast pocket. 

Speaking of all things pink, I am celebrating my new-found appreciation for pink with this exquisite vintage pale blush-pink Dior gown from 1953. In simple classic-pink style, I have no accessories; just the gown, nothing on top, or underneath, but a fresh aubergine pedi. It's a gorgeous warm October night, perfect for shoe-free dancing. I never like to be taller than my dancing partners, and besides, twirling is best, skin to floor.

By the way, Mr. Stainforth was the first to sign my dance card. He tangos expertly, having learned from his Argentinian mother. I'm looking forward to that close embrace, the drag, the hips ... not sure if I can look shyly over my shoulder, when he looks into my eyes with those blue volts. I hope he doesn't flip me upside down. It might startle the guests.

Listen to Miloš Karadaglić make his guitar sing. This is hot hot hot. Okay, I'm ready to tango 'til I drop...

Dancing is a vertical expression of a horizontal desire.
― Robert Frost 

The main refreshment this evening is Guinness; an outrageous vat was flown in late last night from our sister city, Dublin. If you see me watching the bubbles drag up and down my glass, please take me for another whirl around the dance floor, to clear my head. Almost nobody dances sober, unless they happen to be insane.

Art Blakey & the Jazz Messengers are playing some mellow, way cool music in the main hall. 

My dear friend, the handsome, dignified, charming, and a little bit sinister, Vincent Price, has just arrived with his pet raven on his shoulder. Campy? Never. Pausing in the entryway, he said, to my sheer delight, "I hear the sound of rat claws within the stone wall."  I nearly swooned.  He says Willow Manor reminds him of the House of Usher. I was counting on a spin around the dance floor with the sexy Mr. Price, but he seems more fascinated with this skeleton, than with me. It looks familiar. Maybe it's Bette Davis? 

The wonderful English folk musician, Eliza Carthy is here! Someone said they saw her climbing out of the trunk of Stainforth's Jag. I thought she looked a bit disheveled, when I greeted her at the door. After all, it is a long trip from the U.K. to the Midwest, especially in the trunk. She brought her fiddle! Yea, verily yea! So, I'm appropriately requesting "Willow Tree" ...

Chef Dominic Franks, and crew, have gone to great lengths to tantalize our palates. He chose a Medieval theme, with lots of delicious traditional Celtic food. Nigella can't seem to stay away from the kitchen; she's wearing my ruffled apron, and swapping TV cook show gossip with Vincent. I'm sampling the amazing spiced venison with wild mushroom and truffle sauce, followed by all kinds of decadent pink sweets. Remember, my friends, there is no such thing as calories in cyberspace...

Art Pepper ... the other Art ... is playing outside on the patio, for those who might need a little fresh air, a smoke (Ronaldo and Vincent are out there), or just want to enjoy this gorgeous moonlit evening by the Scioto. I asked him to play Autumn Leaves, in celebration of my favorite season. He said he wasn't sure if he knew it, so I handed him the sheet music, I happened to have tucked in the manor piano bench. I think he can manage. 

While we're talking cigarettes, Seamus was seen ...not Stainforth's badger ... Seamus Heaney was seen outside, calmly having a smoke, in a tree. I do wish he would climb down, and dance with me. I'll say I want to talk poetry, but really I just want to hear him recite a few lines of Oracle ... in my ear. Maybe he'll tell me what it's like on the other side. I'm sure he's already met the assorted Willow Manor ghosts. 

Meanwhile, Stone Roses is warming up with This Is The One. Is that Ronaldo dancing Eighties-style like a crazed weasel? Or did Wadsworth forget to spray for wasps? It may be the Johnnie Walker.  R.A.D. really gets into anything from that decade. Ask him something, anything, about the 1980s. He knows. He cares. He was there. 

Things have settled down a bit; there's a poker game going on in the smoke-filled library. Seamus ... not the poet, the badger ... quite in his element, is winning, as well as drinking everyone under the table. It must be his poker-face. He doesn't say much, just hisses now and then. All the neighborhood cats are lined up at the window watching. He has a way with the felines.

Thank you all so very much for making the Willow Manor Ball so much fun. 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, the moon is out, and a blue Jag is waiting. 

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
they danced by the light of the moon. 

― Edward Lear, The Owl and the Pussycat 

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