The Mother Daughter Fashion Show I Mentioned

It wasn't, strictly speaking a mother-daughter fashion show; mothers and daughters didn't walk down the runway together. But there was a tea or something at school and the organizers thought a fashion show would be fun (and also, I realize, terribly ironic when you consider where I grew up and that "fashion" was not something that was remotely connected to our daily existence). There were some grownups involved (but not Dame Judi) and then there were some kids. And it was an all-volunteer army because I was in the fashion show and let me assure you, the only way I would have gotten into a fashion show was because I raised my little hand.

I was not an attractive child. I don't say this to be modest and self-deprecating. It's the truth. I was veryvery skinny, had scraggly hair that absolutely refused to be shaped (despite Dame Judi's efforts with annual Toni perms and weekly hair rollers) and I wore very thick and unattractive glasses. I also had all the self esteem of a lox. Whatever possessed me to think I could be in a fashion show is absolutely beyond me. Gangly and ungainly, all knees and elbows...."grace" is the last word you'd have associated with me at the time.

But volunteer I did. So I was in.

One afternoon all the models went into "town", to a dress shop that I never even knew existed. Dress shops were not a part of my culture. Our clothes were either sewn by Dame Judi, purchased from the Monkey Wards or hand-me downs from cousins. There was not time, money or interest in anything so specialized as a "dress shop".

I never thought of it before, but it's possible that little outing changed my life.

It wasn't a large shop but it sold, exclusively, clothing for women and girls. Racks and racks of pretty dresses, shelves of shoes and handbags. It had the feel of a candy store except that you got to wear the candy. We were instructed to select 2 outfits a piece, which would be loaned by the shop for the occasion. I cannot for the life of me recall my first selection but I can see the second dress in my mind as if it were hanging in front of me: a straight dress with short sleeves; lime green with some sort of pale ecru pattern on it that gave the suggestion of lace. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. I tried it on and in the mirror of the dressing room I saw, not an awkward, skinny kid but a woman transformed. You think I'm exaggerating? The only other time I have ever felt that mystified and awed by my reflection was when I tried on the dress I would choose for my wedding.

I handed the dress over to the shop lady, who affixed a little paper label to the hanger and added it to the rack of show clothes.

When the day of the show arrived we were all herded into bathrooms behind the school cafeteria. We put on our first outfit and lined up in the hall; some woman stood at the doors peering through the windows to give us our cues. I walked my first forgotten look and went back to the bathroom to change into The Frock. The same magic came over me, transforming me into the elegant swan that clearly lurked beneath my ugly duckling pin feathers. I was the last model to walk. I entered the cafeteria, shining (I knew) with the beauty that the dress had bestowed on me. I walked slowly, graciously...stopping in front of the first row of assembled chairs to twirl while the MC read a description of the dress, then walking slowly down the aisle so everyone could get a gander at this miracle of fabric and thread. Then I loped back to the front for another twirl before elegantly exiting the room.

Later Dame Judi told me I had lingered too long. The MC was done with her description and I should have been long gone before she thanked everyone for coming. I couldn't tell her then how important it was for everyone to be able to really see the most gorgeous dress ever made, how the applause I heard had taken me, at least for a minute, into another world, a place I didn't even know existed, where being pretty and graceful had some merits.

I had never felt like that in all my young life. (What was I, 12?) I wasn't going to feel that way again for sometime. But while I was in that magic bubble I had to enjoy it, even if it meant throwing off the timing of the show.

I ended up buying the dress. I don't remember the exact circumstances. Maybe Dame Judi put it on layaway. (It was terribly expensive....something like $20 dollars). Maybe I saved up my berry money and bought it in the summer. But I did eventually own that dress. And every time I wore it I felt beautiful and invincible.

Don't ever underestimate the power of a pretty dress.

How Come My Pictures are So Tiny?

I can't speak for where you live but believe me when I say that September is absolutely THE most glorious month in Seattle. The evenings are cool, sometimes cool enough that you get a little misty fog in the morning but the days are almost all bright and crisp and sunny. Perfect.

It was perfect last week when we had our party for the Fisher House.

See? (That's me being paparrazi).

And it was beautiful on Sunday when Kiki was baptized. Here's a little tiny photo album:

Most babies fuss (or even scream bloody murder) when they are baptized. Not Kiki. She plopped herself down in the font and looked around like, "Alrighty then, let's do this!"


I love that the photographer caught this moment...just there Father is telling Papa "She's right at home". Significant use of language, wouldn't you say?

This is godmom waiting on the altar with the light:
Here's all the gang on the steps of the Cathedral after Mass:
Here's Kiki with The Child, enjoying one of her cupcakes:

And here she is making many crumbs for The Dog to eat later:
What's that? You wanted to see the official portrait? Oh. OK.

Let's Go Shopping!

Yes, Margaret, I know global warming is a myth (rolls eyes). But it appears that our summers are getting hotter and I do not have a sufficient wardrobe of office appropriate summer dresses.

Too bad my favorite dress shop is in Omaha.

Dinner and a Show; Only the Other Way Around

Last Thursday we had the great and grand privilege of attending a performance of the Broadway hit, "Wicked".
It was playing at the Oriental Theatre, which was just as ornate, grand and encrusted with all manner of architectural goo-gawery as the name would suggest.

The Spouse and I read Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire a few years ago. Upon hearing it was going to be made into a musical our mutual response was, "HUH?" Nothing about the book suggests singing and dancing. The book is dark and a little sordid, heavy on characterization and fairly light on actual story. This is going to work as a musical?

No. It couldn't possibly. Which is why Winnie Holzman, who wrote the book for the musical played very fast and loose with Maguire's text. How fast and loose? The characters have the same names and maybe 3 or 4 things that happen in the book happen in the play and that's about it. The result is 2 hours and 15 minutes of something entirely reimagined but excellent in it's own right.

The show opens with Glinda asking the musical question: are people born wicked or do some have wickedness thrust upon them?

The musical answer isn't very complicated. Elphaba, with her green skin, has been on the outside all her life; unloved by her father, nursemaid to her sister, racked by guilt about things for which she's not even responsible. But she is smart. She has conviction, loyalty and a pretty centered moral compass. Her choices end up putting her on the wrong side of the status quo and that's when labels like "wicked" start getting bandied about. A victim of politics, she is made into the "other" that the Wizard of Oz necessarily needs in order to keep moving ahead with his agenda. (Dang. That is sounding so familiar, isn't it? You know, like when you call someone a traitor because they disagree with your war policy?)

Elphaba's foil is of course, Galinda...a bubbly, air-head blonde who knows all about what it is to be popular, but isn't half as clever as Elphaba. The play is more focused on the relationship of these two than I remember the book being, thus becoming a story about friendship and all that goes with it: loyalty, betrayal, reconciliation. Galinda might not be as smart as Elphaba, but she knows how to get what she wants and is willing to make whatever alliances she needs to get it.

When they call this a musical they aren't kidding. The show runs for 2 hours, 15 minutes and there are 21 songs. There is not a lot of talking or straight ahead acting in this production. It is just one song after another. Good songs, too. Composer and lyricist Stephen Swartz, he of "Pippin" and "Godspell", has a gift for the grand and soaring as well as the quiet and intimate (which usually ends up become grand and soaring anyway). And if there is a smidge of schmalz to his style, he's got the chops to keep it from running roughshod. There are some imminently singable tunes in this show and a few that will give you chills. (End of the first act? Hello!)

The show is also abundant in pure, good old fashioned stagecraft. The sets are terrific, with fabulous details but a measured simplicity the evoke rather than describe the scenes. There are unbelievably quick costume changes. And snaps to whoever did Elphaba's makeup because I don't know what product there is that can withstand the heat of the lights, plus all the hugging, running, dancing, and generally sweat-inducing activity of being on stage for almost the entire production.

Theater is still fairly pure, virtually untouched by CGI and blue screens and all the rest of it. If someone rises up in the air, you gotta figure out how to hoist 'em. If they melt through a floor, well, someone is going down through a trap door. If there are smoke and mirrors, they are real smoke and mirrors and no clever chappie with his computer and animation program are involved. There is a magic to the theater that film, however much we love it, can never lay claim to.

The show has some serious, dramatic moments, to be sure. And "a message". It is also pretty funny. There's just a lot of inherent comedy in a serious, green witch being college roomies with a pretty, blonde, sorority type. Not to mention the usually quite amusing throw-away references to the movie.

The Child was just beside herself, she loved the show so much. (And here's another difference between the two mediums: the show is absolutely child-friendly. The book not so much. It'll be at least another couple years before I'll let her read it).

I, however, expect to re-read the book soon. I don't, for example, remember the politics being that profound in the book. Or maybe it's just that when I read the book we still had habeaus corpus and domestic surveillance was just an Orwellian fiction. Let's just say it was hard not to compare the Wizard and his agenda to the current administration. And that was creepy.

To sum up: terrific show. Loved. It. Quintessential musical theater experience. I frankly went to the show with a large grain of salt. Too many raves always make me nervous. In this case, the product lives up to the hype. No sooner was it finished than The Child asked, "If this comes to Seattle can we...."

"Yes!" I replied. It really is that good.

Apres theater we went to Smith and Wollensky, a classic steakhouse right off the Dearborn St. bridge, next to our apartment. Because The Spouse really wanted to have a Chicago steak. I, still being full to the ears from all the week's eating, settled for a bowl of soup. Which was only the most gorgeous bowl of black bean soup I've ever had and let me tell you, I have had some mighty fine black bean soup in my day. The Child opted for a Caesar salad, which was bigger than her head but she ate almost all of it. And we were very happy with our simple fare, even as The Spouse dug into a beautiful looking slab of porterhouse. He wanted to bring the bone home as a souvenir for The Dog. I don't think I was wrong to suggest that he not. Oddly, there was just enough room for a delicious bit of Key lime pie, which was a triumph of balance between the shut-off-your-airways tartness inherent in Key limes and just enough sugar to tame but not cloy.



Just another night on the town in Chicago.