The Post Without a Title

When the girls were little I made Oscar night a big deal. They would pull an old formal gown from the dress-up box-- a tug of war was sure to break out for the peach satin taffeta dress Brad Pitt touched in the wedding he and my sister were both attendants for. Then we would all plunk down in the family room around the TV watching who would grab a golden boy.

Some years ago we seemed to lose that old tradition. Every year the girls grew older. Those dresses began to actually fit. There lives got busier. They needed, we need to just watch in comfy pajamas-- prepared to dart to bed in time to grab a somewhat adequate amount of sleep before school [and work].

Tonight is no different. Our tug of war on this day was with the clock--getting the office painted just in time to throw on those comfy pajamas and catch a half hour of the fireworks of red carpet fashion.

And although the office is now a beautiful shade of "happiness" (and I must attest the color truly does exude happiness, for me), I miss the childlike excitement that comes with the night to celebrate not only movies, but fashion with my girls. (Them now knowing the "Brad Pitt" dress was so far from great fashion it was hardly worth the argument.)

But as luck would have it we had a red carpet, minus the red carpet, of our own...getting all dolled up last night as it was the high school winter dance--The Snow Ball. And, as luck would really have it a lite sprinkle of snow welcomed us to the morning (and probably the Snow Ball decorating crew)...luckier yet is that it melted as fast as it fell from the sky by the bright warmth of the sun.

Then M gathered with her gal pals for some pre-dance pictures. The "carpet" they walked was a cement deck and the air was a brisk 27*, far from the warmth of California-- suitable for an outdoor photo session with bare naked legs and exposed shoulders. Their excitement for Anna to experience an American high school dance and a Japenese style dinner at Sho-Gun warmed the air--as good friends do.

Now I nestle in my bed-- cloaked in my purse printed flannel pajamas (they seem fashionably appropriate)-- watching TV and prepare for a Monday with an Oscar hangover...suspecting someones speech will drag on and on making the show last longer and longer. However, I am loving this year's show so much I don't think I will mind one bit if it drags past its allotted time.