Fashion Show

As a busy working woman for over 25 years, I've never had the opportunity or inclination to attend a proper fashion show with a real runway, New York designer clothes, finger food, wine, flowers and ladies who lunch and wear real jewelry during the day. Today, I filled that gap in my experience.

Deciding that jeans and tee shirt wouldn't make the right impression, I pulled out my black consultant's suit and dusted off the shoulders which had accumulated debris hanging in my closet for seven months. I matched it with a pink scoop neck nylon shell, a big retro 50's pink rhinestone pin, and finished off the look with diamond drop earrings, bracelets and dress up black heeled sandals (pantie hose will not touch my legs as long as the temperature is over 80 degrees). It was a good hair day. It felt good to clean up.

My neighbor, Elizabeth, who also has never done a fashion show either, was my date. We drove out of the city to the elegant suburban South Wind Country Club. Th club is what they call here in the mid-south "high cotton" -- a beautiful building, surrounded by a beautiful golf course in a beautiful community locked tight with gates controlled by a worrisome guard. All is very lush, green, quiet and proper.

The purpose of the show was to generate publicity and raise money for the International Children's Heart Foundation (ICHF), the charity for which I volunteer. Elizabeth is the wife of the ICHF's founder and medical director, Dr. William Novick. Elizabeth is as irreverent as me which makes her a great companion at such an event. The clothes to be shown were that of Mr. Hilton Hollis, a New York designer with strong roots in the Memphis area, specifically Mississippi, if you can believe that. We purchased our front row tickets, then headed for the buffet for a leisurely breakfast before the show.

I discovered that if you act like you know what your are doing, even when you don't, you'll be okay. The strategy worked well. We chatted with other ladies, shared stories of how we came to be in Memphis (some had actually not been born and raised here), admired the art work to be auctioned, and tested anti-aging creams and health drinks from vendors in the buffet room. The anti-aging cream did not remove the wrinkles from the back of my left hand even though it was made from caviar. And, the health drink would have been much tastier with vodka and ice. As we waited for what seemed to be an interminable amount of time, I downed a grandee cup of Starbucks coffee and a Bloody Mary.

Finally, we were ushered into a small ballroom, took our seats, smiled politely through the opening remarks, and sat at attention with legs crossed at the knee as opera music heralded the start of the show. First came the "fall collection". It was silver, beige, navy, gray, lacy, furry and shiny. We oohed and aahed, and taking our cue from the Mr. Hollis' 94 old grandmother who sat directly across from us, clapped after each model walked past our seats. We clapped a lot.

After a short break, the auction began. Elizabeth and I each made a bid on the painting. Luckily, someone, Mr. Hollis' partner, out bid us so we were off the hook. Neither of us liked the painting well enough to spend over $600, but as the crowd was small and not all well-heeled, we felt it our duty to encourage a certain amount of enthusiasm.

The second act was the spring collection. It was full of cream, green, copper, and satin sequin filled fabrics that sway sexily at the hips. In the end, all the outfits were quite well designed, easy to wear even if you are not a size 2, and nicely tailored. My Mom would have drooled over all the flat fell seams and the panelled jackets and slacks. There was not a raw edge, inside or out. Luckily for us, Mr. Hollis' designs for everyone but short people, and, as both Elizabeth and I are short people, we were safe from having to shell out some $600 for a cute little jacket or slimming pair of slacks.

I know there are women who think nothing of spending hundreds, if not thousands of dollars, on a dress, jacket, skirt or pair of slacks. But, something in me, maybe my genes or deep roots of my mid-west upbringing, keeps me for acquiring such indulgences. How many seasons can you wear those sequins without people getting suspicious?

A Perfect Time

The steamy drip of Memphis summer weather vanished last Thursday night. The gods of the Autumn killed it off -- finally! We woke to crisp blue sky, gentle breezes and sere air. Angst and pains of the previous two weeks dissolved with the heat. I feel like a human being again who lives somewhere other than in hell.

The weather transformation greeted our Baltimore friends, Rachael and Anthony and John's daughter, Patricia, who arrived for a weekend visit. Having a house full of guests was just plain fun. We rode the trolley around town like tourists, ate like pigs, drank like fish, and hiked like mountain lions.

When we asked what everyone would like for Friday night dinner, Anthony declared "Red Meat" with a level of commitment he seldom expresses, so we treated our guests to dinner at Carpaccio's at the Peabody Hotel. On the roof we visited the evening abode of the Peabody ducks and engulfed ourselves in the sunset. After dinner, we walked down Main Street to Sauces for Mohitos. By 10:30 Rachael was falling off her bar stool, quite unlike the good party girl she's reputed to be. But we know better, for when she tires, her lights go off rather dramatically. We woke her up and we trollied home with Rachael asleep on my shoulder.

On Saturday, while John and Patricia went to tour her old mid-town neighborhood, the rest of us went to the Cooper Young neighborhood street fair, the Brooks Museum of Art and then the Memphis zoo.

The street fair had several thousand people roaming the closed off street and at least a hundred booths, but overall, it was mediocre at best. There were too many pot holders, cutesy colorful tote bags, and beaded jewelry. The best booths represented wood turners, but the work displayed was limited. After ignoring the ubiquitous Red Bull girls with their liquid filled backpacks, we found a small sushi bar that served up some excellent spicy tuna and BBQ ell rolls and dynamite Mohitos. This is good news for Cooper Young as it is a recovering neighborhood of small four-square bungalows and funky stores, kind of the east village of the mid-south.

The zoo was our "hit of the day". Anthony was unending in his enthusiasm and praise. Rachael and I followed like puppies behind Anthony as he flitted from habitat to habitat. It was feeding time when we arrived, so the animals were preforming with the monkeys (baboons?) taking the lead, hooting and hollering to each other across habitats. The butterfly exhibit astounded us as we walked among hundreds in the sun drenched enclosure. My personal favorite was the polar bear, swimming laps as we watched from our under water seats. His fur swayed around his body like seaweed undulating in a current as he lumbered through the water.

We'd gotten addicted to the Mohitos Friday night, so before going home Saturday night we went for mint, lime and rum. We found the rum and the limes, but no grocery within ten miles of our house had mint. Bummer! We survived on the little bit I had at home. John made his famous designer pizzas wearing his very own white chef's jacket. When we were done and the smoke cleared, I was too pooped to pop (as my Dad used to say), so I stayed home, cleaned the substantial mess from the dining room and kitchen, then sat with my pups. The rest trollied down to Beale Street for the ultimate tourist experience, then John walked them to our favorite place, Spindini's. I was in bed when they dragged themselves in at midnight.

We packed everyone off to the airport on Sunday afternoon, then turned around to entertain our one friend in Memphis, Judith, who is leaving for a new job in Boise, Idaho. Real estate in Memphis is dead and she's done almost all the preservation work she can in this town. Her new job is preservationist for the Idaho department of transportation. It's bridges and tunnels for her for a while. We wish her well with dinner at Encore (yes we are eating our way through Memphis -- some body's got to do it) and will definitely be visiting her next summer.

Well, it's time to get back to my laundry and my writing (yes, it is a strange combination), but I'm making progress on both. Do come visit now, y'all.

Heat

Our lives in Memphis have slowed this first August weekend. The hot, humid days that everyone promised have come to pass. The only way we survive is to stay indoors at home, at the office, or at the movies. We opted for movies at home with the dogs.

How hot and humid is it? Why, its so hot and humid that...

• The heat pulls water right out of the fountain as we watch. Evaporation on steroids.
• When I run, even in the early morning, the air presses on my shoulders so hard I've got a stiff neck.
• My body has a perpetual sweaty glow even standing around.
• The mosquitoes don't buzz around my head; they loll around my ankles.
• Fred's so lazy he doesn't raise his leg to pee. Just stands in the grass.
• Our community swimming pool could be mistaken for a community bath tub.
• I burnt the plants because I forgot to let the water run cool before watering the plants.
• The air conditioning has become a perpetual motion machine!

My sister complains about the summer heat and humidity in Florida. But, Florida summer heat can't compare. There ocean breezes cool the shade under the palm trees. In Memphis, there are no cooling ocean breezes. The breezes travel over parched land, not water. They punish us with sharp slaps to the face, instead of caressing us with soft, refreshing licks.

My conclusion is that air conditioning saved the mid-south from becoming irrelevant. Before air conditioning, people moved slowly, drawled their words, and idled at work -- that was not being lazy, it was having the skills to endure this punishing climate for a three months every year.

Music and the Girl with the Purple Tee

Memphis in May begins with the Beale Street Music Festival, three frenzied days and nights of live music in Memphis City Tom Lee Park, straddling the Mississippi River. From 1PM to 12:30AM, rain or shine, bands perform non-stop from three monstrous open air stages and one smaller tent covered stage filled with 1000 folding chairs. With the park only steps away from our house and a daily entrance fee of $30 a person, it was easy to dive into the festival.

Within minutes of getting on site, we found ourselves listening to blues, rock & roll, 70's funk, hard rock, soul, and rap. Sometimes we just tasted, walking from stage to stage threading our way through the crowds. Other times was stopped and indulged ourselves in a complete set. Between shows, we refreshed with beer and great "bad" food. Think rib eye steak sandwiches with meat popping out of a soft soggy bun, Thai chicken on a stick, and mounds of Saratoga fries -- potato chip thin, crispy, hot and salty right out of the deep fryer. After two days my body rebelled, demanding green food. I started eating at home again.

The estimates of 30,000 people a day were reasonable from our elbow to elbow experience. During the day, before the hoards of youth descended, families and couples could easily sprawl out on blankets, staying put to listen and see complete performances. However, at night, standing was the best survival technique if you wanted to get anywhere close to a stage. The closer you were to a stage, the thicker the mass of humanity. Every so often someone would move and we'd be able to catch a light breeze from the west over the Mississippi. Lines of people, holding hands so to not get lost from their companions, weaved into and out of the crowds.

It was a fabulous scene to be part of. Speakers blasted sounds out into the audiences at each stage without stepping on each other. The audiences danced, whistled, screamed and held their hands high into the air as they clapped to engage in the music and show appreciation for the performance. It was a great feast of warm affection for music. Whether an ol' coot smoking that sweet little cigarette while tossing back a pony tail of long time gray hair or a teen trying to look cool with baggy pants, black tee, sunken chest and fuzzy face, there was music to be enjoyed.

Despite the heat and masses, people were pretty much okay with each other, constantly saying "Excuse me" and chatting up those next to them. Even when teens and twenty somethings danced in mosh pits close to the stage, it all seemed fairly respectable, despite the sweat, beer, dirt and late hour. There was the occasional screaming young drunk, but they were smartly quieted by his pals. One guy yelled at me, "Are you having any fun Grandma?" I wished I'd had the presence of mind to yell back, "You only wish you could have half the life I've had, honey," but, of course, I'm never that clever nor quick.

The biggest dust-up happened the first night when Jerry Lee Lewis halted his show twice to break up a scuffle near the stage between a couple of bare chested and amply tattooed, crew cut guys who were less than coherent. Lewis commanded the crowd "boo" them -- and we did. Like the Calvary, security arrived to remove the offenders. They left with their heads down, with a good dose of chagrin.

On Saturday night we listened to Taj Mahal play their jazzy Caribbean music at sunset. Taj Mahal has been around since the 60's so we were surprised at the many nests of young kids around us. Teens in one group could not have been more than 15 or 16 years old. Three of the five boys looked like they had just sprouted up. They were tall and skinny with hair looking suspiciously Paul McCartney or Ringo Starr like. The other two, muscular and squat, sported crew cuts with bodies fit for contact sport. The group included two girls - one, had an underdeveloped body, shy and sweet looking expressions. The other was the opposite - overdeveloped, devilish and teasing. Her boobies bubbled under a loose purple tee. Her brown hair was swept up off her neck. But, she was shorter and rounder than everyone else, a plump 5 feet. Her freckles and eyes gave her a pleasant demeanour but she was not beautiful by teenage standards. Parents would call mature looking. She darted into and around the group keeping the boys focused on her, not each other or the stage. She lifted her shirt up to wipe the sweat off her forehead. She started a dance-like behavior by squirted mouthfuls of water in the boys faces, then batting them on the head and shoulder with the empty plastic bottle. She followed with sweet talk, "I didn't hurt you did I? You know I was only fooling," then wrapped herself in a big hug around the boy who stood straight, enduring the embrace. If the group started to drift apart, she'd herd them together for a group hug with herself in the middle . If a boy sat down, she sat down in front of him, knee to knee, plunging her face into the boy's chest. She ended up on the shoulders of the largest boy, pressing her thighs against his neck, directing the others from her perch.

The boys tolerated her. They would talk with her, but they were definitely not enchanted by her. I glimpsed several sets of "rolling eyes" amongst the boys which the young vixen did not seem to spy. As I watched her, I thought how hungry we can sometimes be in our thirst to be part of the group and to be wanted and loved. Her behavior made me wonder -- where would she end up tonight? Was she just testing her new sexuality or was she really desperate for attention? Would she end up with one of those boys? Would she end up alone because the boys would eventually find a way to evade her charms?

By Saturday midnight, we were exhausted. We could not endure beyond 11:30 when the Bar-kays finished up so we walked home, missing Steely Dan. However, on Sunday, John recuperated and was undaunted, even after the 4 PM downpour. He joined others was they streamed like lemmings toward the park for the last night of music. He did not return until the end at 10:30PM. I plopped myself down in front of the television, ate Bonn-Bonn's (just kidding!) and watched Sunday night Cold Case and Without a Trace. It was a good, an outstanding Memphis weekend.