Seems Like Old Times

Tonight I went to a Reception (big R) for a group of Knesset members who are visiting the California Legislature. It was held at a nice restaurant, Spartaro's if you want to be specific, with valet parking and an open bar. I used to do this sort of thing all the time in Los Angeles. I had my dress up clothes--Tahari suits if you want to be specific--and once or twice a week I was out and about at this meeting or that reception. It was mostly part of my role as a Director of the British-American Chamber of Commerce, which was due in no small measure to my relationship with the Executive Director of the BACC. That is, I went to these things as his date, but soon enough my winning ways and stellar intelligence had won me an appointment to the Board. My fellow Directors were the President of this bank and the CEO of that, the head of Rolls Royce in the Western States and...well, you get the point.

My life in the years after I left the Board of the Chamber were a little lacking in glamour, albeit long in love. Getting dressed up then meant a clean pair of Wranglers, which was the only brand that a country girl or guy could wear. Boot cut, of course, and none of this sissy stone washed crap. Just jeans and a shirt and a belt and boots--.

I've moved on from that as well. My wardrobe is less, shall we say, regulated by the sartorial demands of the dominant culture (just slingin' the lit crit talk--because I Can). Tonight was the first time in a long time that I was out and about as in those Cocktail Party days in LA. My Tahari suits have gone the way of the rest of my size 10 wardrobe, but in honor of them I bought myself a pair of Tahari shoes (when did they start making shoes?) I've been lusting after some Really High Heels and these must be five inches at least. (Actually, this photo doesn't do them justice, but it's late, and it'll have to do.) I started out to write a post about the Knesset reception. I mean, Knesset! Israeli Parliament! Think of the political stories I could tell. Instead I'm doing a fashion report. Where's my sense of seizing the moment, of working the world? In the back of my closet, I guess.