Club Izzy

What a night! What an event! Party planning extraordinaire. My sister amazingly recreated the bright lights big city scene at Limelight in 1980s Manhattan (sans the Bolivian marching powder!) for her daughter's birthday bash on the other coast some twenty five years later. Planned lovingly for nearly three years. No detail overlooked. My god. She did it. Gracefully. Club Izzy rocks!

Strobing flashes of brilliant multi-colored hues transforms the chocolate brown room into a riot of benign pyrotechnics. Streaming video of the evening's guests laced with snapshots from what seems like another lifetime blasts onto the silver screens. White hot pulsating notes permeate our bodies hopping up our heart rates as we half walk-half dance through the darkened tunnel papered with all things Izzy into the pink cloud.

On the dance floor the music was almost visible. Neon bracelets sparkle chartreuse, azure and tangerine around the slender arms of newly minted teenage girls and their tween friends teetering on metallic strappy high heels. Their mini-dresses adorably short short reveal scrapes from their childhood afternoons on the soccer field. Giggling like children they morph sophisticated into young ingénues right before our eyes tossing their shiny tresses like Miley or Taylor. Excitement oozes from every movement as they balance on the brink. Life unfolds before them like the tunnel from which they had just emerged. The young boys slicked their blond locks into spikes trying to conceal the innocence their faces betrayed.

Lightening pulses of colored lights pop around the room. The DJ warms up the crowd. Whipping us all into a frenzy. Even the fifty-something crowd whose not as taut arms are held high in the air clapping to the hip-hop beat. While our post-menopausal hips sway wildly our muscle memory from frat parties in the sixties and early 70s not missing a trick. The men, the daddies, watch bemusedly from the sidelines, swilling scotch.

Plumes of the hottest cherry blossom pink ostrich feathers festively adorn the tables. A life-size boa circling Club Izzy's dance floor. Disco tempo. Adrenalin rush. The excitement palpable as we await the entrance of my precious niece, Isabel, who earlier in the day rocked Temple Bat Yahm with her poise, dedication and glorious voice.

Isabel, our precious, precocious Izzy, the star of this evening's festivities, swirled in brilliant pink satin and emerges rocking a pop tune into her hand held mic, twirling a boa and pointing to her screaming 'fans' clapping to the hyper beat and cheering her on. It was only yesterday when this innocent twinkly eyed girl bopped around her pale pink carousel decorated bedroom gyrating wildly to the radio, a shampoo bottle in her hand, a tiara tangled in her curly hair. A glimpse fast forwarded to this long awaited moment in time when she would wow her friends, family and DJ dancers with her incredible talent and confidence.

Izzy, our darling, is poised confidently at the threshold of young womanhood a steel magnolia. Graceful. Self-assured. Resilient. Enthusiastic. Embracing life's potentials. Imagining the possibilities. Her mother has taught her well. She celebrates this joyous occasion in a festive blur of cotton candy confections, adoring BFFs and swirling dancers young and not so. Mamma Mia!

Cheers to Mary, my darling sister! I lift my glass in awe. Your beloved Isabel Rose rocked the house.