"Rust Angel" / "She" / "Gnarly"
Mark de Suvero, Sculptor
Fairchild Tropical Gardens

MUSINGS FROM JOAN #19


I like to believe that the significant other and I are not the only ones who occasionally forget things. Maybe occasionally is not exactly the word I am looking for.

For several years now, one of my Channukah/Christmas gifts to Benard is a large leather bound appointment book. He keeps it open on the side of his desk, and is religious about writing down theatre dates, doctors’ appointments, and all the miscellaneous trivia that make up our daily lives. If I want to know where we are supposed to be two months from now, I can depend on finding it carefully noted on the pages of his beloved appointment book.

All of which makes what happened last Saturday even more ridiculous.

Around 10am my phone rang and the following conversation ensued:

Benard: Joan! I just looked in my appointment book and today is the Mango Festival at Fairchild Gardens and we are both supposed to be working it. I’ll pick you up at 1.

Me: Gee, that’s strange. I don’t have it on my calendar. Good thing you remembered.

Fast forward to 1pm . .we are in the car, on our way to Fairchild Gardens.

Me: I can’t understand how I didn’t have the Festival on my calendar. I could swear it was some time in July. How could I be so wrong????

Benard: (Long pregnant pause) You know, you may be right. Now that I think about it, I seem to remember Julie called and asked me to fill in as a tram driver today.

Me: Oh.. (Under my breath. . .so what am I doing here???) I guess I’ll see if they need .some help in the gift shop even though it isn’t my regular day.

Fast forward to the Visitors Center at Fairchild and the Volunteer’s Check-In Desk

Lady behind desk: Hi, Benard. What are you doing here today?.

Benard: I’m supposed to drive the tram.

Lady behind desk: Are you sure?. Your name’s not on the schedule for today.

Benard: It isn’t???

Lady trying to be helpful:Maybe you’re here for the Mango Training Session???

Benard & Joan in unison: The what????

So what would you like to know about mangoes, folks. . . .and yes, the Festival is in July. and yes, we will be working it, me in the kid’s area and he driving the shuttle. The really fun part about the one hour training session we obviously attended were the endless samples of luscious ripe mangoes. Absolutely yummy!

When we stopped laughing at all our screw-ups, we decided to treat ourselves to a private ride around the Garden. With all the recent rain, everything is lush and beautiful. Fairchild is one of the most important tropical gardens in the world today. If you’ve never visited it, you definitely should...

Benard commandeered a golf cart (there are some perks to being a tram guide & driver, even if you are there on the wrong day) and off we went for a close up look at the huge Mark de Suvero metal sculptures that have been on display throughout the Garden’s Lowlands since December and are shortly leaving us. Although I have passed them many times on the tram when Benard is giving his tour, neither of us has ever actually gotten close to them. This was our chance, and I had my camera with me (because I was going to take pics of the Festival, remember???)

The first thing we did when we got back home was to look at the entry in the appointment book. I didn’t feel it was necessary to point out that it quite plainly said Training after the words Mango Festival. But what the heck. Call it serendipity. The day turned out to be absolutely delightful. . .and definitely unexpected.

Incidentally, he is scheduled to fill in for a tram driver. . .but that’s next Saturday. We’ll both try to remember.


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Photo caption: Mark de Suvero sculptures at Fairchild.
Top to bottom: "Rust Angel", “She”; "Gnarly"

MUSINGS BY JOAN #19


It occurred to me recently that people from all over the world spend a fortune to visit South Beach and we haven’t set foot there since Benard’s 17 year old grand-daughter came to Miami with three friends and couldn’t wait to visit what they obviously considered Nirvana On The Atlantic. If I remember correctly, they also couldn’t wait to get rid of us once we got there. Incidentally, that grand-daughter just completed her third year of medical school, which gives you a rough idea of how long ago that visit occurred.

Why do I mention this? Because I am in the process of creating a “to do” list for Benard and me. If we’re not going to visit the polar bears in the Arctic this summer, (“1 on my travel wish list) or take a luxurious cruise to some foreign port, we are at least going to check off my list of South Florida places I’ve been meaning to visit, or in some cases, revisit, after many years..

My significant other is a remarkably patient man. He just smiles as I rattle on about new additions to my list. Since he has to accompany me on these adventures, he deserves extra points for going along with some of my stranger destinations.

Here’s a short list that is open to daily revision::

1. Take an airboat ride in the Everglades and eat lunch at the Seminole Indian reservation. See alligators. Try not to get attacked,

2. Drive to Cassadega in the middle of the state and visit with some of the 270 psychics that
live in this fascinating little community. (We did this when we first met more than 12 years ago and the psychic that Benard communed with asked him “Does the name Joan mean anything to you???? How could you not love this place?.)

3. Actually spend an afternoon at one of our condo community’s three swimming pools and maybe even get wet. Just kidding. Only if there’s a total eclipse of the sun. Then I may consider putting on a bathing suit.

But back to South Beach. One of the items on my list was to have lunch on Ocean Drive at one of the many chic sidewalk cafes that march down the non-ocean side of that fabled thoroughfare as far the eye can see. We did that last Saturday. It was a hoot.

First we had to make a decision as to which café to choose. This decision was taken out of our hands by the young man hawking the café at the Colony Hotel. His salesmanship was awesome. His charm unmatched . He had us at the mention of the $6.99 Lunch Special. (We found out later that iced tea and lemonade cost more than the lunch, but by then we were having too much fun to care.) Anyway, we succumbed to his mesmerizing pitch and were seated at a table for two, right on the sidewalk, with a 180 degree view of the passing parade, coming and going, .

You had to be there to fully appreciate the diversity of South Beach tourists. In a brief overview. and I do mean brief. . .they come in all shapes and sizes with an incredible amount of t & a.. Some spectacular. Some should have looked in the mirror before they ventured out. Tattoos are definitely mainstream these days. So are teeny tiny bikinis, huge designer handbags and small yappy dogs.

We spent two hours over lunch and enjoyed every minute. Next time I’m going to try one of those giant-size Mojitos that the couple at the next table were drinking. Hopefully we’ll get back there sometime soon. I have a great idea! Why don’t you come and visit us. . .we’ll give you the tour. I’m sure our new friend at the Colony Hotel Café will be happy to welcome us back. We’re old hands at this South Beach stuff now.

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Photo: A view of Ocean Drive on South Beach. I stole it off the web, that's why there is writing across it! Sorry about that.

MUSINGS BY JOAN #18

I don’t consider myself a shoe freak, but I have to admit I have trouble passing up a DSW store. (For the uninitiated, that stands for Discount Shoe Warehouse). I mention this because yesterday I returned home with a really wonderful pair of silvery metallic sandals only to be faced with the fact that I already own two perfectly fine pairs in the exact same color.

My rationale for this lack of fiscal discipline is thus: three pairs of shoes from DSW are equal pricewise (or possibly less) to one pair from Sak’s. Now if you are talking Jimmy Choo’s or Manolo’s, I am way ahead of the game financially. I think you have to be a woman to understand this line of thinking..

What really bothered me about the new pair of sandals was the fact that I was wearing one of my other pairs when I bought the new ones. I don’t want you to think that I am totally dimwitted and never noticed the resemblance. I did. But the pair I was wearing have their own odd story.

I am very fond of this pair. They are very comfortable and very Italian, with a nice wedge heel. I owned them for a full six months and was wearing them one day when someone said to me, “Joan, do you know you are wearing two different color shoes?”

My reply was,”You’re crazy. What makes you say that?”
Her answer was succinct. “Because one is silver and the other is bronze.”

As soon as possible, I removed both shoes, and I’ll be damned, they were two different colors. (See photo above!) I found it hard to believe that I had never noticed because I wear these shoes quite often. They go so well with everything.

With this incredible discovery, I sat ruminating about my sudden color blindness when I suddenly noticed that on the sole of each shoe, right below the words “Made in Italy”, was imprinted the shoe size in easily readable lettering. Just for the record, I wear a 6 ½ Medium. Clearly printed in black on the sole of the right shoe was the number 6. “Hmm,” I thought. “That’s odd.”

Now I turned to the left shoe. . . I swear I am not making this up. . . imprinted in silver, bright and shiny, was the number 7.

How did I get out of the store with two different color shoes in two different sizes and nobody noticed, most notably me? I wanted to blame it on the salesperson. If I was in such a daze, where was she/he? I considered trying to return them and ask for one matching pair, whichever color or size they could come up with. But I had been wearing them for six months and decided it was best to just go on ignoring the situation. (Is it any wonder my family calls me the Queen of Denial?)

So here I am. with three sets of matte silver (and one single bronze) metallic shoes. . .actually four, if you count the pair of pumps with 3” heels that are also in the same color. But, since they are closed toe, I’m willing to feel they don’t really count. As they like to say in the fashion magazines, silver is the new black, at least in my closet.

Should I, or should I not, return yesterday’s pair? To be or not to be, that is the question.

Me and Hamlet, we have a dilemma.

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Photo caption: The un-alike pair of metallic sandals. Pick a color!




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MUSINGS BY JOAN #17

I have a new respect for the power of water.

Why, you ask? Because my daughter Andrea and I just spent a full week without it. Actually, it was available, just not where we were living, 9200 ft. up in the mountains of Colorado, in a metropolis called Divide.

Divide is a stunningly beautiful mountain setting with a killer view of snow capped Pike’s Peak. We were visiting Andrea’s half sister and my “surrogate” daughter, Alison, her husband Jon and their “family”. . .three large rescue dogs and six assorted cats. Neither Alison nor Jon ever saw an animal in distress that they didn’t immediately take to their collective bosoms

The arrangements were for Andrea and me to stay in a wonderful A-frame home perched on the side of the mountain, about a quarter mile from their home. The house was not only delightful, but for the first 24 hours, totally normal. Then the water pump stopped working.

It was the start of the weekend and there was not a plethora of plumbers in Divide, so Jon and several of his friends tried to work their magic. No luck. The faucets, and need I mention the toilets, were dry as bones. Our elegant bathroom with the huge marble Jacuzzi tub stood reproachfully empty.

As a stop gap measure, each time we visited Alison & Jon’s home, we would haul back 5 gallon plastic jugs of precious water. We became very scientific in our distribution of these jugs, with one jug saved for “cooking” purposes. . the morning coffee, an afternoon cup of tea, a glass of water to take morning vitamins and evening pills. Even an occasional handwash. (God bless the bottles of antibacterial waterless hand foam I happen to have with me!) The rest of the precious liquid was doled out for, you guessed it, flushing purposes.

The house had three bathrooms and we assigned them thusly: Andrea owned the bath on the lowest level of the house. I owned the one on the main level. ( And never the twain shall meet.) We shared the one on the loft level where we slept. This one was reserved solely for “light use”.

Once the weekend was over and no plumber was still in sight, Alison and Jon urged us to move into their home, but we were feeling like pioneer women by this time, and as I said, we had the situation down to an exact science. Despite the fact that at 9200 feet a flight of stairs leaves sea-level Floridians and North Carolinians gasping for air, we had become very adept at lugging our water jugs up and down the stairs of our three level home.

Every couple of days we would arrive at Alison’s home with clothes in hand for a hot shower. Wow! What a luxury. We had to be careful not to overdo it, because Alison & Jon’s water came from a cistern that had to be refilled once a week, and we didn’t want to leave them in a waterless state as well. Colorado, we learned, has a severe water problem. Water is limited and very expensive. Who knew????

We had a fabulous week, despite our lack of liquidity. The incredible aspen trees had just burst into bloom and all around us was such beauty it was a delight to sit on our deck, read a book, and enjoy the beauty of nature. I’ve been to Colorado skiing many times, but this was my first experience of spring in this area.

Nobody cooks like Alison. . . .we literally dined every evening surrounded by Maggie, Louie and Bodhi, the dogs, with cameo cat appearances by Molly, Ellie, Sophia, Zoeie, Cleo and Mr. Miles Davis. We visited the wolf preserve one day, the fabulous mountainside zoo in Colorado Springs another. One day was spent in the adorable western town of Manitou Springs where we lunched in a castle. Another morning we breakfasted at The Hungry Bear in Woodland Hills, famous for its giant pancakes.

The week flew by and before we knew it we were in the airport at Colorado Springs, headed for home. Before boarding my plane I visited the ladies room and spent five minutes washing my hands with delicious hot water. The lady standing next to me thought I was nuts, but I was in heaven.

I will never take water for granted again. That’s a promise.

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Photo caption: The view of Pike’s Peak from the deck of our house.
The kids from the top: Bodhi, Maggie (with Jon), Louie