A handy bit of business.. .

The Wall Street Journal recently did a study about left handedness. Nobody asked my opinion on the subject, but since I have been personally involved in the matter for some eight decades, I feel I have a right to weigh in.

Yes, I am very left handed, in everything except cutting my meat. Apparently my Mother couldn't figure out how a lefty should cut her lamb chop when I was little. Since she was right handed,she simply taught me what she knew how to do. Other than that, I am a true lefty. (Ask Benard. Because I do everything opposite of the way he does it, he is sure I am going to stab myself when I do anything in the kitchen. Then again, my prowess in the kitchen could easily end in stabbing myself, but that's another story.)

According to the Wall Street Journal study, lefties make up only 10% of the population. Nobody knows exactly why some people are lefthanded although it tends to run in families. Not in my family, however. I was a bit of an anomaly in that department.

A fascinating bit of trivia is the fact that many US presidents were/are left handed, including Barack Obama. The list includes Bill Clinton, George H.W. Bush, Gerald Ford, Harry Truman and James Garfield. Apparently, politics is non-partisan when it comes to handedness.

One of the favorite gifts I ever received was a pair of left handed scissors. Scissors are a problem for lefties, whoever invented them didn't understand that they are strictly for right handed people. I am probably the only volunteer reader at WLRN who brings her own scissors to the studio to cut out the articles from the Miami Herald before going on-air.

By the way, according to the survey, lefties make more creative artists because they are better at divergent thinking. I'm not quite sure what that means, but I'm going to accept it as a good thing, it has something to do with the way our brains are wired apparently. We're also good at sports. . think Phil Mickelson, Oscar de la Hoya and Rafa Nadal. The theory behind that? Since there are fewer of us, we get to practice against righthanders more than righthanders get to practice against us. Who knew!

No, my handwriting doesn't look weird and I don't have to sit at the left end of the table because my Mother taught me to keep my elbows in close when I eat. As a matter of fact, I'm rarely aware of my left handedness until someone sits down at my computer and wants to know why the mouse is on the wrong side of the keyboard.

The article also informed me there is such a thing as a Left Handers Club and we actually have our own day. Apparently I missed it. It was August 13th. But I intend to celebrate next year just as soon as I sign up and become a member.

Gee, I wonder whether they swear you in by raising your left hand??????
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Photo captions: The logos for the Left Handers Club.

I'm in love. . .

I got kissed by a giraffe this week.

His name is Fezzit, and he has a foot long dark purple tongue that he whips out and curls back up. In all honesty, I think he was more interested in the bowl full of greens I was holding out to him than in a long term relationship with me. But I was instantly in love.

My friend Alice is in town for the annual Doral/Publix "First Tee Golf Tournament" benefitting disadvantaged kids. . I help her work the tournament's pro shop selling shirts and stuff to the youngsters from 47 countries who actually play in the tournament. On Friday, before play began, we played hookey and spent the day at ZooMiami, courtesy of another friend, Diane, who is a long time docent at that truly incredible place. If you're a Miamian, and haven't visited the place formerly known as Metro Zoo for some time, you are in for a treat when you return.

I have fond memories of Sunday visits to the Bronx Zoo as a little girl with my Dad and my sister. In those days, animals were in cages, behind strong iron bars. Today, that practice is long since forbidden. The animals at ZooMiami roam free in areas that resemble their native habitats, and visitors are separated by deep moats, or in the case of the adorable river otters, by glass walls.

I am an animal lover so the day was a delicious treat, especially with Diane driving us around in a golf cart and favoring us with a personal tour. Her back-of-the-house knowledge of all the animals is priceless, not to mention that she knows them all by name.

Getting to feed Fezzit was an extra plus. I was a giddy as a little kid. Take a look at the accompanying photo if you think I'm kidding.
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Every dog has his day. . .

A whole bunch of dogs had their day here at Grove Isle on Sunday. Never realized there were quite so many canines living in our midst,although I am on first name basis with several tail waggers from my morning walks around the island.

Sunday at 11:30 was the official dedication of our new, first time ever, on-site dog park, named the Mary Carner "Paws Park", in honor of our late friend and neighbor who was an activist in securing the bayside bow-wow accommodation. There was champagne and cupcakes, plus bags of treats for four legged guests,(courtesy of Pets Mart, they recognize good customers when they see them)as our City Commissioner Mark Sarnoff presented a fancy gold embossed declaration to Mary's husband, Steve, while a photographer and reporter from the Miami Herald looked on. The South Beach social scene has nothing on us.

Since I am a cat person and neither Wasabi nor Ginger expressed any desire to leash up and attend the event, I represented the family wearing my best cat tee-shirt to show my support. Grove Isle dogs don't have names like Spot and Rex. I'm on petting basis with Mila, Henry, Jake, Lolita, Lola, Bailey, Chloe and Oliver. Our condo docs specify pets no larger than 25 lbs. so they also tend to be small of stature but large of heart. Just ask their devoted owners.

Everybody was on their best behaviour, including the adults. I understand there's a move to hold weekly cocktail parties in the park. For the owners, not the dogs, I trust. I'm thinking of demanding equal time for cats.
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Photos: 1. Sheila & Henry, wearing his UM tee shirt
2. Sharon & Lolita watching the proceedings
3. The plaque at the dog park door
4. Commissioner Sarnoff doing his thing

My early Christmas present. . . .

This morning was our last reading session for the year in United Way's pilot program, "Reading for Literacy". The four year olds in my pre-K class will be presenting their Christmas pageant next Thursday morning, so today, after reading about a hyperactive mouse who did something creative for every letter of the alphabet, it was time to say goodbye.

That's when the teacher, Miss Anita, announced that the children had made a gift for me. Can't remember the last time I was so touched. This is turning out to be a great holiday for me. The "significant other" bought me a Kindle Touch 3G for Channukah, and now a handmade gift from these kids I have grown to love.

Little Pablo, who always has an answer for every question I ask the kids as I read, even before I finish asking it, personally painted the Christmas tree on the poster. Miss Anita made sure to tell me that. And each of the kids signed their names on individual pieces of red paper that were then glued on the green background. .the two Sophias,Charlotte, Mia, Pablo, Dimitra, Roberto, Robbie, Alec, Allie, Zoe, Daniel and Jacob. Their names are engraved in my memory. Up in the left hand corner is printed a big Thank you. I may have to frame it, it is so adorable.

Sheila and I have really enjoyed volunteering for this pilot reading program. We're hoping United Way will call on us to read to another pre-K group in the coming year. Don't want to waste my new found ability to read a book upside down so that the kids can see the pictures and interact with the story line.

In truth, I think I learned as much as the kids did from the program. I never had any desire to be a teacher when I thought about a career years ago, but I have a new appreciation for both the importance and the non-financial rewards that they experience from the work they do.

In case I don't get to write again, Happy Holidays to you all. .

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Nature is wild. . .

We had an interesting guest on our tram tour at Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden this morning. He didn't have much to say, but he was obviously ready to listen to Benard's and my spiel. We figured that out when even after we told him politely that the seats in the tram were for paying guests, he persisted in running along beside us as we headed out through the Garden.

In case you don't recognize our guest, he's a Cattle Egret, one of many different feathered friends that we see regularly as we travel through the Garden. My personal favorites are the families of Ibis that hang around the edges of the lakes. I love explaining to the guests that while the Ibis was once the sacred bird of Egypt, more importantly to Miamians, he is the mascot of the University of Miami's football team, the Hurricanes. Chosen because of his bravery as the last bird to leave when a hurricane is on the horizon, and the first to return when the hurricane is over. Bet you didn't know that!

One last word about our feathered friend this morning. . he apparently took my remark seriously about only paying guests allowed on the tram. A few minutes after we started the tour,Benard stopped the tram to explain about some tree or plant we were passing. Up trotted our egret, this time with a tiny live lizzard in his beak. I swear he was offering it to me as payment for his seat.

Who knows, maybe lizzards are coin of the realm in the Bird World. I was grateful he didn't ask for change. What can I tell you. Is it any wonder we love this incredible Garden so much????
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Everyone needs a week away. . .

I'm back from a week in Sedona, Arizona's gorgeous red rock country. What I wasn't expecting was the unusually cold weather, but that's another story. Miami had floods earlier this months, Oklahoma just had an earthquake. . .Mother Nature is really on a tear these days.

Visiting my old friends, Alice and David Goodhart, is always an eating experience, amd man, did we eat. Starting with dinner the night after I arrived at their friend Beverly's home where the fabulous chef, who is actually an obstetrician in real life, delivered (pardon the pun!) an incredible meal that concluded with a birthday cake for both me and the chef's wife, also named Joan. (Take a look at the accompanying photo for an idea of what the dinner table looked like before we sat down and devoured everything in sight. That's Chef Nathan in the background.)

From there, it was all uphill, foodwise. If we weren't eating at some wonderful Italian/Thai/Continental restaurant, I was stuffing myself in Alice's kitchen, a pretty fine dining spot on its own, presided over by their delicious dog Shaina. In between meal times, we visited a whole slew of Sedona's marvelous art galleries, attended a wine tasting session, talked it up at her book club, and with David at the wheel, tooled into the mountains until the snow plows let us know it was time to turn around and go back to safer ground. Haven't seen that much snow since my last ski trip. For you Floridians, the second photo is to show you what you are missing,or what you can live without, as the case may be.

Sedona is getting ready for its Annual Film Festival. Last year Alice volunteered me to serve breakfast at the Arts Festival. This year she had me taking tickets in the lobby of the local movie theatre where they previewed a wonderful Dutch film called "Bride Flight". God only knows what she will have me doing next year. Mine is not to question why. . I just go along, and it always turns out to be fun.

It was a great week but it's good to be home. Wasabi and Ginger have been pasted to my side since I arrived, and the significant other looks pretty happy as well. It's Ramble time at Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden, and I have to be there at 8:30 tomorrow morning to work in the Kids Area.

Have a feeling my next blog may be waiting for me there.
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Never too old to celebrate. . . .

I'm a little long in the tooth to go Trick or Treating, but I simply can't resist using Halloween as an excuse for posting this adorable photo. The kid in the pumpkin, in case you don't recognize him, is my great grandson, Grayson Max Anker.

I remember the excitement of Halloween when I was a kid back in Mount Vernon, NY. In those days our parents didn't demand wrapped candies or worry about us traveling in packs around our neighborhood. When Andrea was a little girl, it was still safe to go with her friends around the islands we lived on. Just over the bridge from our house lived the singer Anita O'Brian, the one who was such a religious fanatic and rabid homophobe. In addition to those lovable characteristics, the kids all knew that hers was the only house in the neighborhood who wouldn't answer the doorbell to trick or treaters. For that alone, we all hated her.

These days I live in a condo and kids are in short supply, but I'm ready, just in case some show up. I have a giant size jar of my favorite "Jelly Bellies" in all the best colors and flavors, purchased for me by Benard at Costco. (I know. . some girls get diamonds. .but I am addicted to these babies.)

Not to worry if the doorbell doesn't ring. I'll manage to eat a few, all on my own.
In the meantime. . .HAPPY HALLOWEEN TO ALL OF YOU OUT THERE!!!!

"Green's the word". . .

I spent Sunday morning hawking "organic" tee shirts and totes at Fairchild Tropical Garden's "3rd Annual Edible Garden Festival". My booth was strategically located between "Martita's Banana Cakes" (yummy) and "Harmony Kettle Korn" (OMG delicious). Needless to say, I did not go hungry.

Don't know if you've ever eaten kettle corn, but it is highly addictive. There's no such thing as eating one or two kernals. My next door neighbor this morning thoughtfully presented me with a just-out-of-the-kettle warm bagful at 9am when I arrived to set up. When my shift ended at 1pm, there was still enough in the giant plastic bag to provide Benard with a goodly portion. (Take a look at those bundles in the photo at right and you'll see what I mean.)

99% of the booths sprinkled throughout the Garden for the two day Festival pay for their space and are there to sell food and merchandise. My booth is one of the few operated by the Garden and manned by volunteers. Benard spent the morning driving visiors back and forth to parking areas on an 8-passenger shuttle. The Garden has over 500 regular volunteers who are totaly dedicated to this imcredible place, and can call on another 500 for their major events like the famed Ramble that will take place next month.

We chose the morning shift so we could get home in time to watch our sad sack Miami Dolphins play the Denver Broncos. The Denver team is led by University of Florida icon, Tim Tebow, and Dolphin management was delighted to note that the usually half empty stadium suddenly sold out with Tebow fans there to root for their Golden Boy.
So far, he's doing as bad as our Dolphins.

The Dolphins may actually win this game.*** That will infuriate all those fans in the stands bandishing "Suck For Luck" placards. For the non-sports-minded, that refers to Stamford's incredible quarterback, Andrew Luck, who's slated to be the #1 draft choice this year. Boy, could we use him! Thus the charming allusion to the necessity for the team to end up worst in the league.
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***Addendum. . .I can't believe I'm saying this. We lost. It wasn't easy, we were up 15-0, but the Dolphins found a way, after being in the lead for 3 and 3/4 quarters. Way to go, Tebow. The crowd in Sun Life (Dolphin's) stadium, including shocked Dolphin fans, gave you a standing ovation. Unbelievable.

Setting the record straight. . .

Kim Kardashian and I helped to set a Guiness World Record this morning.

Well, to be specific, Kim did it mationally on the Today Show,and my friend Sheila and I did it at the Coral Gables Congregational Church Pre-School as part of our Thursday morning stint for United Way's "Reading for Literacy" program.

We were a small part of a huge annual effort to set a world record for the most people reading the same book on the same day. The book that thousands of readers around the world were tasked with reading was "LLAMA LLAMA RED PAJAMA" by Anna Dewdney, and the copy that each of us was handed was imprinted with a logo that read "READ FOR THE RECORD". I don't believe you'll find it on the New York Times Best Seller List. . on the other hand, there must be a helluva lot of copies floating around out there.

I don't know how Kim enjoyed the book, but the kids I read to every week loved it. They had a llama mixed up with a camel, but I assured them they were first cousins in the animal kingdom. I tried to explain to them about the Guiness Record business, but that went right over their heads. In their world, a record is something you use to play music. Or so they informed me.

We were supposed to turn our book in to the teacher when we finished reading, but I begged to keep my copy so that I can read it to the pre-kindergartener that means the most to me. That would be my great-grandson Grayson. He's only 5 1/2 months old at the moment, but I know he's going to love it.

Grayson is one of the lucky ones. His Mommy and Daddy read to him all the time. United Way is determined to bring the love of reading to pre-K kids that don't enjoy that important advantage, and Sheila and I are enjoying being part of that effort.

By the way, the Baby Llama in the book is a real cry baby. .the kids thought that was hilarious. War & Peace, it wasn't.
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Thoughts about favorites. . .

The Today Show this morning had a discussion as to whether parents are genetically disposed to favor one child over the others in a family. Since I am the mother of an only child, and grandmother of an only grandchild,there was never any question who was the favorite in my family. Andrea and Adam won, hands down.

But I am the younger daughter in a two child family, and the question of which of us was my Dad's favorite did come up once. Both my sister and I were adults with children and grandchildren of our own when I found myself sitting on a therapist's couch one day. I was in the midst of a divorce and had been advised that a visit to a therapist might be helpful. In her efforts to find out more about me, she asked about my relationship with my father, and did I think he had a favorite between his two daughters.

My response was immediate. "I was his favorite. I always knew Dad favored me."

The therapist suggested that I ask my sister the same question, and I called her up as soon as I returned home. "Did Dad have a favorite between you and me" I queried, quite sure that she would agree that it was me. Her response was as immediate as mine had been. "Absolutely. I was always his favorite," she said.

Well, what do you know. My father, who never attended a child psychology class or was probably even aware of how he managed to do it,had somehow convinced both his daughters that they were his absolute favorite. Probably the best gift a parent could offer a child.

My "children" these days are named Wasabi and Ginger, and I'm feeling a little guilty. I'm afraid I've been showing favoritism. I'll have to work on that.

On a more serious note, gives you something to think about, doesn't it????
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Photo caption: The Sisters. . .then and now.

A walk in the park. . .

Saturday mornings I walk off our island with my friend Virginia Jacko and her dog, Kieran. When I show up at 7:30 in the morning at Virginia's apartment, I truly believe that Kieran sees a cartoon balloon over my head that says "WALK TO THE PARK!!! GOODIE, GOODIE!" As a result, I get lots of kisses and doggie-style expressions of happiness.

Then Virginia puts Kieran's harness on and he immediately becomes all business. That's because this beautiful yellow Lab spent two years training to be a service dog and Virginia, his mistress, is blind. Most days of the week he accompanies her to the Miami Lighthouse for The Blind where she serves as that organization's dynamic President and CEO. Under Virginia's guidance,the Miami facility has emerged as one of the most vibrant and technically advanced in the nation. But that's another story and this blog is about a dog.

Virginia likes to say that our Saturday morning walks over the years have qualified me to be an OMN. That stands for Orientation Mobility Instructor. But in truth, the instructors have been the dogs, whose intelligence and uncanny ability never fail to astound me.

Kieran knows that the safest place to walk is the sidewalk, or at the least, close to the curb. Our route to the park takes us through some very quiet side streets where I prefer to walk in the middle of the road. Forgeddaboutit. He simply nudges both of us over to the sidewalk and is obviously not happy until we do as he wishes. The look on his face says "Don't argue with me! I know what I'm doing."

Once in the park, I marvel at his ability to keep his focus when we walk past the fenced in dog area, with dozens of dogs running free and barking up a storm. Kieren takes his job seriously. He also knows that once we get to our favorite bench, Virginia will take off his harness and give him the opportunity to do some serious sniffing of all the interesting new smells that the park offers.

It's no wonder that these remarkable dogs are only allowed to work for seven years before they must retire. Virginia's much loved first dog, Tracker, is spending his retirement at her family's home in Indiana after serving her well for many years. Tracker was my first instructor. If you can describe a dog as "dignified", that would apply to dear sweet Tracker. Kieran, on the other hand, is a "lover", and it takes all my resolve not to sneak him some kisses and a bite of a bagel when he's in working mode.

I'm not sure who is more remarkable in this duo . .Kieran or his mistress. I only know that all three of us enjoy our walks together on Saturday morning. If you see us on the street,Virginia and I will wave and say hello. Don't expect Kieran to pay you any notice. He'll be attending to business.
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Photo caption: From the cover of Virginia's biography, "The Blind Visionary". For more information go to www.theblindvisionary.com.


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"A" is for alligator. . . .

It's been several decades since I read a Dr. Seuss book to a small child. The last time was to my grandson Adam, who shortly will be reading one to his own son, my great grandson Grayson.

I got to read the venerable Dr.'s "ABC Book" this morning,to 12 pre-K kids, and believe me, it's an interesting experience. My friend Sheila and I answered United Way's call for volunteers in their pilot "Love To Read" literacy program for pre-schoolers. The idea is to prepare four year olds to love reading prior to entering kindergarten. Believe me, it's a challenge, but a very worthwhile one.

Sheila and I show up every Thursday morning at the Coral Gables Congregational Church's pre-school. The kids, many of them dropped off by working moms, are all out on the playground. When we arrive they enter the classroom for a half hour of reading before lunch. The kids sit on the floor in front of us as we read. (That's Miss Sheila reading to her group this morning in a photo taken with my cell phone.In kid talk,I'm Miss Joan.))

The idea is not to just read but to interact with the youngsters in a positive manner. Not as easy as it sounds. Try keeping the attention of a bunch of four year olds some time. My method this morning was to make each kid "own" the letter of the alphabet that matched his or her name. . we have three "As" (Alex, Alessandra and Alli) and two "Rs", (Robbie & Robert) but not a lot of Qs, Us and Vs. Not surprisingly, since most of the kids are Hispanic, they all have someone in the family whose name starts with X, and anxious to tell me about it.

I'm trying hard ot remember everyone's name in my group. . .Frankie, Alex,Alli and the two Rs, talk up a storm. . it's hard to shut them up. Sophia, Judi-Jo and Mia are the "girlie girlie" group. . . .and Jacob and Michael are the quiet ones that have to be drawn into the conversation.

When you've got their attention, it's very rewarding. That's Sheila's and my post-morning assessment after our second week on the job. United Way is taking the program nationwide if it works well in Miami. They are hoping to have a million readers, so if it shows up in your city, I urge you to volunteer. One look at those excited little faces and I promise you, you'll find it rewarding as well.

Dr. Seus, by the way, is still a good read. I recommend it, as well.


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Bright lights and video cameras. . .

I'm back from New York City and my 15 minutes of celebrity fame! Hurricane Irene tried to interfere, but by Monday morning American Airlines gave the all-clear signal and off I went, First Class, I'll have you know. With a limo waiting for me at LaGuardia to take me to my hotel. So this is how the stars live.

What an incredible, slightly unbelievable and definitely lucrative experience this whole Fancy Feast "Grand Prize Win" has been. (The $10,000 check arrived last week and promptly went into the bank after first photographing it for posterity.)

After checking into our super chic boutique hotel on Monday afternoon, Purina's terrific pr girl, Julie, took me and my suitcase over to the film studio so that a covey of female executives, and one male creative director, could survey the four different outfits I had brought for their approval. I was getting ready to offer to run to the nearest department store and buy something new when they unanimously selected the coral-colored sweater set and beige trousers you see in the accompanying photo. Phew! That was a relief.

Tuesday was "shoot day" and at 8am I got to meet Celebrity Chef Carla Hall, the wonder woman who selected our "Purrfect Sushi" recipe for the big win. I brought her Ginger & Wasabi's deepest thanks via videos on my cell phone.

Carla is sensational, all six feet of her! She has her own TV show, "The Chew", debuting later this month on ABC. The director took one look at us standing next to each other and decided it would be best to shoot us sitting down. A wise choice although they ended up having to put a board under my part of the couch and stacking pillows behind me to keep all 4' 11" of me on a reasonable level with statuesque Carla.

We'll see the finished webisode on Fancy Feast's website and on their Facebook page some time in September after all the editing is completed. I think I did good, guys. I know that Carla was great fun to work with and the whole crew, from the Purina execs to the makeup woman who curled my eyelashes,treated me as if I was someone very special. Not a bad feeling. . and I owe it all to my cats!

Fancy Feast's version of my "Purrrfect Sushi" recipe will be on food market shelves around the country in May of 2012. All my cat owner friends out there, I expect you to buy a can or two. I'm planning to frame the first one I buy.
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Phoro caption: Celebrity Chef Carla Hall and your friendly blogger, on the set of the Fancy Feast webisode shoot in New York City. OMG! What a fun experience!

You are not going to believe this. . . .

Remember back in May when I blogged about entering Fancy Feast's "Tastemakers' Contest" with a "recipe" for a new cat food called "Purrrfect Sushi"? I also had to write my "inspiration story" about how my cats love Fancy Feast. I asked you to vote for us and many of you did. I can't thank you enough.

At the time I entered I did it on a lark, hoping to win a can or two of free cat food at the very most. I didn't even notice that the Grand Prize Winner would receive $10,000 and a trip to New York. Recipes and Joan in the same sentence? Not something you hear very often.

OK, GUYS. . WHAT CAN I TELL YOU. I WON. I ACTUALLY WON THE WHOLE DAMNED THING. $10,000. 1080 cans of cat food. And in May of 2012, my "recipe" for PURRRFECT SUSHI will be on the shelves of your local food market!!! Is this not unbelievable???? Benard can't stop laughing.

I am off to NYC on the 29th to stay at The Strand Hotel, all compliments of Fancy Feast, and spend the 30th videoing "webisodes" with Celebrity Chef Carla Hall. OK, I didn't know what a "webisode" was either, but I'm learning, and Andrea filled me in on Carla Hall, a winning contestant on "Top Chef" and famous in her own right. Don't tell the Fancy Feast people, but I don't watch many cooking shows.

I promise you a blog on my return from my 15 minutes of celebrity fame. It's gotta be a hoot and I can't wait.

By the way, they asked me if Wasabi and Ginger oould possibly make the trip as well. The very thought sent Wasabi into the closet to hide. Ginger is trying to decide what to wear.
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Photo caption: The Winners! Me and the kids

I love a new experience. . . .

My sister Fran and I spent Saturday afternoon with a forensic artist.

For those of you who watch CSI on television, I don't have to explain what a forensic artist does. For the rest of you, in the simplest of terms, he or she helps the victim or viewer of some type of crime to recall the image of the bad guy so the police can go about their work of catching him.

Hopefully, you've never met a forensic artist for that type of reason. Thankfully, that wasn't the reason why Fran and I were there.

"There" was the Miami Art Museum,in downtown Miami, where we had a 12:30pm appointment to meet an incredibly talented artist named Paul Moody. Paul and I exchanged business cards. His read "Forensic Artist, Violent Crimes Division, Sheriff's Office, Palm Beach County." That, alone, could give you pause.

OK, time for the back story. The Miami Herald ran a recent article about a traveling interactive art exhibition titled "First Love". The idea was for a forensic artist to help you recall what your "first love" looked like by utilizing the same methods they do for recalling criminals. At the end of the article there was an e-mail address inviting you to write in and request one of a limited number of appointments.

You know me. I'm game for anything. I decided to sign up, and when I told my sister Fran about it, she decided to request an appointment as well.

Bottom line. . .what an absolutely fascinating experience! Fran chose to "recall" her late husband Harold when she met him in college at age 19. I opted for the cute guy I met at my girlfriend's Sweet Sixteen party (I was 15 1/2 at the time), who actually became my first husband 3 1/2 years later.

Initially,each of us spent time filling out a form with the Sheriff's Dept. heading that listed items like Shape of head / Hairline / Eyes / Nose. We each were given a thick book of photos of actual "perps". Each page of about 20 photos was listed under headings like Hooked Nose /Straight Nose /Upturned Nose/Close Set Eyes/Droopy Eyes. . .etc. etc. You get the picture and we got it, literally. We had to pick and choose to the best of our ability the facial characteristics that best identified the person we were trying to to recall at a much younger age.

There is something a little creepy about seeing a familiar face start to emerge from the fast moving pencil of this amazing artist. Since this was part of an interactive art exhibit, we were often surrounded by visitors to the Museum as Paul worked first on Fran's and then on my "memory" portraits. The finished original portraits will both go up on the wall of the exhibition and remain there until mid-October when the exhibition will travel to Ireland. There, a different forensic artist will produce "First Love" memories of that country's museum visitors.

Pictured is the artist working from the "perp book" on Fran's "memory" and my finished portrait of a very young "first love". I'm waiting to hear if any of his three daughters recognize what their Dad looked like before they were born.

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This has been a crazy summer. . .

My luck knows no bounds.

In addition to being one of five finalists in the Fancy Feast Tastemakers contest (and by the way, thanks for all your votes. . we'll know the results in mid-August) this week I was informed, via e-mail, that I have won the UK/BBC National Lottery! And I didn't even know I had entered.

According to the initial e-mail I received from a gentleman named David Brown,my e-mail address was magically plucked from millions to come up with the numbers 16 - 20-21 - 24 and 06 for something called Thunderball on July 28th, resulting in my winning ONE MILLION GREAT BRITISH POUNDS. (I have a feeling that's the way they say it in Nigeria.) Anyway, I have a very gorgeous and colorful "Winning Certificate" that came attached to the e-mail to prove my rare good luck. (see photo in b&w.)It came along with urgent instructions to contact their bank immediately to arrange for payment. I'm thinking of having it framed, along with one of those Great British Pounds, but I'm not holding my breath.

There's a wonderful joke about the man who looks to the heavens and pleads "God. . help me win the lottery." God thunders back. "How about helping me and buy a ticket." I do venture a dollar for a Quck Pick on the Florida lottery when I find myself in Publix every once in a while, but so far the message seems only to be getting through to a God in Great Britian.

I've turned it over to the lawyer in our family, my grandson Adam. Told him he could have a half million of those Great British Pounds if he could figure out a way to outcon these con artists. I sense a lack of urgency on his part. Can't imagine why.
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My Inner Chef - Part II

This is getting positively frightening. I think I'm turning into Martha Stewart.

Not only am I in the running to win a recipe contest, but I spent the morning with the significant other making mango chutney and mango jam. If you don't believe me, take a look at the picture on this blog. That's me, peeling one of the zillion mangoes that went into both concoctions.

But first, the back story. Benard and I both worked Sunday afternoon from 12 to 5 at Fairchild Garden's Annual Mango Festival. He drives a six passenger shuttle around the Garden,from the Festival area to the parking lots. I volunteered this year to work in the "Tasting Room", mainly because it was indoors and the temperature outdoors on Sunday was in the 90's. I figured my job would be to stand around and be charming as guests, who paid $1 each for the opportunity, filed quietly by and tasted the six different types of cut up mango on the long tasting tables by delicately sticking a toothpick into one of the cut up cubes.

I should live so long. It was literally mayhem, with hundreds of hot, hungry visitors, spearing the fast disappearing fruit as I ran back and forth to the kitchen where a crew of "cutters" were peeling and chopping like mad men. In between refill runs, I gently suggested that people "please don't double dip with your toothpick. . .take a new one, we have plenty," to no avail. I also was kept busy explaining what country each of the mango varieties came from since each visitor was carrying a ballot to vote on their 1st, 2nd and 3rd choice. By 5 o'clock both Benard and I were so exhausted that we barely made it back home, carrying bagsful of gorgeous left over mangoes.

Monday we were still recuperating, but the mangoes were ripening regardless of our state of mind, so Tuesday morning was designated cooking time. I scoured Google for recipes, made a list of what we needed to buy, and we were good to go.

Wearing my "Cat" apron, a gift from my friend Faith that was actually meant to wear when I'm painting, I was in charge of peeling and cutting, a major part of anything mango. In all honesty, Benard had to show me how to peel one, but I got the hang of it very quickly and did an excellent job if I say so myself.

I won't bore you with the details, but I don't mind telling you that the chutney is delish and the jam is absolutely out of this world. The latter recipe on Google came from some guy in India which was very appropriate since I saved the Mallika mango from India for the jam. It is the best mango I ever tasted and was far and away the favorite in the balloting.

I guess I can add mango culture to my repetoire of oddities picked up at Fairchild. (Perhaps you remember that I am also the Queen of Carnivorous Plants at the Annual Ramble.) Ask me anything mango. . there's the Step from Pakistan, the Champagne from Mexico, the Potopouri from India and the Keitt from right down the street in Homestead.

If you're really nice to me, I might even give you one of my recipes.
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Wasabi, Ginger and I need your votes!!!!

Remember back in May when I wrote a tongue-in-cheek blog about entering Fancy Feast's "Tastemakers" on-line contest to create a new recipe for cat food???

Believe it or not, after more than 3,000 entries, the contest is down to 5. . I said 5. . finalists, and my recipe for PURRRFECT SUSHI is one of the five! Not only that, but as one of the finalists, I have already won $1000 and a year's worth of Fancy Feast cat food. If I emerge the Grand Finalist, I win $10,000, a year's cat food, and have to appear with Washabi and Ginger in a Fancy Feast "webisode", whatever that is. Needless to say, I am totally stunned and Benard can't stop laughing.

THIS IS SERIOUS BUSINESS, GUYS. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE. I NEED YOUR VOTES!!!!

Here's the scoop. . .

Go to www.fancyfeast.com/tastemakers.
Click on View Finalists Gallery.
If the first entry to come up isn't me, click on the right hand arrow until the one titled PURRRFECT SUSHI comes into view. (It's the one with the picture above of me and Wasabi. For goodness sakes, don't vote for one of the other four, I'll never forgive you.)
Click on VOTE FOR THIS ENTRY
Try to figure out the two words that show up on the screen. . .type them in, put in your e-mail address, and hit SUBMIT. (If it doesn't go through the first time, please try again. It's a bit finicky.)

You can only vote once a day, but the good news is that Fancy Feast gives a dollar for every vote to an animal rescue charity. You can, however, vote as many days as you want, and if you are a true cat/dog/animal/not to mention Joan, person, I will be forever grateful. I promise, I won't bother you about this, but would appreciate at least a one time vote offering.

OMG!!! This is so awesome. I must be dreaming.

Let me know if you have any questions.

Extra crispy, anyone?????

I had lunch today with the King of BOGOs. For you uninitiated, that stands for Buy One, Get One Free.

The significant other is constitutionally unable to pass up a BOGO. As a result, there are often some very odd two-by-two products in his pantry. Today, after spending the morning together stuffing envelopes at WLRN, he invited me to lunch. Brandishing a coupon he received in the mail, we headed off for an elegant repast at a KFC in a not-so-elegant area of Coral Gables. Just as an aside, Benard drives a 2010 Jaguar. Needless to say, we stood out like a sore thumb in the parking lot, surrounded by pick-up trucks and motorcycles.

Undeterred,we marched up to the counter. Benard produced his BOGO coupon and did the ordering. "Two $5 Everyday Meals, please. Dark meat only. One Extra Crunchy. One Grilled."

I have to admit it was delicious. The meal comes in a topless box, minimum silverware, everyone tears the chicken apart with their hands apparently, and includes a biscuit and plastic container of really good cole slaw. (I ate that with a plastic fork, not my hands, thankyou.) Although I opted for the less caloric grilled chicken, I got one bite of the deliciously decadent extra crispy coating on Benard's meal. It took me back a few decades to when a fast run into the Kentucky Fried Chicken near our house was a regular stop on my way home from the office after a busy work day. I opted for the Family Meals in those days. That was before it became politically incorrect to have Fried in the restaurant's name.

The day's surprises were not over! I returned home to a phone call informing me that I am a "potential finalist" in Fancy Feast's "Tastemakers Contest". Hopefully, you all remember my blog about creating a recipe called "Purrrfect Sushi" as my entry into the cat food contest that I saw on line.

Well, get ready, guys. Public voting starts July 11th and we are going to need your help. You will be receiving a personal plea from Wasabi and Ginger with info on voting. They're the ones who get to eat the spoils if we win, so it's only right that they do the begging.

My "Mob" Memories. . .

The Miami Herald has an article today on "Vegas Celebrates Its Mob Roots" with two new "gangsta" attractions. Reading it took me back to my "mob" experiences in the late fifties.

Pre-Castro, my pr firm represented Cuba's famed Tropicana Nightclub in the US. Those were the days when all Havana's casinos were mob controlled.

Post-Castro, I was hired to do publicity for a very upscale new motel on Miami Beach's Gold Coast. (See picture postcard of Motel Row in this era.) I was vaguely aware that The Aristocrat, as it was called, was owned by mob VIP, Meyer Lansky, who had also owned the Tropicana, but my dealings were only with Mike Wassell, the resort's very gentlemanly front man. The government, propelled by Senator Estes Kefauver, was after Lansky in those days and was attempting to try him in a Hollywood (FL) courtroom, but according to the Miami papers, Meyer was in a local hospital and much too sick to appear.

I came home from visiting my client one day and remarked to my husband that Lansky wasn't sick in the hospital. I had just seen him, playing gin rummy, as usual, in the back office at The Aristocrat. My husband, who was a New York boy, and more savvy about such things than I, said "Joan, you saw no one." When I protested, he said "Believe me.You saw no one."

I was aware that whenever Lansky was at the resort a great bear of a man we called Philly was always around, seemingly as his body guard. The older men called him Farvel, but he was always very nice to me in a grandfatherly kind of way. The resort's social director was a popular young stand-up commedian named Bobby Collins and he and I became great friends. Bobby later became a very successful criminal attorney.

I was young and cute (you'll have to believe me on that!) and one day a male guest was really annoying me. Philly came over to ask me if the guy was bothering me. Before I could say anything, Bobby rushed over and assured Philly that he wasn't. As Philly walked away, Bobby whispered to me "Never tell Philly someone is bothering you. Are you looking to get the guy's legs broken??"

That evening my mother and dad were visiting from New York and I was telling them the story over dinner. My dad said, "Did you say they call him Farvel???" When I said yes, he got visibly upset. "Oh my God, Joan," my father sputtered,"Farvel is Murder Inc.'s executioner! That's the mob's killer you're friendly with."

I guess my dad knew what he was talking about,because in 1961,the cut up body of nice grandfatherly Philly, aka Little Farvel, was found floating in a steel drum in a local rock pit. Apparently, somebody didn't like something he did.

So much for my life with the "mob". Let's face it, I've had some interesting clients over the years. Wouldn't have missed all those crazy memories for the world.

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A walk down Memory Lane. . .

He lived to be 100, this strange, odd man who "mesmerized generations of paying customers from 1947 to 1983 by extracting venom from deadly snakes at his Miami Serpentarium as a spine-tingling Florida attraction".

The quotation marks are from the Miami Herald's front page story this morning reporting that legendary Bill Haast had died of natural causes in his home on Florida's west coast. I finished reading the article and picked up the phone to call my friend Marilyn to reminisce. We handled publicity for Bill Haast and his Serpentarium in the early '60s. It was an unforgettable experience,ranging from trying to secure a prosthetic leg for a three-legged Galapagos turtle so it could mate, to sitting gingerly in auditoriums with a straw basket full of non-poisonous (I prayed!) snakes on my lap at speaking engagements with Haast's wife Clarita.

When I started writing this blog in 2009, I wrote a short piece about one of my favorite memories of Marilyn's and my efforts for the Serp as we referred to it. The fact that both of us were scared to death of snakes and not too crazy about large lizzards and other crawly creatures, did not keep us from enjoying the more than one year we worked for this one-of-a-kind man who truly believed in the curative properties of snake venom. According to the paper today, he was bitten a total of 172 times in his efforts to prove it.

Herewith, one of my favorite Haast memories, from my blog written in April 2009. . .

Like the time when I represented the Miami Serpentarium and we discovered that the markings on the hood of the very dangerous King Cobra looked exactly like the “eye” of the CBS logo. My colleague Marilyn and I decided to dub it the “Cronkite Cobra” after the venerable CBS newscaster, Walter Cronkite. A quick call to the news department at the local CBS TV station and we were off and running. One small problem. The cobra only flared his hood when he was angry or when Bill Haast, the famed snake man and owner of the Serp, was attempting to extract venom from the deadly creature. Actually, that made the creature pretty angry also.

When the TV cameraman sent by the station realized he would have to lie on his stomach to get a good view of the cobra as he reared up towards Haast’s outstretched hand, he panicked and admitted he was deathly afraid of snakes. We assured him that so were we, but that Haast had it totally under control. Then we stepped back. . far back. . and prayed that things would go well. Fortunately, the snake obliged and we got national coverage, including an on-air comment from Cronkite himself. That was a real winner and the client loved us..

PR is a different game these days, a lot more serious, and not half as much fun. Bill Haast was just one of a long list of quirky clients over the past fifty years.
But it did make me sad to hear of his passing.

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Dr. David Fairchild. . .here I come!

Have I mentioned I was an English major in college? I read a lot of Shakespeare and can still parse a sentence, but I avoided science and math classes like the plague. That's what made my day on Saturday such an anomaly.

Fairchild Tropical Botanic Gardens insists that all volunteers take a one time intensive botany class. Saturday's began at 9:30am and lasted until 4pm, with a half hour off for a quick lunch. I went with a slight chip on my shoulder. I can barely pronounce photosynthesis, much less care how it occurs. So far, no one on any of my tram tours has asked me to explain the difference between dicotlyledons and monocotyledons, so why waste a good Saturday, I wondered.

I stand corrected. It was a fascinating experience. I partnered up with an old friend named Diane, and together we were unstoppable on the Scavenger Hunt through the Arid Garden and the Rain Forest, identifying and classifying the plants pictured on sheets of colored photos everyone received. Favorite answer from one of our classmates to the question, "This plant can reproduce asexually because it is both male and female. Why would that be beneficial?" Her response:"It could answer its own ad on Match.com."

You get the picture that the class was not all serious stuff. However, we did learn an incredible amount about plants and how they reproduce. We created slides from a slice of onion that we then viewed under a microscope to help us understand cell structure. And we carefully dissected flowers to identify their parts with little hand-held magnifying glasses. My partner Diane became so obsessed with the ovaries of a lilly she was dissecting, I had to literally drag her away to the next project. (See accompanying photo of Diane dissecting.)

I'm not quite qualified to call myself a botanist from one day in the classroom, but I find I still really enjoy learning. Rather than a wasted day, it gave me a whole new view of this fabulous botanical garden that has added a new dimension to my life. (Thank you, Benard, for introducing me to this place.)

OK, so I've become a volunteer junkie. I admit it. But how many of you out there know the difference between a dicot and a monocot plant cell? Now, if someone on my tram tour will just ask me. . . .

I'm in love. . .

I'm back from getting acquainted with Grayson Max Anker, my new (and only) great grandson. It is easy to understand why his grandmother (that's my daughter Andrea) is totally besotted with this adorable little guy who is already very much his own person. Not surprizingly, I'm pretty crazy about him myself.

When you are just 5 1/2 weeks old, everything you do is a "first". . .first visit to Home Depot to buy a new kitchen fixture. . first dinner out at a restaurant (TGI Friday's)with Mom, Dad, Grandma and Great Grandma. Grayson was so impressed with this significant event he slept through the entire meal.

To be honest, I've forgotten what it's like to hold an infant in my arms. My last experience was 32 years ago with Grayson's daddy. I know one thing. If some entrepreneur could figure out a way to bottle the delicious scent of a baby, they could make a fortune.

I am mind boggled at how easy and casual both Amy and Adam are in handling the baby. I can assure you that in my day husbands didn't change diapers, make formula and casually burp their little ones while simultaneously checking their iphone for text messages and keeping track of a baseball game on the TV. At least my husband of the moment didn't and I'm pretty sure none of my friends' mates did either. It's a different,and more equal,world these days. And I think it's great.

I took a few thousands photos of Grayson during the four days I was getting to know him. He is major adorable and you are right, I am totally biased. That's my job. And I can tell already, I'm going to do it well.

Take a look at the accompanying photo of three generations of Spector/Ankers. The one in the middle is Grayson.
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My inner chef just came out. . .

I'll do anything for free kitty litter, Fancy Feast or Purina Cat Chow. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'm sure you remember when I had you all voting like mad in the Ultra Pet Photo contest that we unfortunately didn't win due to what Andrea believed to be the result of an evil conspiracy. But that's another story.

My major food expense is cat-oriented,thanks to dinners cooked and served at the significant other's home. Wasabi can whip through bags of expensive Temptation treats almost as fast as Ginger can down a 59 cent can of Savory Salmon. Benard has turned me on to the world of coupons, and I've learned to buy Fancy Feast 24 cans at a time to save a dollar!

But back to the really free stuff, like a year's worth, for goodness sakes. I, who can barely boil water, have entered Fancy Feast's new "Tastemaker's" recipe contest on line. My task. . to create a recipe for a new cat flavor that will win me a year's worth of their expensive "Elegant Medleys" brand of cat food. Don't tell them that my not-so-elegant cats turn up their noses at the exotic "Medley" flavors. . .they are strictly salmon eaters. . .but there is no need for the powers that be at Fancy Feast to know that. If I win it, they will learn to love it, believe me.

The contest provides you with a number of "Protein Sources", "Accents" and "Sauces" from which I had to pick and choose to create my recipe. (Those familiar with my culinary talents are now laughing hysterically.) I know you are dying to hear my entry, so here goes. . .

Inroducing. . . .PURRRFECT SUSHI BY WASABI & GINGER. . .A compelling combination of Yellow Fin Tuna & Shrimp, with a yummy Accent of Wild Rice, topped off by a dollop of Classic Gravy. (I trust you all caught the clever play on words in our recipe's title.)

Sounds almost good enough to eat, doesn't it? I also had to write our "inspiration story" about me, my cats and how we all adore Fancy Feast, and upload a photo of the three of us. That part was easy.

I hate to think of how many thousands of entries they will receive. . .cat food is damned expesive, especially when you have multiple pets who eat like there is no tomorrow. I'm putting my money on PURRRFECT SUSHI to win this race. At the very least we should end up with one free can for trying, don't you think?

Let's see now. . 365 cans @ .59 per. . that's $215.35 worth of cat food! Wow! Keep your fingers crossed. I'll keep you informed.

Quiet. . .We're on air!

I've been a regular Tuesday morning reader to the visually impaired on public radio for several years now, but this morning when I finished my stint reading the Miami Herald, the "significant other" appeared at the station to lead a tour of the television and radio studios to a group of 5th graders from Meadowlane Elementary School in Hialeah.

Seven girls and two boys, led by Media Specialist Debra Fisher, arrived wearing special yellow Tee-shirts with a cartoon tiger at a microphone on the front and the words WTBN NEWS CREW on the back. They explained to us, in all seriousness, that WTBN stood for Tiger Broadcast News. . the W making the whole thing very professional.. and the tiger being the school's official mascot. They also informed us that they telecast the weather and news every morning to the rest of the students from their in-school studio.

Can't say I remember my elementary school being that technologically advanced. . we felt fortunate if we had gym lockers that actually locked. These kids were really TV-savvy and very interested in everything Benard and staff members had to say. Plus, they asked a ton of questions. The highlight, of course, was our time in one of the studios where the kids took turns behind the TV camera and on the set as "guest celebrities". (The quality of my photo isn't good, but you get the idea.)

A tour of the radio station facilities on the building's second floor yielded an unexpected bonus. WLRN radio personality, Joseph Cooper, was on hand to allow the kids to sit behind the mikes and know what it feels like to be interviewed on air. (In the photo that's Cooper on the left and Benard in the middle, talking with the kids.)

It was a fascinating morning. I had a strong feeling I was looking at the next generation's Brian Williams and Katie Courics. Don't underestimate these kids. They're smart as whips and all they need is a chance. Now if our crazy governor would just stop cutting funds to public education.
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Me and Marjorie. . .

That's Marjorie Stoneman Douglas I'm sitting with in the photo accompanying this blog. For you non-Floridians, she's the lady who single-handedly saved the Florida Everglades when in 1948 she wrote a book titled "The Everglades: River of Grass".

Marjorie (the bronze sculpture that is, the real lady died at the age of 108 in 1998) is a regular stop on my tour when I serve as a new tram guide at Fairchild Tropical Botanic Gardens. I mostly do Thursday mornings,with Jeff Kaplan as my driver. Both Jeff and Benard drive and talk for their own tours, but as I have written in the past, Fairchild wisely refrained from asking me to also drive, not wanting to unnecessarily maim visitors and wantonly kill exotic plant life.

Benard was my very patient mentor while I was learning the fact-filled 45 minute spiel that makes up the tour. He's been a Fairchild guide for some 12 years and I am a newbie. At the end of three tours. . all guides do a three-tour shift, mine this morning was for 10am, 11am and 12 noon. . .I am totally pooped. You try talking without stopping for three hours, not to mention trying to remember endless botanical tidbits like the baobab tree somes from Africa and the albizia tree is native to Indonesia. (A low bow to Jeff for not flinching when I screw up my continents every now and then.)

With less than 15 minutes between tours I make a fast run to the ladies room, repair my lipstick and make a stab at smoothing down my hair which is at total odds with the cordless head set mike that I must wear so that the passengers on the three car tram can hear what I have to say. Benard tells me that driving the tram is like driving one of those huge semis you see on the highway. Is it any wonder I'm not behind the wheel, much less capable of even seeing over the wheel at my towering 4' 11" height.

Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden is truily an amazing place and I am enjoying my new role as tram guide. At the end of my last tour this morning I actually got a round of applause. If I wasn't a volunteer, I would ask for a raise in pay.
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Never too old to be star-struck. . . .

We were sitting streetside at Lulu's, an outdoor cafe in Coconut Grove, with the significant other's grand-daughter, Elizabeth, and grandson, Bennett, last night, when it happened.

The air became electric and 20 year old Bennett's eyes widened to two round saucers. Even the waitress stopped in her tracks and stared. "LeBron," came a call from a diner at the restaurant directly across the street. "LeBron James, look this way."

I turned with everyone else (take a look at the accompanying photo snapped by Bennett who whipped out his cell phone to record the monent.) It was the Miami Heat's star himself, in a humongously large white, top down Bentley convertible, stopped at the corner, unable to make his turn because traffic had come to a standstill.

Forks stopped in mid-air. Drinks were forgotten for the moment. Grand-daughter Elizabeth, in her mid-twenties a sophisticated medical school graduate and hardly a breathless teen-ager, was instantly on her cell phone, calling a friend to report who was stopped literally in front of her table. The scene was truly surreal as this giant of a man waved and smiled then made his turn and disappeared into the night.

For the kids it was a great finish to a wonderful five day visit to Miami to see their grandfather who Bennett prounced as "very cool". Particularly when he showed off his bartending skill at making sour apple martinis one evening in my apartment. How many octogenarian grandfather's can pull that off with such aplomb.

This morning Bennett flew off to St. Louis where he is attending Washington University. Elizabeth returned to Bethesda, MD where she will receive her MD from Johns Hopkins in May. They spent time on South Beach, visited Fairchild Tropical Botanic Gardens, and partied with relatives. But I bet that moment with LeBron will be something they both remember.
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Photo caption #1: Bennett's photo catches the back of my head as I stare awestruck at the Miami Heat's superstar.
Photo caption #2: The kids and their grandfather at Fairchild Gardens

Welcome to the world, Grayson Max Anker. . .

If I am a little teary eyed this morning it's because my great grandson, Grayson Max Anker, made his entrance right on schedule at 7:55am, weighing in at 7 lbs. 11 oz., and 20.5". In the accompanying picture, sent from the delivery room literally minutes after his birth, he has a major grip on his Daddy's finger.

Can't help but flash on Grayson's Daddy's birth some 32 years ago, and the wonder of becoming a grandmother. Hard to believe that my daughter Andrea is experiencing that feeling this morning. I hope for her the remarkable relationship I enjoyed with my grandson through the years. In my mind he is still that little boy I taught to ski and went bird watching with me in Africa.

A shout-out to modern technology that allowed Adam to send photos of his new son to his anxiously waiting family as well as report on Facebook about Grayson's safe arrival. For my part, I've been texting back and forth to Andrea since early morning.(And you thought we old guys don't text, didn't you!) My cell phone accompanied me on my early morning walk and I let out a whoop when at 8:10am she texted "Baby here! Adorable!"

By the way. . .today is Earth Day. What a beautiful day to be born. Can't stop smiling.Congratulations, Amy and Adam. . .Grayson's great grandmother is absolutely ecstatic to welcome him to the world.

Never too late to learn. . .

Don't mess with me. I'm learning Tai Chi and I'll deliver a karate chop to your jugular if you so much as raise an eyebrow.

I hear you. You're saying to yourself, "What is she doing now? Isn't it time to just sit down and read a good book, Joan???"

Actually, I read lots of books and I didn't go looking for this activity. Benard's daughter-in-law, Stephanie, is a certified instructor with a best-selling DVD available on the internet called Tai Chi For Enlighteners. She describes it as "a new philosophy of living well and wisely for those over 50." OK, so I'm a little late coming to it, about thirty years to be exact, but I figure it's never too late to be enlightened.

Steph runs a class here at Grove Isle on Thursday nights that I attend. We who attend are a lesson in diversity, both men and women. With the exception of one woman, we are all new to the art, but our teacher has endless patience as we all try mightily to achieve the fluidity that is the mark of this ancient form of self defense.

For the briefest moment, before class starts, I am back in China several years ago, with my daughter Andrea and my friends Alice and Barbara. We are standing in front of our hotel across the street from a small park where a man is leading 20 or 30 not very young looking Chinese men and women through what is ovviously their morning exercise routine. We are awed by the ease and beauty of their efforts.

I'm not quite up to the ease and beauty stage yet, folks, but I'm really trying. Mainly because Tai Chi is widely recognized as an excellent means of enhancing balance in addition to strengthening the body and mind. Can't hurt, guys, no matter how enlightened you think you are.

While it may look easy when Steph demonstrates a move, doing it yurself is actually very demanding of your total attention. In other words, it's damned difficult, but I am getting better as the weeks go by. We work out in a room with mirrors on four sides so there's no escaping when your pose is a long way from graceful. But it's also kind of gratifying when you glance at the mirror and actually look like you know what you are doing.

Stef tells us that Tai Chi is the "grandmother" of all Chinese defensive arts. So like I said, don't mess with me. I'm not only working on my balance but I've developed a mean right elbow and a wicked left kick.

Not too bad for an octogenarian.
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Photo: Stephanie's "Tai Chi for Enlighteners". Visit her website at www.enlighteners.com
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The view from up here. . .

In my mind, I've never been short. Actually, I've always seen myself as tall, blonde and blue-eyed. Why are you who know me laughing????

In reality, I achieved my final height of exactly 5' at the age of 16. This was no big surprise since both my father and mother, in true Ashkenazi heritage, were both very short. My sister Fran towered over us at 5'3". Never could figure out how that happened.

I mention this because photos taken over the past 15 years with the "significant other" and his family all look like I am standing in a deep hole. At 84, Benard has "shrunk" to 6'1". Son Leon, who is currently visiting, is at least 6'2", and son Jack is like 6'3". Even most of the grandkids are 6 footers so you get the picture.

At my current height of 4'11" (I've written in the past of the trauma I experienced when I first learned that I had descended an inch into near-gnomehood), photographs taken with normal height people have become downright embarassing. That's why the sheer brilliance of the photo posted here today made me decide to share it with all of you.

Finally! A photo where I am on level ground (well, maybe not ground exactly) with everyone else. In fact, I may even be an inch or two taller. A moment to remember. That's Benard on the left and Leon on the right, taken after lunch at a delightful outdoor restaurant by their Cousin Iris (also tall).

From now on, I'm considering carrying a small collapsible bench with me to all potential photo shoots. I always knew I was meant to be tall. It just took a while to figure out how.

Something to think about. . . .

A few years ago, the sportswriter and author, Mitch Albom, wrote a book titled "One More Day". The book's theme posits "If you had the opportunity to spend one more day with a lost loved one, who would you choose?"

That thought comes to mind every time I return from my Wednesday morning art class. I never fail to wish I could have one more conversation with my Mother.

Mother took up painting at age 70 and turned out to be an extremely talented artist. We all thought it was remarkable for her to start something new "at such an advanced age". That makes me smile since I've been painting for less than two years and obviously started a good bit older. 70 is just a little kid from my vantage point.

But back to the conversation I would give anything to have with her. Although everyone in the family was happy to snatch up her paintings the minute she finished one.. .I have two hanging in my home, my sister Fran has several more. . .none of us ever took the time to ask her about her art, how and why she chose her specific genre, how she developed her technique and how she got so good with so little instruction.

Mother's paintings are all fairly large and highly detailed. I paint with broad strokes because I'm always in a hurry. (Take a look at the two paintings I've posted. . pretty easy to see who did what, isn't it?)

That's another thing I'd like to ask her about . . .how did she manage to paint such minute details and did she enjoy doing it. I've tried, but I just don't have the patience, or I guess, the talent. I tend to start and finish a painting in one session, although I am trying to learn to slow down. I realize now that hers must have taken weeks to complete. In retrospect, I am appalled at how little I really knew about this woman I called Mother.

I guess the point of this blog is that we don't always take the opportunity to have conversations with people we love before it's too late. I'm pretty sure each of you would like "one more day" with someone who was important in your life.

Think about it.
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It's Super Bowl time. . .

Gee, it's Super Bowl weekend. Guess where we will be on Sunday afternoon. In front of the TV, but to tell you the truth, I don't have a preference between Green Bay and the Steelers. Maybe I'll root for the Packers because Ben Rothlisberger is such a jerk. I'll have to think about it when the game starts.

I miss the good old days when the Dolphins gave us a run for our money and actually went to the Super Bowl. Our family had season tickets from the first game the team ever played, back when the only place to go was the old Orange Bowl. The bathrooms were terrible, parking was impossible and the seats were hard wood benches, but the atmosphere was electric and we never missed a game.

My grandson Adam was born in late November of 1978, at the height of the football season. His Mom and Dad attended all the games with us in those days, right up to the Sunday game two days before he was born. The late stage of pregnancy was no reason to miss an important game. No wonder the kid grew up loving sports.

I remember one exciting game when the Dolphins were behind, time was running out, and the offense had suddenly come alive and was moving down the field. A few rows down from where we were seated a man suffered a heart attack and the EMT's were treating him in his seat, obscuring the view of the action on the field for those sitting in the rows behind. I'm ashamed to say that everyone started yelling "Down in front, down in front" to the non-plussed emergency workers. That's the kind of crazy fans we were in those days.

In the Dolphins' glory days, my pr firm was representing the South Florida Auto Show. One of the best attended evening was always "Miami Dolphin Night" when it was my job to hire the most popular players to meet and greet people attending the show. It was also my job to think up crazy promotions, one of which was "Miss Hood Ornament", a sexy blonde that we had photographed with the players holding her extended over the hood of a car. Don't laugh, it got great press coverage and the players loved it.

The players in the photo above will only look familiar to died-in-the-wool Miami fans, but in their day, you would have known them immediately. Left to right, Tim Foley, Manny Fernandez, Jim Kiick and the one-and-only Larry Csonka. That's Miss Auto Show in the middle and a much younger (and thinner) Joan on the right holding the football.

Wow! Did I ever really look like that?????
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Run, Craig, Run. . .

The ING MIAMI Marathon was run this morning. 21,000 elite and "wannabe" runners started out in downtown Miami at 6:30am on a perfect running day with the temperature in the low 50's and the sun shining overhead.

21 miles later, I was out on Bayshore Drive in Coconut Grove, marveling at the elite class runners who glided by early on and anxiously watching my wristwatch to determine when I would get a glimpse of my sister's oldest grandson and my grandnephew, Craig, coming down the road. He was due somewhere between 9 and 9:30 according to the e-mail he sent me yesterday. I had my cellphone camera ready, my freshly painted "Go Craig!" sign propped up against my leg.

It was deja vu all over again as I flashed on a long ago New York Marathon. I am standing on the sidewalk at 2nd Avenue and 59th Street, 17 miles into the race, waiting for Craig's dad, my favorite nephew Bobby, to come running off the 59th Street Bridge on his way to the finish line at Central Park. Nine of our friends, including my ex, were also running that day. I was serving as their cheering section. For my non-runner readers, a marathon is 26.3 very, very, long miles.

Don't want to upset you, Bobby, but your son looked a helluva lot better at 21 miles this morning than you looked that day at 17. But you both finished, and that's what really counts about running a marathon. I know. I used to be a runner, myself, and finished a half marathon, 13.1 miles, so I have the greatest respect for those out there who are still running some five hours after they started out.

Once I got back home this morning, I couldn't wait to post the photo I took of Craig on my Facebook page. (See photo above. It's a little dark because the sun was behind him.) A few minutes later, a second picture popped up on the page. This one from Craig's wife, Ana. It was a picture he had taken of me, on the run, with his cell phone, as I was taking his. Isn't technology awesome?????

I'm a walker these days, no longer a runner. When I called Bobby to give him an update on his son, he reminded me that the first race we ran in together was a 10k on Thanksgiving weekend, called the North Miami Turkey Trot. That was a mere 40 years ago, but I remember it well.

Congrats, Craig. Your great-aunt is really proud of you. You go, boy.