I adore Costco!

You can buy a car, a casket or a $95 bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon on the way to picking up six cans of tuna fish at a bargain price.

I'm serious about the casket.  In the North Miami store they have a lovely powder blue one on display.  I doubt it would fit into the trunk of anyone's car so I guess you will have to strap it to the roof to get it home.  And then where do you store it until needed?  In the garage?

The "significant other" and I made a trip to Costco today.  My shopping list consisted of a can of Kirkland coffee and a jar of my favorite Jelly Bellies, but then you already kmow that I don't cook.  Benard, on the other hand, manages to find somethng on every aisle and comes equipped with a cooler for the refrigerated stuff.  My job is to fill a plastic bag with lots of ice from the soda machine to pack around the lobster claws, fillet of salmon and rack of lamb chops  he has carefully selected. (My other job is to get two of every piece of sample food they are offering. . .one for me, one for him.  If it's really good, he sends me back for seconds.),

We generally finish off the hard work of shopping by ordering two foot-long hotdogs complete with extra sauerkraut.  (At $1.45 for both the dog and the giant cup of soda. . such a bargain!)

Take a look at the photo below.  That's Benard, finishing off his hot dog.  The car in back of him, over his shoulder, is for sale.  I think it was a Hundai.  How convenient!  We could have driven right out the front door.
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Random thoughts at the end of a productive day. . .

I'm never happier than when I have a writing job to do and am getting paid for doing it.  (The last part is what actually makes me happy.)  Today I am really happy!!!

South Florida's building industry is starting to return. . .ad agencies are starting to need professional writers again to write brochures, websites, etc. etc.  Here I am, guys!  Yeah, I'm still here! 

I've discovered a really interesting website called Zazzle.com and just created a 12-month calendar of my great-grndson's photos for my grandson's Channukah present.  Hoping he'll hang it up in his office.  (And you thought great-grandmas didn't know how to use the internet.)

Final decision on my friend Marianne's naming dilemna for her new poodle puppy. . .drum roll please. . Intruducing Leo (as in Leopold) Pantin-Parrish.  Super cute and very hyper according to his Mommy.

Spent time at ArtMiami last week, that's the Miami side of Art Basel.  After viewing the work of some of the so called "emerging artists", maybe my paintings aren't so bad after all.  Right now I am working on a "commission" from my daughter.  See accompanying photo of Adam and Grayson walking together.  That's what I'm going to paint next.  (Obviously, she doesn't trust me with their faces.  I'm really good with back of the heads.)

That's as random as it gets, folks.  Happy Channukah and hopefully we all survive December 21st when according to the Mayan culture, the world will be coming to an end.  Damn, I still have several items on my bucket list.

Some things are more important than others. . .

My favorite reading partner at WLRN public radio on Tuesday mornings had a serious problem to discuss with me this week. We have a full hour to prepare for our on-air time, and during the past  couple of months we've discussed the state of the election, the state of the union, and the state of our kids.  But today was more serious business.

Marianne needs to decide on a name for her new puppy.

You have to be an animal person to understand the importance of this weighty decision.  Her family is currently holding a voting poll on the subject, with the daughter in Washington, DC standing firm for one name, son in NYC lobbying for another, and husband opting for a third.  The new puppy is a two week old red poodle and won't be arriving at the family home until early December, but Marianne is determined that the name have something to do with "red".  . . her latest entry into the race is "Huck", as in Huck Finn who actually, according to Google, had reddish hair.

The whole subject of animal names fascinates me.  Our first dog when I was a kid was named Frisky. . don't think that would play today where my current friends' dogs are named Henry, Lola, Lolita and Jake.  My daughter has a friend who named her rescue dog Vitruvius.  What can I tell you.

Our first cat was named Zeus because he came from Athens. . .Georgia, not Greece.  Zeus was an elegant bluepoint Siamese, so when we adopted a forlorn little rescue tabby with no fancy credentials, we named him Percy Pureblood.  I tried to enter Percy into a local Cat Talent Show once as "G. Gordon Kitty, Paper Shredder". (It was during the Watergate bruhaha for you who are old enough to remember.).

As most of you know, Ginger and Wasabi run the show around my house and J.W. Rosenblatt holds sway at the significant other's apartment. You'll find Jake and Zoey at Andrea's house. How they got their names is a whole other story.

I'll read again with Marianne on Tuesday morning and find out who won the poll.  I'm not betting on Huck, but you never know.
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Photo caption:  Waiting to be named. . .

Speaking of Third World countries. . .

You just can't help but be proud!

Only 48 hours after the election was called for Obama, Miami-Dade County has announced they have completed counting their ballots.  Well, not exactly completed, even though it seems like Obama is well ahead. They still have several thousand provisional ballots to count until they are ready to actually sign off on last Tuesday's election. 

Don't be so picky.  After all, the entire State of Florida was the only blank area on that frozen iceskating rink map at Rockefeller Center at 1:30 in the morning when Romney made his concession speech.  The whole State gave up counting around mid-night and called it a day. . . a very stressful day, to say the least, especially down here in Miami Dade.

Don't know about your ballot, but ours was ten pages long and written in three languages:  English, Spanish and Creole.  By the time you got to the spot where you could actually make your mark, you forgot why you were there.  If you didn't come in armed with either the Herald's endorsements or your own list, once you actually got in the voting booth you could count on being a minimum of a half hour to an hour if you were a slow reader.  No wonder the lines were so godawful long!

Our wonderful Governor cut our early voting days in half, and made sure there was no voting on Sunday, the traditional day for "church voters". . politico-speak for Miami's black community.
You have to marvel at those who stood for as long as five hours and until 1:30 in the morning in order to have their vote count.

On second thought, I am sort of proud of you, Miami Dade, even though once again Florida is the laughing stock of the election.  The set-up might have been terrible and the State Legislature and our Governor did everything possible to dissuede you from voting, short of putting up a fence and staffing it with dogs.  But you did prevail. . .even if a few days later than the rest of the country.
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Who let the dogs out. . . .

It was Howl-O-Ween at Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden yesterday. . .the once-a-year time when dogs are welcome in the Garden, and they came by the droves, ranging in size from miniature Yorkies to elegant standard poodles. and gorgeous Labrador retrievers.

When Benard and I climbed into the tram cab to begin our 10 o'clock tour, we were greeted by
close to a dozen four-pawed guests, sitting bright eyed and bushytailed on the tram seats, looking for all the world like they couldn't wait to hear us dispense fascinating bits of botanical information.

I cracked up.  Whipped out my iphone camera and began clicking away.  Believe it or not, these doggies were better behaved then some of the guests we've had on tours.  Not to mention that I don't generally insist on kissing my visitors on the top of their heads.

Our "dog day" wasn't over after leaving Fairchild, however.  We have a new "Paw Park" here on the island where I live, and while we don't have a lot of little kids, we definately have lot of little dogs.  (There's a weight limit of 25 lbs for a pet here.  Benard's cat, J.W. Rosenblatt, is in serious trouble of exceeding that limit, but that's another story.)

Word was out that Halloween was being celebrated, dog style, at our Paw Park at 5pm, with cookies and water for four-footed guests, and cupcakes and wine for the two-footed variety.  My friend Sheila and her dog Henry were dressing for the occasion, so Benard and I decided to attend and represent Grove Isle's feline fanciers.  (That's us guys who own cats, not dogs.)  My appropriate mask (see photo) was courtesy of  my nail tech, Kathy, who happened to be wearing it when I had my nails done during the afternoon and I snatched it off her head.

OK, so I'm a little long in the tooth to be enjoying dressing up for Halloween, especially since I just celebrated another birthday, but here's a secret. . . .in some ways, I'm still a little kid.  And I had a ball.
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Photo captions:  Dogs at Fairchild on our tram, ready to be fascinated by my tour!!!  The lady in the cat mask is moi. . that's Benard enjoying the fun. .

Once upon a time in pr land. . .

I had lunch with two of my favorite people today.  Nikki Konefsky and Adriana Sol are hardworking, successful partners in what we used to call a public relations company.  I asked them to describe Vine Communications, their six year old firm, in "25 words or less" and they both dissolved in laughter.

"We're working on that," grinned Adriana. 

I understood their dilemna.  The business has changed so much since my company was in its heyday, that I hardly recognize it.  The challenges that Nikki and Adriana meet and address for their clients on a daily basis bear little resemblance to the free wheeling pr world that I thrived in.  But the basics still apply. . creativity, attention to detail, understanding your client's needs.

Branding is the new watchword, and social networking a must.  We had a lively discussion over lunch as to the state of fees and retainers these days.  I'm not as far removed on those subjects due to my current free lance writing jobs, but I know all too well how important it is to be paid properly for your work. 

Nikki and Adriana are both married now with Nikki the mother of two adorable little ones.  When I met them six years ago, they were just starting out.and very young.  They still look like teen-agers but believe me, they have matured businesswise.  When I sit and talk with them I can't help but think back to my early days as the owner of a growing company as well as a working Mom.  Those challenges haven't changed.

I'm proud of them both.  How ever they finally decide to officially describe their business, they are handling it well. You go, girls!

Photo Caption:  Lunch at Jaguar in The Grove.  Nikki, Adriana and me.
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Different strokes for different folks. . .

Some people believe the "ultimate show" is found on Broadway.

The significant other's drean production is a little closer to home. It's the Annual Americas Food & Beverage Show at the Miami Beach Convention Center and I'm in a state of exhaustion having just returned from a two hour eating and walking marathon.

There is nothing Benard loves more than a good freebie and this show is absolute Nirvana in that department. With about 200 booths from all over the world offering samples to eat and samples to take, he is in total heaven. I do the eating.  He does the taking, this year filling up to the brim two tote bags with goodies.  The Show even provides the bags. . .what more can you ask. Check out the photo below taken when we returned home.

As a (former) very successful Sea Food Distributer, Benard still receives an invitation to the Trade Only Show. A few years back, he registered me as "Secretary", so I also receive a name badge. I think my job is to be sure we take home at least one of everything that is being given away. My personal favorite is a square package of something called "Ooey Gooey Chocolate Cake" by the Southern Sweet  Potato Company of Mississippi.   Don't ask the calorie count of that one.

In between endless bites of all kinds of seafood and lots of fried sausagey stuff, I managed to put away a cup of Key Lime Gelato, a cup of Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream and a handful of yummy white Brazilian chocolate. I washed them all down with cups of Coconut Water, something from Brazil that tasted like coffee soda, a few sips of some new energy drink, some fresh pineapple juice and a glass of red wine. And oh yes, a cup of freshly brewed espresso.

Don't wait up for me for dinner, Benard.  I think I need to spend a few hours in the gym.

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This way to the Convention. . .

I always knew my kid had all the answers.

That's daughter Andrea, at the DNC Convention in Charlotte. Can't wait to hear the questions she was asked and the answers she gave. My experience working the info booth at Fairchild Garden for various events taught me that the most popular question is always "Which way to the Ladies Room". Hopefully, hers will be more broad-based and that's not a pun.

Charlotte, according to Andrea, is in total convention mode for the next few days, so she is taking the time to volunteer. Should be an interesting experience. While I doubt they will have their "Clint Eastwood moment", you never can tell. According to humor columnist Dave Barry in this morning's Miami Herald, he's putting his money on Joe Biden's speech to do the trick. (I did like Obama's comment that "this chair is taken".)

Conventions, for the most part, are scripted and boring events these days. Unless, I guess, that you're there and invited to all the fancy parties. The results of this election are not so scripted and far more important for my future, Andrea's future and the future of my grandson,and his family. I'm both a woman and a senior, so it's not hard to know which way I lean.

Whichever way you lean, please be sure to vote. That's my message for today. It's an important one.
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The fury of Andrew revisited. . .

Twenty years ago come Thursday, a Category 5 chainsaw called Hurricane Andrew cut a swath of ruin like no storm before it.
The Miami Herald, Sunday, August 19th.

You had to be there to truly understand it.

August 23rd, 1982 was a Sunday. When word came that Andrew was coming our way, the island on Biscayne Bay where I live was evacuated. At mid-day,I packed a few things into a duffle, stuffed my two cats, Pasha & Sasha, into one carry cage, and drove inland, south, to my daughter Andrea's home in Kendall. A really bad move. Who knew.

I'd been living in Miami since 1957 and the arrival of "hurricanes" was considered a good reason to party. So fear didn't enter into our consciousness as reports about Andrew started to flood the TV and radio news.

At Andrea's house we were two women, mother and daughter, and a 14 year old boy, my grandson Adam, plus 5. . I said 5. . .cats, my two and Andrea's three. As night fell and the wind and rain were definitely getting worse by the minute, we were faced with the fact that the entire back of Andrea's home consisted of floor-to-ceiling glass sliding doors and no shutters (In those days I had no shutters on my waterfront condo, nor did any of my neighbors. Today they are mandatory.)

Suddenly aware of our vulnerability, we frantically searched for something to protect us from the possibility of broken glass. The only thing we could come up with was a series of 6' high cardboard posters with lifesize portraits of Adam in various sports outfits. . left over decorations from his recent bar mitzvah celebration. Hastily attached to the glass doors with tape, they would intermittantly be lit by lightning throughout the long night as we huddled together in the darkness on the hall floor.

We turned out to be one of the lucky ones on Andrea's block. She kept her roof on because her front door opened out and didn't blow in like so many others. For nine weeks after Andrew there was no electricity in her area as FPL struggled with downed trees and broken lines. Looting was rampant and Andrea was gratified to find many of her neighbors sitting on their front steps with a shotgun across their laps and signs that read "You loot. We shoot." And they weren't kidding.

My island survived Andrew with lots of damage but in better shape than Andrea's area. Our electricity came back in a little more than a week and my apartment welcomed a steady stream of friends who were still without and were dying for a hot shower. Hurricanes can really make you shift your priorities.

I don't find hurricanes funny any more. No one who lived through Andrew does. It may have happened 20 years ago, but in some ways it seems like yesterday. Reading about it on the front page of the Herald today brought it all back.
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Photo caption: Andrew approaches South Florida in full intensity.

A look back. . .

The Huffington Post reported the other day that Helen Gurley Brown, the longtime editor of Cosmopolitan magazine, who invited millions of women to join the sexual revolution, has died. She was 90 years old.

Long before "Sex And The City" hit TV, there was Brown's "Sex and the Single Girl," her grab-bag book of advice, opinion, and anecdote on why being single shouldn't mean being sexless. It made a celebrity of the 40-year-old advertising copywriter in 1962.

Wow! That was 50 years ago and I bet today's generation of young single women have never even heard her name. What a difference a mere half a century can make.

While I was no longer a single girl in 1962. .I remarried in 1957 after several years of fun and games. . . attitudes about working women were already changing. The Feminist Movement was in full swing and Women's Lib was the watchword of the day with Betty Friedan's book, "The Feminine Mystique", a must read and Gloria Steinem the woman we looked up to.. Sounds antiquated today but I clearly remember my brother-in-law asking my then husband "why he allowed Joan to work". To his credit, my husband's response was that "allowing" had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Helen Gurley Brown's book was considered shocking in its day by many, but this was a time when AIDS and HIV were still unheard of, and to paraphrase FDR, the only thing a single girl had to fear was the fear of getting pregnant. And contraception generally took care of that problem. The times they were a-changing, that's for sure.

Today's generation of young women doesn't feel it necessary to marry and have children right out of school like mine did. They also don't feel compelled to "do it all". . be Super Mom, Successful Businesswoman, Wonderful Wife, like we did. (Not always so successfully in the last category.) When they do marry, they have husbands who share the load, helping with the house and the kids. Unheard of in the 50's and 60's. I can attest to that.

Reading about Helen Gurley Brown's passing made me reflect a little. Just as my Mother's generation paved the way for women to have the right to vote, my generation paved the way for a more equal workplace for women. And oh yes. . the radical idea that sex was lots of fun!
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Photo caption: HGB & Cosmo

Watching the Olympics and reminiscing. . .

I'm loving the Olympics, especially my favorite, Track & Field. Once upon a time I was a long distance runner. So I was amused to hear on TV last night that Ryan Lochte admits to "peeing in the pool" before his races and insists that most swimmers do the same. Which leads me to today's blog topic: "Bathroom Stories of Long Distance Runners".

I assure you, every runner has one, whether they are training for the Olympics or just out for a multi-mile early morning run. Finding a pit stop is a major part of long distance running.

We had one friend who ran in the New York Marathon on an unusually cold morning and while racing through the streets of Harlem was forced to make a detour into a restaurant's Men's Room, only to find he was suffering from Jerry Seinfeld's friend George's "deadly shrinkage" problem. Not good when you are in a hurry.

My own favorite story took place during a Half Marathon Race in Key West. The race route circled around the outer edges of the island with very few buildings and no handy portolets to be seen. At about 10 miles into the race, Nature's call was becoming very insistent and I was desperate to find some place to stop and go.

Ahead I spied a dense clump of sea grape trees on the side of the open road. Without breaking stride, I dashed in to take care of business only to find a very startled homeless person lying on the ground next to where I was squatting.

Too late. He smiled. I smiled. Needless to say, I was laughing when I rejoined the race. Memories are made of that.
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Staying on top of the evolving English language. . .

Words fascinate me. When I read that a website called Collins Online Dictionary was getting ready to publish the latest new words emerging from pop culture, science and technology, I got to thinking how many "new" words have crept into my daily conversation as well as my freelance writing work.

Take, for instance, the verb "to google". I use it every day when I'm at my computer. There's always something I need to look up or check on, so I've become a major googler. (Note photo taken on my iphone of slightly dusty Webster's Dictionary. Haven't looked at it in years.) Oh yes, "iphone", another important new word in my vocabulary. . not to mention "apps" for my "iphone". How else can I play Words With Friends, Hangman and Solitaire? Is there anything that can make you more anxious than when you misplace your cell phone? Hard to believe that as little as 15 years ago, you might not have even owned one.

I'm also not above responding to a funny e-mail with a quick LOL. Collins says the use of that well accepted shortcut is called "lollage". Bet you didn't know that.

For the fun of it, I checked on some of the new words that will appear in this year's Online Dictionary. They include "Tebowing". . if you are a football fan you are well aware of former Gator Tim Tebow's infamous prayer stance. . ."Ginormous" when something is really, really, really big. . . .and my favorite, "Mantyhose", tights for men.

I'm curious to hear some of your favorite new words. I may not be your BFF, but I'd love to hear from you out there in Cyberland.
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Picasso & Matisse have nothing to worry about. . .

I've run out of room to store one more canvas, so it's either rent a storage unit or just stop painting. The latter is not acceptable, maybe because painting is one of my favorite things to do these days. I admire people who are passionate about something. I'm not sure I'm passionate about painting, but I definitely love doing it. (I really love painting animals. That's Louie Ostrin of Divide, CO, in the photo at right.)

I've gifted many of my paintings to family and friends, but never sold one or even thought about what I would charge if I could. Enter a website called "Artist Rising" that purports to serve as an on-line gallery for not-so-famous wannabe artists.

One thing's for sure.. .I am a better painter than a computer technician. I say that because the other day I spent more than three hours laboriously uploading and labeling more than 35 paintings into four different "Collections". . The Feminine Mystique, The Human Condition,The Art of Nature and Pet Portraits. . only to click on something I obviously shouldn't have,and to discover, to my absolute horror,that I had deleted the entire thing.

I don't give up easily, and this time I was ultra careful not to hit anything that said delete. Jojo's Gallery is now up and running. . if you're curious what I've been working away at these past three years, go to www.artistrising.com, enter the name of my gallery, and take a look.

I'll be curious to know what you think.

Me and Alec Baldwin. . .

I've never been thrown off an airplane for doing it, but I have to admit that I am also addicted.

I play Words With Friends on my iphone and find myself staring at that little screen at all sorts of odd times, like standing on the check-out line at Publix, between tram tours at Fairchild Gardens, and while watching a Netflix movie at night with the "significant other". Words are my business, the written kind that is, and I admit it, I am a vicious competitor.

And speaking of the "significant other", ever since I downloaded the Words app on his iphone, we've had a serious difference of opinion about the rules of the game. Benard feels it is poor sportsmanship on my part when I trump him with a triple score word. I tell him he shouldn't make it so easy for me to do so. Poor guy. . he also gets beaten regularly by his daughter Paula. If this keeps up, he may need psychotherapy soon.

I play regularly with four or five other people, all with very different lifestyles, but all seriously competitive. Some I beat. Some beat me.Some it's about even.

They range from Mario, the head of Reading Services at WLRN where I read every Tuesday morning, to Jon, the husband of my daughter's half sister who last week played from Korea where he was on tour as the sound engineer for John Legend. (Jon doesn't let a little thing like a change of continents get in the way of his Word games.) In between are two or three women friends, including my good friend Merele, best described as "one tough cookie" wordwise and,of course,the often disgruntled "significant other".

In addition to the fun of competition, the game has added significantly to my already pretty extensive vocabulary. Take the word "qi". . .very handy when you have the letter "q" on your board and no "u" to make a normal word. According to Google, it has Chinese roots and means "part of every living thing". And you thought I was just wasting my time playing games.

By the way, my user name is JoanSpec, and I warn you, I give no quarter. Ask my daughter. She refuses to play with me any more. I may have to let Benard win this current game we're playing or I'm possibly in danger of losing him as well. Then who would cook dinner???
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My Mom's writing gene. . the gift that keeps on giving.

I find myself writing about some strange subjects these days in my "semi-retirement" role as a freelance writer. Would-be clients find me on my website, www.joanspector.com, or on something called Thumbtack.com that I apparently signed up for one day and forgot all about.

As a result, I end up researching or using my imagination about businesses and subjects that I never heard of, or at the very least, know absolutely nothing about.

Example: I just completed writing a website for a company that paints commercial and corporate airplanes. Who knew that was such a world-wide business? And I bet you don't know the industry term for the designs you see on the outside of the next plane you fly on. I certainly didn't, but God bless Google! What would we do without it! I had to write one whole web page on the company's ability to do outstanding "LIVERY". It took a quick visit to Google to learn all about the use of that esoteric term when describing the overall paint design of an airplane.

Here's my new favorite. . a 30-something young man, with a wife and two children, in need of a "personal statement" for his application to law school. I interviewed him over the phone and came to understand how important these 500 words could be for his future. I'm sure he will pardon me for allowing you to read the first graph of what I wrote.

As a 14 year old in May of 1994, I, along with three members of my immediate family and seven others, found ourselves clinging to a capsized raft in the choppy waters of the Caribbean, somewhere between the coast of Cuba and the tip of South Florida. Rescued by the U.S. Coast Guard, we were taken to Guantanamo Naval Base where we lived for six months before making our way finally to the United States in January of 1995..

I made him promise to let me know when the law school accepts him.
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Internet - 1, Joan - 0

There is nothing so humbling as a computer that refuses to do what you instruct it to do.

I guess I am a victim of th generation gap, even if I try not to be. My experience this week with trying to rid myself of AOL and changing over to gmail.com has revealed a definite gap. . call it an abyss. . in my technological rapport. My grandson would be ashamed of me, but yesterday I cried "Uncle" and begged Jose, my tech guy, to give me back my old Desktop and my old accounts.

My moment of truth came when I realized that the changeover had lost my address books, or at the least, I could no longer locate them. That included my "blog friends" list . . .that's all you guys. . .and my business list that I needed to support my website. That made me more than a little frantic since I was in the middle of writing a website for a new client.

In trying to get back my address books, I managed to somehow erase the tool bar on my Explorer website so that I could no long interact with my Morgan Stanley portfolio or my Bank of America account, making it impossible for me to pay my bills on line.

In retrospect, the message I left on Jose's phone was pretty pathetic. Basically, I begged him to put me back in my comfort zone. Obviously, he answered my call, because here I am.

I know. I know. Having AOL dates me. So be it. Call me dated. I'm a happy camper once again and I don't think I'll be making any changes in the near future, so no nasty comments please.

Have some respect for my advanced age! (OMG! Did I just say that???)
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A different kind of Tweet

The president of the Tropical Audubon Society took me for a bird walk yesterday. It was a fascinating three hour exercise in patience and leg strength.

Once a year the Society offers Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden volunteers their own opportunity to travel the Garden's Kushlan Bird Trail under the guidance of its president, Joe Barros. Saturday was a decidedly overcast day with lots of rain on the radar, so when I turned up at the designated time of 8am, I was joined by only three other volunteers and Stephanie Bott, the staff person in charge of volunteers.

Joe Barros describes himself as an ardent, even obsessed, "birder". In his other life he is a practicing dentist, but on this morning he is in full "birder" mode, equipped with high powered binoculars and an iPhone app that provides us with instant close ups of the birds we are looking for as well as the sounds of their tweets.

Joe is a master at "phishing". . .the art of making weird sounds that immitate bird calls and attract the real thing to respond in kind. Although the Kushlan Bird Trail has a definite route that people are supposed to follow, Joe doesn't believe the birds always agree with the map. So we find ourselves slogging through the muddy undergrowth of the area known as the Keys Habitat and crisscrossing the Lowlands to inaccessible spots where various species of birds are known to hang out.

The last time I went bird watching was in Africa with my then 9-year old grandson. (Adam recently turned 33, so you get the picture that I might be a little rusty in this department.) Either my binoculars were stronger then, or my vision isn't quite so sharp, but I did manage to spot and focus on an amazing variety of avian life, including my beloved anhinga that I just finished painting in my art class. (See attached photos.)

Volunteering at Fairchild continues to open new areas of interest for me. I reccommend it highly. I have to go out on my 7th floor balcony now and tell that feathered creature sitting on my railing. .the one that likes to scare my cats. . . that he isn't just any old bird, he's actually a fish crow, native to Florida.

I wonder if he knows that.
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I was a teen-ager with America's oldest teen-ager

I just returned from five days in New York City. Coincidentally, I was meeting my friend Judy at MOMA on Thursday, when I picked up a copy of USA Today and learned that Dick Clark had died. I say coincidentally because Judy and I were teen-agers with a truly teen-age Dick Clark in our hometown of Mount Vernon, New York.

Now that I am back home in Miami, I am sitting at my desk with my high school yearbook, it's cover emblazoned with "Maroon & White - 1947". Those were A.B. Davis High's school colors, and that was the year Judy, Dick Clark and I graduated. There are lots of pictures of a teen-age Dick in my yearbook because he was a mover and shaker even then. The attached is actually his yearbook photo.

Dick was president of my graduating class, and voted, according to an article in the New York Times, "Most likely to sell the Brooklyn Bridge". I remember him best as Head Cheerleader at a time when Judy and I were both baton twirlers at football games and band parades. Our friends, the identical Sonnenblick twins, Jean & Muriel, waved maroon and white banners. Sounds corny today, but in Mt. Vernon, in the mid-40's, it was considered very desirable to be any of the above.

Dick lived in an apartment complex called Park Lane, a block north of my apartment home at 531 E. Lincoln Ave. I tell you that because Judy and I walked several miles each morning to high school, toting our notebooks and school books on one hip, talking for the most part about boys, boys boys. Deep we weren't. Inevitably, Dick Clark and his best friend, Andy Grass, would be walking in front of us, taking the same early morning trek. Cool kids walked. Nerds took the bus. We considered ourselves very cool although I don't think that designation had come into popular usage yet.

Years later, when Dick became a celebrity with his American Bandstand and went on to become a titan in the music and entertainment industry, I often mused about how we never would have guessed that that nice guy we said hello to every morning and was part of our everyday world, would someday become "The Dick Clark" the whole world knew and admired.

Gee, had I not been so busy talking to Judy, I might have thought about dating Dick instead of just smiling and passing him by. A missed opportunity, to be sure. I see by the Times article he had three wives and I've had two husbands, so I don't think I'll worry about it. But it did make me sad to hear of his passing.

A busy morning at WLRN. . .

The "significant other" and I manned the check-in desk at WLRN Public Radio & Television this morning. We were there to welcome distinguished guests and about 150 youngsters from the Primary Learning Center, a Dade County-sponsored school for Pre-K, K and First Grade kids from the surrounding neighborhood of the Downtown Miami studio.

They were here to participate in the "Premier" of ENERTIPS, a new WLRN original TV series that educates kids about caring for the environment.

Among the distinguished guests we welcomed: Alberto Carvalho, the new Superintendent of Miami Dade County Schools, Dr. Lawrence Feldman, the Chairman of the School Board, and an assortment of young actors who are the voices of the animated characters in the TV program.

To add to the excitement, volunteers passed out plastic bags of popcorn and some kind of drink to the kids as they settled down on the floor of the TV studio to watch the film. I found myself sitting next to the actor who voiced Matthew Handy, the film's main character. He's the one who singlehandedly saves the Town of Tipsville from the evil Mr. Backhand and his plan to abuse energy and the environment. At the conclusion of rhe film, I complimented him on being the "good guy". He seemed pleased.

Benard and I both love WLRN and are quick to say yes when Ulie, the head of Volunteers, calls on us for various jobs. The station just went through it's annual fund drive, an extremely important means of keeping public radio and TV on the air with State budgets cut to a bare minimum these days.

While we are both regular members of the station, I must admit I made an additional small pledge on the day it qualified you to enter a drawing to win an overnight visit at the Great Ape Rescue Center near Tampa. While the Center is not open to the public, the winner gets to stay overnight in a cabin within the grounds and also gets a personal tour and introduction to the resident apes. Benard is not as thrilled as I am about the possibility of living with simians for forty eight hours. I, on the other hand, am keeping my fingers crossed, just waiting to hear my name called.

That would make a helluva blog, don't you agree????
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My Marilyn Moment. . ..

Seems like Marilyn Monroe is hot news again, with a new movie about her coming out and the hit TV show "Smash" doing a takeoff on the legendary sex symbol.

All the chatter reminded me of my "Marilyn Moment". It happened in June of 1952 and I was, for the moment, a stay-at-home Mom with a three month old baby girl named Andrea Jean. Her dad (and my first husband) was working in the music business as an advance man for the Ray Anthony Orchestra. On that June day, he was in California to help promote the band's newest recording titled "Marilyn", in honor of you know who.

Herewith, the phone conversation as best I remember it.

Husband: "Joan. . you need to come out to California and run a party for Ray at his house in the Valley.

Joan: "What am I supposed to do with the baby. . and by the way, what kind of a party are you talking about?

Husband: The party is for Marilyn Monroe. . she's coming with Joe DiMaggio. Don't ask questions. Just get on a plane and come out here.

I'm sure there was more conversation than that, but that's pretty much what I remember. I also remember that our bank account in those days didn't allow for me to fly TWA to the West Coast as he had on the band's money. So I flew "The Flying Irishman Airlines", a wannabe airline that sprang up after World War 2 and disappeared shortly afterwards. Suffice to say, I was the only passenger on the 10-hour plane ride wearing white gloves and carrying a suitcase that wasn't held together with a rope.

In later life as a pr maven, I would plan and execute many parties and special events for clients, without a moment's nervousness. In 1952, I was a true neophyte in the business of party planning, but plan I did, with no time for nervousness. Right down to finding a florist to create a flower-covered float for the swimming pool that spelled out MARILYN in capital letters. Ray Anthony's wife, a confirmed alcoholic, took care of ordering the liquor.

Marilyn and Joe arrived by helicopter. . setting down on the spacious lawn of the home. She stepped out looking absolutely gorgeous, wearing a skin tight red satin cocktail dress that was obviously sans any sign of underwear. As a matter of fact, as I looked around at the guests in attendance, I was pretty sure I was the only female at the party wearing underwear. I was also the only one wearing crinolines under my demurely full skirted dress that I had borrowed from my sister for the occasion. It would have been a smash at a party in Mt. Vernon, NY, where I came from, but not quite de rigeur in Hollywood, California.

The party was a huge success, and the ex went on to be a big man in the music business, but that's another story. Marilyn was not only beautiful, but sweet and charming that day. I don't remember how well the record did, but it was a learning experience about being resourceful that served me well in the following years.

By the way. . Ray thanked me by flying me home on a real airline. I think I would have walked if he hadn't.
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I'm feeling "quotable". . .

In my 50 year career as a pr person, I've written literally hundreds of press releases filled with "quotes" attributed to clients that were strictly made up by me. But I don't remember ever quoting myself.

That's what made the arrival of an e-mail yesterday such an unexpected treat. It started out this way:

Hi Joan! My name is Jake, and I'm contacting you on behalf of Fancy Feast.

We are very excited to announce the newest Elegant Medleys entree inspired by your "Purrrfect Sushi" recipe! Below, I've attached a press release that we plan to use to announce the new product. Within the release, there are a few quotes on your behalf. We'd like to have your approval to use these quotes before issuing the release. At your earliest convenience, can you please confirm that we are allowed to use the quotes?

Also, we'd like to send you a few samples of the new entree for Ginger and Wasabi to enjoy. Should I have them shipped to following address?

My response was Yes! Yes! and Yes! In fact, I e-mailed this Jake person back that I couldn't have written the quotes better if I had written them myself. Will the riches from this crazy win never cease???

On the basis that I might be on a roll, luckwise, I ran out and bought a lottery ticket. The jackpot is up to a nice round $40 million, but I'll bite the bullet and settle for a lump sum settlement of quite a bit less.

According to the Herald this morning, I didn't have even one matching number. Apparently, cat food isn't catching.
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Photo caption: Fancy Feast: The gift that keeps on giving.

Make way, Top Chef. . .there's a new kid on the block!

I know I've been blog-silent for over a month, but that's because I've been busy honing my non-existent kitchen skills, due to the fact that daughter Andrea is convalescing here in my apartment.

As most of you know, either from personal experience or from past blogs, I haven't actually cooked a meal in 17 years, dating back from when I first met the "significant other". Prior to that date I was every take-out place's best customer. That is, if I wasn't eating in a restaurant with (take your pick) husband/friend/date/business associate. In other words, cooking was never my thing, whether married or unmarried.

Revisiting my kitchen has been a interesting experience. I am adept at making my morning coffee and when absolutely necessary, applying heat in the microwave. That's about it. Nowadays I can broil a pork chop, blend up a protein shake and fry an egg with aplomb. . .once I remembered where the frying pan was located, that is, not to mention how to turn on my fancy stove with its convection oven and figure out how the blender works. My appliances, especially the dishwasher, are all in shock. (See photo. . a truly rare sight!!)

Andrea, thank goodness, is feeling stronger every day. Not so surprisingly, she is now doing most of her own cooking, and I am once again enjoying life as the "designated eater" at Chez Benardo. I do, however, venture into Publix on a regular basis these days, brandishing the list Andrea provides. Since my former shopping method was to go straight to the Cat Food aisle, and maybe make a fast stop in the Dairy department for some yogurt before exiting quickly, I now travel up and down the aisles seeking exotic items like dill pickles and tartar sauce. .things that have never before seen the inside of my refrigerator. Talk about sticker shock! Who knew food costs so much? Take my word for it, this is a whole new world for moi.

Guess it doesn't matter how old your kids are. I may have missed out on the cooking gene, but being a Mom seems to be embedded somewhere in your DNA.
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Take me to the Tundra. . .

I received an e-mail from the Dalai Lama today. He wanted me to take a Tibetan psychology test to determine who I really am. I was pretty sure I knew the answer to that question, but what the hey, it was worth a try.

At the end of a strange set of questions involving animals and colors, I was told very emphatically that if I send the test on to 15 or more people, the Dalai Lama promises my life will change drastically and all my most important wishes will come true. I'm hoping this somehow works for that super expensive trip to live with the polar bears out on the Arctic tundra that I've always yearned to do but can't afford.

I have a couple of other wishes that I wouldn't mind happening if the Dali is really on the mark,especially the ones involving my immediate family's health. That would really make me a believer.

My e-mail address seems to attact all kinds of interesting scams. Last week Facebook informed me that I had won $599,000 US dollars in some lottery, all I had to do was send my personal information, including my social security number and my bank id, so that their lawyers would be sure I wasn't faking. I e-mailed them back that in order to be more believable they must improve their English grammar and use SpellCheck. Can't understand why they haven't responded and/or sent my money.

Do people really believe these things???? Well, what the hell. . I'm sending the Dalai Lama's site on to you, aren't I? You have no idea how much I want to see those polar bears.

http://www.scribd.com/doc/201806/PERSONALITY-TEST-Tibetian-way

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Let's talk trash. . .

I've been on a cleaning rampage. Mainly, I've been attacking my storage bin in the depths of my condo. Well not really depths. . just down the back hall from our main lobby.

The "significant other" has a mania about never throwing away the boxes of anything that once held electronics in case you might want to return something, so when I approach the tall metal cage that constitutes my storage bin,the first thing I see is the huge box that once housed my flat screen TV, followed by the fat square boxes that were home to my latest computer and printer.

With the warranty on all the above long since expired, I take a deep breath and trash the lot of them. Wow! That felt good.

Now I begin attacking the mountain of file boxes, all carefully labeled with a black Sharpie in my own handwriting. Organized, I am. Nostalgic. More than a little.

Opening a box labeled "Office Books", I recognize a throwback to my last official office space within Creative Directors Advertisng Agency. Suddenly I realize I actually had a life pre-Google. Here, well-thumbed and well-used, are hard cover copies of Roget's Thesaurus, Webster's Dictionary and Bartlett's Quotations. Also a soft cover copy of Windows for Dummies and a small handbook titled "Conversational Spanish". Not to mention reference books about local and national media, long since out of date.

When was the last time I went to the dictionary on the shelf next to my current desk to look up a word or the phone book to look up an address? Much quicker to click on Google and find the correct spelling or the answer to my most esoteric question. Incredible how dependent I've become on that bit of cyberspace to keep me in the writing loop.

The nostalgia part kicks in as I take more deep breaths and force myself to trash boxes containing files on long ago clients. Stealing a few glances into several of the fat folders on the way to the waste bin, I flash back on close to five decades of my life as a public relations maven.

Other bits of memorabilia remain in the bin. To trash or not to trash. That is the question. A 4 ft. tall pair of glittery cardboard scissors used many times over the years for photo ops at various ribbon-cutting ceremonies. An ancient pair of snow skis, long since replaced by more modern ones. Crutches from when I broke my foot visiting my grandson Adam when he was still in college in Gainsville. And a set of camping cookware from a long ago Thanksgiving hike in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

So when was the last time you took a deep breath and trashed that overstuffed closet or your version of my storage bin? It's fascinating how much we accumulate and how little we really need.

By the way. . anyone out there have a yen for some giant glittery scissors? I really tried, but I just can't get myself to throw them away.
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Reality TV at its worst. . . .

I've decided that Kris Humphries got lucky when Kim Kardashian dumped him after 72 days of married life.

I make this wise judgement after watching "Kim & Kourtney Kardashiam Take New York" on TV for the first. . .and I assure you. . .the last time, last night. I got bored with every other channel's in-depth dissection of the upcoming Iowa Caucuses and started channel surfing, stopping to linger on Bravo and this gawd-awful display of narcisistic family life that doubles as a hit show. Talk about boring. . . .the most exciting thing they do is shop.

In the episode I watched, Kourtney's live-in boyfriend,Scott, a total jerk by anyone's standard,buys an expensive grand piano for the apartment because he thinks it will look really spiffy there. That's despite the fact that neither he nor she knows how to play. When she demands he learn or return the piano,he,with great difficulty and the help of an expensive music teacher, masters one stanza of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star", using his two index fingers. Everyone claps wildly.

They lose me at this point when Kourtney agrees to reward Scott for this inspiring achievement of musical creativity with "dirty sex" on top of the piano. Ugh.

I'll take the Animal Planet over the Kardashians any day of the week, but apparently not everyone agrees with me. Chalk it up to generation gap-itis. Or maybe just a short attention span.

Gee,I hope they washed off the piano afterwards. Mr. Steinway must be turning over in his grave.
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