The way to feel good on Xmas morning

Sheila, Sandy and I answered Federation's call to help cook Xmas lunch for the patients and families at Ronald McDonald House this morning.  This House is attached to Jackson Memorial Hospital and caters to the families of seriously ill children who are undergoing surgery or treatment for life-threatening illnesses. We spent two hours preparing lasagna, pizza, salad and cookies for the 12 noon lunch, and received in return a very special warm feeling that comes with helping those less fortunate.  Our thanks to Syd Carpel for including us in Federation's efforts.

I worked like a well-greased machine with a young lady named Meghan, whom I dubbed Noodle Lady, because her job was to lay out the pre-cooked lasagna noodles as I ladled ricotta cheese and tomato sauce between the layers.  For a non-cook, I think I did pretty well.

Sheila was in charge of pizza and salad making and Sandy was the Cookie Lady, arriving with her special Cranberry Oatmeal cookies, prepared at home and ready to be baked.  Deelish!

The little boy on the left in the photo with Sheila and Sandy recently underwent a kidney transplant and was doing great. We got to chat with his very grateful father who told us both his son and another little boy received the kidneys of a 26 year old man who apparently died in an accident.

The three of us walked away knowing how much we had to be grateful for on this holiday morning.

Wishing you all a happy and healthy New Year!
#   #   #

Where were you on November 22, 1963?

Fifty years ago today, at 11 o'clock in the morning, I was sitting in the coffee shop of the Barcelona Hotel on Miami Beach where I served as the pr director, chatting with the hotel's social director and photographer, when a staff member ran in and gasped "The President has been shot!". The scene is engraved on my brain.

Much like anyone who was alive in 1963 and heard that unthinkable news, we were paralyzed for the moment, then together we rushed to the one place in the building where we knew there was a television set. . the hotel bar. Gathered around the black & white tv set, with tears in our eyes, we heard the announcement that the President was dead.

When I think back to that terrible day now, I also have a vivid picture of JFK campaigning for the presidency a few years earlier and visiting Miami. My sister Fran and I heard that he would be making a stop at the 163rd St. Shopping Center in North Miami. I played hooky from work and picked her up to try to get a glimpse of him. In those days security was very lax and we heard that his entourage would be making their way down Biscayne Blvd. so we parked our car on the side of the road, put the top down on my 1959 Dodge convertible, and sat up on the hood like two groupies. We waved like crazy as his open car passed us and were positively dazzled when he waved back. That scene is also engraved on my memory.

Strange how certain events remain vivid through a lifetime. Almost everyone remembers every detail of where they were and what they were doing when 9/11 occurred. That goes for me as well. Tragedies seem to make the deepest impressions.

It's hard to believe that fifty years have passed since that day in Dallas. Listening to all the memorials on television, the sadness of the moment returns.

Fun nite for fund raising. . .

I've been to many fund raisers, but the one I attended on a recent Saturday evening was definitely unique.  Saks 5th Avenue's 3rd Annual Fashion for a Cause, at posh W Hotel on Miami Beach, was co-hosted by The Juice Foundation and benefitted UM's Sylvester Comprehensive Cancer Center.

Yes, it was a fashion show, but not like any I'm quite sure you've ever attended.  The Juice Foundation is headed by Jenine Howard, wife of the Miami Heat's Juwan Howard, and the fashion models for the evening were the kids of all the Miami Heat players.  Talk about "attitude"!  Ranging in age from Chris Bosh's 2 yr. old son Jackson and Ray Allen's 3 yr. old son Rashard, up to the Howard's 12 yr. old son Jace, not to mention Lebron James' two offspring, Lebron Jr., 9, and Bryce, 7, the show was a knockout. The audience was pretty sparkling as well.  (See photo of shoes on the woman sitting in front of me.  Sorry, but I couldn't resist another fabulous pair of Loubetins.)

The auction preceding the fashion show was also unique.  First item up for bidding:  A chance to be a ball boy at an upcoming Heat game.  If the bidding hadn't started at $2500, I might have bid on it myself.  When two bidders were fighting each other at the $4000 mark, Juwon Howard raised his hand and announced the team would go for two ball boys at two different games..  The result: $8000 for the Cancer Center. 

Must also mention the evening's food offerings, all donated by various companies and geared towards kids, big and small.  Sliders. . .little square melted cheese sandwiches. . .Yogurt popsicles. . .Oreo cookies coated in white chocolate. . .jars and jars of jelly beans, chocolate covered raisins. . you name it, every childhood delight was there for the taking.  And adults and kids alike were eating everything.  Everyone got to have their picture taken, including me, as long as you followed instructions and went slightly nuts as the photographer snapped away.

It was a fun evening thanks to my invitation to attend via my friend Sandy's "marketing maven" daughter Alison who was in charge of the event.  Watching her work took me back to my pr days running charity events for clients.  I recognized all too well the look on her face as her eyes scanned the room constantly to be sure everything was going as planned.  It was, Alison.  It was great.
#   #   #

The kids model like pros!

 Juwan Howard greets a normal size guest.  Those players are really tall!

 

A medical moment. . .

I have a need to talk about hospitals.  Because I've been spending a lot of time at one in particular the last ten days. That's because the "significant other" developed a nasty blood infection and is currently the resident of Room 414 at South Miami Hospital.

Mainly I want to talk about nurses and nurses aides.  They are truly remarkable human beings, both male and female, short and tall, old and young.  In Benard's world they come with names like Arlene. Althea, Amilcar, Zonaia, Jennifer, Laura, Jun and Nelda.  Jun is a young Philipino man who couldn't be more caring or helpful. Benard spent time in the Phillipines during WW2 and he and Jun have great conversations.  Nelda is Benard's absolute favorite, she calls him Papi and treats him as if he truly was a close relative.

Basically, I hate hospitals.  The farther away I can stay the better I like it.  But if you have to be in one, South Miami is about as good as it gets.  Each day I walk away wondering why someone chooses the nursing profession.  It's a hard, messy life with patients coming and going, either better or worse for the experience.  I am awed by their dedication.

Hopefully, Benard will be well enough soon to leave Room   514 and return to his normal lifestyle.  I won't miss traveling daily to the hospital to visit him and act as his surrogate.  But I will have new respect for the nurses who work there.
#   #   #
Photo caption:  A shout out to the wonderful Therapy Dogs who truly brighten a patient's day. This cutie's name was Alli and really made Benard smile.

My "Christian Louboutin Moment"

I don't consider myself a shoe freak, but I do have a closet-ful of carefully stacked boxes containing some gorgeous 3 inch-heel numbers that I used to wear on a regular basis to work but haven't seen the light of day in several years.   There's a purple suede number in there that makes me sigh every time I catch sight of it.

Let's face it.  It's not a question of still fitting as much as still being able to walk with a modicum of pain and a smidge of dignity.  If you are a woman of a certain age, I need say no more.

But the deliciousness of truly sexy shoes dies hard.  I found that out again today.

I was having my nails done at Salon Trio when I noticed that one of the co-owners, Nicole, was wearing a truly incredible pair of shoes.  The shiny red underside of these sky high beauties was a dead giveaway:  "Christian Louboutin! OMG! I've only seen them in ads and in places like Saks and Neimans.  And here they were in the flesh! (You don't want to know how much these babies cost.  Think four figures to start.)

Nicole:  "Would you like to try them on?

Me:  "What size are they?"

Nicole:  "Does it matter?"

Me:  "Of course not.  Hand them over."

See attached photo for moi "standing tall" and feeling tres sexy. . .wobbling a little. . .but loving every second.

Thanks, Nicole.  It was a great moment. I simply had to capture it on camera.
#   #   #

My "hands on" problem. . . .

I am convinced that my eventual undoing will be the result of an un-openable cap on a child-proof bottle.  My demise will come in one of two ways:

1.  I am in the desert (or just in the heat of a mid-summer day in Miami), dying of thirst, suffering from dehydration, with moments to go before all my organs start shutting down. But I still can't get the cap off the goddamned plastic bottle of water clutched in my feverish hands.

2.I am stricken with a rare tropical disease that can easily be cured by the miracle medication in the little plastic container that I am holding in my trembling hands.  You guessed it.  I can't get the top off this intricate little number that demands that you press down while simultaneously turning in a counter-clockwise fashion.  Forgeddabout it.

I am not kidding when I say that the new bottle caps are designed to prevent opening by senior citizens with weak hands far more than by small children.  At least small children have a Mommy or Daddy to open theirs.  I'm stuck with multiple methods of invention, none of which work as well as the significant other's strong hands, but he's not always around when I need him for that purpose.

For the screw caps on my acryllic paint tubes I carry a pair of pliers in my equipment bag, stolen from my tool box.  For the ring of plastic that seals the top of the Coffeemate Creme bottle, I have a hook-like thingy that I bought on line, that really works well. Unfortunately, that's the only thing it works on. For the top of the new Hellman's Mayonaise jar in my refrigerator, I have a flat circle of rubber that is supposed to give me leverage when I try to twist it open. Oh well, mayonaise is fattening.  I can probably do without it.  I've even been known to use my teeth on certain occasions, but nothing is more expensive than new caps for my two front teeth so I try to keep that method to a minimum.

I know there are more important problems in the world today than my inability to deal with bottle caps, so I'll sign off now.  I'm kind of thirsty anyhow. Think I'll go get a drink from my kitchen faucet.  Pretty sure I can handle that.
#   #   #   #. 
Photo caption:  Even Wasabi is confused by all these implements.  Think how I feel!

Veteran actress, Brooke Shields, was co-hosting the Today Show this morning when I happened to glance at the screen.  Still very good looking, Shields, who began her career at the age of 12, is no longer a kid, in her mid-40's, twice married, with children of her own.  Seeing her took me back to one of my crazier pr experiences.  One in which both she and Prince Albert of Monaco very much figured.

It was in the early 80's and my pr firm was representing the brand new, very up-scale Bonaventure Spa and Resort in Broward County.  Bonaventure was proudly sponsoring the Princess Grace Tennis Tournament, a major fund raiser held annually by the Monacan royal family for some charity that slips my mind at the moment.  The really big deal was that Prince Albert, Grace Kelly's son himself, was coming to the resort to preside over the event.  Big excitement.  Big possibility for national and even international publicity for my client.

Someone in my office watched a TV show where 19 year old Brooke Shields was interviewed.  One of the questions she was asked was "Who would you most like to meet?"  Her answer? You guessed it. Prince Albert of Monaco!  OMG, a double whammy for my client. . the hot young actress and the hot young prince.

Contact was made with Brooke's agent who just happened to be her mother and arrangements were finalized for both of them to arrive at the resort.  The actress came with her mother.  The prince arrived with an entourage that included two body guards, a well known pro football player, and two  "royal groupies", one more super sophisticated and ultra sexy than the next.

Albert, who was rather short and not terribly good looking, did us the favor of posing for photos with Brooke. The moment the photographer finished, he smiled briefly and hightailed it back to his entourage.  To say that he was uninterested in the extremely tall, surprisingly unsophisticated, teen age actress, was the understatement of the year. 

Poor Brooke. She was totally devastated at the obvious brushoff, actually to the point of crying.  That's when her mother, a dominating presence if ever I met one, suggested that a few hours in the plush new Spa might make her feel better.  But she mustn't go there alone.

"You have got to be kidding," I spluttered, when the client informed me that I was the one chosen to accompany the actress.  "Go!" he commanded, "and for God's sake, try to make her feel better. This was your idea.  Now take care of it."

That's how I ended up, wearing nothing but a towel in the ungodly hot suana at Bonaventure Spa, sitting next to a sniffling, equally naked Brooke Shields, trying to convince her that Albert was no big deal.  Had I known at the time that she would soon meet and marry Andre Agassi, she might have felt a helluva lot better.

Watching her this morning on the Today Show I was pretty sure she has long since forgotten the incident.  Me?  I'll never forget it.
#   #   #
Photo caption:  Did I mention she was tall?????

Oprah has nothing on me. . . .

The People Page of today's Miami Herald has an article on "The Estefans get Oprah-ed".  I'm not sure I've ever watched Oprah's new cable network, but I do have my own memories of Gloria and Emilio, and the article got me to reminiscing.

Today, the couple are important members of South Florida's philanthropic community as well as active partners in the Miami Heat and Miami Dolphins.  But when I first came in contact with them they were none of the above..  It was the mid-80's and the musical group called The Miami Sound Machine was yet to make a name for itself or its lead singer.  As a matter of fact they were simply one more name on the list of local bands I would consider hiring for the many different events that my pr firm was constantly staging for our various clients.

The Miami Sound Machine was being touted by Emilio himself in those days, and the going rate was $200 for a 2 hour gig.  I remember very well one real estate client for whom we were planning the opening of a new community who nixed hiring them as "Too expensive!"   I believe I found that client another group that only cost $175.

My next contact with both the Estefans came in early 1991.  The couple were already pretty famous as the forefront of crossover Latin-flavored music into the pop music scene when Glorida was seriously injured in an accident when her tour bus was rear ended by a huge semi-tractor   Her very serious back injuries were treated by the University of Miami's famed Dr. Barth Green and through that successful relationship both Gloria and Emilio became benefactors of the Miami Project to Cure Paralysis, founded by former Miami Dolphin Nick Buoniconti and his son Mark..

Our firm had been hired to do publicity for the Miami Project's "Wheels Across America" fund rasing project with Andrea actually going out on the road periodically to handle press for a young wheelchair-bound man who was wheeling his way from California to New York City.  It was a highly successful fund raiser and we continued to do pro bono work for the Miami Project on several occasions.

One such occasion was a call to handle the making of several PSA's (Public Service Announcements) in which Gloria Estefan, who had experienced the real possibility of paralysis when she was so badly injured, had volunteered to serve as spokesperson.  Our office wrote the script for the announcements and worked with the film crew to set up an area in Emilio's private recording studio where the PSAs would be filmed.

Gloria could not have been more cooperative or easy to work with.  When she finished filming the  spot we had prepared, she turned to me and said "Why don't we also do this in Spanish so you can air it on Univision?"  I thought it was a great idea but mentioned that it might take me a little time to find a translator for the copy.  Her answer?  "No problem.  I'll translate it for you."

Needless to say, I was thrilled and the entire filming was wrapped up in another hour.  As we left  the Estefan's building one of the camera men came up to me and asked who translated the script into Spanish.  I could tell by the look on his face he wasn't happy with the translation and I asked why.

"The worst Spanglish I ever heard," he said with a grimace.  "We don't talk that way in Argentina."  That's when this "gringo" learned that being Latin doesn't always mean you speak Spanish quite the same way.  Yes, she's very Americanized, but Gloria is definitely Cuban and proud of it.  She and Emilio are a remarkable couple. I'm proud to have also worked with them.

So there, Oprah!
#   #   #   #

Surfing the radio waves. . .

Tuesday mornings at WLRN Public Radio always make me smile.

To start with, when I arrive promptly at 8am I am greeted in the entrance lobby by a larger-than-life cardboard cutout of Big Bird.  I have no idea why he's there but he does brighten the morning. (See photo for how big Bird really is!)

Next I climb the stairs to the second floor sound studio where I will spend the next two hours cutting, editing and reading the day's Miami Herald to the visually impaired.. On my way, I pass the open door to Joseph Cooper's office.  WLRN followers know Joseph as the station's premiere on-air interviewer of all sorts of celebrities and interesting people.  This morning as I pass his door, I hear Joe's phone ring.  The familiar baritone voice answers thusly: "Bates Motel.  Norman speaking."   This time I burst out laughing.  Can't imagine what the person on the other end of the line had to say to that opening.

Once upstairs, I enter my studio and settle in with my scissors and newspapers along with my special reading partner, Marianne.  Within a minute or two I know I will be warmly greeted by one of the stations most loved staff members.  This one has four feet and lots of white fur and goes by the name of Daisy.  She will lavish me with kisses and tail wags until her human, Wanda Stiles, shows up, and they both move on to the day's business. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that Daisy has her own talk show. She certainly knows her way around the station.

Are you getting the feeling this is a most unusual work place?  After some three years of volunteering here I've gotten to know many of the regular staffers and on-air personalities.  I actually play "Words With Friends" on my iPhone with Mario, the head of Radio Reading Services.  He's a tough competitor.  WLRN's building is in downtown Miami.  It's an interesting millieu that I would probably never have had the opportunity to get to know if the significant other hadn't been doing school tours through the station for many years and suggested I audition for the reading job.  (Yeah, I passed.  On the first try, too.)

I guess what I'm doing here is recommending volunteering as a meaningful way to spend retirement years and even before retirement if you can find the time..  Doesn't matter where or what you choose to do.  I find it very rewarding.  I think you will too.
#   #  #

Have you ever done "The Wave"????

I was straightening the top shelf of my linen closet this morning when I came across incontrovertible evidence that I am a sports fan.

Why my linen closet, you ask?  Because Miami teams. . .I'm talking Heat, Dolphins, Marlins and the long gone Panthers. . .  all seem to resort to colorful towels of various sizes when things are going well.  Especially during playoffs.

In addition to the Heat "wavers" in the photo below, one of which dates back to a 1997 semi-final game against the Knicks where I believe we got beaten, and the '98 Playoffs when we won.  I have two giant beach towels, one for the Dolphins and one for the Marlins (that was prior to the recent arena bruhaha) and a true relic from the one time the Panthers played in the Stanley Cup in 1996 against the Philadelphia Flyers. Yes, I threw rats on the ice at that one.

My season ticket days to all of these teams are also long gone, preferring to watch on the flat screen TV from the comfort of my bedroom, but the wealth of tiny towels on that top shelf brought back a wealth of sports memories.  Grandson Adam was my companion of choice for Dolphin games until he left for college.  The "significant other" learned to be a fan of all of the above teams once we became a couple some 18 1/2 years ago and went to all the games together.

Gee, how come I have nothing for the University of Miami in my closet??  I certainly sat in the old Orange Bowl for enough games starting back in 1957 when I arrived in Miami.  I think I have a tee shirt somewhere that commemorates those memories. 

I'll take a photo of it for you as soon as I find it.  Wave if you have one also.
#   #   #   #

Have scissors. Will cut.

We are a well greased machine, Mariane and I. 

We meet every Tuesday morning at 8 o'clock sharp at the front door to WLRN, Miami's public radio station to read on air to the visually impaired..  Two copies of the day's Miami Herald are waiting for us, placed there by "our leader", Mario Lozado, the head of the station's Radio Reading Services. Without missing a beat, we take our preferred seats before the not-yet-live microphones and start the process of cutting up the newspapers into four 15 minute segments:  Local  / Regional, State & National / Editorial & Opinion Columns / Business, Sports & Health.

We go live at 9 sharp, so that first hour is used not just to select articles to be read, but to cut and chop them to a readable size. . .in other words, we edit.  And I have to admit, we have our own biases as we do so.  Since time is limited for each segment, we tend to read the articles that (1) will hopefully appeal to the mature age of most of our listeners, and (2) more than likely, will be something that happens to particularly interest us.  A good example was this morning's sizable article on The Heat Repeat!.  If you are not a Heat fan, you might not understand.

Since we never actually see or hear from our listeners, I always wondered if anyone was really listening.  Out of curiousity, I queried my friend, Virginia Jacko, the CEO of the Lighthouse For The Blind.  Her response: "Are you kidding!  I can't tell you the number of people who depend on listening to all you readers."   Makes volunteering worthwhile, doesn't it?

An unexpected benefit of these Tuesday morning sessions is a delightful new friend.  We may be of different generations, but we get along famously, not to mention that I am Godmother to young Leo Pantin-Parish, the newest member of Mariane's family, who recently sat for his portrait.  (See photo.  OK, so I am showing off.)

WLRN could use some additional readers, I'm told.  If you're interested, call Mario at 305-995-2218.  I promise  you, you won't be sorry.
#   #   #
Photo captions:  Mariane, ready to go "live" and Leo The Lionhearted

Time to be nostalgic. . .

Today is Father's Day and I'm remembering my own father.  I always felt we had a special bond because I was born on his birthday. . .October 19th. . .family legend said it was just a few minutes after mid-night, as if my Mother hung on until the date offcially changed before giving birth to me.

My sister Fran and I have talked about how lucky we were with our parents.  They both were totally supportive of us our entire lives.  Daddy. . .we called him that until the day he died, although Mother was always called Mother. . Daddy thought his two daughters were the most beautiful and the smartest girls in the world.  Both parents never stopped telling us they loved us.  You can't buy that kind of security growing up.

I'm also thinking this morning about my grandson Adam.  This is his second Father's Day and he is an incredible father to his son Grayson.  Fathers today are a different breed from my generation.  They are "hands on" Daddys, who very much share the load.

With that in mind, I made one phone call this morning to say "Happy Father's Day" to my daughter Andrea's father.  He came into our lives when Andrea was five years old, and he is still very much a loving Dad, Grandfather and Great-Grandfather. Divorce doesn't change that one bit.
#   #   #   #
Photo caption:  My sister and me, with our Dad.   Yes, I had bangs even then.

A new edition to my work resume. . .

You may want to consider hiring me as the bartender for your next big party.  I have the creds, my prices are very reasonable, and I am pretty sure I can give you references.

How did I come upon this new addition to my work resume, you ask?  By accident, that's for sure, but I am proud to say that I rose to the occasion, all 4' 10 3/4" of me.  Here's the back story.

I recently became a docent at the Kampong, the renowned horticulturist Dr. David Fairchild's former home here in Coconut Grove.  Last Thursday the Kampong hosted a Twilight Tour celebrating the opening of the Mango Season and I was slated to stand guard and be charming in the Museum on the property. This was a job that did not qualify as high energy work.  Except I arrived early and Ann Schmidt, the woman in charge of the event, pressed me into service in the kitchen.  Need I mention that is not my natural millieu????

In a few hurried sentences she explained that she needed me to start creating the Mango Rum Punch that was the signature drink for the occasion.  The recipe was pretty simple:  1/3 pineapple juice, 1/3 white rum, a healthy dose of fresh lime joice and an ice cube tray of frozen mango cubes, picked earlier from the trees in the Kampong's garden..

I may not cook but I do like to drink, so I got the hang of the recipe and filled up several pitchers   pretty quickly.  Then Ann asked me if I could trot outside with the first pitcherful and set up the outdoor bar because the guests were starting to arrive.  Arrive they did, thirsty and ready to drink.  And guess who they found all alone behind the bar, at the moment, and for the next two frantic hours.  Simply moi.

"White wine, red wine or Mango Rum Punch," I inquired sweetly to the guests at the front of the fast lengthening line.  Business was booming and the Rum Punch was obviously a major hit, with one of the other volunteers running back and forth to the kitchen to refill pitchers while I stirred and poured and stirred and poured and stirred and poured  some more..  I don't mind telling you, I was very professional, smiling brightly, and wondering desperately when they would stop coming back for seconds so I could take a bathroom break..

I have new respect for bartenders these days.    I can tell you it's exhausting work.  As a matter of fact,  I think I'll drink to that.
 Skol!  Prosit! L'chaim!

No animals were hurt in this experiment. . .. .

I am learning to paint with a palette knife.  What was I thinking when I signed up for this? I have trouble cutting my meat, much less figuring out how to get paint on a canvas with a knife edge.

My Thursday morning painting class is taught by Mai Yap who wields a mean knife and is a wonderful artist.  I am totally intimidated and yearn for one of my trusty brushes.  My friend Sheila and I share the class with five confirmed palette knife painters who turn out incredible paintings while we struggle valiently on our side of the room.

Sheila painted a giant green pear this morning. When she was finished it looked good enough to eat.  In case you didn't know, fruit is very big when you're working with knives. I've already gone the apple and the pineapple route, so today I'm working on a kind of abstract horse.

What I really need to do is figure out what to do with the few thousand canvases that are piling up behind my desk and layered in the drawers where once upon a time I kept my fine china, long since transported up to Andrea.  OK, maybe not a thousand, but close to 50 at last count, and a dozen or more given away to family and friends. Prolific I am, that's for sure.

How you paint and what you choose to paint, I find, is very indicative of the painter's personality.  I'll bet Rembrandt had a dark side. One look at Van Gogh's "Starry Starry Night" and you can tell he had some heavy mental problems going on. Me, I live life in a hurry and paint in a hurry.  Every class I take I turn out three paintings to every one else's one.  If I could get paid by the piece I'd really be in the chips these days.

Here's today's adventure, on a 16x20 canvas. . .all done with knives.  OMG, I hope I didn't hurt the poor horse.
#   #   #

Not my best day. . .

I am one of those people who hop on and off planes without a second thought.  Fear of flying just isn't in my vocabulary, although I am quick to admit that plane travel is not the easy, luxurious ride it used to be.

That said, my flight to Jacksonville last Thursday left me more than slightly unnerved. 

The Today Show was droning away on my bedroom TV as I completed packing my carry-on suitcase when I was stopped in my tracks with a news flash: "American Airlines just announced that Concourse D at Miami International Airport is being evacuated and ordered closed due to a suspicious package.  Security is investigating a possible bomb threat. All traffic into the airport is being diverted. "

This bit of charming information was accompanied on the screen by a picture of bumper to bumper traffic and a warning to expect major delays. Coming three days after the Boston Marathon bombing, I would be lying if I didn't admit to a stab of fear followed by the realization that there was a good chance I wasn't making it to Jacksonville in the near future.

My negativity was with good reason because American Eagle flies out of Concourse D and my freshly printed boarding pass that Thursday morning read Gate D-27, boarding at 10:40am.  The clock on my dressing table read 7:45am.

What to do.  What to do.  Leave for the airport immediately and at least be in line when something opens up, or stay safely at home and wait to hear the next announcement on the TV.  Calls to American Airlines were of no avail. When I finally got a human being on the line, she was located somewhere in the mid-West and had no idea what I was talking about. " Bomb threat?  What bomb threat?  Let me put you on hold for a few minutes while I transfer you to my manager."  I hung up.

After a few frantic calls to Benard, I made an executive decision.  I was too nervous by this time to sit around the house. Despite the fact that I was 3 hours and 20 minutes early for my 11:20 flight, we would leave for the airport at 8:00 and hope for the best.  Not a great way to leave on a much anticipated, long planned trip to help celebrate my great-grandson's second birthday.

Our luck held.  The suspicious bag turned out to be a false alarm and the airport's  Departure ramp  re-opened at the exact moment we arrived on the scene.  Benard stopped the car, I jumped out, grabbed my bag, and walked the rest of the way to the entrance.  The security line was horrendous due to all the people who had been standing around waiting for Concourse D to reopen, but reopen it did, and no one was complaining.

 Once at the gate, it took an Extra Tall Latte from Starbucks to bring my nerves back to near normal. The plane actually left on time, with me on it, breathing a deep sigh of relief.  Phew! That was a close one.
#   #   #
Photo caption:  My rumpled Boarding Pass, clutched in my nervious hand..

Some things never change. . .

I was cleaning out a little used drawer in my den today when I found a plastic bag stuffed with memorabilia from a different time and different place.  1989 to be exact. Oddly enough, my sentiments haven't changed, even though I' m 24 years older.

Just this morning I read in the Miami Herald that North Dakota signed the nation's strictest abortion limits into law.  Roe v. Wade was decided in the Supreme Court in 1973, but they never give up on efforts to take away a women's right to choose, do they.

In the foreground of the photo below you can see a small square pin outlined in red that reads "March for Women's Equality And Women's Lives" - April 9, 1989 - Washington, D.C.

I remember it like it was yesterday.  The bus ride to the airport. The plane trip to Dulles Airport. Assembling, literally hundreds of thousands of women from all around the nation, in front of the Washington Monument, wearing pins that read "In My Heart I'm Marching For Choice", "Never Again! (with a wire hanger in the background), "Keep Abortion Legal", and in my group, "South Florida For Choice"..

We marched to the White House where we chanted "Free Barbara Bush! Free Barbara Bush!"  It was well known that she was not in agreement with her husband, President George Walker Bush's stand on women's rights.  We swept up Pennsylvania Avenue to the Capitol.  It was an amazing moment in history and I was very proud to be there.

How sad that we are fighting that same battle in our country again today.  Abortion has become a political tool for the far right.  It never fails to amaze me that these "true believers" are willing to kill a living person to "save" a fetus. 

Some things never do change.  How very sad.

My March Morning Madness. . .

Little boys of seven and eight years old are super active. Whether they have perfect eyesight or are legally blind.  I know, because I just spent the morning working with four of the latter,at the Miami Lighthouse For The Blind, and I am in awe, not to mention exhausted, at how smart and active they are.

It's Spring Break time here in Miami, and the kids are out of their regular school sessions so the Lighthouse is even busier than usual.  My friend, Virginia Jacko, the CEO of the Lighthouse, asked me to help out Osias, the regular teacher.  Osias, by the way, is also blind, so in our classroom I was the only sighted person, with the four boys, one little girl, and two other volunteers.  I came in handy to locate lost backpacks, find paper for the brailers, and take Luana, the little girl, to the ladies room.

I am most in awe of Silvio, a self possessed eight year old with complete mastery of the computer with its remarkable JAWS program designed to "speak" to blind users.  Silvio informed me that he had a workbook in his backpack that he wanted me to look at because he was committed to completing 5 work projects during his Spring Break.

Project #1 had to do with the 50 United States and their contractional or non-contractional abbreviations.  Who knew that Florida's FL is non-contractional and Kentucky's KY is contractional???  Sylvio understood better than I did.  Working at his brailer, he first inserted a sheet of special paper, then waited impatiently for me to start calling out the states in alphabetical order.  I'm a touch typist but this kid, working on his brailer, was really fast!  To check what he had just typed he would run his finger over the raised braile dots on the paper and, when satisfied it was correct, nod to me to continue.

We finished off the 50 states in record time and then it was time for lumch. Although the kids all have canes that fold up and fit into a holder on their belts, they don't always use them, so Osias asked me to escort Silvio, Rey and Victor to the cafeteria on the first floor.  Getting three kids, each going in a different direction, into the elevator, was an interesting experience.  As was lunch.

I caught on quickly that "the chicken and rice is at 12:30 on your plate, and the brownies are at 2 oclock. . .but please don't eat them first".  The last plea to absolutely no avail. 

The kids knew the best part was coming. . .lunch over, it was music time.  An upright piano stood in a far corner of the lunchroom and they couldn't get there fast enough.  Silvio had already informed me that he had been taking piano lessons for two years, but I wasn't prepared to hear him sit down at the keyboard and pull off an arpeggio that caused everyone in the room to stop what they were doing and turn their attention to this remarkable little boy.

In fairness, Osias insisted that everyone got their turn at the keyboard, from little Luana who knocked out "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star", to never-still Rey who quieted long enough to play a creditable "Eensy Weensy Spider".  Even shy D'Vante, the youngest of the boys,  played Chop Sticks  Only Victor, legally blind but with enough remaining sight to play his beloved video games on his little GameBoy, refused to make music. He was happy,  however,  to explain in detail to me the game he was playing and to let me know he had just beaten his own record.  I was suitably impressed.

I arrived at the Lighthouse at 9:30 in the morning and said goodbye at 12:30, after promising the kids  that I would return and giving each a hug and a kiss goodbye.  Osias thanked me for helping.  I thanked him for an incredible morning. 
#   #   #
Photo captions:
#1 - Osias works with Luana at the piano
#2 - Silvio shows his musical skills. Rey left and Victor in background
#3 - Our classroom.  Victor on his Gameboy in foreground.

I just discovered I'm a cruciverbalist.  And all this time I thought I was simply Jewish.

I realize now why the "significant other" and I get along so well.  He's also a cruciverbalist although I doubt that either he or his family were aware of this significant character trait since he rarely displays it to anyone but moi..

OK, so you just googled the word on your iPhone and found out that cruciverbalist comes from the Latin word crux for cross, and verbum for word.  Our secret is out. . .crossword puzzles are our thing.  We're addicted to our daily dose in the Miami Herald, happiest when one or the other can graciously offer to help out if the other is stuck on a word.  Gracious with a touch of superciliousness, that is.

One of the favorite gifts I ever received was Simon & Shuster's Super Crosswords Book.  My grandson Adam gave it to me several years back and it contains 225 perforated pages of puzzles.  Every time I go on a plane trip I rip out 3 or 4 pages from the book to stuff into my carry-on for something to do while flying.  It makes the time go faster than just reading. 

Actually, according the article on the internet that alerted me to the word, cruciverbalists just plain love word games of any kind.  I guess that accounts for the six different Words With Friends games I continually play on my iPhone with a variety of friends/relatives/colleagues.  Am I competitive?  You bet I am.

According to Will Shortz, the NY Times Crossword Editor and the God of all puzzlers, the fascination of crossword puzzles exists in the fact that "with a human-made puzzle, you have the satisfaction of being completely in control: you start the challenge from the beginning, and you move all the way to the end.  That's satisfaction you don't get much in real life.   You feel in control and that's a great feeling."

Obviously, that explanation does not obtain to the Sunday NY Times puzzle.  Sorry, Will.  I hardly ever feel like I'm in control when I work on that.  Anyone who does, deserves to be called anything they want.
#   #   #   #

Photo caption:  Definition of "Chutzpah":  doing puzzle in red pen!

My Mother would be so proud. . . .

I've joined something called "The Writer's Table" at our local public library.  I found out about it purely by chance when I was attempting to pay a significant late fee on the 600+ page book I just finished reading for my book club's next meeting.  (I am not a slow reader but I do have a life to lead and that was a helluva long book.) 

Waiting in line late Tuesday afternoon, money in hand, I picked up a flyer about the group and realized it took place that very evening.  You can't say I don't make quick decisions.

Our leader is Jane whose day job is Children's Librarian at my branch library. Not to worry, we are all adults around the table, at least so far.  When I arrived at 6:30, Jane was sitting with a youngish man named Mark, an English and math teacher/tutor I learned, and a budding novelist and blogger with his first book well underway. Next came Adrienne, also an educator in real life, followed by Lolly and Teresa, the latter currently crafting a fascinating website titled the pixelandtheegg.com.

Writing a book is a solitary commitment.  I've often thought about writing one over the years,but somehow never got around to it even though writing has been a major part of my business life and still keeps me in the pr/advertising loop.  In all honesty, I think I am intimidated about the whole idea.  I really hate failing.

Maybe this Writer's Table group will give me a new perspective on the subject.   Don't expect Hemingway or even Danielle Steele.  More like a pale immitation of Dave Barry if he was born a female and spent the last fifty years as a pr maven.

By the way, while I was being sarcastic in the headline of this blog, my Mother actually was an excellent writer all her life.  I am quick to credit my "writer's gene" to her. . .it is truly the gift that keeps on giving.  Thanks, Mom.
#   #   #
Photo:  Coconut Grove Branch, Miami Dade Public Library

I'm practicing my "neutral face":. . . .

I read an article recently about the importance of working on your "neutral face". For those of you going "What????" at this point, that's your face when you are not smiling or talking or animated in any way. I just decided mine tends to be kind of grim. Who knew. I challenge you to sit in front of a mirror and check out yours. While I know I have a really good smile (see attached photo), in"neutral" I decided I tend to look like I am either worried, ate something unpleasant, or am just plain mad. I think that's why I have taught myself (unknowingly) to always smile when my photo is being taken, because I never like the way I look when I don't. So why do I care, you ask? Because according to the article, your "neutral face" makes all the difference in how you are perceived in both business and social occasions. People tend to be more receptive to those with pleasant neutral faces. The kind of face where the mouth's outer edges turn up instead of down. Geez, I wonder how I managed to get along in the public relations biz all those years with such a sour puss. Seriously, I do believe as you mature your face loses some of its pleasant look just by virture of gravity on the facial muscles. The article makes it very clear that it pays dividends to work on your "neutral face", particularly when you are in a business situation where you are seeking acceptance for some new idea, or in a social situation where you are meeting people for the first time. Serious has its place in certain situations, to be sure, like maybe when you are accepting the Nobel Prize, but for the most part pleasant offers a better payoff. Let me know how you make out with the mirror test and I promise to be smiling the next time we meet. # # # Photo caption: Smile, Joan, you're on Candid Camera

Thoughts on Monday night's Inaugural Ball

I was ruminating today on how many presidential inaugurations I haven't been invited to, including the one being held this Monday for President Obama.

It's not fair to count the administrations of Herbert Hoover, FDR and Harry Truman, because I wasn't old enough to vote during their years in office, possibly because voting  age was pegged at 21 in those days.  I was already married and a new mother in 1952 when I registered my first presidential vote for Adlai Stevenson.  I thought he was simply wonderful but the country preferred Eisenhower.  So much for an invite to that party.

I definitely voted for JFK in 1960. . .see the accompanying photo of the pin I wore proudly that year.  Would you believe it was still in my jewelry box???  Sorry, no invitation from Jack and Jackie, nor one a few years later from Lyndon and Lady Bird. 

Forget about Nixon. . although we used to get glimpses of him with his pal Bebe Reboso at their favorite restaurant on Key Biscayne.  Obviously, I made no impression and the party went on without me.   Not sure whether Gerald Ford actually had an inauguration.  Pretty sure I wasn't on the list for Ronnie and Nancy's glamourous soiree. .ditto for Jimmy Carter's Peanut Party or Bush the 41st' Texas style shindig..  No great loss there.

I was a little put out about Bill and Hillary not noticing my vote, but then again, I'm from Florida and Lord only knows who the State went for that year. . they are probably still counting.  As for George the 43rd, I think he knew Dan Quayle reaIly turned me off, so I can understand why I didn't make the list.

That brings us to Barack's first term four years ago.  I had a really great dress to wear, it was the one I bought for my grandson's wedding.  The good news:  I can still fit into it, but apparently it's not getting an outing this year either.  In all fairness, the Democratic Party did have a lottery for a ticket to the ball, but since I neglected to enter, I guess I couldn't expect to win.

So much for practicing my Gangnam Style dancing.  I guess I'll just sit in bed and watch on television, like the rest of the masses.
#  #  #

New Year. New resolutions.

The "significant other" and I spent the first Friday of the new year at Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden doing our usual tram tours. He drives the 68-passenger tram and we take turns talking. The most interesting part of our job for us is meeting the guests from all over the world who visit the Garden.  Our "payment" for our volunteer work comes at the end of a 45 minute tour when someone comes up to tell us how much they enjoyed what we have to say.

At the end of our first tour this week (we do three, at 10, 11 and 12 on Friday mornings), Benard left the driver's seat for a few minutes, and when he returned he had been "replaced" at the wheel. A younger man had taken over and was raring to go.  His name is Sebastian and he's from Chicago.

I think we are going to make a great team.

Oh yes, about my resolutions for 2013.  Think young.  This seemed like a good start!
#   #   #
Photo captions:  Can you tell who is who????