The view from up here. . . .

Don't mess with me, guys. I have a new professional commendation to add to my resume, delivered by the owner of the tour company that hired me to tour a group of 36 through Vizcaya Museum & Gardens yesterday.

"You have a very commanding presence," she said in all seriousness, at the conclusion of the tour as she handed me my check. All 4 ft. 11 1/4 inches of me, I said under my breath.

Commanding is not exactly how I would describe my less than towering height, but I do have a helluva loud speaking voice, a major plus with a large tour group. It must be that extra 1/4 inch that I'm desperately hanging on to, as gravity has its way with the 5 ft. stature I have endured since the age of 12. I was always the smallest kid in the class when they lined us up by height and I haven't made much progress since then..

Suzanne, the lady from the tour company, had e-mailed me that this could be a difficult group. . .it was something called The League, and she was finding them to have a bit of an "attitude". I wrote her back, not to worry. That was before I realized I had such a commanding prescence, and in truth, I was a trifle concerned. While I'm not new at guiding at Vizcaya, I am new at getting paid for what I've done for free for the past eight years. For free, if they didn't like me, that was their problem. This could ultimately be mine.

My apologies for channeling Sally Fields at the Ocars, but I think they liked me. . they really liked me. I could tell by the enthusiastic clapping at the end. We professional guides know that's always a good sign. They turned out to be a very nice group, well traveled. and fascinated with this wonderful seaside mansion that was built in 1916. Excuse me also for taking the opportunity to plagiarize Renee Zellweger and tell you, without an ounce of shame, that I had them from the "Hello, my name is Joan, and I will be your guide this afternoon. . ."

My new career as a professional tour guide is moving right along and I'm really getting the hang of it. It doesn't pay as well as my regular work, and I'm definitely not getting rich, but I am having fun. And growing taller, by the minute.
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Photo caption: Standing tall with the 6' 1" significant other. And I was actually wearing 3" heels in this photo!

Me and my computer. . . .

I'm not sure, but I think I was just scammed.

My computer has been running very slow lately and I was becoming increasingly annoyed watching that little blue circle go round and round. I found myself deleting more e-mail than I was reading, rather than sit here, tapping my foot, waiting for the latest joke (that I had already received last week) to download.

Every time I would turn off my computer, which is actually rarely, a window would come up for something called Cyber Defender, offering a free scan. Today I decided to click on it and when the scan was complete I was informed that I had. . and I'm not making this up. . .980 problems in my software. And for $34.50 they would do a complete cleaning that would absolutely, not a doubt in the world, make my computer run faster. Because I was so frustrated, I decided to go for it, entered my credit card information, and downloaded the cleaning program.

When the receipt came in the next e-mail, I had apparently made a total purchase of $54.95, not $34.50. I am not altogether an idiot, so I called the number on the receipt to question how the amount changed so quickly. Apparently I had not "opted out" from the check mark on something called "Optimizer". . .and lo and behold, my computer has been Optimized. OK, it seemed to be running a helluva lot faster and I was willing to go for the extra charge.


Except that the very nice woman named Patty from Cyber Defender, who told me she was my Personal Activator, informed me that I had a terrible virus that was eating up my files and for $279 I could have one year of technical support that would include a $50 Visa gift card. I said thank you very much but I didn't want to spend that much and didn't need a Visa gift card.


Patty assured me that this virus could do away with my entire computer in the next five minutes and since I only wanted a one time technical help to rid me of the file devouring creature, I could have a special price of $235 without the Visa gift card. In desperation, because she sounded so concerned for the life of my computer, I agreed to have the work done later in the afternoon when I was back in the office. She told me she would personally call me before any virus extermination was begun.


My computer program is Vista and it occurred to me that I had seen a free program called Malware on it that will scan for viruses. I pulled it up and scanned. It took a little more than 5 minutes and the damned thing actually scanned 50,501 items. And guess what? It didn't find a single virus. Not to mention that the computer is now running fine. It obviously did need a cleaning.

I just called Cyber Defender back to cancel the $235 technical program. Not so easy. I have now spoken to three different people and still haven't gotten confirmation that they will give me a refund, even though they haven't done the work. My next call is to Master Card to inform them that I am disputing the charge.

Like I said at the beginning. I think I just got scammed. And I bet I'm not the only one this has happened to. The threat of my computer crashing was enough to talk me into anything. Talk about co-dependency. Not too smart, guys. And I'm not even blonde.
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Photo: Can't live with it. Can't live without it.

Will wonders never cease!!!

I think I've stumbled onto a new career! It's not going to make me rich, I'm sorry to report. But I thinks it's going to be an interesting adjunct to my resume.


First the back story. More than ten years ago the significant other and I went to a friend's fabulous birthday party at Vizcaya Museum & Gardens. For those of you not familiar with this extraordinarily beautiful waterfront estate here in Coconut Grove, it was the home of industrialist James Deering. It was built in 1916 at a time when Miami was literally a jungle.

We were so awed by the mansion that first Benard, and two years later, I, studied to become unpaid, volunteer guides. Both of us loved guiding at Vizcaya on Friday afternoons right up until December of 2009. If I say so myself, we were both damned good at it.

I won't go into our reasons for quitting, but suffice to say that the new administration didn't feel my heart was in the required new tour that they had instituted. They were probably right. I thought it was better suited to 5th grade kids and an insult to the guests . I guess it showed. But that's beside the point. What was the point was that I gave up doing something I loved and did for free for eight years.

Fast forward. In February, out of the blue, I received a call asking if I was a "professional" Vizcaya guide. "Hmm," I said to myself. "What the hell. Sure", I answered, "why do you ask?"

Seems the lady on the line was calling from a tour company in Naples, Florida and desperately needed a guide for a group she was busing over, two days hence. When she told me it paid $125 I almost burst out laughing.

The tour went great and I had a ball. I walked away with check in hand and a date in March when she would be needing me again. Now, another phone call, this time from a Miami-based tour company, asking if I would be available to do an evening tour about Miami on a bus taking a group to Vizcaya and then tour the mansion. Sure, I said, so now I'm an instant maven on Miami history, thank you Google. She was paying $25 an hour with a minimum of four hours. Wow! And also, by the way, did I know another Vizcaya guide who might be interested?

Did I know one? I practically live with one. A quick call to the significant other, and we're both on the dotted line. Not to mention potentially $200 richer. My accountant will be impressed.

I'm thinking of revamping my website to reflect my new career path. I've made myself a very professional name badge on the computer so the guests will know who I am, and I'm good to go.

"Welcome to Vizcaya, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Joan and I will be your guide today. ."
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A few thoughts on my life. . .

I've been trying to write my biography for the past year and a half. So far I've gotten up to 1959 and the fact that I missed being stuck in Havana for Castro's revolution because we had a New Year's Eve party in Miami. Those were the days when I went regularly, once a month, to review the new shows at all the major Havana hotels and nightclubs for a man named Paul Bruun who was the Walter Winchell of Miami Beach. I'd write the reviews for his newspaper, the Miami Beach Sun, and he'd put his name on them. My Mother never understood that. Since we were dirt poor at the time, my husband and I understood it very well, especially when the checks arrived.

But back to my biography. Although I am sure nobody will ever read it except, I guess, my daughter, and maybe my grandson under duress, I seem to have this need to put my life down on paper. Maybe because, as my sister Fran always says, she and I are the only ones left who were actually there, at least in the early years.


Years ago, when Alex Haley's "Roots" was brought to television, my Mother decided to write down her family's history. She typed it on her manual typewriter and made carbon copies for Fran and me. It is a fascinating account of a Jewish family's trek from a small Hungarian village named Gyngos, to New York City, at the turn of the century. Mother was actually born in NYC and her description of growing up in what was literally an immigrant society is truly a treasure. All the grandchildren have read it and we are so glad she did write it all down.


Mother was a whiz at typing. She would have loved the computer with it's ability to make instant changes and print out gorgeously clean, multiple copies. Believe me, I remember when one mistake on a finished press release meant you had to go back and do the whole damned thing over again, regardless of erasers and white-out. Incidentally, Mother made both my sister and me take typing in high school because, as she told us, "you can always make a living if you know how to type." Gee, Mom, looks like I'm still doing it.


What's interesting about trying to write your biography is the fact that you are forced to review different times in your life where decisions you made, rightly or wrongly, ended up making a huge difference. At times, it's an exercise in humility. You find yourself wondering, why in hell did I decide to do that. What was I thinking? At other times, I find myself saying, gee, I did that pretty good, didn't I?

I've decided I'm a very lucky person. Don't want to give myself a "kina hura". . the spelling is probably wrong but hopefully you get my meaning. . if not, ask someone who understands Yiddish, it has to do with putting a curse on yourself. . . I've had a really interesting life, and in fact I still enjoy every day. My kids are wonderful. My health is good. I can still do two crossword puzzles a day (sometimes with a little help from the significant other), can't jog any more but still walk miles several mornings a week, and clients still hire me to write for them. I'm the one they hire when they need someone to write "rich". . .that's a joke, they should see my bank balance these days.


I promised myself I was going to do some work on my biography this morning, at least get through a few more decades, but now I'm all written out. Besides, I have to go to Publix and buy cat litter. . .the kind we didn't win in that ill-fated Pet of The Month Contest. Ginger and I are still pissed off about that fiasco, but that's an old story. I'm also thinking I need to finish up on my latest attempt at being a painter.

No wonder I'm still on 1959.
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Photo caption: The first page of my bio on my computer's desk top. . .at least I've done that much.

You go, girl. . .

I was out watching the annual ING Marathon at 7:30 this morning. The route from downtown Miami takes the runners right past the entrance to our street in Coconut Grove, so we routed our morning walk to be able to watch them run by. I marvel at the speed of the front runners, but I really relate to the slower ones who are out there just to prove to themselves that they can actually run 26.2 miles without dying in the process.

Watching them this morning I had a vivid memory of the first race I ever ran. I gave up smoking and took up running on my 50th birthday. By the end of the first year I could run a mile fairly easily but had never considered running in a race. That September, Spector/Anker Associates, our public relations firm, was handling the International Auto Show and someone came up with the brilliant idea of kicking off the show with a 10k foot race that started and ended at the Miami Beach Convention Center.

We got a local running club to organize the run and even got Don Shula, the coach of the Miami Dolphins at the time, to be our honorary race marshall. When the guys from the running club heard that I was a new runner, they insisted that I run in the race. I was frightened at the thought of runing 6.2 miles but I told myself I had a month to get ready and all I had to do was train.

With a few other things on my plate like handling all the pre-publicity for the show and taking care of other clients,, I never got further than 3 miles on any morning run. I tried not to think about the fact that the race was more than twice as long. The wife of a friend of ours was also running in the race. The fact that Jen was in her early 30's, and 20 years younger than me, bothered me a bit, but it was her first race also and at least it was someone who wasn't going to run away from me at the starting gun. It was a gorgeous day, the sun was blazing, and the route took us down through South Beach and back again. As we started out, my clearest memory of the moment is of my two year old grandson (yeah, that was you, Adam) sitting on his grandfather's shoulders, waving to me as I ran by. That was the last good moment I had.

By 4 miles into the race, the sweat was poring down and I was sure I was going to die. What kept me going was that every time I looked at Jen, I would say to myself, "you will not let her run away from you just because she's 30 and you're 50. You will keep running even if it kills you." Jen actually finished the race a minute or two ahead of me. I made a triumphant, if exhausted , finish accompanied by all the members of the Runner's Club who came out to escort me in.

You are not going to believe this, but I actually won lst place in the Women's 50 and over category..Admittedly, I was the only one running in that category that day, but I still have the trophy sitting proudly on my shelf. The best part was Jen's comment as we relaxed in the hot tub on our patio after the race. She told me the only thing that kept her running was watching me and thinking to herself "if that old lady can keep running, damnit, I'm not going to quit."


We ran in lots of races after that, and I still have the tee-shirts to prove it. My running days have slowed down to a brisk walk, but watching the guys and especially the girls at the back of the pack this morning, really took me back. Believe me, I know just how they felt. Totally exhausted but totally determined. Try it some time. Makes for great memories.
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Photo caption: Thumbs up, after a successful race, circa 1981.

Living large on someone else's dime!

If you wonder why I don't retire already, it's because I love my business. For the past 53 years here in Miami, it has taken me to some fabulous places from Havana, Cuba in the early days, to Italy and Spain during my time with the tile and stone industry. Yesterday, it took me to West Palm Beach to the Rybovich Dock Yards, where I warily climbed a metal ladder to board the "My Max", a 113 ft. luxury yacht. I say warily because I was carrying my briefcase in one hand and my handbag in the other, leaving me precious little to grab on to as the ladder and I swayed in the stiff breeze. Needless to say, I made it to the deck safely, so let me tell you why I was there.

Possibly you are familiar with the Simon Company shopping malls around the country. So far, I've had the pleasure (financially and otherwise) of writing the copy for brochures on Mr. & Mrs. Simon's personal properties including a former 162 ft. motor yacht named Te Manu, their estate, Greystone, on Red Mountain in Aspen, two of their three homes in Casa de Campo in the Dominican Republic, and most notably their main residence, Asherwood, in Indianapolis. . .that's the one with its own 18 hole and 9 hole golf courses serving as the back and side yard. I spent three days living there last year writing that one, but that's another story altogether.

Apparently, Mrs. Simon, recently widowed, has decided to sell "My Max', which is listed at a mere $11.5 million, and yesterday's assignment was to hurry up and write copy so the advertising agency can design and produce the brochure in time for the upcoming Miami Boat Show on Feb. 11th.

I left the house at 7:30am in order to arrive at the boatyard by 9:30, driving up I-95, my most disliked highway. I drive a little sportscar and the trucks seems to get ever larger on that road. Personally, I'm a Turnpike girl, but Mapquest refused to show me the closest exit to where I was going, so I submitted, not too happily, to their insistance on their way which was the highway.

The yacht, which was built in Italy in 2000,had recently been totally refitted. . God only knows why. . .but as usual, Mrs. Simon's taste level is superb, and the interior,very art deco in style, is absolutely stunning. I don't want to sound picky, but I think I liked the Te Manu's more classical decor better. Don't tell her I said so. I think that one cost around $80 million, so it deserved to be more gorgeous.

Although CJ Walker, the professional photographer I've worked with on each of these Simon assignments, was already on board shooting, I bring my trusty little Nikon CoolPix (you know, the one that Ashton Kutcher is always playing with on those tv commercials) and take my own photos so that when I get back to my office and start to write I can visually remember what I was trying to say in my chicken scratch notes. My photos won't win any awards, but they do the trick when it comes to remembering details.

I suggested to the ad agency that I wouild get a better "feel" of the yacht if it took me out for a sail. . preferably to some place far away. . .but so far, I'm stuck at the dock. My favorite part of this ship was what the captain called "the garage". ( See photo.) The entire back wall of the boat opened electronically to expose a 16 ft. tender and every kind of water toy you could think of, plus fishing equipment and scuba gear. I might even put on a bathing suit for this one.

As Benard and I often kid his friend Harvey, there's rich, very rich and very, very rich. In this case, I think you have to add several more verys. Even in today's economic recession. Oh well, it was a fun day. . . .now back to reality.
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Photo caption: The ship's "garage" and the best I could do to capture My Max in all its regal beauty.

Baby, It's Cold Out There. . .

Call me a wimp, but I got out my ski underwear and my wooly gloves yesterday. The thermometer on my balcony said 40 degrees, with a wind chill of god-knows what, at 7:30am as I got ready to go out for my morning walk. I've been living in South Florida since 1957. I may not sound like one, (apparently New York is forever in my vocal cords), but I'm a southerner in my bones, and man, it is cold out there.

You gotta love Floridians when the temperature drops below 70 degrees. Even the dogs are sporting sweaters. Last night I got into the elevator to go to my apartment with a woman holding a chihuawa wearing an elegant pink and white striped turtleneck. I commented on the sweater and the woman, in all seriousness, asked if I'd like to see her hat. She then proceeded to proudly plop a matching wool cap, topped by a large pink pompom, on its little head. I just wished I had my camera.

I spent years skiing all over the world and never minded the cold. Apparently my brain accepted the fact that skiing and cold go together along with three layers of clothing and hot chocolate, or better still, hot toddy at apres ski. But here in South Florida, it's a different story. I can't complain to my daughter because the weather's in the teens in Charlotte where she lives, and they are expecting snow, so she isn't exactly sympathetic.

According to the weatherman on TV this morning, it's going to get worse before it gets better. This weekend we'll be dipping down into the low 30's. I may have to add a fourth layer or possibly dig out my goggles and ski mask for Saturday morning's walk. I feel sorry for the events people putting on "Taste of The Grove" this weekend. It's a very popular annual outdoor event in the parks and streets of Coconut Grove. Not exactly picnic weather, I'm afraid.

Any one for a frozen paella or a Cuban coffee popsicle????
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Photo caption: Ginger, ready for the cold weather.
By the way, my faithful bloggers, we didn't win the Ultra Pet "Pet of the Month" contest, despite all your much appreciated votes. We were beaten out by a very worthwhile competitor . .Jasper, aka Tiny Tim. . .a three-legged rescue cat. Wasabi and Ginger, in a show of good sportsmanship, sent Jasper their congratulations. Ginger is still not too happy about losing. . .she gave the Ultra Pearls in her litter box an extra hard kick when she heard.