Look what I found on Facebook from 2009!

25 Random Thoughts

February 5, 2009 at 8:51pm

1. I am not cut out to be a stay-at-home housewife.
2. I think my cat Ginger was an Islamic terrorist in another life.
3. Wasabi, on the other hand, is nothing but sweetness.
4. My daughter Andrea is my best friend these days.
5. All my other friends have either moved away or gotten sick. Bummer.
6. I'd rather go to an art show or a flea market with Andrea than anyone else
7. I miss skiing and all the comraderie that went with it.
8. I have great memories of skiing with my grandson Adam from age of 4.
9. I guess we weren't great role models. At apres ski we would prop him up
on the bar and order him a Shirley Temple with 3 cherries while we drank vodka
10. I can't get my mind around the "number" of my next birthday. Double bummer.
11.I still want to travel. My hit list includes Antarctica to see the polar bears,
Viet Nam and Australia. I also want to climb Machu Pichu.
12. I will never again book a plane ride on the same day as my European cruise ship leaves.
13. I can't believe I am still driving my 10 year old Lexus coupe and have no desire for a new one
14. The economy has made me lose all desire to shop.
15. I have stopped looking at my stock portfolios. They make me ill.
16. I wonder if the market will come back in my lifetime. Let's be practical. . in the next five years.
17. In my head, I am still 5' tall. On my feet, I am shorter than the rest of the world.
18. In my head, I am still young. . .maybe late 50's, early 60's.
19. I remember hearing my parents talk about the Great Depression. I was
born on the day the stock market crashed in 1929.
20. I love living at Grove Isle.
21. I am trying to think up creative ways to spend my time now that business has slowed down
so much. I would much rather work.
22. I read a book about Cuba pre-Castro the other day and it made me think of all my trips
to Havana to review the nite club shows for the Miami Beach Sun newspaper.
23. My public relations business has provided me with more than 50 years of fabulous memories.
24. Nonny's "writing gene" was the gift that keeps on giving. Thanks, Mom, I miss you every day.
25. Two marriages. Two divorces. Damned good life. No regrets.
79 1/2 and holding. . . .

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I have a new painting genre. . . .

My beautiful little great-grandson Grayson is a great fan of a kid's animated TV series called Dinosaur Train.  He has watched it a few thousand times according to his Mom and Dad and even I have watched it a few times whenever I've visited the family in Jacksonville.

I preface this information because Amy, Grayson's Mommy, recently decided to re-decorate his bedroom in a dinosaur theme.  To start it off, she painted a triptych of the bright green dinosaur train and asked me to paint three of the show's characters to serve as framed pictures on the walls.  I was honored at the commission and went right to work.

I recognized "The Conductor" from watching the show.  He is actually a Troodon, according to Google.  I needed Google to acquaint me with my other two subjects, "Tank", a bright blue Triceratop, and "King", a pink and blue Cryolophosaurus.  (Of course you knew that. I knew you would.)

The completed paintings arrived in Jacksonville at the Anker home on Monday, and leave it to Amy, the room is now complete and looking fabulous.  Grayson has made it pretty clear that "King", the pink dino, is his absolute new favorite.  Please check out the photo Amy texted me of  G. studying his new buddy close up.

I've blogged about my animal paintings before, but dinosaurs are something new for me.  Amy says both she and Grayson approve of my finished product.  They can both be tough taskmasters, so if they say they are ok, I guess I can add dinosaurs to my artistic genre.

Grayson watching his favorite show.

Amy's excellent painting of the Dinosaur Train

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"The Conductor"

"Tank"

"King"

Grayson communing with King.

Ship wreck, any one????

My dear friend, Axel Bogen, who lives in Brazil, forwarded me a photo from our past the other day.  I opened my e-mail to see a version of myself from 45 years ago, sitting with a much younger Axel, on a dock in the Gibraltar Naval Yards.  That's Gibraltar, as in Rock of.  The ship behind us, and the story of how we got there, is an interesting one.

Here's what happened.  The ex and I were on our first trans-Atlantic cruise back to the U.S. after having spent three great weeks touring Europe.  It was summertime, and in those days business came to a standstill in Miami during the summer months, so taking a month off was no big deal.  Can't imagine doing that today.  After driving across Switzerland and down the boot of Italy to Genoa, we had boarded the Italian liner, Rafaello, for the final leg of our trip home.

The Rafaello still had three classes at that time. . first class, where we were, second class a few decks below, and third class, down below the water line, filled with families and individuals immigrating to America.  I found this out because on our first night aboard ship we attended a special performance in the ship's night club by a famous European acrobatic dancer who was also making the trip as Guest Entertainer. (If you've ever seen a performance of Cirque de Soleil, you'll know what an acrobatic dancer does.)

 His name was Axel Bogen. (Yes, the same Axel in the picture.)  He was actually German-born, but lived in Rio de Janeiro, and after his performance, which was amazing, he joined a group of us in the ship's bar where we all became friends.  Later in the evening, he invited us to accompany him down to the 3rd class deck of the ship where he gave a performance to the cheering Italian immigrants.  That's how we discovered, and were properly horrified by, the ship's class distinctions.

On the second night of our cruise we were still in the Mediterranean, approaching the Straits of Gibraltar, when the ship's very charming captain threw a fabulous party for the lst class passengers.  I remember someone making an off hand remark wondering who was steering the ship, since the entire crew seem to be at the party,  Apparently, no one was.

We all went to bed about 2 AM, feeling no pain from plenty of liquid celebration, and were woken very abruptly around 3 by a violent jerk of the entire ship.  It was so strong that I was almost knocked out of my berth.   I remember saying to my husband, "I think we hit something."  He famously replied, "Don't be stupid.  Go back to sleep."  Since there were no sirens and nothing seem to be happening, I did.  We weren't to find out what happened until the morning light when we realized the ship wasn't moving and we were still in the Straits and not out in the Atlantic where we were supposed to be.

We definitely hit something alright.  It was a freighter, and we literally cut it in two.  Our ship was apparently going too fast to stop in time when the freighter crossed in front of it and the Straits were too narrow to turn and avoid it..  Thus that lovely big hole in the prow of the Rafaello that you can see in the photo.  Although we passengers were none the worse for the wear, the ship needed to be towed into the nearby Gibraltar Naval Yards to be repaired before it could continue on our voyage.  That's how we got to spend the entire week that we should have been at sea, living on a very landlocked, pretty banged up ship.

Don't feel sorry for us.  We had a ball.  Champagne flowed and caviar reigned, morning, noon and night, all at the expense of the ship.  We, who had just met, all became fast friends, and obviously still are.  A shipwreck will do that for you. We viewed the famous Gibraltar monkeys.  Gambled in the local casino.  Flew in a little plane one day over to Tangiers to shop in the souks. There were no cell phones in those days and it was a while before we could find a proper phone to let our families know we were safe because apparently the wreck was on the evening news and in the newspapers.

Some passengers stayed on board until the ship was completely repaired but after five days our time had run out, so we flew to London an then back home to Miami.  I had actually never seen this photo before, or if I had, I had totally forgotten it.  But it definitely brought back memories of an unforgettable experience.  How often do you get to experience a shipwreck and live to write about it?

I'll drink to that!
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It's a butterfly world out there. . .

I do my weekly Friday morning tram tours at Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden, and by the end of the last tour, at 1pm, I am usually very happy to go directly home.  This Friday marked the last of my tours that included information on the installation of gorgeous Chihuly glass sculpture throughout the Garden.  With the arrival of the Hurricane Season, all art must be removed, and while I will miss the fabulous sculptures, I won't miss the giant crowds and full trams that have marked the last five months.

Newly released butterfly, waiting to open its wings.

Because I had my own visitors on my 12:30 tram yesterday, I stayed to have lunch at the Garden's Glasshaus Cafe and then accompanied my friends into the Exotic Butterfly Garden.  I  always urge  my tram guests to visit the Butterfly Garden, telling them that "it is a magical experience, with literally hundreds of  them fluttering overhead."  To tell you the truth, I hadn't actually visited the enclosed area since it officially opened over a year ago, so yesterday's visit was truly as magical an experience for me as it was for my guests.  It was, in fact, awesome.

We got really lucky and found ourselves on hand for the afternoon "release" of butterflies recently emerged from their cocoons. Two releases a day take place and you have to be very bored with life not to find yourself thrilled when the guide places the quivering butterfly, its wings still closed shut,, on your outstretched hand,  As you hold your breath, it begins to spread its wings a little wider apart with every passing second, until fully open and fluttering gently, it takes off on its first flight into the surrounding foliage.

I promise you, it really is a magical experience.

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Memory of a Mall. . .

Today's Miami Herald has a headline that reads "Cocowalk Sold Again for $87.5 Million".   Boy, did that bring back memories.

For you non-Grovites, CocoWalk is an iconic outdoor shopping mall in the heart of Coconut Grove.  It opened in 1990 to great fanfare and success with early tenants like Banana Republic and South Florida's first Cheesecake Factory.  In recent years it has fallen on hard times, but  I remember those early days well, because I was very much there.  Serving as the center's public relations agency during the building stage and responsible for giving it a name.

CocoWalk's original developer was an upscale French real estate company and my firm was hired during the preliminary stages to get publicity in the local papers and TV stations about its imminent arrival.  It was to be the very first truly commercial enterprise in the center part of the Grove, an area that was just emerging from its hippy period during the 60's, and artsy atmosphere during the 70's and 80's,

One of my first jobs was to name the new enterprise, and as was my practice, I came up with three suggestions, making it very clear that I thought the first was definitely the one with which they should go.
The Grove was originally developed by the Peacock family and one of its distinguishing characteristics is Peacock Park on the edge of Biscayne Bay.  Thus, my first name choice for this exciting new open air mini-mall was, drum roll please. . .Peacock Walk.

Everyone in our office loved the name, as did the ad agency when we told them.  Former New Yorker's among us were quick to note that the famous bar, in that city's posh Waldorf Astoria Hotel, was also called Peacock Walk.  I couldn't wait to present my choice at our next meeting with the client.

I did present it. With a flourish. Followed by dead silence from the client's side of the table.

"Is there a problem?" I inquired sweetly.  "Umm," said the boss client, an elegant Frenchman, looking vaguely embarrassed at what he was about to say.  "Peacock," he murmured, all the time looking down at the table.  "Not such a nice word in France. Do you have another suggestion, mon petit?"

That's how Coconut Grove's first mall got named CocoWalk. The second name on my list.
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Some thoughts about tattoos. .. .

I've never been a big believer in tattoos, but I think I've changed my mind.  I can't explain it better than what my grandson Adam posted on his Facebook page the other day, so I think I will just reprint his words here. 

"I've always loved tattoos but never had anything that I was passionate enough about to make permanent on my body. Then 4 years ago (his bday is tomorrow) Grayson changed our lives. So yesterday, at 36 years old, I got my first tattoo. Yes, that is his actual silhouette. I'm looking forward to explaining to random people the meaning behind the tattoo. DIFFERENT...NOT LESS!!!"

Adam's son, and my beautiful great-grandson Grayson, is autistic.  We have all learned so much about autism in the four short years that he has been with us.  One important moment of understanding about this puzzling situation came when Adam had us all read a book titled "The Reason I Jump" by a 14 year old autistic Japanese boy. That book allowed us to have insight into the very different world that our little boy was experiencing at times.  And if you have ever heard of Temple Grandin, or seen the documentary about her, you will recognize her very important description of people like her who live with autism, ,. "Different. . Not Less". . the words that Adam has added to the design of his tattoo.

I urge you to remember those words, because they are a true description of the person of any age on the autistic spectrum.  The puzzle pieces are also symbolic of autism and the color blue has come be associated with it as well.  A few weeks ago I posted a photo of myself wearing blue to celebrate "Light it up Blue for Autism" week. 

So here is the exciting news I am so happy to share with everyone. So far, Grayson is non-verbal. His Mom, Amy, and his Dad, Adam, have been working along with the wonderful teachers at the school he goes to, to hopefully help him to begin to talk.  Wednesday was G's 4th birthday and he gave all of us an incredible present. (The tears are starting to flow.)

 He spoke his first word!

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Poet laureate, I'm not.

I've never considered myself to be a poet, despite my penchant for writing jingles for every occasion in the life of my daughter Andrea and my grandson Adam.  Andrea received a birthday poem every year from age 16 to 21 and a "wedding poem" on the occasion of her marriage.  Adam was the recipient of poems all through high school and college, ending in his graduation from the University of Florida, although I think I remember writing a poem when he married Amy.

I mention this because I have just entered a poetry contest.  Don't ask why.  It's not exactly Emily Dickinson style poetry, actually it's more like haiku, very off beat, and really shouldn't rhyme, but it is a contest.  And the more I read about it, the more I knew I had to at least try.

This is O, Miami month here in Miami.  O, Miami is a Knight Foundation-funded organization that expands and advances literary culture in Greater Miami, FL.  At least that's what it says on the web site.  It produces visiting writer series and other programs that bring the best literature to the greatest number of people.  It also produces an annual Poetry Festival and this year they are asking entries to write an "Ode To Their Zip Code".  In other words, a five line poem with each line having the exact amount of words as the numbers in your zip code.

My zip code is 33133.  Not a lot of letters to work with, that's for sure, and please remember, I live in a place called Coconut Grove, and they tend to look for weird.  Here's my entry:

ODE TO 33133

Groove on, Grove.
Miami's last vestige
of
the bohemian lifestyle
disappearing into air.
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The winners get to read their entries aloud at the Festival's grand finale.  I'll let you know how I do.  Don't hold your breath.

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