Never too old to be star-struck. . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

Welcome to the world, Grayson Max Anker. . .

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

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

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

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

Never too late to learn. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not too bad for an octogenarian.
# # #
Photo: Stephanie's "Tai Chi for Enlighteners". Visit her website at www.enlighteners.com
.

The view from up here. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something to think about. . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Think about it.
# # #

It's Super Bowl time. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow! Did I ever really look like that?????
# # #

Run, Craig, Run. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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