Piggly Wiggly

"Oh, how I long for the days of the Piggly Wiggly."

Piggly Wiggly was the first true self-service grocery store. It was founded on September 6, 1916 in Memphis, Tennessee by Clarence Saunders.  This "new" model of grocery store would change the way Americans shopped for groceries.

For about 15 years now, since around the time the gay community discovered Wilton Manors and adopted it as their own, there's been a drive (pun intended) to change the character of Wilton Drive, the main drag through the central part of the island city. The most common refrain is to "make it more like Las Olas," which is a 7-block stretch between downtown Fort Lauderdale and the beach to the east. East Las Olas Boulevard is peppered with high-end shops, restaurants and bars and it's been a touristy place since the days of Spring Break and "Where the Boys Are."

When I moved to Wilton Manors in 1987, this tiny piece of real estate was just a suburb of downtown Fort Lauderdale. Surrounded by the south fork of the Middle River, it was home to doctors, judges, bank vice presidents and school teachers with a population of 11,000 or so. Mostly middle class, we were neighbors with others like us, young families with school age children.

In those days, there was a Piggly Wiggly in the shopping center on Wilton Drive at NE 6th Avenue. It was accompanied by a Social Security office, a paint store, a small exercise studio and a coffee shop. A bar with a pool table occupied the corner store, naturally called "The Corner Pocket," and the end spot adjacent to the Drive sold sunglasses.

To the south were little strip shopping centers in the blocks along Wilton Drive. There was quite a variety of offerings that regular people might need or want. A plant nursery on the south side of the shopping center offered native and exotic plants cultivated in decorative clay pots along with  advice on how to get things to grow. Next to the nursery was a strip center with an antique store, a record store, a doll shop, a quilting shop, and About Town Lock & Safe, which I think is still in business today. Across the street was my favorite thrift shop, Hidden Treasures. The two women who ran it had big personalities and a whole lot of style and their ever changing collection of merchandise made a favorite spot for many local fashionistas.

Dairy Queen, painted by Nia Nakis

On the west side of The Drive further south you would have found an office supply store, insurance agency, and hair salons. The Junior League Thrift Shop was a fun visit, offering high end women's clothing and accessories for really good prices. There were two laundromats, a Burger King, a camera shop and a few bars and restaurants, the best of which was Wings 'n Things. And, Dairy Queen, which survives today and is a landmark for locals and visitors alike.

Since the Great Recession, a lot of things have changed around town. Taller buildings. More people and more cars. Lots of bars and restaurants. And, not many businesses like what there was when I came here to live.

I get that change is inevitable, but, I don't think all change is good. Sometimes we need to just leave things alone. Humans have the tendency to be short sighted and I thing that's what's happened to Wilton Drive. Many of today's small businesses struggle to survive. With little daytime traffic and the overall impact on retail of the internet, it's a tough go for those selling their wares. Rents continue to climb and local leadership tends toward creating a "tourist destination" rather than serving the tax paying residents in the community.

Wilton Drive is never going to be like Las Olas Boulevard. You cannot make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. Eventually, they will figure it out, but, for me, it's a time gone by. Hence, I long for the days of the Piggly Wiggly, when things were easier.

The first day of the last month of the year ...

Being a grownup is hard work. The responsibility of a job places time constraints on how we get things done and I've been lucky to have a boss who tolerates my tardy arrivals when I try to cram too much into the early morning before I leave my house. But, I grow weary of the long commute. When I began working at my current job back in 2005, it took me 25 minutes to get from my house to my office. Today it requires 40 to 45 minutes to make the same journey. That is 7.5 hours per week spent in my car getting back and forth to my job. Or, 16.25 days per year. Insert a sad face here. Why? There are just too many people in southeast Florida where I have lived for the past 41 years. And, the rich developers keep building high rise condominiums priced for the wealthy. Affordable housing? Not in Florida. Not anymore. So, my long commute may well grow longer.

I've always worried about money. I never had enough of it.  As I move closer to retiring from my full time job with benefits, I'm getting butterflies in my stomach. Will my meager retirement income be enough? Will I be able to find part-time and/or free lance work to fill the gap? Will I grow into one of those sad old ladies at the nursing homes whose families have abandoned them because they had to sell everything they owned to be able to qualify for Medicare to get into the nursing home in the first place? Now, THAT is a frightening prospect, for sure. Should I work til I'm 70? What do I really want to do? Why am I so anxious about this?

The current proposed tax bill making its way through the Senate this week scares the bejesus out of me. This could change the way we live in America. I think of "The Hunger Games" and the division of classes and I fear we are hurling toward a time when the rich have everything and the rest of us just survive. I am stunned at how the dynamics of class division is being manipulated in the media today to prevent oppressed groups from joining forces into a united front against the government's actions to rob from the poor and give it all to the rich. Apathy runs rampant. Where do we go to to protest? Our legislators aren't listening to us!

My escape from all these tough issues is, of course, art and fashion dolls. They are way more fun and way less stressful than all that other stuff, but, I cannot ignore what is going on in this tiny life of mine. My struggle to survive is nothing compared to those in Yemen, for example. Yet, a struggle it is at times. I've kept my tongue in my head for a long time now. That's over. I'm writing. Finding these words has been a real effort this morning, but, there they are. My thoughts. My truth. My joys and my fears. Mostly my fears today because the Senate is voting on that fucking tax bill that will make the rich richer and richer. Insert another sad face here and let's call it a day. Time to start decorating for Christmas!

Around here ...

I haven't been here in awhile. Did you miss me?



That's what I thought.

There's lots been going on around here. Just to catch you up on things ...

... hosted five ... count 'em! 5! ... art exhibitions at Art Gallery 21 at the Woman's Club of Wilton Manors between October 2015 and May 2016.

... finished my eleventh year visiting fourth and fifth grade classrooms and talking about living in the Everglades. (Yes. We live IN the Everglades, on drained land.)

... preparing to install a museum exhibit which I have titled, "the Barbie story," using my personal Barbie doll collection to show her #evolution as a social icon and popular children's toy.

... working with the City of Wilton Manors Leisure Services Department to bring the "official" Wilton Manors Visitors and Newcomers Welcome Center to the art gallery.

... getting stronger in Jazzercise classes, increasing my weights by one pound and jumping for the first time in two years!

What have you been up to???

Reflecting on Road Rage

This morning, on my drive to work, I had a most remarkable experience. I stewed over it for more than two hours, then posted this to Facebook:

WARNING! If you get behind this car and the woman driving doesn't proceed because she's chatting on her cell phone, whatever you do, do NOT blow your horn to alert her to the situation. Otherwise, she will jump out of her car and yell at you and threaten you. That's what she did to me. Jeez! What a grump!





I thought that would allow me to put the incident to rest. But. It hasn't worked. I keep seeing her grey Victoria's Secret shirt and her bunched up hair, with that big mouth of hers not six inches from my face, yelling, "You don't want to fuck with me!" and, for a moment, I thought she was going to hit me. I just stared at her, thinking that if I didn't respond verbally, she would back off. And, she did.

I thought about giving her the finger and saying, "fuck you," but, in the nanosecond that it took me to choose NOT to do those things, I considered it would prevent things from escalating. Some folks are just looking for someone to go up against. For this particular individual, it wasn't going to be today and it wasn't going to be me.

The more I thought about what I coulda, woulda, shoulda done, the more I came to realize how vulnerable we are in our cars. Had I not had my window down enjoying the morning air, would she have smashed it? Had I attempted to back up and go around her, would that, could that have resulted in an ugly accident? And, the ferocity with which she attacked me, albeit verbally, and that element of surprise ... are those not the techniques the terrorists used in Paris and other locations around the world? What person thinks they're going to be shopping for bread or having dinner or sitting at a stop sign when some lunatic decides it's time to shoot them, bomb them, attack them, whether with weapons or with words? How are we to respond? Do we just sit there as I did or do we take action? And, how do we know which is the right thing to do?

After stewing over this for the better part of the day, I will make a conscious effort to be kind. I don't feel like being kind, to be perfectly honest. I feel like pounding some bitch's face in. But, I'm going to choose peace and joy and kindness. I'm also going to think about carrying my gun in my car.

If this was karma coming at me this morning, then I must be kind. Think kind thoughts. Do kind deeds. And, hope that wench in the black VW Jetta with Florida license plate 725LMK doesn't cross my path again. Next time I might not be so nice.

Freakin' Friday Fodder

There was a nice article in the Sun-Sentinel earlier this week about how the Mayor and Board of Commissioners of Wilton Manors had directed city staff to find an appropriate location within the city to fly the rainbow flag permanently.  I hoped that my neighbors who had shared their concerns over the flying of the flag in front of City Hall saw the article and that it would offer them some reassurance that they weren’t being rejected for being not-gay. I understood their feelings. More than once in the past week or so I have heard or read statements along the lines of, “It’s like they want to get rid of us.”  I have felt that way a time or two, myself, but, sloughed it off as me being too sensitive.

So, there I was, flipping through the online edition of the South Florida Gay News this morning, and on page 2, above the Table of Contents, the headline read “Wilton Manors City Commission Votes To Fly Rainbow Flag Permanently.” There were little photos of individuals with little quotes under them, so I zoomed in to see what folks had to say.

RJ Petrucci: “Yes the WM community should have an incredible favorable bias celebrating the gay residents and tourists that turned the ghetto slum of 1995 into a world famous upscale vacation destination in 2015.”

And, David Mann: “Str8s have the whole country to feel comfortable in; Wilton Manors gays have a few miles of city block.”

I read those quotations a couple more times, just to make sure I was understanding what was said. And, then, I realized that my heart hurt.

I’ve lived in Wilton Manors since April 1987. It wasn’t a “ghetto slum” then, or I wouldn’t have bought a home here. It was a perfect neighborhood for a family with kids. The elementary and high schools were within walking distance and Hagen Park was a block away. Instead of bars and restaurants lining Wilton Drive, there was a Junior League thrift store, an office supply store, a hair salon, an exercise studio, the Piggly Wiggly store, and Wings 'n Things, along with many other small businesses, all providing services to those of us who lived here. It wasn’t a slum. It was a small town in Florida.

And, as for us “str8ts” having the “whole country to feel comfortable in … “ I’ve been here 28 years. Where the heck am I going to go? I have invested nearly half my life in this city, as have many of my other not-gay neighbors. Where could we possibly go after all this time and “feel comfortable?” What a thoughtless comment that is ...

The word “divisive” was reportedly bandied about during the commission meeting when the decision was made to find a place for the rainbow flag. Now, I understand why. Those gay property owners who think they have somehow saved our city need to realize that all the “str8ts” who accepted them when they came here are as much a part of the city’s revitalization as they are.

I like the word “diversity” much more than I like that word, “divisive.” We're each one different, for sure, but, we're all human beings. It takes all of us, working together, to make our little island city a place of peace and prosperity. I sincerely hope a rainbow flag doesn’t spoil it.

My "Mayberry" ...

NOTE: Tuesday night I made a little speech to my mayor and city commission. I ran a little over the three minutes they allow for "public speaking," but, I think I got my point across. Here's what I said. You decide.

I moved into my home on April 12, 1987. My daughter was born five days later and she grew up in a neighborhood where we knew everyone on our street. She walked to elementary and high school and spent many hours at Hagen Park and Mickel Field.

I awoke in the wee hours this morning thinking about The Andy Griffith Show’s episode 10 from season one, “Stranger in Town.”  It was on cable TV last night. The citizens of Mayberry were suspicious of a young stranger who seemed to know everything about them. It turned out that his army buddy was from Mayberry and he had loved hearing his friend talk about home. After discharge, he began subscribing to the local newspaper and he had decided to come to Mayberry and make it his home. Thanks to the sensitivity and wisdom of the local sheriff, the folks of Mayberry came to see this man deserved to be welcomed because he loved their small town as much as they did.

So, there I am at three in the morning thinking about this, and I had a little epiphany.  I’m watching my “Mayberry” morph into something I don’t recognize and I can’t do anything about it.

My daughter is 28 years old now and, sadly, I don’t know everyone on my street any more. Of the ten houses that line my block, four of them are vacation rental businesses. Today, three are lined up in a row, across the street from where I live.

There are those who say these houses were blighted and their rehabbing has increased our property values. I don’t know if that’s true. I agree that they look pretty. But, the thing is, they’re not part of community life. There’s no one to know. They’re not residents. And, that makes me suspicious.

When this whole conversion thing started a few years ago, it took me a while, but, I came to accept the business across the street. After all, I didn’t have much choice.  Then, I discovered there were two other vacation rental businesses on our street, but, they were scattered in between my real neighbors, so, I worked at making peace with their presence, too. I knew the State Legislature had stripped municipalities of the ability to regulate vacation rentals in any meaningful way, so, I knew I had to be patient and give the cities time to find a way to rein them in.

Then, last month, an owner occupied house between two vacation rentals was sold and I’ve learned it is being converted to a vacation rental, making three vacation rental businesses in a row, across the street from where I live. So, I have come here to ask. Can you do anything about that? Is it okay for 40% or 50% of a residential neighborhood to be Stepford Wife vacation rental businesses?  Don’t we, homesteaded residents, have a say in this? And, if not, why not?

U.S. property laws guarantee me the “right of quiet enjoyment” of MY property. That’s pretty much gone from my life and, I admit, I’m mad about it. Please? Can you guys help save my “Mayberry?”

Thank you.

a little Friday reminiscing ...

I saw this picture on Pinterest and saved it to my phone. It reminded me of an earlier time in my life, when I was still figuring out who I was going to be.

I lived in Key West, Florida from April 1975 until October 1982, before the Navy sold Truman Annex and the cruise ships arrived. For most of those years I drove a 1958 Nash Metropolitan just like this one. It was a hardtop with bench seats and the gear stick on the column. It was "Caribbean Green!"

I bought it for $260 from an older woman named Shirley who lived on the Gulf side of Big Pine Key. She purchased it "new" in Miami and drove it into the Keys and it had never been further north than Miami in its life. It had 5,800 miles on it when I bought it and it had been sitting in her garage for a few years. With the help of a friend, we put a new battery in it, and it started right up. The body was made of galvanized steel making it resistant to the rust that permeates vehicles in the subtropics and it was a very sturdy little car! It was an awful lot of fun to drive!

During the years I owned this car I was involved with the local community theatre group at the Waterfront Playhouse. One of the directors, Ruth Newton, brought guest artists into town for one or two shows at the theatre to raise money. One day, she asked me if I could pick up a man at the Key West airport. His name was Kevin McCarthy and he was doing his one man show, "Give 'em hell, Harry." I was to take him to the Pier House so he could check in to his hotel room, then bring him to the theatre.

When Mr. McCarthy (I never could call him Kevin) approached my car in front of the airport that day with his leather valise in hand, he laughed at my car, then told me he had done TV commercials for Nash-Rambler in the 1950s for the Metropolitan. He said there were less than 14,000 of them produced, which seemed like a lot to me, but, I would learn it really wasn't much. He seemed quite delighted to be escorted around Key West in my little car and it was certainly fun for me. He was an absolute gentleman the entire time and actually talked of his wife and son with much fondness. I took him back to the airport when it was his time to depart and he gave me his address and phone number and told me to call when I finally made it to New York City. I never made it and now he's gone. But, I've got this lovely memory!

I also had the privilege of schlepping Academy Award winning actress Estelle Parsons around in 1979 when she came to do her one woman show, "Miss Margarida's Way." My girlfriend and I were her "handlers." They didn't call it that back then, but, that's what we did. We took her shopping, out to eat, drinking, and, I'm telling you, she was a wild woman! She called us on stage during her performances and I do believe Kristy and I held our own during the improvisations! It was a dynamite experience to be that close to that kind of talent and I prayed some of it would rub off on me!

Superman's love interest, Lois Lane, drove a custom Metropolitan on the 1950s TV show, and that did as much to make it famous as any of the television commercials. Mine was the only Metropolitan in the Lower Keys and for those few formative years I was someone special because I drove that car.

I grew up in the Commonwealth of Virginia with a very bossy (some would say overbearing) mother, so driving around a tiny island at the southernmost point in the United States, far away from her, in my little Lois Lane car gave me the freedom to discover myself. I really needed that. I needed to be around other people, especially other women, who lived their lives on their own terms. It showed me the way I wanted to go. And, while it's not an easy path to travel, I think it's much of the reason I've been able to find joy in the face of despair. I had great role models and for that I am eternally grateful.

baby in the cradle

How odd.
I've discovered something that's NOT on Wikipedia.

Do you remember CB radios? They were popular with truck drivers before there were cell phones, allowing truckers to talk to each other while they were driving. They'd share weather and traffic info, alert their fellow drivers where the cops were set up with their speed traps, and if someone had trouble, a CB radio call brought help. When Burt Reynolds' movie, "Smokey and The Bandit" hit movie theatres across the country in 1977, CB radios became popular with mainstream America and the CB culture was born! Got that, good buddy?

I had been living in Key West for nearly seven years when Reagan's recession hit in 1983 and I lost all three of my jobs, one at a time. It was a desperate time for me. I didn't want to leave Key West. I loved it there. I wasn't a world traveler, so, I didn't know where else I could go and find work. I'd been playing around with the idea of Fort Lauderdale; I'd been there a couple of time with my girlfriend and it had a good vibe. But, you don't just up and move when you have a child. You have to plan and prepare. I wasn't yet smart enough to understand this, so I drove to my mother's in Virginia and left my daughter with my mom while I figured out what I was going to do. We agreed it would only be for a few weeks.

It was on that return trip to Key West that I learned about "baby in the cradle."

I was driving a 1977 Toyota Celica, like the one in the picture. From Key West to my mother's home in Virginia was a 13 hour ride, and, back then, I could handle it, stopping only when one of us had to go to the bathroom. It was me, the kid and our dog, and we made it to our destination without incident.

I stayed over for two nights, leaving my mom's right after dinner on the third day for the return run, thinking I could get through the Carolinas and Georgia and well into Florida by morning. Traffic late at night was mostly tractor trailers hauling freight. There weren't that many tourists driving to Florida back in the early 1980s; nothing like it is today. Disney World and Spring Break were folks' main reasons for coming to Florida back then.

I thought I was making really good time when I hit South of the Border at the NC/SC state line just after midnight, so I pulled into a Burger King for a cup of coffee and a bathroom break for me and the dog. I also bought her a hamburger. And, no, she didn't get the bun or the pickle; just the burger! When we'd finished our break, I got back into my car to head out, but it wouldn't start. It was definitely a "what the fuck" moment. Here I was, a long way from home with a tiny amount of money and no idea what to do.

I sat on the curb next to my car, the hood up, talking to the dog, trying to figure out what my next move was. I was grateful that it was night and there weren't a lot of people around. I was able to have a good cry. I'd been sitting there for a while when two guys came out of the Burger King and asked me what the problem was. I told 'em my car wouldn't start. The taller of the two walked over to his big rig and brought out a tool box. The other one, puffing on his Marlboro, poked around in the engine. It took them just a few minutes to diagnose my problem. The tall one said, "Your alternator is shot."

When I asked what that meant, they explained to me that they could get my car started, but, the battery wouldn't charge and I wouldn't be able to run my headlights. They suggested I wait until morning and return to my mother's in Virginia. They were clear that trying to drive to Key West without headlights was a risky thing to do. (Yes. I was foolish enough to think I could do it.)

I remember quietly crying and thanking them for their help and watching as they packed up their tools. The tall guy walked over to his truck, and the Marlboro man walked around behind the Burger King.

I watched as the tall one pulled his rig out onto the highway; then, he pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway. At the same time, the Marlboro man came around from behind the Burger King in his rig and stopped right in front of me. I was still sitting on the curb with the dog on the leash. Mr. Marlboro jumped down from his cab and walked toward me.

He asked me if I was a fan of "Smokey and the Bandit."

Well, of course I was! Who wasn't?

Then he asked me if I had a CB radio in my car.

I did. My handle was "Lady Blue."

Then, he explained to me what they (he and the the tall guy) could do. He asked me if I knew what "baby in the cradle" was. I didn't. Then he explained it.  I could drive my car in between their trucks without my headlights. They were going to Jacksonville, planning to be there come morning, and if I could keep up, this was what they would do for me.

I don't know why they were willing to help me. To this day I cannot tell you why these two men would help a weepy woman with a dog. But, they did. And, I was very grateful.

I asked the Marlboro man if I could go pee and, before he could answer, I handed him the dog's leash. I didn't know how long it would be before they stopped, but, I had consumed a cup of coffee and I needed to tinkle before we hit the road. I was definitely in.

Driving your car between two big rigs is intimidating. Under normal circumstances, when you hit your brakes, your car stops within a few car lengths, based on the speed at which you're traveling. A tractor trailer needs a lot more of those 'car lengths' to come to a complete stop, so there's no messing around when you're riding in the "cradle." I spent the night listening and watching and maintaining 70 mph.

I will admit that the first hour or so was a bit harrowing. If you've ever driven through Georgia via I-95, there is one long stretch that's just forest on both sides of the road for as far as you can see. Somewhere in that stretch of road I began to feel comfortable. They chatted it up on the CB and every now and then they would call out to me. I was so overwhelmed by their kindness that I didn't know what to say most of the time.

We stopped at a truck stop around 5 AM, about 30 miles from the Florida state line. They started talking to me about stopping a good half hour before we ever exited the highway. It was the hardest part for me, maintaining speed and distance, slowing down slowly while watching behind and in front. But, I did it. Or, THEY did it!

They bought me breakfast, waited while I got gas and we got out on the road that one last time. As we crossed the Florida state line, the sun was coming up and they got chatty on the CB. They began explaining to me what was going to happen when we got to Jacksonville, that they would be exiting the highway and I would continue on my journey to Key West. I remember telling them I wished there was some way I could thank them. And, I remember the Marlboro man saying, "Get home safe. That'll be thanks enough."

It's been a really long time since I thought about that trip from Virginia to Key West. A single memory, frozen in my mind. So, when it surfaced recently, as old memories are prone to do, I Googled "baby in the cradle." I was truly surprised that there was nothing at all. Not a single entry.

Since that time, I have loved and respected truck drivers. I'm the one who slows to let them pull over in front of me on the highway when no one else will. And, I'm the one who gets mad (and, blows her horn) at people who cut in front of big rigs. Those idiots need to spend a night in the 'cradle' to teach them a lesson! Although, these days, you probably won't see that happening. Too many cars, too many people and way too many regulations. And, lots of highway patrol officers.

Wherever the tall guy and the Marlboro man went, whatever they did after that night, I'm sure their good karma followed. Lucky for me those angels were on duty that night. They kept me safe and helped me get home. Thank you, both.

homelessness

I read the local newspaper almost every day. The (Fort Lauderdale) Sun-Sentinel. And, I'm talking about the actual newspaper, the one that's delivered to your front door. Not the digital version. There's just something about the newspaper ... the way you hold it up to shut other folks out as you read the news or the comics or the obituaries. There's a melody to the rustling paper as you turn the pages. Sometimes I even get a whiff of the ink used to print the paper and I like that.

There have been a lot of stories in the "Local" section of the news this past year about the homeless situation in Fort Lauderdale. The groups that feed them on the beach have been targeted because feeding the homeless people at the beach interferes with the tourists' perception of paradise and that is contrary to the Fort Lauderdale mayor and city commission. They think it should appear that life in south Florida is all sunshine and rainbows so everyone wants to come here. Which is exactly why the homeless come here. It's warm. And, someone will feed them.

Last week, I left my office to get a sandwich. I got caught by the traffic signal and so, had time to sit and watch what was going on at the bus stop there on the corner. There's a bench and there is usually a couple of folks waiting for the next bus. I am an avid people watcher, but, on this particular day, there was this woman ... she was wrapped from head to toe in a rather stylish combination of fashions and she walked in circles around the bench, talking to someone unseen by me. There were people waiting for the bus, but they had clearly distanced themselves from her. 

As she repeated her path around the bench, I noted there were several shopping bags leaning against the bench, clearly filled with this woman's few personal belongings. I watched in fascination as she walked around and around the bench and I wondered to myself how a person could be this way, how they could repeat this walking around the bench over and over. I wondered how long she had been here. I grabbed my camera and fired a couple of shots.

Then, the light changed and I went to Burger King.

Later the same day, a little after 4:30, I headed back toward that traffic signal. There is a gas station on that corner and I was on "E" for empty. I pulled in, parked next to the pump, swiped my ATM card and set the pump to fill my tank. And, as I leaned against my car to wait, I saw her.

The woman. Walking in circles around the bench. Still. Four hours later. So, once again, I grabbed my camera.

I don't know much about homeless people. I am deeply saddened by families who live in their cars, a type of homelessness that no one talks much about. I see people sleeping in the bushes sometimes on the back side of the bus station. And, I know the local police often find homeless individuals hiding, sleeping, peeing and pooping in the beautiful landscaping we have here in sunny, south Florida. It seems these folks have little regard for the other folks around them, though. This lack of respect makes it hard for me to have sympathy for them. Why can't they just get a job and get their life together? What's so hard about that?

You see, the thing is ... I know how hard it can be. I've watched my brother struggle with issues that caused him to be homeless just two years ago. He's in a group living facility today, working day labor and just getting by, but he still hasn't found a full-time job. I often wonder if there is a connection between those two things? The homelessness status and getting a job?

I wish I knew.

They are not going away anytime soon. Not until it's warmer up north. Then there aren't as many of them. Especially during the summer. They come back, though. When it gets cold up north, they head south and a lot of them like Fort Lauderdale Beach. I don't think they're here for fun in the sun, though. I think they come here just to keep warm. It's a good thing the sunshine is free, isn't it?

the color blue

I love the color blue, like the blue skies we see often here in Florida.
I often take pictures of the blue skies and the puffy white clouds.

I have blue eyes and I love blue jeans. 

I don't feel blue very often, but I love blues music.

My favorite Joni Mitchell song is titled, "BLUE."

The summer skies are a different shade of blue than in winter.

At the beach, there are a multitude of blues, the sky and the water ...

Then there's the blues of the Florida Keys, a one-of-a-kind place for sure.

My new year (so far) in pictures ...

Viele Road, early morning. It rained the night before which makes the green grass shimmer like emeralds. Lucky for me, a heron decided he wanted to be in the picture!

My Soroptimist club hosted a poster contest for high school juniors and seniors. The purpose was to increase the awareness of human trafficking, an awful abomination against people. The students were delightful, the winners were ecstatic with their cash awards, and the kids all appeared to have a great time.

I had these two skeins of sock yarn. I tried three times to crochet a sock, but, it wasn't working. So, I started making little granny squares. Don't know what I'm going to do with them. Yet. But, I'll come up with something. I just love the colors of this variegated yarn!

Coming back to work, I took a ride along Anapu Road. It's much more scenic than the main thoroughfares. Then, I spotted this guy. Looking so alone and forlorn. I was glad I had my camera with me.

I've been "playing" with "To The Fair" Poppy Parker lately. She was the W Club upgrade doll two years ago and she's really quite stunning. I combed her hair out, so it's loose and it gives her a much softer appearance. I'm getting into redressing my girls, too. This is my zen.

Around here ...

BEING AN ARTIST ...
In my quest to become an artist, I jump at any chance to use a paint brush. My darling husband carved this block of wood to resemble a snow man (including his hat!) and I spent a few evenings painting him. I've got these cheap acrylic paints I picked up from Pearl last year, before they closed, so, I gave them a try. It took four coats of the white to get the smooth white effect of snow, and it took 5 coats of black to get the hat to look like I wanted. His nose was also created by dh and painted orange by me. The little green scarf was a quick crochet!



TEACHING ...

In my job, I follow a script to talk to fourth and fifth grade students about living in the Everglades and about water management. There's not much room for changes, but this year has been challenging. I haven't figured out (yet) how our program meets the new "Common Core Standards," but I'm working on it. My motto? As long as the teachers are happy, I'm happy!

DESIGNING ...

Still working with my darling daughter, the entrepreneur, and creating some fun things for use on social media. A lot of folks in my generation pooh-pooh social media, but, I think it's here to stay. As a user, I think it's a lot of fun and a great way to stay in touch with family and friends.

DISCOVERING ...

Many of the elementary schools I visit have butterfly gardens. The past ten years has seen a  huge, countywide movement to restore habitats for Florida's wildlife. Recently, I discovered a caterpillar that looks like a pile of bird poop on a tree branch. It's a swallowtail  caterpillar and, had it not been pointed out to me, I would never have seen it, much less recognized it! Once again, Mother Nature has an amazing way to keep the planet going!

Only 7 shopping days left until Christmas!

Around here ...

September. It's still hot here in south Florida, but the light is changing. That's how I know that those "crisp autumn days" are approaching. Nope. No colored leaves here. And, no, the temperature changes are infinitesimal ... maybe one degree cooler than August, so we're talking 89 or 90 instead of 91 or 92. Still, the light is changing, so I know fall is in the air.

I like the beginning of the school year. It gives me an excuse to deliver pencil bouquets to the teachers in my 12 elementary schools along with a newsletter reminding them about our environmental programs. The kids are all decked out in their new uniforms with freshly cut hair and polished shoes! It's a time of great hope that THIS year will be the best one ever!

Art Gallery 21 will open its 2014-2015 season next week, so I've been busy preparing for the first show with artist Nia Nakis. She uses acrylics on canvas to create vibrant images of Florida and the Mediterranean area where she was born. It's her first one-woman show and I'm very excited for her!

I'm anxiously counting the days until I leave for Orlando and my second Integrity Toys Convention! Last year I traveled alone to Los Angeles and had a fantastic time, but, this year, I have several doll friends who will be in Orlando with me, so that will make it even more special I'm sure! I've applied to be a table host, but they're not notifying people until later this month, so I'm eagerly waiting on that, too! I wish there was somewhere on the internet where you could post a sign that says, "PICK ME! PICK ME!"

People who aren't doll collectors don't understand why we love doll conventions. In addition to the IT Convention, there's the National Barbie Doll Collector's Convention and the United Federation of Doll Collectors Convention, and there are conventions in Japan and Paris that, if I had the resources, I would gladly attend.  I'm certain it's because we doll collectors form our own tribe and there is no need for explanations about what many perceive as an eccentric hobby. When you meet another doll person, there are so many things that are simply understood via osmosis. It's truly the most wonderful experience one can have and I highly recommend it!

We had another Super Moon this month, and that was awesome to see! It's like something out of a movie right outside your front door!

As you'll see, the days between now and the New Year will fly by fast! Halloween's just around the corner, then, Thanksgiving and Christmas seem to go by at warp speed. Hang onto your hat and have a good time! Wishing you all a glorious September!

bullies on the highway ...

I have a really big beef with folks who drive. It's one of those things that no matter what a person does, it's not going to change anything. But, I still have a beef. So, I have decided to air my grievances here on my blog. After all, it is MY blog.

I live in sunny south Florida and use I-95 every day to get to my job. I follow all the rules of the road. I don't talk or text while I'm driving. I don't get in the fast lane and drive slow. I don't cut in front of people. Consequently, I haven't been involved in a traffic accident for 10 years.

Monday through Friday, I drive west on Sunrise Boulevard to the entrance ramp for southbound I-95. The problem is with the access to the entrance ramp. I don't know what engineer came up with the design, but I'd like to smack him up aside his head!

Sunrise is a 3-lane major roadway. On the approach to the left turn lane for the southbound ramp to I-95, the left turn lane is a single lane. There is a traffic signal to allow the traffic crossing Sunrise to the northbound ramp. On the other side of this intersection, the lane continues as a single lane until 5 car lengths before the traffic signal that permits that left turn onto the southbound ramp.

THIS is where the problem is. At the 5 car lengths point, that single left turn lane expands into two left turn lanes, allowing 2 cars through the signal on green, thus moving the traffic quickly onto the Interstate highway. What wasn't taken into account by that engineer was all the jerks who were going to race by those of us in line single file to cut in front of the cars approaching that 2-lane section of road. They speed by the line and cut right in so they make the next signal, instead of having to wait as many as three rotations of the signal to get through the intersection like the rest of us respectfully do. And, they appear to have no conscience about it. I blow my horn at them. I yell at them. I have even engaged in unladylike gestures when a driver is particularly rude, but all to no avail.

This vehicle cut in front of me and when I honked,
the driver used a rude gesture to express his annoyance
that I would blow my horn! Talk about jerks!

When I was a school girl and someone cut in the lunchroom line, there was a lot of verbal protest and the person was forced to go to the end of the line. We can't do that here. The police don't care; they've got real crimes to solve, real criminals to chase. So, I am stuck with these bullies on the highway and there's not a darned thing I can do about it.






Then, one morning I started taking their photos. I love my Galaxy S5 and its 13 megapixel camera. So, that is how I vent my frustration now. It's how I prevent "road rage." Instead of yelling or honking, I take their picture. If they have no regard for me, why should I have any regard for them?

I know it doesn't change anything. These drivers are still bullies. But, it makes me feel better to take their pictures. (The ones you see here are from August.) And, it is a relief to post them here and put them out to the Universe.

If you recognize a car, feel free to tell that driver to stop being a bully.  I hope you embarrass that person. They deserve to be embarrassed, among other things.

The world is tough enough without having to fight to get to work. No one is going to get where they're going any quicker by being in bully. In fact, you might even make yourself late. I think they call it karma ...

around here ...

"Fakahatchee Strand" by Peter J. Nolan

watching the skies ... as the storms build in the west on most afternoons only to rain down on our heads when it's time to drive home from work

finishing the 'house' for the generator, which we'll need if a storm knocks out power

re-reading "Nature Girl" by Carl Hiaasen

"Beatnik Blues" Poppy Parker, dressed in white

taking pictures of my girls as I attempt to master aperture and shutter speed (still)

planting blue flowers around the gumbo limbo tree in front of the house






worrying about my baby girl as she struggles with administrative issues on her way to an MBA

listening to Joni Mitchell with my darling husband

"Turnpike Southbound" by Mary Watkinson

preparing for an art social on Friday evening for GIRL PLAY with 6 female artists, each of whom marches to her own drummer

Welcome, Summer!

Here in sunny south Florida the rainy season finally arrived. Last Friday, to be precise, which is a couple of weeks later than usual. That means it's summer! And, when I flipped the calendar over to June yesterday, I realized it was also the first day of hurricane season. Arghhhhh!!

We haven't been hit by a hurricane since Wilma passed through Florida on Monday, October 24, 2005. The meteorologists originally called it a Category 1 storm, so, at my house we didn't even put up the shutters. Consequently, we were able to sit in the living room and watch the wind blow down a 60 foot black olive tree in our front yard (among other things). It took about an hour.

The storm was later upgraded to a Cat 3 storm. Hrmph! You'd think they would know that, wouldn't you? But, no. In 2005, they didn't take into account that the storm was traveling from west to east across the state and out there over the Everglades where there's lots of warm water which fueled the storm.

Historically, hurricanes have arrived in south Florida via the Atlantic Ocean to the east. And, that was the very thing that made Wilma different. It snuck up on us by coming in the "back door!" Left us without power and cell phone signals for weeks. And, honey, I'm here to tell you! That was a lesson learned!

It took a month to clean up that black olive tree, and it wasn't the only thing we had to clean up. There was debris everywhere! At one point, we couldn't see our house from the street for the piles of debris. It took more than a year for the huge piles out by I-595 to disappear. It was a storm that taught us a lot about the aftermath.

The following year my darling husband had hurricane impact windows and doors installed and we purchased a generator that's powerful enough to run the refrigerator and the ceiling fans. The State of Florida has gifted us with a "no tax" week to buy batteries, bottled water and other supplies, so we'll be looking to take advantage of that. A buck here, a buck there ... it adds up. When we replaced that black olive, we planted two wild tamarind trees. They have deep roots that spread out underground and their branches are far apart with lacy leaves that allow the wind to travel through them. They're wonderful shade trees, too!

Unfortunately, the majority of my new neighbors haven't lived through a real hurricane yet. They moved here from states like New York, Michigan, Massachusetts and Ohio where hurricanes aren't common. And, they don't know what to expect. They don't seem too worried either. :(

All of our local TV stations are cranked up and providing volumes of information, so there's really no excuse for not being prepared. Maybe we'll be lucky and skate by for another year. Maybe not. So, I think I'll stock some extra items, in case a neighbor needs to borrow a cup of sugar or some batteries.

Welcome, Summer! I'm so glad you're here! The Royal Poinciana trees are in full bloom! Our days and nights are warm and humid, so I'm most grateful for air conditioning! The ocean is like a big bathtub and most of the tourists are gone so you can actually find a parking place at the beach! The best part? We don't have to wait in line for an hour at our favorite restaurants!

Yes! I love summer! And, if we do get a hurricane, we have time to prepare. It's not like those ungodly snowstorms, or the tornadoes that arrive with a two minute warning. We know it's coming and, once it's over, we can go outside in our shorts and flipflops. I'll take it!