Riding around my car yesterday, I happened to be at a red light when my eye caught a caravan of two work vehicles in front of me. Something about them was not quite right.
The backs of the trucks seemed too...busy.
It's only when I got home that I realised JUST how busy, and indeed, unsafe, these vehicles were. You could look at these photographs for hours, and I guarantee you you will find a new, and rather startling detail!
For example, the drivers are from Indiana, at least according to their licence plates.
But I wonder if the International Brotherhood Of Electrical Workers would love their untethered Igloo cooler, insouciantly perched on the back without any tie-downs whatsoever? That thing is one sharp stop away from breaking someone's windshield, if they're lucky.
And what are those wire thingies on the hooks, as they swing wildly from side-to-side even in a full stop?? They look like a Puerto Rican hooker with noserings, having the crap slapped out of her.
One has gotta love the "caution" tape to the left-side of the truck, which someone thought would be a good idea to put in an outside garbage hold, completely incompatible with the word "caution".
And then, my absolute favourite, is this.
Welcome to Florida you hard-working blue-collar electrician you. Now do something about that road hazard truck of yours, before Coral Gables police throws you into the pokey.
IN THE COMMENTS: Most Sundries commenters think I am way overreacting at the potential for damage. The cheek!
Good pal, Madcynic, says:
TBH, the laws of physics dictate that it would need a sudden acceleration for the cooler to crash into someone's windshield. And somehow this thing does not look like an Audi 5000.
Hmm. My mother always told me Audis were for nouveaux riches, so I wouldn't know, Maltinho. Point taken about the physics, though!
Chickenlittle remarks that they're maybe already on the lam.
Maybe those guys are running from the law, like R. Dean Taylor sang about.
Whereas JAL injects a little Obama drama into the proceedings.
And just how fast would that truck have to be going to dislodge the cooler? If it were in an accident the cooler would not be the problem.
Chill.
Like the rest of the continental US seems to be doing in deference to the Great One's upcoming coronation.
Ack. This reminds me I must hibernate until at least Wednesday.
At a local bookstore: the books display just before the Presidential election.
I was going to buy a book there on entering (a specific translation of The Prince by Machiavelli), but I left without doing so. Business and political bias do not mix. I refuse to be insulted, and then to cough up my hard-earned money for the privilege.
I took this photograph almost a month ago, around the Coral Gables area where my mother has a dear chum. I love the homes in this area (French provincial, in this case) but this is my favourite.
I looked at the photograph closely again, when I got home.
Why, I do believe they hired a crew to photograph their home, perhaps for their Christmas card. The owners must've doled out a pretty penny for this.
I remember visiting the home of a school chum in Massachussetts, when I was a teen. I had been invited for the weekend celebration of her parent's 20th wedding anniversary.
When I arrived, I saw a slew of photographers all around the house.
Their home was being featured in a forthcoming issue of, if memory serves, the glossy Home & Design magazine: it was immaculate to the nth degree inside. I was raised in a museum, well, it seemed that way due to my mother's furniture and antiques mania, but I was very impressed by that. I had rather the same feeling when seeing this house from afar.
P.S.: Oh! I forgot to mention the best part. McCain-Palin sign outside. In fact, this long stretch of road full of similar houses are wall-to-wall McCain-Palin, woo! And don't give me the "of course the rich are in favour of the Republicans". Well do I remember this same road in 2004. Kerry/Edwards as far as the eye could see.
Something is cookin' in Florida, and I'm not sure Obama is going to like it.
University of Miami President, Donna Shalala, was honoured by President Bush with the Presidential Medal of Freedom -- the highest civilian award in the country.
To put the honour into context, the President's father, GHW Bush, still hasn't received one -- President and Mrs. Carter have one each.
Here she is being personally decorated by the Presidential hands.
(You'll notice the jokey demeanour President Bush employs around women he likes. The jabs in the crook of the elbows, the nudges in the ribs, the forceful little pats on the back. His attitude towards Shalala reminded me of that awkward little shoulder rub he gave Chancellor Merkel. Shalala looks much more comfortable than Merkel was, than I would be, come to that)
Donna Shalala came to this great honour after a lifetime of service both in academia and to her country.
She's the well-liked 5th UM President, having gone on a barnstorming campaign to raise funds for that hallowed South Florida university. To date, her efforts are well over 1 billion dollars -- an impressive sum.
Prior to that, the lady who must measure a full 4'11 in Manolo pumps was President Clinton's Secretary of Health and Human Services. She was an 8-year man, despite being called by The Washington Post: "one of the most controversial Clinton Cabinet nominees".
Why? Well, apparently, she was in their judgement too liberal. Too liberal for the WaPo. I'll let that sink in.
Her liberal credentials included having a previous Presidential position at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, home to my dear friend, Brother Daryl, and Professor Ann Althouse.
In that capacity, she instituted a "speech code" on campus, effectively banning hate speech on campus (or as Wikipedia puts it both in "noninstructional" and "instructional" settings. I'm guessing they meant dorms, and that's an overreach. No wonder it was struck down).
Though you won't read this on Wiki, she did something similar at the Coral Gables campus: shortly after arriving, she instructed IT engineers to firewall white supremacist websites, and the like. The problem is that other hate speech websites were either greenlit or overlooked, so it created a strange atmosphere of tolerance to intolerance based on ideological perceptions.
(Perhaps we can coax Brother Daryl from the shadows for a more pertinent opinion on the lady)
As for me, all I can say is that she's a very nice lady and a hands-on administrator. She personally teaches a class on the US Health Care system of which, of course, she has deep insight.
You can see her bounding across campus surrounded by a bevy of female assistants, and sometimes her dog, a tiny spinsterish dynamo of energy.
Her mother, who still plays tennis with her at the incredibly advanced age of over 90 (a fact revealed when President Clinton paid a visit, with yours truly in the audience), often visits her in the sprawling Coral Gables 9,000 sq. ft. estate, hers during her term as President.
She once was interviewed by the New York Times, proudly showing off her 500 songs on her iPod, marvelling at the wicked awesome life she has in the mansion.
That article, plus my own impressions about her being rather star-struck (she gushed like a teenybopper that Anderson Cooper was a "rockstar", and practically fainted when shaking hands with Al Gore) tells me she's not without her little foibles.
So, she's a little obvious.
But who isn't in Miami. It's that kind of town and frankly, we wouldn't have it any other way. Certainly it beats the hothouse, post-hippie, BoBo atmosphere of Madison.
As mentioned, here is part of a lengthy interview the Lebanese-American standout granted the NYT. My cheeky comments in brackets.
Her perfect day: Someone gives a $10 million donation before breakfast. I have lunch with graduating seniors who all just got great jobs. After lunch I recruit one of the world's best doctors for the medical school, then I go play three sets of tennis.
[Yep, that pretty much sums up my perfect day too]
Morning routine: I get up at 5:30 a.m., get dressed and take the dog for a walk around my neighborhood. Then I come home, work out for an hour, shower, read six newspapers and head to the office by 7:30 a.m.
[I read 5 newspapers on my Kindle, but if I get out of bed by 12 PM, I pat myself on the back]
Best thing about Miami: The energy.
[Definitely]
Worst thing about Miami: You have to drive. I like places where I can walk to everything.
[A woman who doesn't like to drive is not to be trusted]
What she drives: I own a Lexus hybrid S.U.V. and a red Volkswagen Beetle, which my mother drives when she's in town. I love Beetles. They are perky and whimsical.
[Good news: It's a hybrid. Bad news: Lexus SUV. Isn't that like boasting about being friends with "nunnish prostitutes"?]
Her philosophy of presidential living: I've been president of three universities and worked in the White House, so I have strong views about what a president's house should be. It should be elegant and warm. It should reflect the taste of the occupant. Most of all, it should be accessible. In this house you can put your feet up on anything.
[Elegant but down-home. Now that I have to see]
Her roommate: Sweetie is a rescue dog. She was found beaten and lying in a Dumpster. She's like a toy German Shepherd, but she'd be upset if she knew I told you that. She wouldn't want to be described as small.
[Projection...?]
Personal hero: I have always admired Amelia Earhart. She was brave and she was willing to risk everything to achieve her goals.
[Wow, Amelia Earheart. The woman you couldn't tell was female or male or what. But yes, she was quite a brave pilot. Would it be a stretch to imagine her other heroine is Babe Didrickson Zaharias? She was sporty!]
Book she has read the most times: James Hilton's "Lost Horizon." It's a novel about a group of people whose plane crashes in Tibet. It's really about morality.
[I liked the film]
How she beats the heat: All the rooms have fans. I hate air-conditioning. I don't want to pretend that we don't use air-conditioning in the summer, but I don't like it.
[What! No one uses their fans in Florida, or walks. Yes, we all have fans in every room, and a lot of us have legs, but it's just not the Floridian way]
Gadget she can't live without: My iPod. I just love it. I listen to it when I travel and when I walk the dog. I put books on it. At the moment I have the opera "Madame Butterfly" on it.
[A Puccini fan. I like her already]
Favorite design element: Political cartoons about me. My favorite one shows a little girl telling a little boy: "You be the doctor. I'll be the secretary of health and human services."
[See what I mean by being a little obvious?]
Best recent purchase: A 1790 French country cabinet from the estate of the late Washington Post columnist Meg Greenfield. I always loved it and admired it, and it reminds me of Meg and the times I spent with her.
[I'm sure]
Worst recent purchase: My 29-foot motorboat. I bought it when I came down here because I have a dock, and I thought it would be fun. But I just don't use it enough. If anyone wants it, it's for sale. It seats 12.
[Hey, Madame Prez -- the NYT isn't Craigslist, you know?]
Favorite Republican: Senator Ted Stevens of Alaska. He's always been committed to women's sports. I used to play tennis with him when I was in Washington, and I just like him.
[Don't worry, this was before partnering Bob Dole in that bipartisan veterans committee. I'm sure she's added him to her list of favourite enemies]
Favorite sport: Tennis. My strengths are my backhand and drop shot. My weaknesses: I'm not as quick as I used to be, and I don't have a great serve.
[My serve is killer! I want to play with this lady at the Salvatore Park tennis courts!]
Person she would most like to meet: Bono.
[Oh God]
Talent she covets: More language skills. I speak Arabic, Farsi, English and a little French, and I read German. I'm studying Spanish, but it hasn't been easy for me, and you have to understand that my Farsi and Arabic are marginal.
[So basically, you don't speak Farsi and Arabic. Why are you counting them then?? I don't count Romanian, though I can read it. And Latin!]
Procrastination technique: Surfing the Web. I look at sports Internet sites. I especially read all the insider columns about college sports.
[I'm telling you. Babe Didrickson is number two. I can smell it]
Favorite vacation spot: The kingdom of Bhutan. I am partial to isolated places with big mountains near them. The cold air clears my head.
[Oh God, Part Deux]
Evening routine: Most evenings I have something to do. There is often a reception of some sort, or a dinner at the house. Once a week I'll entertain at home. My guests can be anyone from high school counselors to the Dalai Lama.
[*groan*]
Fictional character she identifies with: Wonder Woman.
[LOL]
Àpropos to the Lebanese connexion, do you know that the New England Americans for Lebanon --NEAL-- endorsed Senator McCain in November? Hmm.
So as you can see, she's a delight. She's great for her university. And she's rather intent on letting anyone know despite her SUV, motorboat, and gilt-trappings, she's still a lady who can reconcile all that, plus the recent janitor strike when she sided against the UNICCO union workers (mostly Haitian immigrants), and still be considered a big-time liberal by the WaPo.
Listen, I like her. She's great. And she fully deserves the recent honour she received.
Despite my irreverent tone, I'm glad she's brought the University of Miami to the pedestal of progress it now has.
Her predecessor President Tad Foote (son-in-law to Senator Fulbright of Arkansas) was a very similar man in politics, and demeanour, albeit a very tall guy. He too had lofty ambitions, which didn't exactly pan out.
So I suppose we in academia know what kind of messages they will emphasise, but not quite deliver on.
In Shalala's case, she's a Wonder Woman wannabe, and we're darn proud of her.
No matter where you are, chances are that if you're a Roman Catholic, like me, you're not far away from a church celebrating the resurrection of Our Lord.
For today is Easter Sunday, and on this special day, Sundries is taking you on a very special travellogue...a trip around 3 of the many Catholic churches in South Florida!
Yeah, a little church is good for you, for me come to that, ya hear?
At least, every once in a while, if only to hear some of the most beautiful voices singing their little hearts out for you, doubtlessly after many heated rehearsals all week, in the name of the Lord.
And it goes a little like this:
Young, old, woman, man, every section of society is represented in this humble church choir.
It also is your first introduction to one of our featured travellogue churches, which debuts this blogpost quite nicely.
STS PETER & PAUL ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH
You've been to the Silver Bluff-Shenandoah neighbourhoods before with me, on Sundries, even if you don't immediately recall. That's where the cutest little house in Miami is located, remember?
And where Robert of 26th Parallel held his wedding, at this very church, the much beloved, Saints Peter & Paul, which also features a school of the same name. In fact, all 3 churches pictured in this travellogue, have schools attached to its parish, one of the imprimaturs of a healthy and successful Catholic community.
You know, I don't know about you, but I've yet to know of a Catholic school that didn't have a yard long waiting list for its school, a fact which has always made me smile.
For the world says that the Roman and Apostolic Catholic Church is in frank disarray, with dwindling membership, and an embittered and suspicious faithful -- which I don't doubt is true for many.
But this opinion is also an exaggerated view, often culled up by secularists who in repeating this, hope to seed doubt in people's minds. Catholic Church is dying! No one is attending Mass! Catholic priests are all paedophiles!
Indeed?
Well, in these three churches, ranging from working-class to elite status are anything to go by, perhaps all what we Catholics really need is a little more faith...in our faith.
By the way, did you see, "Sts Peter & Paul -- Panthers"?
How MANY schools have "Panthers" as their mascot in America?? It must be the single most popular mascot animal in this country!
Why never "Home of the Chihuahuas", hmm, hmm?
Holy Week started with me deciding to be a little more devout than I usually am, so on that note, I told my parents that I would be accompanying them to Mass, whenever they went. They have never forced me to do so, and for that, I've always been grateful.
In my own way, I'm rather religious, but man, am I lazy.
But anyway, mother rejoiced, and dad snickered, but then he would, old agnostic that he used to be.
So off we went to Sts. Peter & Paul, since that's my mum's favourite church.
Look at that neighbourhood. PACKED, totally packed. Not even a spot to swing the proverbial handicapped parking space cat.
We walked from two blocks away, where we had finally found a space, having first left a sign in my car window saying that I was at Church, so irate owners wouldn't have me towed away.
Oh, in two languages, of course! After all, that area is almost completely Cuban-American.
...and 50 years after their exile began, some of them don't even speak ni un pepino de ingles. Ah well.
That's St. Peter to the left, and St. Paul to the right. Or is it the other way around? I forget.
Either way, as you can see from the wide wooden doors, and aged sconces outside, it is a modern church (built in 1939), but still not an ultra-modern mega church, just another barn-like edifice masquerading as a house of worship, which frankly, I've never liked.
I just never have found the presence of God inside those modern, Protestant-looking Catholic churches which seem to abound in the US (sadly), you know?
But Sts Peter & Paul doesn't have that problem. It is very elegant, with all that implies -- understated colours, muted stonemasonry, and yet stately lines.
If I had to describe this church in one word, that word would be SOLID.
I always enter this church by the left-most door, and you know why?
Because the right-hand door leads you immediately to a statue of St. Joseph, holding as is the custom, our baby Lord, Jesus Christ. I like me some St. Joseph, it's not that, but I LOVE ST. THÈRÉSE OF LISIEUX.
And that's where the left-hand door leads you to: to her beautiful statue, in those Carmelite robes, holding that famous spray of roses with which she is so closely associated.
When I was a little girl, my maternal grandmother made me read her famous autobiography, Story of a Soul, and like millions of Catholics after her death, I instantly fell in love with this saint, who preached a Catholicism we could all do -- The Little Way.
Whichever church I go to, she's always my first port-of-call.
Like many churches, Sts. Peter & Paul has two little side rooms, an antechamber of sorts, where you can pray quietly and give a few dollars to help the church meet its expenses.
Right next to St. Thèrése, we have just such a room where a wonderful, unadorned crucifix of Our Lord hangs.
I'm not too keen about this newfangled modern candle thingie, where by a mere push of a little button, it lights up an electric "light" in memory of your loved one, and so forth.
Yeah, the old versions were fire hazards, but if the Vatican doesn't mind being engulfed in a conflagration to preserve the custom, with its holdings which are beyond price, why should a more modest church not do so, too?
Bring back the real candles!!
Every Catholic country has its particular Saint this, or Our Holy Virgin Mary of the other, and Cuba is no different.
Next to the prie-dieu above, there is a tiny little space for the Cuban "Nuestra Señora de la Caridad del Cobre" (Our Lady of Charity, which a Cuban friend once mistranslated as Our Lady of Sweet Charity with a totally straight face).
The French have Lourdes, the Portuguese have Fatima, the Mexicans have their Guadalupe, and the Brazilians have their Conçeicão, but the Cubans revere the story of this apparition of Our Lady for many reasons.
Three fishermen, one white, one black and one indigenous (the first totally Politically Correct santico crowd in the world, and to think, Barbara Walters had nothing to do with it...), chanced upon a statue of a lady in the waters where they fished. Attached to her was a little wooden plank with the words, "Yo Soy La Virgen de La Caridad" (I am the Virgin of Charity), which is some calling card, boy.
Her legend grew in Cuba, to the point where both Catholics and voodoo priests worship her with equal fervour. Interestingly, she was appointed patroness of Cuba by another Benedict, Pope Benedict XV in 1916.
I've never seen this little statue without some little old Cubana senior citizen praying reverentially under her.
(Ooh, I don't like the look of that panel in the ceiling, all peeling and yucky, which isn't noticeable when you're actually there, though. Never mind fire. What is the church doing about its damp and rot?)
Obviously, a cute little sign in brass asking parishioners not to use calculators inside church.
Sucks for the 6th graders cramming just before an exam.
Jam packed for Holy Week services, this elegant lady had to stand up, and do her devotions on the floor.
Mother turned to me and whispered, "I think that's Catherine Deneuve".
Oh totally, mum, definitely.
Catherine Deneuve flipped the bird to La Madeleine and Notre Dame and chose to attend Mass in an obscure Cuban-American Miami neighbourhood church, Sts Peter & Paul.
Anyway, is she even religious? Belle du Jour, indeed.
My favourite chorister is the lady allll the way to the back-right, who looks like a Cuban Barbara Bush. Que nice.
And what a booming alto! She's the topmost voice you hear singing "La Gloria Del Señor" in the Youtube clip above.
(In case you wondered, many of the Masses we attend are in Spanish, but neither my parents nor I, mind. Dad just pretends it's Latin, and mum sings in a mixture of French and Italian, much to the amusement of the viejitas around her)
A lovely, long view of the actual interior of the church.
You can get a fair idea of what kinds of people attend services, although I do have to say this is most probably 100% Cuban-American (minus stray gringos like myself, or other Hispanics).
Funny thing about it, is that some of the kids actually wore their school uniform, I noticed! It had the logo of the school on their yellow polo shirts, and blue trousers. You couldn't have paid me to put on my school jumper after hours, back in England...
Lastly a word about the "cura", the priest.
He's from Spain, apparently, and has a wonderful voice. Mass and services around the world are made or broken by the voice of its vicars, priests, imams, rabbis, etc.
Get a really boring, monotone chap, and that 1 hour of devotion will inch second by second, until all you do towards the end, is count the moment when you can bolt out the door.
But this guy? He has charisma, and a lot of presence.
Mum says she doesn't understand a word he says, because his Spaniard accent is too thick, but she loves going there at nights, just to listen to his voice.
If only our Church had more like my dear old mother.
EPIPHANY ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH
Our next church is located in upscale Pinecrest, the old neighbourhood of ex-Governor Jeb Bush, and in fact, used to be his and his family's local parish.
Yes, Pinecrest is a very wealthy area, with million dollar homes strewn all over Old Cutler Road, but for all that, its citizens are not to the manner born, like in Coral Gables.
Epiphany Church (yes, with school next door) reflects their non-fussy attitude, where Catherine Deneuve would never deign to appear.
It's actually a fairly new, ginormous church, resembling a cathedral in size and import, but still just a church.
It's not exactly to my taste, since it has a hint of that modernist architecture which I told you I greatly dislike, but their services ARE mostly in English, so my family and I sometimes go there just for that.
Makes a change to understand what's actually going on, you know?
Massive doors frame the entrance. It's not as minimalist as it seems, though. It's just a bit new, and hasn't grown into its character, like Sts. Peter & Paul.
Give it time. 60 years, which in Miami-time, is 300.
Not too sure I approve of the wicker ceiling (I think that's what it is). But at least the stained glass windows and depth of the transept give Epiphany a nice glow in daylight.
This is the Good Friday liturgical Mass, which was preceeded by the Stations of the Cross devotional.
(My favourite part of the whole Easter calender is Good Friday, when the Passion takes place. And yes, I was first in the queue when Mel Gibson's movie came out some years ago)
The priest in this church was a young, American chap, and very nice too, I'm sure. But he just doesn't have the gravitas the other Spaniard priest had, best illustrated by the lack of timbre in his voice, which he used to RUSH through the Mass (40 minutes flat, in what usually takes 1 full hour!).
My parents and I kept looking at each other, wondering where the fire was?
A Winchellesque performance, which I hope he will grow out of, as he ages gracefully into his role -- just like Epiphany church itself.
The paddles for the "offerings", or what you heathens know as the "begging for money" baskets.
I took a photo of the open door because it reminded me of an Oxford boatrace, when the oars (blades) are lined up just like that.
Fitting, because the service was over faster than an Eights Week bumps race...
Yes, there are poor folk in Pinecrest, which is like saying the poor of Kensington or Park Avenue, heh.
And here is the proof.
That's my mother opening up her purse and putting in a whole 3 bucks into the poorbox, one dollar for each minute of the Mass...
I'm very conscious that I'm taking pictures of reverential places for this travellogue, so I make sure I never catch anyone in actual prayer, which would be wrong.
I break this rule of mine, only once in the travellogue, and here it is.
Mother, child, looking up in devotion to Our crucified Saviour. Every photograph I have shown you has been taken with the joy of sharing my world with you.
But here, in this one photograph, I am showing you what my religion means to me, through the faceless body of a devout mother introducing her child to our faith.
What can be more beautiful than that?
If you guessed that I wasn't particularly bowled over by Epiphany church, you would not be wrong.
But I'll give them this -- that's the best church bell tower in all of Miami, bar none. On a fine day, you can hear them clear across Coral Gables, calling its faithful to pray in their Grand Prix.
CHURCH OF THE LITTLE FLOWER
So far, you've followed me to upwardly-mobile working-class Cuban-American Silver Bluff. Then you've traipsed with me to services in flexingly nouveau-riche Pinecrest.
But now, we're in the heart of the elite world of Miami -- Coral Gables!
Mum and I lost the armwrestle match with the old lady you see emerging triumphantly from the illegal parking space just in front of the church, so we parked three blocks over.
I'll say one thing for my newfound religiosity. What with the genuflections during Mass, the ups, the downs, the hiking of miles from parking space to church, I must've lost at least 3 pounds.
Catholicism is not only good for the soul, but it tones your abs, too.
I'm not exactly sure whose bust of a saint that is -- frankly, it looks not a little like Machiavelli or Savanorola.
(Just behind it is the requisite school of the Little Flower, which is $$$ to get into, as can be expected)
Keeping up my tradition, I always enter through the left-hand door of the church, though since this whole CHURCH is dedicated to my Little Flower, I don't do so to encounter her statue, more of which anon.
It's just that I like the view from the left, as one enters.
High vaulted ceilings. Flouncy alcoves, and a massive cupola above the Altar. I love it.
Yeah, a little ornate, but ornate is better than a modernist Costco Warehouse. Who can find God next to the Rice Crispies?
The only thing I found a little disappointing, was that the crowd was almost all older, and not very enthusiastic, as at least the Epiphany crowd were.
And I tell you what else disappointed me, now that I am in quibble-mode.
The outdoor statue of St. Thèrése, my beloved saint.
Nooooo, that's so totally not her face! She looks like a young Mirta de Perales! Look at that nose. Cubanaza and a half!
That's another thing about us Catholics -- we're fussy about our faith, and we each of us have in our minds, how certain things should be relating to it.
Take me, for example.
I can only worship in a church I like, which gives me the right "feeling" inside, when I enter it. If there is a priest I don't care for, or a statue which rubs me the wrong way, I may shun its comforting purpose, because I can always find another church which suits me better.
Sure, many religions have that peculiarity too, and furthermore, I do so because I have a wealth of choices around me -- but Catholics are notoriously sentimental about their churches, their priests, and their saints.
Anyway, just because the Church of The Little Flower has a snub-nosed St. Theresa outside, who looks like she just came out of the ring with Leila Ali, doesn't mean I have to look at her all day.
That's why I bring my Little Flower rosary box with me, so her more recognisably beatific face stares at me, whether the priest be boring, speedy or folksy.
Ahh, that's more like it. The Little Flower looking at me, for once a good little Catholic girl, observing her duties to her faith, and sharing it with all and sundries. But now, I must say...
This travellogue is ended. Go in Peace!
And Happy Easter, everyone!
UPDATE: Blogger colleague, Class-Factotum, makes an amazingly similar observation for the "workout" portion of the Catholic ritual. Read the blogpost here.
I know I shouldn't be sacreligious on such a day, but that's never stopped me before.
Why, I ask myself, hasn't a priest ever realised he could treble his parish numbers, if he instituted step classes in CYO?
Just a thought.
Please also read Benning's Easter post on the Resurrection. Very moving!
Well, I've decided to make this a regular feature on Sundries, since (a) I revel in architecture in general (perhaps having inherited that from my maternal grandpapa, who was an architect by profession), and (b) there is so much variety in houses here in South Florida, quite unlike my country, of the self-same, boring, semi-detached, brickwork homesteads.
To that end, I keep my eyes peeled for any local houses which might interest you in a blogpost.
And who knows. One day, if you live down here, I might just take a picture of your home, and won't you be surprised then!
Here is today's featured South Florida home.
For me, the perfect house has to have a circular driveway. Be located on the corner. Have a nice herbaceous border, instead of a picket fence. And lastly, it has to be remarkable architecturely, for any reason.
This house is smashing, in every respect.
Look at its vibrant ochre hue (I confess, I have a thing about deep ochre -- an Oxford affectation perhaps).
With its dainty Seville tiles framing the windows, and general Spanish colonial feel, this is a home George Merrick, Coral Gables' founder, would have been proud to grace his model city.
Like many old Miami homes, I believe it has a chimney -- which is probably used 2 weeks out of every year, usually between December 31 to January 15, but it does come in handy if its still in use (most aren't, of course).
Check out the solid iron weather vane, another special delight of mine, which I will make sure my future home has. I think it's a rooster, but perhaps it's a crow (sheesh, what bad luck if so!).
It even has a second floor, which is a rarity in these here parts. After all, we're only 14 feet above sea-level, and our bedrock doesn't like lumpy, two storey houses.
Those vines give it a very elegant feel though, but as everyone in Britain knows, ivy is a killer on plumbing and pipes.
But with such careful pruning of the borders, I can tell these homeowners won't let anything get too shabby, any time soon.
A close-up of my favourite part, those blue-tiled windows. Click on the photo, and you will see the scroll-work on the window reads, "1924"! Why, the University of Miami was founded in 1926, and its a stone's throw away from that.
Delicious.
Look how the ochre, the yellows of the marigolds, and the bougainvilleas overhang and blend in beautifully with the usual Florida green of everything else.
You know, sub-tropical climes like us are brutal even with hearty perennials.
In places like Rio de Janeiro, you never see a shot of colour anywhere, and have to content yourselves with the green of the trees and shrubs, only.
(There are other reasons for that, such as parks are concrete playgrounds there, because it costs too much to upkeep, and the homeless mistreat their surroundings too much in third-world countries...alas. One of the problems of South America, is that you can't prettify anything outside of the posher places, because it's soon ruined)
But we in Florida are luckier.
We have a gentle breeze which pollinates our flowers; a lovely warm clime which allows for a wide variety of flowers to grow, even temperate-loving roses; and the delights of year-round greenery -- though others may dislike that.
We don't get autumn and winter down here.
It's one perpetual hot spring day.
Those of you in New England may scoff and point to your Vermont autumn days, when houses and barns look as a pretty as a postcard.
But we in South Florida don't mind, as long as its April all year round.
As for this house, its colours melt into that deep blue Florida sky, don't you think? Ochre being the perfect foil for its robin's egg blue.
RIP Ernesto Gallo, at the grand ole age of 97. A pioneer of the American wine trade if ever there was one.
This reminds me of my great-grandmother (who ushered in the century in 1900): she had a glass of hock every day of her life until she died at the ripened vintage of 94, God rest her bubbly soul. In Vino Longevity...
Also, to those of you who are interested in the grape, on 29 March 2007, from 7-9 PM, there will be a wine-tasting event on Miracle Mile in Coral Gables, proceeds going to the Miller School of Medicine at the University of Miami.
Tickets are a "mere" $40, but $100 if you plump down for the VIP reception at 5:30 PM.
Just head on over to the 100 block of Giralda Avenue, and rev up your tastebuds...tastebuds, wine, rosebuds, hmm.
I have suddenly thought of an infamous commercial tied to our topic.
Do you recall this gem of yesteryear?
Sure, it's "only" Paul Masson, a joke!, ein Witz!, un blague! of a wine. But who cares. It's Orson Welles.
Look at that eyebrow going up, just as he intones with that splendid, unforgettable baritone, "We will sell no wine, before its time".
God, I'd have drunk Bartles & Jaymes if he had flogged it.
I am starting a new travellogue tradition on Sundries, as of today.
Whereas before I offered up shots which sometimes were grainy at best, now you can see South Florida in all its elegant aquatints and overlooked corners, as it is in real life.
Now. --
You have to forgive this debut travellogue. It has more than the whiff of the amateur about it, rather than the original shots I think I proffered to you before.
As I aquaint myself with my new camera, with its many apertures, macros and hidden menus, it will yield more intriguing snaps, than these almost pro-forma shots below.
Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this latest traipse around this mignon, "New Antique" city where I now live.
What I lack in proficiency, I think I more than make up for in enthusiasm!
SOUTH FLORIDA SNAPSHOTS -- TAKE ONE
We start our travellogue in Miami's most beautiful neighbourhood, the Mayfair or Park Avenue-equivalent called Coral Gables.
You know, it takes a visionary to imagine swampland, Banyan trees and dense humidity turning into anything as beautiful as Coral Gables, and that's precisely what it took.
Coral Gables was founded by a pioneer of the highest order, a Pennsylvanian named George Merrick.
It was he and his family who braved this mosquito-heaven that later became the soignée, Spanish colonial chocolate box of a planned community. And you know when that was?
Only in 1922.
Why, that's just two years older than the age of the current Pope! A mere eyeblink in history -- but for Florida, it might as well have been 200 years ago.
And you're staring at one of my favourite landmarks in Coral Gables:
Named, of course, for Hernando De Soto, the Conquistador of Peru.
The DeSoto fountain right now is undergoing repairs, as you can see.
UPDATE: Via Stuck On the Palmetto, here is a picture postcard of the DeSoto Fountain as it was back in the day. Check out how suburban sprawl has blocked the view of the Biltmore completely.
In fact, many Coral Gables landmarks are having a major face-lift, which is no mean feat, considering that their express purpose is to look aged.
I recall that it was amongst the very first views I had of Miami, when I first came down here, and the mere fact that it is a traffic circle, as Americans call a roundabout, made me instantly less homesick.
Not that Miamians know how to negotiate a roundabout at rush hour, but never mind, at least the view whilst you wait, is delightful.
From the DeSoto Fountain, you hit the piece de resistance of all Coral Gables' landmarks -- the Biltmore Hotel.
I have a whole, complete travellogue planned about this magnificent edifice, so I'll just whet your appetite by saying that if you beg one of the hotel porters to take you up to the tower you see, right above, you'll see the "Duke and Duchess of Windsor Suite" in its full glory.
Presidents Reagan, Bush 41, Clinton, and Bush 43 have all stayed in this Suite, which is closed to the general public.
Even the Brazil National Team with Ronaldo and Rivaldo were not allowed to visit it, but with my feminine wiles, I got to peek inside courtesy of my new bellhop friend.
I asked later, if there were any amusing anecdotes about the Biltmore, that they could tell me. There were.
Prince Philip's father, Prince Andrew of Greece and his brother, Prince Nicholas, both stayed as guests of the Biltmore Hotel when it first opened in the mid-1920s.
And being part of the rowdy Danish Royal Family, famous for its pranks and high-spirits, it was said that the Princes took to riding bicycles up and down the corridors, and inside the ornate lobby, nobody daring to stop them.
As for the Duke of Windsor, one of his old Palm Beach cronies (a grand lady who was my father's patient in the early 1980s) told me that at night the Duke would amuse himself, having knocked back a few Chivas Regals, take a shotgun, and blow out the lights in his suite's enormous, imported chandelier.
Being notoriously cheap, I wonder if he paid for the damages. Methinks not.
It's good to be the ex-King.
Just opposite the Biltmore, is the lovely Coral Gables Congregational Church, which has the honour of being the first church built within the city confines, in 1923.
Years ago, I attended a book signing there by Edvard Radzinksi, the eccentric Russian biographer of the Romanov Imperial Family.
When I went up to get my copy autographed, he said, "Vat is your name?", "Victoria". "Ahh, very royal name. Never change it."
Slightly taken aback, all I could utter was, "Thank you. I won't."
And with that, he gave me a little flourish, and a kiss on my right hand. As he bent down, his curly, red hairpiece nearly fell at my feet.
From that day onward, I have called it The Toupée Church. I'm sure it doesn't mind.
Congregationalists are all very well, but I am Roman Catholic and just a stone's throw away from the Biltmore and the Toupée Church is exquisite Church Of The Little Flower.
My whole family are devoted to this gentle, loving nun known as the Little Flower, St. Thèrése of Lisieux, who wrote that she could only offer to make the world better, one small step and gesture at a time.
She was the embodiment that you didn't have to live an amazing life to contribute to God's creations. You just gave as much as you could, paving a path known as The Little Way.
When her relics made their United States tour, I was there at this Church to pray next to the small, ornate but yet unostentatious ossuary, which holds her remains.
Due to my foreign birth, I have not decided where I shall be married, whether in London, or in my bridgegroom's hometown, or in the US.
But you can be sure, if I do marry here in South Florida, this is where my marriage will be consecrated.
I just have to plan the darn thing two years ahead of time, because that's as long as it takes to get a open slot, even during the unlucky month of May...
One thing's for sure.
If I do have the blessing of being married at the Church of the Little Flower, I won't have to hunt around for a suitably elegant reception hall.
Look what edifice is peeping from behind the Rectory.
I might even take a page from Prince Andrew, and bicycle over in my wedding gown.
As you have noted, Coral Gables and Spanish colonial are tied at the hip.
In fact, I have the fortune of being in love with the two dominant architectural styles this city embodies -- that and the Art Deco of Miami Beach. The lines are clean, dramatic but it is not ashamed to be ornate when it's called to be.
This is what this lovely tower represents to me -- the so-called Alhambra Water Tower.
Back when Merrick was building his homestead, there was no conduit to safe drinking water anywhere, but Lake Okeechobee, well over 100 miles away. As you can imagine, this was very expensive for a fledgling city.
So they built this Water Tower in the Moorish style, to provide sustenance to its small, hardy local community.
Many years later, and though its purpose has long been superceded, it stands there like a beacon to all in Coral Gables -- with all the cheekiness of a lighthouse, and none of its perilous drawbacks.
The colours in daylight are phenomenal, its minaret-style keyholes teasingly drawing your eyes to them, and though I took the snap at dusk, you can still see the burnt mustard glow and sparkle, just over the trees.
I often aimed for the Water Tower, playing on the 6th hole at nearby Granada Golf Course.
I usually missed.
But Coral Gables isn't all faked epochs and too-cute architecture.
The newer structures have more than a little bit of late 20th century muscle about them, which throws the more colonial elements scampering underneath the Señora's skirts.
Unlike New York City, we don't have a Flat Iron building.
For one, we don't lack space down here in South Florida, so we don't require its hunched elbow lines.
But that didn't stop the good people who built the jutting edifice known as the Alhambra Towers.
And for my money, it has the most beautiful lobby in all of the city, which specialises in pretty lobbies.
Night has fallen, and I traipse back home, deciding to make a detour through downtown Miami.
There will be more detailed travellogues about this oft-depressed area of Miami, which vibrates in the morning to the beat of a thousand bankers' footsteps, but dies a lonely death after 6 o'clock every day -- but just a glimpse for now, of my favourite theatre in the area.
The one, the only, the incomparable Gusman Theatre for the Performing Arts -- the recently re-named, Olympia.
Inside it's a real, honest-to-goodness American moviepalace, (seen here in daylight) complete with fobs, gold leaf, marble banisters and that unforgettable decor redolent of the 1920s, when movies were the best show in town.
Check out the old-fashioned box office kiosk which stands OUTSIDE the theatre, still the scourge of patrons during dark, rainy evenings when there's a show or Miami Film Festival movie on.
Of course, the best thing about it, is that Maurice Gusman, the millionaire whose cultural munificence to the city is without name, I recently read was a "rubber baron", whose main product were condoms.
He made a KILLING supplying the Army rubbers for American GIs in two World Wars.
It's wonderful symmetry this, considering how many children must have been conceived in the dark alcoves of many a moviepalace.
Hope you enjoyed our little foray into South Florida.
I know I always do.
FREEBIE: The Palm Court Fountain, at the University of Miami's main campus in Coral Gables, where I had a Dolce Vita moment once.
Suddenly, you turn the corner at the University of Miami's main campus, in Coral Gables, when you see this tombstone jutting out at you.
You don't know why someone saw fit to place a deadly tribute in the middle of this leafy, elite campus, and thus intrigued, you edge closer to see who it is.
Robert Frost?
Did he keel over at UM, perhaps of heat prostration when walking to the Ashe Building?
Bizarre.
Miami is full of such unexplained oddities, which I can say without a hint of irony in this case, are without rhyme nor reason.
P.S.: When I showed my mother these photographs, she startled me in the way parents have sometimes, of revealing something about their childhood, you had never heard before.
"Robert Frost? Did you know that in high school [she went to Salem, in Baden-Württemberg], I won the Robert Frost poem recitation prize?"
"Really?"
"Yes. First prize was a trip to the US consulate, where they gave me peanut butter sandwiches and Coke with ice. I was in heaven."
Who knew?
It is under the small, dim, summer star. I know not who these mute folk are Who share the unlit place with me-- Those stones out under the low-limbed tree Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.
