King Mango Strut

Reason for Impeachment? 

The weather has been off and on rainy, mostly on, for the past week, but that didn't stop the 38th Annual King Mango Strut from strutting in Coconut Grove. An impertinent parade started when a kazoo band organizer was not allowed to participate in the glorious Orange Bowl Parade, it includes anyone who wants to march, mostly political satire, local and national.

One year, a colleague of Grant received a citation for having too many yard sales at his Coconut Grove home. Incensed, he printed t-shirts for his friends to strut as the Yard Sale Police, blowing whistles and issuing tickets to parade watchers. We brought our German Shepard Mitzi who loved the attention.

This year's theme, Just Impeachy Keen, continued the tradition, however the satire was fairly mild. I fear the hippies of Coconut Grove and their creativity and dislike of government are disappearing. The effects of years of pot use are coming home.

Another Bullet Train Victim 

Several groups referenced the $120,000 banana duct taped to the wall at Art Basel, but it's hard to parody an ironic subject. The Marching Freds were down to 3 participants. I liked the Fake Nudes walking in t-shirts imprinted with naked torsos. Groups (covens?) of witches hunted Trump, and bees of all shapes and size buzzed around a flatbed with a band playing "Let it Be". Another band played fairly clever lyrics describing climate change and bad tides rising to Credence Clearwater Revival's "Bad Moon Rising".

And The Winners Are...

Clara now can add winning Little Miss (or Mister) Mango Strut to her list of accomplishments, as can every other kid who showed up in time to get a crown and climb on the float. Learning to pad their resumes early.

Many years ago after attending a Strut, we were walking back to our car, a 9-passenger Suburban. Grant, with his long gray hair flowing, followed by me and our 3 young children, my sister and her 2 little ones, and a female friend, was asked if we had been part of the parade. I said, "Yes, we are the Polygamist Society of South Florida". And so we became it. In name only, with much talk, little action, about designing a flag. We went to other Struts, Orange Bowl Parades, Starlight Musicals, rarely with other husbands attending, but Grant always a sport.

Life's a Beach

Key Biscayne Beach  

After a slow start, we made it over to the beach around noon. Onshore winds had pushed the Sargassum back in, plus what we think is cold water dissuaded us from swimming. Clara made sandcastles and dug swimming pools for her new dolls while we sat in Adirondack chairs provided by the community center.
We walked south and found another beach access walkway, but the street-side entrance is gated with a punch-in code lock that we don't know. No signs said who can use it; obviously not us. I may try to find out.
We didn't see Ironbound, the 12' 4", 998-pound white shark whose electronic tag pinged that he has swum down to Key Biscayne from his Nova Scotia home. I guess just another snowbird enjoying our winter weather.

Sea Jellies

The breezes had also washed in baby Man o' War jellyfish and grape-like jellies that Clara collected and delighted in throwing down, to see them explode. She wasn't as enthusiastic at my encouraging her to pickup bits of plastic as a mini beach cleanup, but she did. Next beach walk, I'll grab one of the plastic buckets the park provides for trash collecting.

Weaving Made of Beach Trash
circa 1998

I know the ocean is a garbage dump, but there certainly isn't as much plastic washing up on shore. I guess it's all caught in gyres out in the middle. When the kids were little, we go to the beach and pick up bags of junk, then come home and make art with it. There were always little green plastic army men, glow sticks from long-line trawlers, and pieces of polypropylene rope. I especially enjoyed weaving, but we used glue if needed. Only artificial products allowed; no shells or corals were included. The goals were to be creative and to clean up the beach. We did collect sea beans (topic for another day), but they didn't get added to the art.

Beach Trash Princess

Something Old, Something New

Gluten-free Christmas Cookies  

On Christmas Eve, Grant read aloud A Child’s Christmas in Wales by Dylan Thomas. This year I was the only audience, but in the past, it was to all the children, after Christmas Eve services, accompanied by eggnog and cookies. This year, we skipped services and, in honor of the Hispanic flavor of Key Biscayne, sipped rum and ate tres leche cake. We are adapting.

For Christmas, we drove up to have dinner with a friend in Fort Lauderdale. Patten brought Filipino crab soup full of quail eggs and baby corn. Dinner was Honey-baked ham, my smashed potatoes (from a New York Times recipe), Grant’s vinaigretted asparagus, Brussels sprouts with cranraisins, and a multi-berry pie Marjorie baked. Fortunately she forgot to put out the deviled eggs she made for appetizers. We were more than sated.

The secret to eating good food is to hang out with good cooks who use good ingredients. Seems obvious, but the Christmas cookies I bought through our congregation’s auction sadly proved my point. They looked good, but with too little butter and sugar plus an emphasis on being gluten-free, I feel guilty for saying, they were miserable excuses for cookies. After a couple of nibbles, we designated them for the garbage can, saving our tastebuds and waistlines.

Priorities

Note The Green-Tipped Hair
True Christmas Spirit 

Aye, yai, yai, last night the House of Representatives voted to impeach President Trump. On my drive back from Orlando, I listened to some of the debate:
     
        "I rise to support the impeachment of that weasel..."
        "I rise in opposition to the impeachment by my distinguished colleagues who couldn't find their ass with both hands..."

Okay, maybe the debate was a little more subtle that I've portrayed but not by much. Back and forth, back and forth. When a representative asked how much time was left for debate, and the answer was more than 3 hours for each side, I switched to the All-Christmas-All-The-Time radio station. Even really odd renditions of "Little Drummer Boy", my very least Christmas song, were better than listening to our elected officials squabble. So true we should never see sausage or legislation made.

Even more crazy was that every TV station aired the debate until 8:00 PM, and then regular programming reappeared so we did not have to miss live reenactments of episodes from two 1970's shows, "All In The Family" and "Good Times", scheduled months ago for this time slot. I guess the shows must go on, no matter what is happening in the real world.

Which is true for me as well. While Congress spends my tax dollars in, at best, dubious ways, I got to hear my granddaughter play violin and sing in her school's winter concert. More and more I think we should next to her and reap the rewards of being grandparents.

Christmas Letter

A few years ago, I gathered up copies of all my Christmas letters since 2000, (there may have been ones before then but that’s all I could find), and put them in an album with the corresponding pictures with Santa. Whether or not anyone else is interested in my family’s doing, I treasure this year-in-review catalog of us. Writing and sending a letter once a year to people we have known for years and getting their letters in return is a pleasure I am not willing to give up yet.

I was an early adopter of Facebook, back when one had to have an email with a “edu” extension, but quickly tired of having to be creative in posting. Ditto for Twitter, etc. I waste enough time without using social media. I fear becoming consumed more than I fear missing out.

Big Carbon Footprint and Our Rugs

At The Rug Co-op  

In the past 10 days, we have driven to Fort Lauderdale or farther north 8 times. What happened to our stay on the key and not use the car plan? One trip was a doctor appointment, twice was my having lunch with friends, Grant facilitated the Men's Group at our congregation, we both went to our covenant group, we gave in and attended the auction fundraiser, even though it was on a Friday evening which meant 2 hours of stop-and-go rush hour traffic, Sunday a baby shower in Lake Worth, and our marriage enrichment meeting Wednesday evening, another rush hour traffic slog.

Plus I took the bus and ride-share to and from Art Basel, which probably would have been a quicker bike ride with no worries about being hit because traffic barely crept along.

In Our Condo  

Today I got back on track and rode my bike to the post office after riding with Grant to his work. The cold front and its rain hit the key just as we left our apartment. Even with my fancy rain jacket, I got soaked from cars going past and from water tossed up by my fender-less tires, but it's south Florida, not a state with much hypothermia. I mailed the first set of our Christmas cards and letters, another non-carbon-free activity which I get much pleasure from.

I am also getting much pleasure from our Moroccan rugs which arrived yesterday. Every time I look at them, my heart is happy. Cat Annie was not as impressed. She sniffed around, laid on the biggest one for a few minutes, then moved on. As I enjoy my rugs, I'm ignoring that they were shipped by air, rather than by sailboat, the new guilt-free way to travel.

Are You Happy to See Me, Or is That a Banana...

Deconstruction
by Pepe Mar 

Comedian
by Maurizio Cattalan  

The outre piece at Art Basel this year was a banana duct-taped to the wall and sold for $120,000. The back story claims the artist had been contemplating bananas as symbols of global trade, making them in bronze and in resin before deciding to use a real banana. The buyer seems to be on her own about what to do with a rotten banana on the wall. *

I, of course, had to send a picture of the piece to my philistine younger son, who replied, "I hate modern art". So much for buying one of the other 2 remaining bananas-as-art for his Christmas present. He and I first went to Art Basel as part of our homeschool art co-op. We saw piles of Ai Wei's Sunflower Seeds and pumpkins by Yayoi Kusama.  I admit there were also things like a potato-powered clock. His comments then were along the lines of "I could have made that" and "Two million for some paint". I always responded the mom line, "But that artist did, and you didn't." Somehow my love of contemporary art did not stick.

This time, rather than my usual wandering aimlessly, I approached the spectacle as if I were contemplating buying. No free-standing sculptures, no pieces needing electricity, no op art or blurry pieces that make my head swoon. Still too much to look at. I understand why serious buyers bring agents to help them. I overheard one woman asking her agent how long a piece she could fit in over her buffet. Good thing to know.

From Capote's Isla Series 

I particularly liked a Rothko-ish painting in burgundy tones that was made of pinpoint drops of many, many colors. The artist had a name with an umlaut, but it escapes me. (I wish now I'd taken pictures of name plates.)

Other pieces I liked: coming under the heading of clever were Yoan Capote's landscapes with black lines created by fishhooks pressed into the paint.

Also, a large mosaic of old keyboard keys. There were lots of other collages of found objects (chalk, shells, aluminum), but most of them struck me as craft projects. Guess I don't know art.

And a huge black and white pencil drawing of mangroves with a faint view, in pinks, of a library built in the jungle.

Booth of Hernan Bas Paintings  

My big find was Hernan Bas' "Distinctly Floridian" series of young men: in a gator park, in an orange grove, looking at flamingos while wearing a shirt with flamingos on it, etc. I loved them. However, I'm a fan of Florida kitsch, so I'm not sure whether I like them as art or my usual love of all things Florida.

By myself, I was able to enjoy looking at pieces for about 2 hours before becoming overwhelmed by too much stimulation.

I stayed a while longer, but I was just glancing as I walked by. Then a ride-share home that took almost as long as my visit. Miami Beach has not figured out how to handle Art Basel traffic.

*01/04/2020 Update: On Saturday of Art Basel weekend, performance artist David Datuna grabbed the banana off the wall and ate it. This was lauded as art. Later that day, artist Rodrick Webber scrawled “Epstien (sic) didn’t kill himself,” in red lipstick on the now banana-less wall. Webber was arrested for criminal mischief and  has plead not guilty. On his way to jail, Webber asked, “If someone can eat the $120,000 banana and not get arrested, why can’t I write on the wall?”  To be decided at his trial.