A Trip to Mt. Dora, Fl., Part II

     My sister and I spend our winters in Florida and meet half-way for an annual get-together. This year we chose Mt. Dora and I made the arrangements.
     The blue-and-white exterior of the inn was reminiscent of Key West style, but faced Lake Dora. When we arrived, the massive wooden front door was locked. We slammed the brass knocker against the oak panels several times and heard the bolt draw back. Maggie, the proprietor, threw a "Welcome" to us sideways, past the gray wisp that hung near her mouth. "You must be the two sisters we're expecting. Come in." In slippers she led us past the winding wooden staircase (covered in oil paintings of Florida), down the central hall (covered in oil paintings of Florida) to a white wicker folding screen. "We can't let the dogs out," she said, folding back the first section of screen with long fingers that didn't match her diminutive stature. She stepped aside for us.
     "May we leave our bags inside, since we're early for registration? They're in our cars. We'd like to have lunch in town."
     "Of course," Maggie said, swishing aside one of the three cats sitting on the kitchen counter and reaching for registration forms behind canisters of cooking ladles, spatulas, whisks, and tongs. The cat leaped onto the kitchen table. "I'll lock them in the closet down the hall till you return. First I need your information and a credit card for the balance. You paid fifty percent on-line."
     "May I use a rest room, please? We've both had a long ride."
     "Yes, it's right down the hall on the right."
     "Do the cats roam the inn?" my sister asked, concerned about her asthma.
     "No," I heard Maggie respond as I made my way past the table strewn with ceramic salt and pepper shakers representing Santa Clauses, kissing children, and assorted animals, and ducked under hanging pots which could not have threatened Maggie's head.
     Inside the bathroom a cat licked milk from a bowl on the floor. Its white fur was so thin and the ribs so pronounced that I thought we were probably witnessing its last day. I hadn't heard Maggie following me in her slippers, but she  bent down to pick up the cat before I could turn around. "Piddly's sick," she declared. "She got like this once before, but recovered."
     "What is it? Mange?"
     "No, not mange. We're not sure." Then she left me alone.
     When I came out of the bathroom, I trailed a Borzoi back to the kitchen, where it sprawled on a comforter in the sun. There were two other Borzois lying across the floor amid planters of ferns, small palms, and philodendron.

Front porch of our inn with Borzoi statue

Side yard of inn with Borzoi statue

     Borzois, or Russian wolfhounds, are believed to be the mix between ancient bear hounds from Central Asia and tall sheepdogs. Their sleek stature, like the greyhound's, possesses incredible speed, which allowed Russian nobility to hunt wolves and hares. The association with the royal family, however, proved fatal for the breed, as many dogs were disposed of by their owners after the Russian Revolution in 1917. The specimens that remained in kennels, as well as those left with foreigners, were used to rebuild the breed. Everywhere we turned in the inn there were statues or paintings of Borzois. Fortunately, the living specimens remained in the kitchen.

Parlor with Borzois and Xmas decorations, including top of wall!

   

More Borzois over fireplace!

 "Here are the keys to your rooms. I'll put your suitcases in before you return," Maggie said, leading us back to the front hall. "Deidre is still touching them up. If you need transportation, here's a number to call for a shuttle." She handed us a business card from one of the twenty-odd card holders on a desk. The card holders were surrounded by pamphlets in graduated dividers built into the desk. They promoted adventures and eating establishments in the area.
     "I recommend Pices Rising for a fish dinner or the Olive Branch, which is a Mediterranean version of Italian. You'll probably need reservations, with 500,000 visitors coming for the art show this weekend. Any of the restaurants are good. The walking path to town begins at the end of the parking lot. You probably won't be able to get a parking space downtown after 5:00."
     "Would you be so kind as to call Pices Rising for a reservation at 7:00 for us, please?"
     Maggie secured our reservation. In town, lunch was as good as her claim. Afterward, we ventured into shops featuring nostalgic coats, dresses, shoes, crafty beach decorations, artists' galleries, and antiques. We saved the museums for the following day.
     Back at the inn, we entered our rooms to unpack. We were surrounded by lace doilies, four-poster beds with flowery faded chintz, and faux Tiffany lamps. On the bureaus laminated sheets announced a cold breakfast would be served until 9:00, after which there would be eggs and sausage ("Please reserve for the hot breakfast!"). In my bathroom sugar ants scurried out from under the faucet when I turned the water on. A wooden shelf unit hung over the toilet but the shelves weren't wide enough to hold my makeup case. The only thing in my room that was new was the television mounted on the wall and the mattress. There were at least eight oil paintings of the local Florida area. I had a beautiful view of Lake Dora, as did six of the other rooms. My sister had no view, next to the garage, but she had her own patio and didn't have to climb the one or two flights of stairs. I fell asleep in my clothes.

     When we met downstairs for dinner, we explored the parlor and dining room. Collections of china plates and glassware covered in dust stood in china cabinets in both rooms. Antique cash registers provided the backdrop for a carousel horse. Santa waved an arm with a mini bulb in his candle or towered over bowls of Christmas balls, although it was February. A briny scent emanated from a glass container of star fish amid ceramic Christmas trees and plates stacked for breakfast. A chipmunk held a barrel of mini golf clubs for an unidentifiable purpose.

     Maggie must have been a frequent shopper at the Antique Emporium in town, which was two-football-fields long. Statues, paintings, or prints of Borzois reigned over everything. More chintz flowers covered the round tables in the dining room.

   

    "Do you think we should eat here in the morning, with the cats and dogs in the kitchen?" Cindi asked.
     "I'm only gonna eat a wrapped muffin or some cereal from a box."
     We got a ride to town for our dinner reservation. Again, an outstanding meal!
     Afterward, we needed a ride back to the inn. We called the number on the business card for the shuttle, but it had shut down at 8:00. No answer when we called two taxis. "Is there Uber or Lyft we could call?" I asked the maitre d'.
     "Not here," he said.
     "Well, we can't walk back to the inn in the dark. What do you suggest?"
     "We're going to be closing in about fifteen minutes. If you can wait, I'll give you ladies a ride."
     Fifteen minutes later Devin pulled his dune buggy around to the front of the restaurant and I climbed in the back seat. Except there was no seat, so I sat on the floor. Cindi sat next to Devin. "This reminds me of our trip to St. Maarten," I said to my sister, laughing. "Remember when Quinn pulled out too fast and the back seat of the jeep collapsed? Mom and Dad ended up on the floor!" After that remark, Devin slowed down around the turns. We were grateful for his ride and tried to thank him with a generous tip, which he refused.
     At breakfast I passed up some crusty banana bread for a wrapped muffin while Christmas music blared through the speakers and Maggie explained to anyone who'd listen how she'd acquired her Borzois.

To be continued: A Collection of Florida Highwaymen's Paintings.....

   
   
   
 
 

A Trip to Mt. Dora, Florida, Part I (History)

     For our annual reunion this year, my sister drove down from Fernandina Beach and I drove up from Delray Beach to meet in Mt. Dora, Florida. Neither of us had ever been before.

   

     Mt. Dora sits 185 feet above sea level, a veritable pinnacle in a flat landscape of lakes northwest of Orlando and west of Sanford. The town was a time warp, consisting of quaint shops displaying artistic, nostalgic, or "gently used" goods, fantastic restaurants, an antiques market the size of a football field, several museums, and a large yellow historic inn that had exploded into several new buildings on the Lake.

Imported shoes, Mt. Dora, Fl.

Mt. Dora Inn, opened in 1883

     Lake Dora provided the scenery, visible around every corner, complete with sea plane and boat rides. Legend has it that the Lake was named in 1848 after Dora Drawdy, living with her family two miles south, who shared their meager supplies with the government surveyors. In actuality, the Drawdys were not in the area until around 1856, and the Lake had already been named by a surveying team.

Lake Dora, with red and white lighthouse through trees

     The original name of the town, when the Post Office was established in 1880, was Royellou, an acronym made from the names of early settler and first Postmaster Ross Tremain's three children - Roy, Ella, and Louis. In 1882-'83, the name was changed to Mt. Dora.
     When white settlers came in the third quarter of the 1800's, they found African-Americans in the area. These black settlers had a friendly relationship with the Indians who continued to travel through.
     The U.S. Census for 1890 recorded 174 people living in the Mt. Dora precinct. Access to the area was limited, via railroad (1887), wagon, or boat along the circuitous water route from Sanford. Residents raised their own livestock, grew vegetables, and supplemented their diet with fish and game from the immediate vicinity. In 1894-95, back-to-back freezes devastated the citrus crop.
     The town was incorporated as the City of Mt. Dora in 1910, with 371 people in the City proper, 42 in the surrounding precinct, and 125 automobiles (1913). The community had no paved streets, no water system, no streetlights, and no sidewalks. Things changed from 1919 until the Great Depression, when Mt. Dora experienced the same building boom as the rest of the state. It was no longer an isolated country town.

Tourists learning to use segways, 2019

To be continued.......




   

Guests' Sleeping Arrangements

     Charley and I had been dating for six months when I took him to meet my parents at their home in Connecticut. After the introductions, my mother escorted him down to the finished basement. "I made this cot up for you," she said, depositing fresh towels on the bed. "The bathroom's at the top of the stairs."
      Charley joined me later in the den to watch television. "Where are you going to sleep?" he asked.
     "My old bedroom's upstairs," I said, nudging my thigh against my parents' poodle, Cherie, so Charley could squeeze next to me.
     "Is there a guest room upstairs?"
     "Yes."
     "Does this sofa open into a bed?"
     I looked away from the t.v. and directly into his eyes. "It does," I said, grinning.
     "Then why can't I sleep here?"
     "My parents probably wanted us separated by two floors. Besides, this is where Cherie sleeps."
     "Well, now I know where I rank in the pecking order."
     The next morning I asked Charley if he'd slept well. "Not at all," he said. "My bed was right next to the oil burner. Every time it went on, I woke up."
     Somehow, our relationship survived. By the time we were engaged, Charley had moved up to the sleeper sofa next to Cherie.



     My hair dripped into the sink behind me at the beauty parlor. A woman in the next chair explained the preparations she'd made before her granddaughter visited with her boyfriend.
     "My guest room has twin beds. There was no other place for them to sleep, but I figured they'd move the beds together. Since my bedroom backed up to their wall and I didn't want to listen to their shenanigans all night, I put chocks under the feet of their beds so they couldn't move them.
     "Well, that didn't stop them! They must have crowded into one bed and I didn't sleep a wink all night."



     Friends from Massachusetts planned to visit us in Florida. After we'd decided on a date, I sent a list of attractions and restaurants they might enjoy, if they wanted diversions from the beach and pool. Finally I received a call.
     "Pam, we have one concern and I hope you don't mind if I ask you this. Do you have a guest room with twin beds? Our sleep cycles are different now that we're in our seventies and we try not to wake each other up. Also, I've got to warn you that Pete snores. I'm used to it, but I hope he doesn't disturb you. Sometimes even I can't sleep."
     "Oh, don't worry about Pete's waking us! Our master bedroom is on the other side of the condo. And yes, we have twin beds in one guest room."
     "Perfect! Just one last question. Sorry to be such a pain! Is there a bathroom close to the twin bedroom? We have to get up a lot during the night."
     "You'll have a bathroom right outside your bedroom door. And our grandchildren's night light." We both cracked up.

If you have any stories of guests' sleeping arrangements, I'd love to hear them! Please leave them in the "Comments" box below.

A New Year's Letter to My Grandchildren, 2019

Dear D, A, A, J, and B,

Here are some things I wish for you, not just in the coming year, but always:



                                                                                          4 Generations

                   May you enjoy good health and take care of the miracle that is your body;

                    May you never underestimate yourselves but always overestimate the effort
it takes to fulfill your expectations;

                    May you search deep inside to find out what is important and then 
let go of things that are not;

                   May you have enough self-esteem to admit your mistakes 
and correct them;



May you share good times and bad with loved ones and continually 
reach out to show how important they are to you;

May you find one good friend who will last a lifetime;

May you speak your mind with respect and listen with equal respect;

May you never be exclusionary and always complimentary;

May you judge others not by superficial things, 
like the color of their skin or their clothes or dwellings, 
but by their actions;

May you forgive easily;

May you be in awe of the world that surrounds you and 
actively protect it;

 May you one day walk in the shoes of someone less fortunate;


May you spend time with an elderly person to learn wisdom; 

May you learn early that life is not fair, but that you can 
deal with what comes;

May you never feel entitled to material things, 
just because you are lucky enough to have 
generous parents (and grandparents) who would happily grant
your every wish;

May you never display arrogance, 
just because you have achieved successes;

May you discover your unique talents and follow them 
to the end of a dream;

May you develop a love of books and learning for its own sake;

May you find someone who will love you and make you feel 
safe forever, as I did;

And may that person kiss and hug you in front of people 
and always hold your hand!

REMEMBER, EACH OF YOU HAS MAGIC INSIDE YOU!
With lots of love, Grandma Pam

Grandma's Instructions

Several Christmases ago, I had to do some last-minute shopping in Florida with my daughter-in-law. Our son hadn't flown down yet, so we left the kids with Papa Charley. Here are the instructions I left.




                                  DO:

 1.  Become a mannequin for "Beauty Parlor" game.
 2.  Check for BARRETTES in your hair
before leaving the house.
 3.  Lock the bathroom door, if you must use it.
 4.  Put the phone in Hannah's pocket so she can call
me if you fall asleep and begin to drool.
 5.  Put any colored pills on an unreachable shelf so
"the grands" won't mistake them for jelly beans.
 6. Sneeze only if absolutely necessary and into your
elbow or you will be told you are spreading germs
and a demonstration will follow of the appropriate method.
 7. Keep an extra pair of glasses in a locked drawer
and write down where the key is. Story-time follows
snack-time.
 8. Make time-outs a learning experience about
right and wrong, but place the child in a chair that isn't
near wallpaper they can peel.
 9. Use microwave only! No stove-top burners or ovens!

                             

                                    DO NOT:

 1.  Take the children within 50 feet of the ocean.
 2.  Take the children within 20 feet of the pool.
 3.  Reheat pizza for lunch AND snack-time.
 4.  Tell them about starving children around the world to make them finish their meals.
 5.  When Olivia tells you she's allergic to peanut butter,
BELIEVE HER!
 6.  Let the children out of your sight for more than
one minute, tops. That includes toilet time, so pee
frequently and in small amounts.

 8. Assume any sporting event on t.v. will keep them
fascinated for three hours.
 9. Pretend you heard something they said when you didn't.
Your response will make no sense and they'll think
a nut case is in charge.
10. Allow more than 2 carousel rides or Olivia
will throw up.

11. Assume they can buckle their own seat belts, but follow their instructions if you can't figure out how to do it.
12. Frighten them by raising your voice for any reason. When
you think you're whispering, you're actually speaking loud
enough to be heard in a hurricane.
13. Believe them when they tell you they aren't tired
and can skip a nap.
14. Invite them to play chef and let them chop, dice, or slice anything.
15. Give them any sweet after 3:00 p.m.
16. Take them for haircuts without a parent's permission.

               GOOD LUCK! WE LOVE YOU!!

 

Interview with Novelist Wendy Blake Pottinger

Wendy Blake Pottinger  was born and raised in central Ohio before moving to South Florida. Her short stories have been published in several anthologies and she has written for PBG Lifestyle Magazine. Her love of travel throughout the United States was the inspiration for her novel, A GIFT OF GRACE. To  her, life is about family.

Pam: When did you discover you wanted to be a writer?

Wendy:  I have always been a writer. If you don't believe me, just ask to see the many journals tucked into the old trunk in my attic. On second thought, no one should ever read those. I had some issues in the 70's.

Pam:   How did your childhood influence your novel?

Wendy:  Growing up in a small town in central Ohio was wonderful. Life was right out of a Rockwell painting - sledding the hills, skating the ponds in winter; swimming and fishing in the spring and summer; jumping in the leaves, hayrides, and festivals in the fall. Mostly, these moments were made more magical by being surrounded by family.

Pam:  Is the story line in A GIFT OF GRACE a reflection of you or your family?

Wendy:  My novel traces a journey made by three siblings after losing their mother. Many of the stories come from actual occurrences throughout the years.

Pam:  Please explain a little how your story line evolved.

Wendy:  The inspiration for my novel came from one year when my three kids were home from college. I was sad to see how they had grown apart. They all lived within ten miles of each other, but it seemed to me in their independence in life, they had left behind these special relationships. My book is based on a mother who sends her children on a 21-day journey together across the U.S. to spread her ashes.

Pam:  What was the best writing advice you ever had?

Wendy:  In Stephen King's book, ON WRITING, he is explicit in his advice to write what you know. I have to agree. You have to love your characters and your story. If not, why tell it? I have three kids. My daughter did pee in a laundry basket, my son did sprain his glute muscle. Did they enjoy my sharing their stories? Yes, they did. They all had input and opinions through the writing process.

Pam:  So you got additional writing advice within the family!  Do you have specific rituals when you write?

Wendy:  I write daily. Usually mornings, but sometimes I have an idea and I've learned, if you think you'll remember that idea later, you're wrong! So, I may stop during the day and do a quick outline for a particular idea. Since I work on multiple books at the same time (I'm a Gemini), I need to keep the ideas filed with the correct book. I certainly don't want my time traveler to end up in my 1800's veterinarian story. While I might outline an idea, I've never outlined a book. That said, I usually know my beginning, middle, and end. But I love to see where the characters will take me.
           
Pam:  What's currently on your nightstand?

Wendy:  Another piece of advice is: to be a great writer, you need to be a great reader. I have a stack of seven books currently on my bedside table. Some of the authors I'm savoring at the moment are Lee Child, Barbara Kingsolver, David Baldacci, and Debbie Macomber. Also I have local authors' books, including your book, SURVIVING YOUR DREAM VACATION, and JM LeDuc's EVIL AWAKENED.

Pam:  Thank you for taking the time to read the rules and anecdotes in my new travel book! What are you working on at the moment?

Wendy:  My next novel, a love story with a time travel twist, will be out in January. The working title is SHADOW PEOPLE.
               In addition to writing, I love to help new authors. If your readers have any questions or comments or just want to say, "Hi," contact me at: wpottinger3@gmail.com

Pam:  Many thanks for your time, Wendy, and best of luck with the new book!

A Remarkable Bird

     Take a guess:  what bird mates for life, returns to the same nest every year, migrates up to 3500 miles in autumn and again in spring in a state of semi-sleep, and can spend forty hours in the air at 25-30 mph without stopping?

   

Nest on Westport River, Massachusetts

Nest in shallow water on left

     The answer?  An osprey.

     In both Florida and Massachusetts, we live near osprey breeding grounds. We see their nests, the size of queen beds, made from anything the scavengers can lift. They balance on platforms at the top of high poles or on man-made structures like bridges. Some of the platforms have been erected by the Audubon Society.

Osprey nest on Westport River. Note piece of scrap iron hanging from bottom right.

     The Intracoastal Waterway in Florida and branches of the Westport River, Massachusetts (leading into Buzzard’s Bay below Cape Cod), provide supplies of fish, the birds’ only diet.

Buzzard's Bay, Massachusetts

     Their curved talons and an under-surface on their toes consisting of short spines allow them to hold squirming fish while flying. Once when my mother was visiting us in Massachusetts, a foot-long, wet fish landed next to her on the deck. "Why were you throwing a fish at me?" she later asked her son-in-law (Charley).   
      “Evelyn,” Charley said, laughing, “I was working on the other side of the house and wouldn’t have had the strength to throw a heavy fish that far. Besides, I would never throw anything at you! An osprey probably let go.”

     Twenty years ago, the osprey became endangered in the U.S. The pesticide DDT caused the birds’ eggshells to become thin. As a result, the young exhibited symptoms of pesticide-poisoning or never hatched. After DDT was banned in the 1970’s in the U.S., the osprey population rebounded. The population worldwide today is estimated at 460,000. 

Adult osprey in flight

      Typically, two to four eggs are laid in April, always in the same breeding ground and in the same nest. Incubation lasts approximately 38 days. Fledglings may leave the nest at 44-59 days, but will still rely on parental care for six weeks. Sexual maturity isn’t reached till age three. A typical lifespan is seven to ten years, with their only known predators the great horned owl, golden eagles, and bald eagles.

Juvenile osprey in flight

     In shallow inland or coastal fishing waters, winter brings ice in northern regions. Fish head away from the surface, making it almost impossible for osprey to spot them from the air, despite their dense and oily plumage for diving feet-first. The larger-bodied mother leaves the nest first in late August through November, to migrate from North America to the shallow waters of Central and South America. Those residing in California and Florida don’t migrate.The Westport Watershed Alliance, Massachusetts, has placed transmitters on a sample population, allowing GPS signals to trace the migration thousands of miles.

     Ospreys can rest half their brains en route, shutting one eye and letting half their brain sleep. They fly in hot air rising (thermals) for hours without flapping their wings. When they start to lose altitude, they drop, glide, and search for another thermal. Their high-pitched chirps mingle with the wind.

     The father leaves the nest second to join his mate, and finally the juveniles. In late March or early April they make the return trip to breed.

A lone juvenile staring down at me in October from his nest on the Westport River, before leaving to migrate