Tag: new york city

From Kitty Carlisle’s Obit

You probably don’t know… probably don’t care who Kitty Carlisle was. Recently, she died at the age of 96.

Helaine will read this and say, “old reference.” She’s right. It’s been a long time since Kitty Carlisle was a household name – though she most definitely was.

She was part of my youth as a game show panelist in the 50s and 60s. Before that, she’d been an actress of middling success. She acted, and sang in the Marx Brothers classic “A Night at the Opera.” She appeared on Broadway. She sang opera at the Met.

I had no clue what her claim to fame was, nor did I care. She was a sophisticated New Yorker, dressed elegantly and on TV – a class of person foreign to my distant section of New York City. When I was a kid, I looked up to everyone on TV!

Today, The New York Times published a long, sweet, obituary written by Marilyn Berger. I was particularly touched by one passage deep within the piece:

She practiced singing every day, exercised every morning (and was the first to tell anyone that she had beautiful legs, which she did) and believed that discipline was the key to life.

I’m not sure what proper journalism is anymore. Maybe it shouldn’t be Marilyn Berger’s place to act as reporter and expert; confirming the beauty of Miss Carlisle’s gams.

I think it was sweet.

New York Stinks

Sometime this morning, the smell of natural gas… or more accurately, the smell of the chemical they add to natural gas, began being noticed over Manhattan and parts of New Jersey.

Mayor Bloomberg said there was no cause for alarm, everything’s safe, though he had no idea where the smell was coming from and what it was. Or, to quote the mayor, “We are waiting for the gas to pass.”

Seriously, how could he have said that? Did the guy who wrote the, “Eat Here/Get Gas” billboard, transfer to City Hall?

There are chemical sensors squirreled all over New York. That’s probably where the mayor’s confidence comes from. However, eliminating known agents doesn’t directly translate to guaranteed safe breathing. And, sadly, the assurances following 9/11 were totally off the mark, with toxic debris floating around Lower Manhattan.

In the past I’ve considered jobs in New York City. Since 9/11, every time I’ve thought about working there, I’ve thought about the threat level.

My job search process never went far enough to know for sure, but I decided I could deal with my uneasiness. I suppose that’s easier to say in the abstract.

In the end, this smell will go down with all the unaccompanied packages and lost airline passengers that have collectively cost us millions of dollars (or more), slowed us down, and changed our lives over the past five years.

If I Were A Car Guy

People see me tooling around in my little two seater and figure I must be a car guy. Nothing could be further from the truth. I know nothing about cars and have never lusted after them.

Maybe this has to do with growing up in New York City where public transportation was plentiful and parking spaces were not. I didn’t get my drivers license until I was 19!

So, you now have my bona fides. Yet I love “Top Gear,” the BBC2 car show that’s freely available on YouTube.

It’s obvious the three hosts have an affection toward automobiles. They also know enough not to take themselves, or their cars, too seriously. The show is vigorously irreverent.

With that in mind, let me make two recommendations. In this first clip, they do everything possible to kill a Toyota Hilux pickup truck. In the second, they send a car down an Olympic ski ramp. A third clip features Minis playing hockey.

If you’re a car nut, you’ll enjoy these. If you’re not, I’m curious to hear your impressions.

Why isn’t this on US TV?

Glad I’m Home This Year

I’ve been to Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times. It’s really great. The photos I took three years ago are among my all time favorites.

Last year I went and worked for ABC, doing live shots for affiliates across the country. Stef came with me, which made it even more fun.

This year the weather will stink. I’ll be glad not to be under a tarp on Central Park West hoping my fingers don’t freeze off!

It will be interesting to see the decision New York City’s officials make concerning the balloons. I expect significant wind. Last year a balloon caught a light pole while moving through Times Square. It wasn’t the first incident where someone got hurt.

New York City should be cautious, but there’s a downside to caution. Each year’s spectacle on TV is a tourism advertisement for the next year. And, for New York, the holidays are incredibly lucrative.

By the time I wake up tomorrow, the decision will have already been made. I’m sleeping in.

The Elegance Of The Weather Map

Photo from my Motorola RAZR cameraphone

27 Oct ’06, 9.02pm EDT

Originally uploaded by Geoff Fox.

Cousin Michael was helping a friend. A little research please (which I tried hard to avoid). What was it like in New York Harbor on the morning of November 10, 1928?

First, the good news. Though New York City’s readings come from Belvedere Castle, on the west side of Central Park, near Tavern on the Green, in the 20s the observatory was The Battery – Manhattan’s most southern point.

The bad news is, most of this old, handwritten weather is squirreled away in difficult to find places. NOAA’s repository is one of the most unfriendly, difficult to use web sites I deal with. No – mark that. The most difficult. And it’s a pay site. What about my taxes? Didn’t I pay already?

Tonight, with a few open minutes, I took a look to see if there was an easier way. There is, with the Daily Weather Maps series. There’s a viewer to download, but it’s mostly nice and easy and the maps go back to 1871.

I downloaded the map Michael wanted, which is posted to the right. It’s really elegant in its simplicity and utility. In that pre-computer, non-Internet era, it’s amazing.

If you close your eyes you can see men with green eye shades and sleeve garters using their French curves to draw the isobars (lines of equal barometric pressure).

I don’t know when the map was actually published. With phone costs as high as they were I would guess observations weren’t being transmitted on an hourly basis. Still, it’s great it’s still here, to archive that one day eighty some odd years ago.

Oh – New York was under high pressure, but it was cloudy with a light northwesterly breeze. The temperature at 8:00 AM was in the mid-30&#176s, where it had been 24 hours earlier.


My Grandfather

My grandfather, Sol Drelich at work in his Brooklyn lunchenonette

My folks are doing some minor redecorating down in Florida. They had a closet rebuilt with shelves.

Of course rebuilding a closet also means cleaning a closet. Everything came out and my folks started to sift through things they hadn’t seen in years. That’s what takes the most time, because you really want to savor every bit of history you find.

As is so often the case, my mom kept a lot of memorabilia¹. I’m glad she did. The picture attached to this entry is part of the haul. It’s my grandfather, Sol Drelich, taken in the restaurant he owned, probably sometime in the pre-war 1940s.

The prices jump out first. Imagine paying that today!

What’s not so obvious is my grandfather. He came here from Poland. He chose to leave Poland rather than serve in the army.

When he came to the United States he had nothing. He spoke no English, only Polish and Yiddish. In New York City, that was OK. There were thriving communities where Polish or Yiddish were all you needed.

He worked hard as a waiter, learned English, met my grandmother, Rose, and started a family – my mother, Betty, and her sister, Norma.

As time went on, Grandpa bought his own restaurants. With his partner Nat (always referred to simply as “Spiegel” – his last name), he owned a series of luncheonettes. By the time I was old enough to know what was going on, they owned a little place right at the foot of the stairs of the Rutland Road Station of the IRT.

I loved that little restaurant. When I’d go, taking the subway all the way from Queens, Grandpa would show me off like a trophy. I didn’t realize that at the time – though I do now.

He also let me work behind the counter, where I’d pour coffee, get Cokes and generally slow things down. From time-to-time I also worked the register.

I remember being at the cash register, at the front of the store, when a policeman came to pay his bill. There were always policemen there. Grandpa ran to move me out of the way.

It was only later I found out, police officers ate for half price. Captains, lieutenants and other supervisors ate free. Coffee was always free for anyone in uniform, police or fire.

Was that illegal? I’m sure it was.

I know why Grandpa did that. Having cops in his restaurant in this very tough neighborhood was good for business. If it were my business, I might do the same thing.

There’s a lot of me that comes from Grandpa. My quick temper – unfortunately – is one part.

He always talked to me as if he knew I would be a success, even though he didn’t know at what. There was never any doubt that I’d go to college and make something of myself. He wanted me to be more successful than he was.

As a little kid Grandpa took me aside more than once to tell me about the Nazis and their concentration camps. That’s where his entire family was killed. He knew his stories scared me, but that was the point.

I can close my eyes right now and see him, in front of his little Cape Cod in Laurelton, Queens, telling me. We stood face-to-face as he went through it piece-by-piece; how the Nazis would herd the Jews and send them to “take a shower.”

Grandpa has been gone a long time now. He never got to see me on TV. I wish he had. I know he would have been very proud, even though he would have preferred me becoming a doctor.

I wish you could have met my grandfather. You would have liked him.

¹ – As long as I’m mentioning my parents memories, I should give a plug to the little video I produced about how my parents met.

Long Day’s Journey To New York

On the train back from New York City, I told Helaine and Steffie I might not have time to get an entry in today. The were flabbergasted!

It seems no entry is heresy. OK – here it is.

Basically, we spent the day in New York, mostly shopping. There are pictures and a few stories to tell, but I am so bushed right now, there’s no way I can tell them!

Tomorrow – more detail for sure.

Where’d The Day Go?

By the time I got up, Stef was at the gym and my parents were on a train to New York City. Though we’re going Monday, once isn’t enough.

Their plan was to head to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They never got quite that far. On this semi-humid, almost sunny, August day they mostly walked around Central Park.

The park is jammed with life on days like this. Everywhere you look there is some for of entertainment, plus people watching.

I’m not sure how far my folks walked, but considering they started at Grand Central Terminal and walked everywhere they went, you can calculate it in miles. For my 81 year old father and his child bride, that’s excellent assurance of good health.

With my camera in the shop I would have been much too jealous. It’s a trip I’ll have to take when “Clicky” returns.

Woody Allen Instead of New York

My dad didn’t feel well last night. He’s fine now… in fact he was fine by the time I woke up. But not well last night was reason enough not to go to New York City. We’ll try again Monday.

That left us with a full day to fill and not much to fill it with. Helaine suggested going to the movies – specifically Scoop, the latest from Woody Allen.

That in and of itself is pretty amazing, because Helaine feels there’s something inherently wrong with patronizing an auteur&#185 who sleeps with his former stepdaughter. Point well taken. It’s tough not to find that skeevy.

At one point I was enough of a Woody Allen fan that when I saw Love and Death and didn’t enjoy it, I returned the next night to find out what was wrong with me!

This movie was a somewhat predictable, mainly enjoyable, little film shot in London and the English countryside. A de-glamorized Scarlett Johansson was wickedly sexy.

I had to ask ‘who he’ about Hugh Jackman. Give me an “L” for loser on that.

The story begins with Johansson’s trip to the stage – an audience member called to be magician’s assistant for The Great Splendini (Woody Allen). While ‘inside’ the magic trick she meets the freshly dead newspaper reporter Joe Strombel (Ian McShane).

He’s looking for a reporter, but Scarlett’s a journalism student – close enough. She ends up the recipient of a huge story of murder and money. That’s the scoop in Scoop.

If that was all there was it would have been a cute little movie.

What upset me (and I’m using upset as opposed to bothered, because upset conveys deeper angst) was Allen playing his ‘standard’ character, now an older man… oh hell…now an old man.

I remember him with Janet Margolin in Take the Money and Run and with Diane Keaton in nearly everything else. He was nerdy, dweeby, unattractive, but always got the girl. In this movie, the only way he gets the attention of the ingenue is by assuming the role of her father!

Maybe I’m more concerned for me than Woody? There’s a tendency to use the lives of others as our own benchmarks. Even though he’s a good 15 years older than me, I somehow saw him as a contemporary.

All this aside, it was an afternoon well spent for my wife, mother, father, me and the one other person in the theater for the 3:40 PM showing.

&#185 – From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:

The term auteur (French for author) is used to describe film directors (or, more rarely, producers or writers) who are considered to have a distinctive, recognizable vision, either because they repeatedly return to the same subject matter, or habitually address a particular psychological or moral theme, or employ a recurring style, or all of the above. In theory, an auteur’s films are identifiable regardless of their genre. The term was first applied in its cinematic sense in Fran

My Folks Return To Connecticut

My parents hopped a plane at Ft. Lauderdale Tuesday morning. A few hours later they stepped off here in Connecticut. Once again our house is the official hotel of the Harold and Betty Fox Tour of the Northeast.

I haven’t written about them being here because I hadn’t seen them a lot until today. Tuesday’s arrival was after I left for work. I worked yesterday too.

Today was the first day we could spend time together… though Steffie beat me to the punch. By the time I was up and at ’em, the three of them were out shopping.

Actually, that took some pressure off.

I don’t want to be a bad son, but there aren’t exactly a zillion places to take my parents. After all, they lived here for over 15 years.

We did manage to have a fun dinner, taking them to The Place in Guilford. That was a new experience. The Place is the outdoor restaurant where lobster and clams are cooked over a wood burning grill.

It was great. My parents enjoyed themselves. I’m now convinced lobster is meant to be cooked that way. I need a second mortgage on the house.

Tomorrow we’re taking the train to New York City. Pray for the good weather I’ve predicted.

Radio On TV

What has gotten into me? Here I am, a big city boy by birth and Saturday I was listening to the Grand Old Opry. Sunday night I watched “A Prairie Home Companion,” Garrison Keillor’s eclectic NPR radio show, which was carried as part of PBS’ Great Performance series.

Let me personally take this opportunity to thank viewers like you.

Of the three in my immediate family, I’m the only PHC fan. Helaine has heard enough to make up her mind – in the negative.

At age 19, Stef shouldn’t really know about the show at all. She was once subjected to a full performance as we drove from New York City to Connecticut on a Saturday night. I thought she was asleep, but she was awake enough to do a dead on Garrison Keillor impression for Helaine.

“To Al and Freida in Dubuque. Good luck with the hip replacement surgery.” And then, she took a deep, pre-asthmatic breath. It was scary to hear.

Prairie Home Companion’s audience does not watch MTV, VH-1 or E! If Stef never hears the show again, it will be too soon for her.

Watching radio is interesting… since it isn’t meant to be watched. When you want to hide something in radio, you’re just quiet about it. That doesn’t work when cameras are rolling. The stage is crazy with people moving in an out. Everyone is clutching a script.

I’m am surprised, maybe more disappointed, Garrison and his guests often hold their microphones. That is so wrong! They are supposed to speak into immense RCA ribbon condenser microphones with metal grillwork. They need mics like the RCA 44-BK or the RCA 77-DX.

Along with Sue Scott and Jim Russell, tonight’s cast included Fred Newman. Maybe you remember him from the very early days of Nickelodeon? He was the young guy (back then) with a full head of white hair. His specialty is sound effects – produced mainly with his mouth.

Oh – Meryl Streep was also on, and a natural as a radio actress. I was impressed.

I haven’t seen the Prairie Home Companion movie yet. It’s not Garrison, but my nearly unbroken history of disappointment with Robert Altman movies that keeps me from going.

The good thing about watching this radio show, broadcast on TV, on my computer (I recorded the show on my DVR and then transferred it over here) is, I can fast forward through the really slow parts. As much as I enjoy the show, there are plenty of really slow parts.

Born On The First Of July

Maybe I’m spoiled, being born in New York City? With millions of people there were economies of scale. The Fourth of July was actually celebrated on the Fourth of July! Here in the ‘burbs, things don’t run quite as according to that plan.

My town, Hamden, had their big fireworks show last night – June 30th. I was working.

Tonight, with my friend Harold in tow, I drove a few towns over to Wallingford for their big First of July celebration.

My expectations were low. Wallingford is a small town. A nice town, no doubt, but the number of people paying for the fireworks show is small.

We drove toward the high school where the display would be mounted, only to find a roadblock. The high school was full. A policeman told us there was a plaza where we could park and then hike. That’s what we decided to do.

A few blocks later, we pulled into the parking lot at the Yalesville School. The lot was already half full and some people were hoofing it toward the fireworks. Surprisingly, more were sitting at Yalesville in folding chairs.

I walked over to a woman sitting a few feet from my car. “Could the show be seen from here?” The answer was, “Yes.”

The Eagle has landed. We stayed at Yalesville.

As far as I can tell, we saw 90% of the show. There were ground displays whose glow we sensed, but whose artistry was hidden behind trees and homes. Just about all the aerial fireworks were high enough to see nicely.

Even better, we parked next to a giant pickup truck with Sirius satellite radio. The driver had the broadcast of the Grand Old Opry&#185 on, and it was loud enough to be heard where we stood.

Seriously, this was the perfect soundtrack for the evening, including Jim Ed Brown (he must be 1,000 by now) singing Three Bells – a song I played a zillion times as a disk jockey!

The show was much more than I could have ever anticipated. I didn’t check carefully, but there must have been 30 minutes of fireworks. They weren’t holding back either. This was an excellent show with plenty of action.

I clicked away like crazy. There was really no way to know whether I was striking pay dirt or not. I don’t have much in the way of fireworks experience with this camera.

I did read an article yesterday and slavishly set my ‘film’ speed at ISO 100, my aperture at F16 and plugged in a shutter release cable.

These shots of are a sample of my better catches.

The good thing about seeing fireworks on the first is, I can probably run out and see more on the second!

&#185 – Holy cow! The Grand Old Opry sounds like it’s been plunked directly from the last century. There were live acts, live announcers, a live audience and live commercials (spoken and sung) for such mainstays as Martha White Flour. It was interesting to hear these 1940s type commercials make reference to Martha White’s website!


Into New York For Friday Night

I picked up the phone and the first words were, “When’s this rain gonna stop?” Actually, there was another word between this and rain, but you get the point.

A friend of mine, from California, was in New York City. It was a quick trip to visit his dad and have a business meeting. I said I’d see him after dinner.

I left Connecticut around 8:30 and headed toward the Turnpike. Though it had been raining earlier, skies had become partly cloudy. The 100 mile trip to the city was a breeze.

I drove down the FDR Drive with the East River and Roosevelt Island on my left. The buildings of Manhattan were blocked on my right, but it didn’t matter – it’s a beautiful ride on an awful road.

I called my mom on the cellphone. More than anyone, I share my love of Manhattan with her. Given her druthers, that’s where she’d be living. Me too.

My friend’s dad’s apartment is right off the FDR. I got off the exit and turned down into the basement garage, less than 100 feet away.

This is a very expensive building on one of New York’s best known streets. In fact, this neighborhood is best known by the street’s name.

As I waited, the parking attendant pulled a huge Bentley from its space. A diminutive woman and her equally small husband walked toward the car. She looked familiar.

I stared at her and she looked back. Then it hit me – Judge Judy.

I don’t have something pithy to say to everyone I meet, but this was Judge Judy. I told her I followed her on-the-air every day and then explained how I was on the news in Connecticut.

My camera was hanging on my neck, so I asked for a photo. She was very gracious. I suppose she isn’t often asked for a photo in the garage of her apartment building!

I walked out of the garage and around the block to the building’s main entrance. Residents have a key card. I was just visiting.

A doorman stood guard in front of a bank of security monitors. After a quick call to clear me, I was in.

Years ago this was a ‘full service’ building. It is probably the last place I rode an elevator that had an elevator operator (even though it was a self service elevator). Those days are gone. Even the well to do have to cut back a little.

My friend and I decided to go for coffee. That’s one of the nice things about Manhattan. You want coffee – it’s a short walk away.

In fact everything in Manhattan is close by and it’s very walkable. I’ve joked in the past, New York is the only city in America with 24 hour room service.

It’s true! You can easily get Chinese food delivered at 3:00 AM.

The coffee, in a small Italian place under the shadow of the 59th Street Bridge, was fine. The company was better.

Since I’m talking about the building, I’ll leave his name out to preserve a little privacy. This is someone I’ve known for nearly 40 years. We have been through good and bad times together.

We’re both happy with life right now – in a good place. Professionally, he’s doing very well, and I couldn’t be more pleased.

We walked back up First Avenue, past a construction site with New York City steam blasting from a subturranean vent. Though already midnight, the city was teaming with activity.

My assessment of New York is probably overly romanticized. My friend, staying in a Manhattan apartment, said he hated it – would be glad to never leave his California home. I shrugged.

I got back to Connecticut a few minutes before 2:00 AM. I suppose that’s a lot of trip to pack into one short evening. I’m glad I did.


Off To New York City

When you’re riding back to the house after a trip to New York City and you ask the family, “How many days have we been gone,” you know it’s been a full day!

A few interesting things happened today, which I’ll write about later. I’d rather talk in generalities right now, because I’ve renewed my love affair with New York City.

New York is misunderstood by outsiders. Outwardly, it’s gritty and grimy. It’s a place where a subterranean flower shop in a subway station’s vestibule isn’t out-of-place. When you probe New York City a little deeper there’s a lot to like.

Today was the type of day where New York shines. It was partly sunny and comfortably warm – an outdoor day, followed by an outdoor evening.

New York is a city made for being outside. I know that sounds strange, because you think of New York as congested with tall buildings – and it is those things. But because everything’s so close, so at hand, it’s all walkable.

Restaurants that use their outdoor seating 90 days a year, had outdoor seating going today. With Good Friday tomorrow, and many people off from work, street traffic was probably above average.

Tonight, as we walked up 2nd Avenue, a couple sat in an outdoor cafe, their dog next to them. It was that kind of night.

Helaine and I walked with Steffie through areas I frequented when I was 18. That was especially true on St. Marks Place in the East Village.

Back in the late 60s the East Village was coming into its own as the ‘hippie era’ flourished. St. Marks Place was full of counter culture. Greenwich Village (not yet known as the West Village in 1968) was hot. The East Village was coming up, but still very scruffy.

There were record stores and weird little boutiques. You could buy posters in loads of little places.

My Cousin Michael and our mutual friend Larry, would come down for concerts at the Village Theater, which later became the Fillmore East. We saw some unbelievable acts there in that old, decrepit theater, rundown from its days of Yiddish vaudeville and plays.

The Village, East and West, were my first non-parental introduction to Manhattan. I was too naive to imagine how one got to live there, but the whole scene was appealing.

The East Village is more subdued and gentrified now. It’s still got a counter culture feel. Instead of posters shops, I saw a few places offering piercing and tattoos. The restaurants are more upscale than the Blimpies we’d sometimes eat at.

When I see Stef look at New York and appreciate it… maybe even desire it a little (though it’s not her ‘ideal’ destination after college), I can’t help but smile. The city has a sophistication she understands. She is not intimidated by it by any means.

If I had my druthers, and could do it right, I think living in Manhattan would be as good as any life could be. Maybe in my next lifetime.

It’s Sunday – Again. It’s Always Sunday.

Today was another day with nothing planned. A few days ago, on the way to Boca Raton for dinner, we had driven by a sign on Jog Road – American Orchid Society.

I know nothing about orchids. Neither does Helaine nor my parents. Still it seemed like a nice place to go – picturesque and close. My camera was incredibly excited.

It’s always Sunday here in Florida. Isn’t it nice how that works?

Actually, last night wasn’t without its problems. I was sitting here in the kitchen, playing cards, when I heard a loud squeal. It was quick, but had that smoke detector feel to it.

About ten minutes later, the squeal again. This time I noticed there was a voice too. The smoke detector battery was running low and the automated voice wasn’t going to let me put it off – even though it was well after midnight and everyone else was asleep. The smoke detector wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Actually, in this situation, my folks have an advantage. As far as I could tell, this squeal and voice wasn’t waking them up. I would hope, and I think it’s likely, the constant squeal of a real emergency would roust them.

I walked into the bedroom to wake my mother. Where did she keep the batteries?

Long story short, a little chair balancing and the job was complete.

There was more to do this morning. My mom told me some lights had burned out. Would I replace them?

She wasn’t kidding. The bathroom fixture had three of four lights out! It was a similar situation in the den. These were all halogen bulbs. I did what a son’s supposed to do.

Today was another day with nothing planned. A few days ago, on the way to Boca Raton for dinner, we had driven by a sign on Jog Road in Delray Beach – American Orchid Society.

I know nothing about orchids. Neither does Helaine nor my parents. Still it seemed like a nice place to go – picturesque and close. My camera was incredibly excited.

The Orchid Society is set well back off the main road, adjacent to the Morikami Museum with Japanese art and a Japanese garden. The parking lot had plenty of empty spaces as we drove in.

It was well worth the trip. These flowers are beautiful and maintained in a beautiful place.

Our first stop was a greenhouse. There were dozens of varieties. It wasn’t overpowering. There was plenty of room between flowers. It was very pretty and very photogenic.

We left the greenhouse and walked out into the gardens. I suppose the blooming of flowers is more left to Mother Nature here. The flowers were just as pretty, but not everything seemed in bloom.

We walked the gardens for a while, but it was hot. We couldn’t stay too long.

It’s funny. If you go to New York City, you’ll see lots of people who’ve never been to the Statue of Liberty or Empire State Building. It’s the same everywhere. People tend not to see their own local sights – like this beautiful museum. It was right under my parents’ noses, but they’d never been.

My Cousin Carol is on her way over. We’re going out for Chinese food at a restaurant originally recommended to a friend by a food critic. They’re both back in Connecticut, but it’s here.

After dinner I’ll let you know if I agree with the pros.

Click the box above to see the slide show

Blogger’s note – Thanks to DF for the clarification. I have ‘moved’ the Orchid folks to Delray Beach, where they are actually located.