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Flippers Grandkids at the Dolphin Research Center
Dolphin Research Center, Florida Keys
Before heading to Key West today with our luggage in the back seat — because these darned Mustangs are not built like a Porsche, featuring rear and front luggage compartments, not that a person in my party has too many bags of luggage, and I’m not saying whom — my husband and I decided to drive luggage free yesterday to visit the extended family of Flipper at the Dolphin Research Center in Marathon at Grassy Key.
I first heard about the bottlenose dolphin family of Flipper’s children and grandchildren from Myrl Jeffcoat when she visited the Florida Keys a couple of years ago. This woman is often my inspiration for travel as she comes up with the best ideas of places to go; however, I had forgotten her trip to Florida until the subject of dolphins arose. Not much has changed since Myrl was there.
The Michael Jackson Dolphin Moon Walk
This is not Sea World, by any stretch. Proceeds from the programs, entertainment, entrance fees and gift shop go to support this nonprofit in its research of dolphins. My husband says the **original owner went off the deep end after founding the place and becoming move involved with the dolphins, like he was certain that dolphins communicated with aliens. Hey, I say, if cats can do it, why not dolphins? I’m open-minded that way.
Each dolphin has a name, responds to an individual whistle and develops its own particular personality. They can live 25 to 50 years, obviously much less in the wild, although they seem to remain childlike. In some ways, they are much like humans. Mothers protect their children. They laugh. They play with toys. They can be bribed with food, and they can do stupid human tricks. They watch us. People walking down a boardwalk are great entertainment for them, much like sitting on the front porch, sipping a sarsaparilla and watching traffic, I imagine.
These marvelous sweet creatures will do flips in the air, walk backwards on their tail, swim at a super fast speed like superman, flap their fins in the water like they are marching, as well as take tourists for a ride through the water by letting them hang on their dorsal. Many visitors from all over the world come to the Dolphin Research Center. Most of the programs involve a separate fee, then a professional photographer takes photos of the tourists and sells those photos at the end of the session.
If you like, you can also buy a door draft — it’s a stuffed dolphin toy with an incredibly long tail. The staff at the gift shop counter ties them into long rope and plays jump rope after hours. Because we asked what was up with the goofy dolphin, stoner-like dude gave us that explanation after he joked that we would not imagine — just so we wouldn’t have to imagine a Portlandia-like episode of gyrating orgies on the counter, which it was too late for. I just bought a t-shirt and a tiny dolphin souvenir. Couldn’t help myself.
Gambit at the Dolphin Research Center, Florida
Glued to the TV as a kid in the early 1960s, I had watched every episode of Flipper. Living in Florida seemed so exciting to this Midwestern girl, airboat rides through the Everglades and Flipper. What wasn’t to like about Florida? I asked how many dolphins played Flipper on TV, wondering if it was a situation like with the many dogs who played Lassie, but the tour guide swears it was only one dolphin with two stand-ins, in case Flipper was busy eating fish or something.
**My husband was mistaken — he was thinking about John Lilly from St. Thomas and NOT the founder of the Dolphin Research Center, and he apologizes for the mistake. Me? I just write what he tells me and when he realizes I have done so, he makes amends.
Photos: Elizabeth Weintraub and Adam Weintraub
The Difference Between 21 and 61 at Lorelei’s Restaurant
In Limbo Gift Shop Overseas Highway Islamorada
Hungry, thirsty and sitting in the rain on a hard chair — even if it’s on a beach and surrounded by tipsy, happy people — is not my idea of a fun time. It was at one time, though. See, I like to believe that when we get older, we become more tolerant, even if it’s not really true in all aspects. We do tend to become more forgiving of others. We don’t expect other people to be perfect because we’re wise enough to realize that everybody is flawed. We all have our quirks.
Mine is service. I expect to get service at establishments that provide service. When I don’t receive service, I get grumpy. It takes my husband much longer to reach that plateau, but he eventually gets there, too.
Sailboat at Islamorada Sunset
When I was in my 20s, like many of today’s kids, I didn’t really give a crap if I sat in a chair at a restaurant and no server approached my table to take my order because it was a treat just to sit in a chair at a restaurant. If I wanted a drink, I could ask my date to go to the bar and get it, or I could get my own then skinny butt up out of the chair and get it myself. Which is what I thought about doing last night just before it started to rain.
At first, it was just a drizzle. The band had stopped playing. My hair was already a tangled mess, and I did not care if the light mist falling turned it into a frizzled jungle. The waiter at Lorelei’s stopped by our table after we patiently waited for 20 minutes, tapped it with his fingers, “I’ll be right there,” he promised, and then ran off kicking up sand, as though to show us how fast he would return to make good on his promise. I watched the lights sparkle, wound tightly around the palm trees. He didn’t come back. Another 10 minutes passed. He especially didn’t return after the downpour started; yet guests at the other tables continued drinking and laughing.
Right there is the difference between 21 and 61. We left. There are plenty of other restaurants in Islamorada. Places where everything is not deep fried.
Photos: Gift shop in Islamorada featuring kickass 1960’s stuff, and a sailboat at Sunset, by Elizabeth Weintraub
Buying Homes on Christmas
Gulf Bay at Islamorada Resort Casa Morada
One would think that the real estate business, especially in Sacramento, would be pretty slow over the day before Christmas and on Christmas itself but I still had showings on my listings. I guess I could see this if parents were in town visiting and had but one chance to look at homes with their kids; however, if the main objective was to shop and not buy, like for shoes at Macy’s, that could be done online.
Let me depart for a moment and say how unhappy I am with the quality of merchandise at Macy’s in the downtown Sacramento mall. Its inventory has been downgraded. Gone are many brand names and with it the expensive price tags, which I suppose is a result of supply and demand: Macy’s supplies and then buyers purchase those items online. I propose that shoppers would buy directly from Macy’s if a shopper could ever locate a clerk. You’re lucky to find one clerk per cash register, and that’s if you can find the cash register, which is probably buried under returned items dumped on the counter.
You might think I am just a grumpy old person who goes around complaining about everything and nothing makes her happy, but you would be confusing me with a tourist who had spent time in Miami. Who can be grumpy with the above view from her deck in Islamorada? OK, maybe a person who didn’t get any coffee.
I stumbled into the breakfast room, which is right around the corner from our deck that overlooks this lovely view. Pretty convenient. Scooted past bent-over-guy who was trying to read the headlines of the New York Times without actually touching the newspaper because there could be lizards tucked away inside, I guess; I have been warned to be careful what I pick up around here and I imagine he’s heard the same thing.
Fumbled on the counter for a coffee cup. Picked up the coffee pot and dumped it upside down, shaking out every last precious drop into the paper coffee cup. Grabbed another pot and repeated episode. If my husband’s eyes were not open, this would not have been a problem, but we needed 2 cups of coffee and not just one. I called room service. I don’t think they can identify you at this small resort upon answering the phone, but I was still polite, even though the opportunity afforded me the chance to snarl. I did not snarl, just for the record.
I simply said there was no coffee in the breakfast room. Anticipating that I would be asked if I checked all of the coffee pots, I added that all of the coffee vessels were empty. My husband heard that conversation as a person who did not yet have her morning coffee.
This was not a day for me to receive an email from a buyer’s agent demanding that I educate my sellers on sales prices. My sellers are so educated they should be sporting real estate graduation caps. But it’s the day after Christmas, and I didn’t get into it. Serves no purpose. Besides, when you think about it, I am not the agent who was forced to drag buyers from house to house on the day before Christmas.
Photo: Gulf Bay in Islamorada, Florida, from private resort deck, by Elizabeth Weintraub
