A Few Messages From Bobby In The Lobby

Every Friday for the last ten years our Concierge Bobby, or as we lovingly call him Bobby-In-The- Lobby, has given out hand written notes of inspiration to a chosen few 🙂 Thinking that what brightened my day may do the same for you, I’m sharing three of his notes, plus three photos from my walk this morning.

P.S. Who would have guessed that the studio of a Master Violin Maker is hidden away in the basement of a brownstone on 65th & Central Park West!

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Another Sunday Smile

This evening  I Facetimed with my two adorable Chicago grandchildren. Milo, who will be nine years old tomorrow (YIKES, where did the time go?) became very worried about his NYC Nana after hearing the news about the corona virus and how dangerous it can be for “seniors”.  What did I do today he asked? I told him that I took a long walk in Central Park this morning then spent the rest of the day writing. With a puzzled look he asked why would I do that when all the cards and letters I send him already have good cursive?!  Told you this would make you smile!




The Magic of a Few Words

Leaving the Doctors office a few weeks ago after having foot surgery, I treated myself to an Uber ride home. As I lifted my booted foot gingerly into the car, Paul, the driver, turned around and, with a great show of concern, asked what happened. I explained that I had just had foot surgery and would need to wear this clumsy boot for a few weeks, to which  he replied “Florence, from the looks of you that boot should have a Prada label”! Maybe you had to be there but that’s when I,  who was arguably looking my worst, fell in love with Paul the Uber driver from Brooklyn!!

While I May Not Have Bette Davis Eyes……

Does it count that I do have Issae Miyake arms?

I noticed my new “designer” upper arms one hot summer morning after donning a sleeveless T Shirt and casually glancing in the mirror on my way out the door. WAIT, STOP, I shrieked to myself, when and how did those strange body parts get there? I wasn’t reacting to my face or my neck, (those changes, although perhaps even more alarming, have been alot more subtle). Where did those accordion pleats come from? How could yesterday’s sculpted triceps possibly have folded into origami patterns overnight and how do I iron them out before I leave for the day? Heating up the iron was, of course, out of the question so I changed into a long-sleeved shirt and sweltered as I went about my busy schedule.

Every so often during the day the thought of those pleated upper arms crossed my mind. I was sure they would be gone by the time I got home, probably due to a one-time contortionist sleeping position and while I do love my two vintage Issae Miyake outfits and my stunning red Issae Myake purse I didn’t want to be wearing them as permanent body parts.

That was two years ago. After trying every cream, lotion and miles of expensive tape advertised to do the job but impossible to apply, I discovered a very simple and effective solution, wear whatever the weather calls for but, if it involves short sleeves avoid any shiny surface that might possibly reflect my image!

Powerful Idea, Author Unknown

endorsed by me, my friend Jeanne, and Gloria Steinham!

“I want any young man who buy a gun to be treated like young women who seek an abortion,” the quote reads. “Think about it: a mandatory 48-hours waiting period, written permission from a parent or a judge, a note from a doctor proving that he understands what he is about to do, time spent watching a video on individual and mass murders, traveling hundreds of miles at his own expense to the nearest gun shop, and walking through protesters holding photos of loved ones killed by guns, protester who call him a murderer. After all, it makes more sense to do this for young men seeking guns than for young women seeking an abortion. No young woman needing reproductive freedom has ever murdered a roomful of strangers.”

A Noteworthy Interchange

“Are you the first to arrive” she asked?  What may seem like a simple question actually  falls into the category of “ARE YOU REALLY SERIOUS?”!!

For those of you not familiar with NYC apartment security, if a concierge is on duty you are required to provide an apartment number in order to gain access to the building. The concierge then calls and announces your arrival.

Last evening I was invited to attend a small dinner party in my friend’s beautiful apartment in Chelsea. After walking what seemed like miles from the subway in the heat and humidity (actually only one Avenue and 2 blocks !) I entered the cool oasis of her upscale lobby. Sounds great so far, right?

However  (and there is a however)….  the concierge on duty was so completely distracted by her cell phone and a bag of Cheetos she didn’t notice my arrival. Much to her obvious annoyance I  finally got her attention and provided my friend’s apartment number. Her reply, as noted in my opening sentence, totally confused me. After I asked her to repeat the question I realized she wasn’t kidding! I took a deep breath, gathered as much patience as possible, and sweetly replied that I had just walked in the door so how could I possibly know who had come in ahead of me (or for that matter where they were going!) and that perhaps if she had been paying attention to her job rather than her cell phone and bag of Cheetos she would have realized the stupidity of her question (actually I only said the first part out loud, the second part was a thought bubble :-). After calling the wrong apartment twice she finally got it right and “voila” I was granted access and provided with some amusing dinner table conversation!