“There is a gentleman you must meet,” said the president of the Orlando Museum of Art. Founded in 1924, it’s a vast building filled with great stuff and attracts lots of interested visitors and not a Mickey Mouse in sight. “He once looked into your grandfather’s mouth.” I could see the gentleman, in amongst the crowd of women who had come to hear me talk, clearly a brave man, not only because he had gone to war on a battleship.
I was shown a display case in the museum; it held all of my father’s design books and some of his geometric carpets and fabric samples. Beside the case was a museum notice, giving a potted history of my father’s career, at the end it said ‘Hicks was married to Lady Pamela Mountbatten and had three daughters’, delighted by this I texted my brother immediately. “Ha” I wrote, “in Orlando you’re a girl.”
There was a surprise Junkanoo ‘rush’ (yes, there are Junkanoo-performing-Bahamians living in Orlando); and an IH Pop-Up shop for the Museum’s top bananas; and an IH Get Together in the smooth showroom of Canvas Interiors (there is a subtle difference between Pop-Ups and Get Togethers but I’m never entirely sure what), in Winter Park, beside the impressive hundred-year-old live oaks that line their cobblestone streets.
I flew home to find my children had moved out. They were now living in “Chicken Forest,” a camp they had constructed on the edge of our property.
The house was nice and quiet. I sat down at my computer, “Liquid Fire: How To Make a Metal Sword in Minutes” popped up. Hhhmm I began to wonder quite what was going on in Chicken Forest.