Monday, July 14, 2025

Time, Birthdays, and Yahrzeits

 July 14th -- Bastille Day. It's also my dear friend Mike's birthday -- he's 4 days older than I. I texted him our usual guy ball busting message -- hopefully Loni will role play with him at their NC vacation home.

I also posted Alan Parsons' "Time, " which became Norman and my song years ago on Wifey's 60th birthday cruise. We overpaid dearly for Crystal Lines, but they did have an excellent pianist -- for reasons now foggy Norman and I asked him to play some Parsons, and the only song he knew was the less than festive dirge about the passage of time. Apparently, it's a favorite at British funerals -- along with the song I would have: "Always Look On The Bright Side of Life."

Anyway, the co-writer and lead singer on the song was Eric Woolfson, a Scottish Jew, and I pointed out on our text chat that he died at...that's right! 64! I need to maintain my nickname of "Obituary Dave," and realizing a songwriter died at the age of my cohorts' upcoming birthday is golden!

Saturday was a banner evening -- delicious dinner at Bourbon Steak -- and even finer company. Eric and I go back to 1979, Barry joined the band in 1980, and Paul in 1988. Talk about time flowing like a river...

I acquitted myself with 3 Ketels, and Wifey kindly drove us home, as we debriefed on the lives of our dear friends. Paul turns 75 in September, so he has an additional decade of life experience, but we late stage Boomers seem to be gaining some wisdom as we near Medicare eligibility -- particularly on the nature of our adult kids and now grandkids.

In fact, I have been SO happy lately, that I forgot, for most of the morning, the fact that today also marks the anniversary of the worst day of my life: Hy dying in my arms in the Delray barber shop. D2 reminded me -- she was going to light a candle for him later, a man she never met but knows because of a lifetime of hearing tales of him and what he meant to me.

Man -- what a day. Dad had asked me to go with him and Mom for his post hospital checkup, and I was annoyed. I had met some cool Wisconsin girls through my co-worker at Jordan Marsh in Boca, Donna, and we had a beach day planned. Hadn't I already done enough -- taking care of Mom during Dad's fortnight in the hospital? I mean -- he was fine -- he survived a heart attack -- couldn't he and Mom just go to his appointment and leave me to go back to being a 20 year old young, dumb, and full of ...vitality?

Dad said if if the doc wanted to re-admit him, he wanted me there. FINE. I could never refuse him -- I loved and adored him so, and sure enough the visit with Dr. Heller was routine -- these were days before statins, and Heller said to Dad -- maybe lay off the meat and eat more fish. After that, we went to Morrison's cafeteria, and Dad followed his advice -- getting the fish -- I got, I still remember, the brisket. Given that Dad's last meal was one he did NOT prefer -- I tend to go for the NY Strip when offered...

Anyway, after that he wanted a haircut, and so we drove to a strip center on Atlantic near the Turnpike -- Mom went to the Publix, Dad sat in the chair, and I noticed the fact that his haircutter was kind of cute and punk -- she had purple hair and tatoos. I was sitting behind, reading a magazine, and heard her yell "Sir! Sir!" Dad had slumped over and died.

Oh -- we gave him CPR (I still remember smelling the onions on his breath from that last fish meal) and the paramedics arrived and put him on a "thumper," but I knew he was gone. Mom came in, and I held her as they wheeled him out, and I told her "Everything will be all right" knowing it was a lie -- everything was about to CHANGE -- a lot.

We followed the rescue truck to Bethesda, and went inside, and they led us to a room.  About 20 minutes later a young ED doc came out, and they fumbled to assemble what I assumed was the "bereavement team," with a nurse and social worker. After waiting there like schmucks for these functionaries to arrive, I finally said to the doc "Dad died, right?" He nodded yes, and that was it. Neither Mom nor I needed to see his body -- and I simply told the late arriving social worker to please call The Neptune Society  where he had pre-arranged cremation.

And that, as they say, was that.

I turned 21 and had to become the real man of the family. I slept walked through my senior year of college -- applied to UF and UM Law -- got into both, but knew well Mom needed me close, to Gainesville was out.

And the Big Man must have had a plan and a nice one for me. Within 3 weeks in late Summer of 1983, I met Mike, my friend Jeff, and most significantly the person for whom I would buy a villa and name it after: Wifey.

So 1982 was my worst year -- heartbreak from a girlfriend in January, and the much worse loss of my man in July. But 10 years later? The birth of my precious D2, and making it big in the law biz.

Indeed time keeps flowing -- carrying away lovers and friends and ultimately all of us. In the mean time, this Friday I turn 64 -- and plan to celebrate with yet another NY Strip -- this time at the Palm. Little Man and Baby Man had busy weekends -- in Chicago and Naples, respectively. The plan is to go up early Friday and celebrate Baby Man's birthday late -- he turned 3 7/11 and we just got to FaceTime (tm) with him. A late cake awaits, which his brother will find more important than he will...

And I plan to toast my amazing family and friends -- all of us traveling together on this mortal coil. Life brings sadness, but also exquisiteness. That's the lesson to understand.

Saturday, July 12, 2025

A Tale of Two Steaks

 A good steakhouse is probably my favorite kind of restaurant -- I guess it harkens back to my childhood, before I learned to eat more sophisticated fare.

On account of wanting to maybe live a BIT longer, I don't eat steak all the time. That said, my recently departed friend Bill Share "never ordered the chicken" and he enjoyed his life until 90. So who knows?

I do know that Wifey and I are off soon to Aventura, to Bourbon Steak, to meet Drs. Barry and Eric, Donna and Dana, and Paul and Patricia. Bourbon is an elegant place -- the chef has a Michelin star -- we've been before and they are NOT shy about their prices. Tonight, though, since we did a nice job for a client and he thanked us with several generous gift certificates, we have $350 paid for off the top. That's good for maybe 3 steaks.

The main draw, though, is the company. I love being with my brothers and sisters, and tonight we have a lot to celebrate -- especially the fact that we're all standing up, mostly. Barry and Donna are the only non grandparents (Patricia is a step abuela), and we have to solve all of our kids' and grandkids' problems during the allotted few hours. Ha. As if.

As one of my 3 new credos goes, "You don't care what I say anymore...this is YOUR life." Accepting that has given me such inner peace.

Discovery Channel has "Shark Week," and I told Wifey yesterday began "Dave Week," since my birthday is coming up on Friday. Not really, but maybe a little.

Next Friday is ANOTHER steakhouse -- The Palm -- my favorite -- in Bay Harbor. That's just Wifey and the Ds and men -- but Paul included himself and Patricia, too , which if fine, since we have that relationship. Of course, he then suggested other people I might invite -- ain't happening.

If I've learned anything about birthdays in advancing years, it's that you have to do it YOUR WAY, since the time has long passed to worry about pleasing everyone else.

So I'll take an extra Crestor or two -- and enjoy tonight and Friday.

It's that time of year!

Friday, July 11, 2025

The Flood of Texas

 Oh boy, what a tragedy in Texas -- floods that have killed so many -- most horribly summer campers along the main flooded river. Last I saw, the death toll was 200, and will go higher -- lots of people are still missing.

Of course, the tragedy brought out the best in everyone, particularly Liberals known for their good hearts. Ha. As if! One former Houston mayoral aid, a Black woman, dismissed the tragedy since it was mostly "rich, white girls" who were swept away, lamenting that it only got press since it wasn't POC -- people of color affected. Worse, a PEDIATRICIAN, of all professionals, noted that many of the people affected were likely Trump voters (or, I guess, their families -- since scores of those killed were children), and only hoped the "non MAGA" people were saved. They fired her stupid, cruel ass from her practice, fortunately.

But, as Mr. Rogers taught, there are also the helpers, and I was proud to see the Miami Dade Urban Search and Rescue team flew to Texas, with 2 gorgeous Yellow Labs, to assist in the searches. And I finally paid attention to a charity I had heard about, GEM, or Global Empowerment Mission, based here in Doral.

It was founded by Michael Caponni, a former South Beach party boy club promoter who hit it big in real estate, and followed a predictable path: drug addiction and nearly killing himself and a girlfriend in a boat crash. But he got himself together and started GEM, which is non political, and non religious, but specializes in getting critical stuff to disasters around the world. Their first was the Haitian earthquake, where they were lauded for helping so many in that woebegone nation. I made my first donation to GEM today, and think they'll replace FIU on my annual list, as FIU's Public Health School seems to have forgotten about us -- no word from the new "Giving Director" there since last year.

Speaking of FIU, the news reported that the Business School Dean's wife and adult daughter are missing from their riverfront house and presumed dead. Earlier in the week, we learned that David Lawrence, a leading Miami philanthropist and former publisher of the Herald, lost THREE of his granddaughters, who were at the main summer camp affected: Mystic. Twin 8 year olds and an 11 year old.

Lawrence is an awesome guy -- I met him briefly years ago at a UM event -- he founded the Children's Trust, which has given millions to Miami Dade kids' education and health care programs. What a tragic irony that a man who has done so much for kids has lost his own so awfully.

Today starts my birthday week, and I have decided this year I want LOTS of gifts! Ha. I even told D1, who always comes up with creative and lovely gifts, to please stop giving me stuff. When she was in the library the other day, she saw a custom puzzle she had ordered sitting on a table, unused.

I'm not sure why I developed almost an allergy to stuff -- maybe it was losing so much of it in Hurricane Andrew. Maybe it's my growing OCD and my revulsion to clutter. But my family knows -- no more stuff -- though bottles of Stoli Elit, or maybe some Johnny Walker Blue, to keep for sipping with guests on special occasions, is always welcomed!

So instead, I realized what I enjoy most -- giving charity. I LOVE how Sinatra used to do it -- read about a local need in the Deseret News in Palm Springs, and then had his Beverly Hills lawyers anonymously send a donation, telling them "If anyone finds out about this, I'll fire you and hire NEW Jew lawyers!" I also loved Sinatra's lack of political correctness -- especially since he walked the walk of non racism and philo-semitism -- he wouldn't play in a hotel where his Black musicians couldn't stay, and his contributions to the founding of Israel explain why his name is on lots of stuff there.

But I can do it on a small scale, and I do. This week Lotus House got a donation -- an amazing facility started by a rich retired lawyer woman which has grown into the largest facility for homeless women and children in the US -- no asshole abusing men allowed anywhere near the place.

And I gave to Chabad of Texas, for more flood relief -- they do a good job of actually getting stuff to victims -- regardless of their religion.

But the Texas Flood just shows how we are all truly connected -- 2 major Miami families are direct victims of a natural disaster half a country away.

May peace come to the victims' survivors. I always remember my old friend Vince's father Vince, Senior's sage words. "Mother Nature can be one cruel bitch." She sure was in Texas last week.

Thursday, July 10, 2025

Taking A Hint

 As Dave Week nears, the make believe narcissistic half a fortnight celebration of my turning 64, I have been reflecting and analyzing more than usual.

And yesterday's theme, after I returned from Band Camp and a going away hug from Belkys, the medical assistant who got to know me more intimately than most women in my life, was taking a hint.

Many people I know never developed that skill. They continue to try to have relationships with others who truly care little or not at all about them -- and keep on and keep on.

I guess I developed the skill early on -- I was always lucky to have different groups of friends, and if one group found me burdensome or annoying -- no whoop -- I'd go to another. 

A family member is a prime example. She's a well meaning person, who for years sent gifts that were, well, a bit off. Either it was clothing that the recipient wouldn't be caught dead in, or trinkets seen as silly. She never received a thank you -- actually -- learned that the recipients made fun of her choices.

Did she take the hint? Nope. Whenever she would see something at a thrift store, or antique shop, she would take the time and effort (usually not great expense) and send another gift. I think she finally got it -- I no longer hear about fun being made of her quirky generosity -- and that's a good thing.

And I get it. She sent a shirt to Little Man, since she saw it and laughed -- imagining him in it looking way cool. The problem is it's half his size. D1 could have rolled her eyes and said "Wow -- you have zero idea how big my son is," but instead thanked her and told her that Baby Man would enjoy it. D1's learned another key lesson -- it's better to be kind than it is to be correct.

Meanwhile, last night I met Pat at Captain's Tavern, and we caught up about the markets, politics, and most importantly his Gators and my Canes. I invited him to come to the game with me in September -- doing my part of the fading DEI initiative by having diversity among fans -- he'll let me know soon.

We shared some great times over the years -- we reminisced about Hurricane Wilma, in 2005, and how our families fled to Orlando and Atlanta lest they live without power for 10 days or so, and how he and I happily cavemanned it -- dinner at his CC Rivieria, and nightcaps at Fox's, and sometimes grilling in the blissfully cool October nights.

We drank our share of Midleton Irish whiskey -- back when it was $100 per bottle. Now: over $300.

His wife Susan is leaving for a month in mid October-mid November for eye surgery by her brother in Sarasota -- overlapping with Wifey's trip to Iberia for 10 days.

We may reprise our temporary bachelorhoods -- this time with some Canes games thrown in.

Pat, like me, knows how to take a hint...

Wednesday, July 9, 2025

The Final Band Camp Session, Hopefully

 So I was up bright and early and drove to the Grove for my second, and hopefully final, session of band camp. Belkys checked me out, and was teaching a young new medical assistant, to the party around my tuches was going to be better attended this time.

Affable Dr. Shah came in, used the O'Regan gun 2 more times, as I asked him if there WAS a Dr. O'Regan like there was a Dr. Moh and Dr. Apgar, and he didn't know. But before I could tell any prison jokes, he was done. Man -- that is an acquired taste I never acquired...

So with my knee better, and the stitches due out from my basal removal, I'm hopefully done with medical stuff for awhile.

Tonight I'm meeting my friend and financial advisor Pat over at Captain's Tavern. We were going to visit Fox's, but switched venues for the halibut. 

Last night Mirta and I caught up over some great paella at Bulla. Since Wifey's language of love is having food brought to her, I ordered both a paella and an arroz con pollo and brought her generous leftovers.

Mirta and I spoke about the unique challenges of adult kids, and how being an adult was sure a different thing to our generation than it is to our 30 and 40 somethings. And we caused it -- with helicoptering, and spoiling -- so there we are. We adore and love our kids, but they're much less shy about sharing their life issues and problems than we were with OUR parents. But we agreed, so long as they're healthy and on good paths, and we love them as we do -- we got nothing to complain about.

I shared with her that a friend was truncating his vacation since his daughter, a rising 2L making a ton of money and with a boyfriend, "missed" him and his wife. I don't recall EVER missing my parents, except for missing my Dad when he died. I guess stuff is different now.

I bought myself a second early birthday gift. The first was an oil painting of Tony Soprano giving the middle finger, which is in a newly renovated bathroom replacing the last photo I bought -- which I thought was a punk type woman sitting on a toilet in maybe CBGB's. Wifey pointed out that said woman had an Adam's Apple, and though I'm not anti LGBTQRSTUVW, I don't wish to have a photo of such a person -- better Tony, anytime.

The second gift is tickets to see Stevie Nicks at the Hard Rock in September. Wifey really digs her, and I figure we'll eat at Runway, Uber over to the Indian venue, and enjoy the show. Stevie is 77 -- so she fits in with our long procedure of seeing great acts before, well, they follow Tom Petty to that great show in the sky...

D1 is taking Little Man to Chicago early tomorrow am -- I can't wait to hear tales of him enjoying the Second City.

And we're meeting Drs. Eric, Barry, Dana, Donna, and Paul and Patricia for dinner Saturday night -- at Bourbon Steak in Aventura. It should be an epic evening, though there are fewer drinkers among us than in years past. I will do my level best to make up for the shortfall.

And Friday begins Dave Birthday Week -- sort of like Shark Week, but with less blood. I plan to savor each day even more than usual, and I am one world class savorer! 

As a first step, I took care of things at the seat of my powers. Ha. 

Sunday, July 6, 2025

Good Ole Sunday Morning

 So after a Saturday of happy tumult, with D1 and both boys and added guests, today is much more chill. You can't be an effective grandparent to 2 boys unless you can tolerate great disorder and loud noise -- and we savor both.

Nicole, D1's forever friend and mother of 2 girls, stopped by -- while doing no child errands. Nicole is going with D1 and Little Man to Chicago Thursday -- for a long weekend of museums and Chicago tourism. And Dr. Hilit stopped by, soo -- our neighbor who D1 met when she worked at Jackson Memorial. She wanted to meet D1's boys -- she was last here about 10 years ago when we hosted a dinner with her and Eric, Dana, Barry, Donna, and Steve and Mary. Steve was all of our Religion professor -- for we Boomers in the 80s, and for the next generation Hilit and Alex in the 90s...

After some Anthony's Coal Fired, D1 took Baby Man home -- in protest. We told him HE was welcome to overnight stays after he was potty trained. He shouted "I use potty NOW!" He's adorable, but we figure staying with us is a good carrot to use in the training process -- he turns 3 next week, and it's really time.

Little Man reminded Wifey and me that WE are the boss when he's here -- not his Mommy or Daddy -- and so OUR rules apply. Sure enough, there was a later bath and bed time than usual. But after that, he WAS knackered, as D1 noted, and he actually fell asleep as I told him my latest tale of the "Night Bird," a heroic avian that flies only at night, rescuing people and animals. The Ds loved it -- and Little Man does, too.

He slept well past first light, 6:15, and then woke me. We were off to House of Bagels, which he now knows is just a bagel shop and not a structure made of actual bagels, and got our usual haul. We had a men's breakfast -- Wifey sleeps in.

She did come down early for her, and suggested we take a "mango walk" so she could enjoy her coffee quietly. We did, with Lemon the Spaniel in tow, and found one useable mango, and one green skinny one. Since I developed a late allergy to the skin, Little Man plopped them into the bag, and we walked off for home -- a 1.5 mile walk. Despite his seemingly endless energy, he announced he preferred when we take the wagon and I pull him. I told him with my newly healed knee -- it was either walk or stay home.

We got back, and Wifey admitted she NEVER cut up a mango, and started off with a knife move towards her thumb that would have probably resulted in a call to Dr. Lew, my hand surgeon friend, for a digit reattachment. I grabbed the fruit, held the skin in a napkin, and did the job. Little Man pronounced the fruit "DELICIOUS."

Now he's chilling, watching a modern "Peanuts" movie, as the young Spaniel and ancient one nap next to him.

In a few hours, we'll head to D1's house, to meet up with her and hopefully D2 and maybe even Tio Jonfin. We're taking Lemon for the week, because of the Chicago sojourn. As much as I prefer no more dogs when Bo, the ancient Spaniel crosses that Rainbow Bridge - Lemon is welcome. Chill guy but still the energy to walk with me.

So even with a grandson, we can have a chill am. I told Little Man I had given it thought -- if he ended up liking Palmetto High in 9 years -- he could move in with us and attend it. He said he'd give it thought, but first thing was passing Kindergarten this Fall.

It's as I predicted -- I knew we'd grow close when he reached the age of language and reason. Like his precocious Mom, he says words like "Actually" and "Literally." Wifey asked him what his Mommy had said about a request. "She didn't respond." Yep -- got another one on our hands -- and we adore him. His brother, too, though as D1 notes, he's basically a cute cartoon character.

Friday, July 4, 2025

Happy Birthday America!

 Wifey and I were reminiscing, about the ebullient D2 as a little girl. Back then, the JCC in Kendall would have a parade, and D2 loved it. She would sing "God Bless America" with the adorably malapropped "From the mountains...to the fairies." She was might adorable.

For years, we'd rent a room and cabana at The Biltmore, and spend the day with some other family and friends swimming in that Gulf of Mexico -- sorry -- Gulf of America-sized pool. The Ds loved ordering virgin frozen drinks, and at night, we'd move to the golf course for the great fireworks. As the crowd grumbled in traffic leaving, we'd go up to our rooms. It was a fine way to celebrate the holiday.

This year, the grandsons are at a parade on Key Biscayne, and after, I think, local fireworks. D1 is bringing them over tomorrow -- the plan is to spend the day, and then leave Little Man overnight, so D1 can bring Baby Man solo to a lunch with friends. Little Man and I have our routine -- he MUST not wake me before the sun starts to rise, and when it does, we're off to House of Bagels.

Knowing this, I eschewed a bagel this am at breakfast at LOL with Norman -- went with the whole wheat toast instead, though we DID share an order of corn bread, blueberry French toast, which the Israeli waitress Orli said is her recipe. I reminded Orli that today is the 49th anniversary of the Entebbe hostage rescue. Back then, Palestinian terrorists were kidnapping Jews and holding them, whereas these days Palestinian terrorists kidnap Jews and hold them. Both times it didn't end well for the Palis...you'd think they'd learn...

Norman was going to do some work today. I plan some napping -- to the wonderful "July 4th Twilight Zone Marathon." Now we're talking -- this may be better to nap to then my usual "Mayday Air Disaster" on Smithsonian.

I still think back to 4ths of yore. In 1984 pre-Wifey and I spent the night before at her friend Yvonne's South Beach efficiency, so we could wake early and stake out a decent spot on South Beach -- the Beach Boys were playing that night. It turned out they played to half a million on the D.C. Mall earlier, and then jetted to Miami for another 400K of us. It may still be the record for most fans seeing a band in a single day.

We drank wine and beer all day, and with the sun baking, were ourselves well baked when the concert started. Jeannette was with us, and when special guest Ringo Starr was introduced, Jeannette ran like a crazy woman towards the stage -- I thought we'd never see her again. John Lodge and Justin Hayward also guested -- it was truly a night to remember, and afterwards Wifey led me back to our car, the 1982 Buick Century Mom had given me for law school.

1981 was huge, too. I was working as a pharmacy tech at Boca Hospital, and my friend Vince was house sitting in North Miami -- his parents and sister were at their Keys condo for the holiday. What a blast that was -- friends came from Boca and were taken aback at the wildness of parties in the 305 compared to Southern Palm Beach.

I spent the night and the next am helped Vince fish all of the patio furniture out of the pool, and clean up the broken beer bottles and liquor bottles. He found $100 in cash -- he used probably $10 of it to treat me to breakfast at the nearby Ham and Eggery. Fun times for a nearly 20 year old me.

This 4th -- no parties. It appears fireworks may be a washout tonight, anyway. 

And snark aside, boy do I love this country. We have lots wrong, but it's still amazing, that maybe 120 years ago my 4 grandparents came here with bupkis, as they say, and 2 generations later their grandson is living the life of Riley.

So Happy birthday, Land of the free and home of the brave -- from the mountains to the fairies...