Just A Pimple On The Skin of Human History

 So as we leave one week from tonight, across the ocean to Central/Eastern Europe, I've been waxing philosophic -- especially since the late Spring Miami heat is back and it's too hot to wax my car.

The plan is to fly back, Business Class, to the land my grandparents fled just about 120 years ago, on account of the Czar's pogroms were getting to be a royal pain in the tuches, stay in a 5 star hotel, and then cruise on what's supposed to be the top tier boat run by Tauk, which is supposedly as good as it gets before you get into the realm of private jets and renting out entire villas for your vacation.

In short, the journey East for us is set to be FAR nicer and more luxurious than the journey west was for my two sets of grandparents, who, I'm guessing, were just happy to be on a ship out of Rotterdam bound for the new world and life in the tenements of the Lower East Side of NY, before they moved to the relative affluence of The Bronx as part of that great group, White Ethnic New York.

120 years -- as Wifey said -- a mere pimple on the skin of time. And yet, our lives are SO important to us -- decisions our adult daughters make -- health issues of dear friends and family -- what to leave in; what to leave out, as Bob Seger sang.

Our grandsons never met my parents or Wifey's father. The Little Man, during The Plague, say across from my suegra outside of The Palace ALF and their eyes met when he was a toddler. His great grandparents (and his brother's) will therefore be mere abstractions -- talked about in stories, but not actual humans either can hug or be directly impacted by.

I was never close to my grandparents, though now, I WISH I got to hear more tales about "Russia," as they called the Old Country, even though for my Dad's family it was Romania at the time, now Ukraine, and for my Mom's people it was indeed what they called "Russ-Poland," now, according to Google, just Poland. The cities were Czernovitz and Bialystok -- also abstractions to me, although I DO enjoy the famous bread from the latter -- bialys!

So a lot's gone on in my family these 3 generations since that emigration, and I get to enjoy the fruits of the labors of the past 2 -- primarily that of my beloved father who returned from over 4 years during "The Big One -- WW II" as his beloved Archie Bunker used to say, to work 3 separate jobs to support his growing family, then 2, and finally a single well paying sales job by the time I came along as the tail end of the Boomer generation.

So many tiny issues of our rich lives take on outsized importance. As I admitted to my nephew of another mister Josh just the other day, I'm bothered that his Dad, who I love, is considering buying a Toyota Camry -- this for a man who spends 3 hours per day in his car commuting to his job where he teaches the future healers of children, and can afford a much more comfortable vehicle suitable for his large size. I'm bothered by the fact that this amazing man takes such amazing care of those around him and does so little for himself. And is that really something of my concern, or truly anyone's other than the fellow squeezing himself into a too small car? Of course not.

I guess my goal for the upcoming trip is to truly lose myself in the past. I've already visited all of the cities along the Danube save for Prague -- and I plan to keep my mind open to the spirits of the Ashkenazim forefathers and foremothers who were in that part of the world for hundreds of years, leading to my modern family. Years ago, a DNA test showed I had somewhat less "European Jewish" blood than the typical American Ashkenazi -- like 92%. The rest was Italian, which is funny, since my Dad, with his olive skin, was often mistaken for Italian. I got the milkier complexion of my Mom's family -- with lots of blondes. But I'll fantasize. Did some handsome fabric seller from Verona visit Bialystok and have a tryst with a great, great grandmother? Who knows, but it's funny to consider.

My Dad always said there was a "Goldsmith sickness" on Mom's side -- many of her uncles were major players, and the aunts had less than Puritan values. So if I have to guess -- the mix came from her side instead of the colder, more intellectual bent of my Dad's family...

Wifey just shared with me a long talk with an old college friend yesterday whose life is chock full of difficulty, and has been for decades. She said they had planned a family trip to the UK, but canceled it after the spate of plane crashes. Really? The couple is nearly 70, as is her husband, and they're putting off a trip they truly want for fear of meeting Destiny that way?

I don't get it, but again, it points to the outsized sense we have of our own importance -- a few decades from now, it'll be totally irrelevant if this friend left this mortal coil slouching into decrepitude or falling into the sea -- the latter would provide, at least, some fat stacks for any survivors.

I have my inner marching orders -- embrace the positive -- embrace the peaceful, easy feeling the Eagles sing about -- leave my worries behind in the US as I journey to the Old World.

Sooner than later, in the scheme of things, Ecclesiastes proves its age old wisdom: all is vanity.

I Learned My Lesson Well

 What a Mother's Day 2025 we had. We laughed, we cried, we ate, we drank. It was a TWO order meal in day -- Pura Vida for lunch, and Mister01 Pizza for dinner. As D1 said in her thank you text: thanks for the unconditional love for our family and the carbs...

We got to talk -- a lot -- and much of it was about my nagging problem in life: I feel I need to fix everyone and everything I truly care about. The good news is that as I age, those lists have gotten far shorter -- for most -- I just cheerlead and well wish -- but for my true inner circle I think I have the power to repair.

And I know I don't. For example, Wifey has made clear she wants to live closer to the Ds -- not to necessarily babysit more, but to avoid the drive that used to be typically 35 minutes and now is over an hour. I thought, fine -- I can fix this, even though I have truly zero desire to move from this paradisical property we bought in late 2000. I kept trying to talk myself into a move -- Miami Shores has a beautiful Bayfront area where I can walk -- cool new restaurants -- closer to most everything than Pinecrest is -- a/k/a casa carajo. But when I saw that a downsized house will still cost over $2M -- the proverbial hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

Ok -- maybe a workaround -- we lease a 2 BR condo at Quayside -- we keep stuff there -- and keep Wifey happy. But after our family discussion Sunday, I realized something: there I went again -- trying to fix OTHER family members' problems. And so I made another proclamation: no moving, no rental condos, no downsized houses.

Of course, this proclamation is subject to change. I like to joke that many of my life's proclamations aren't worth the paper they're not written on. After our Hurricane Years -- 1992-1994 -- where we moved, with 2 small kids, one small dog and one jumbo dog -- 4 times -- I made a proclamation. When the contractor came by for the final payment,  I told him he had one more task: dig a hole in the backyard for my burial, since I was NEVER going to move again. Well, 7 years later, we did indeed move, to Villa Wifey, where we've been ever since.

So I guess we'll see. But I DO have a thick skin and think I can take advice, and when my family tells me to change something, I usually listen. And if they don't want my fixing, just my love and support -- well, I can work on that.

Meanwhile, Europe draws closer. I can tell Eric is getting excited -- he called me at 730 this am to discuss a few details. He actually woke me -- he knows I'm an early riser, but this am my 2 part sleep was 10-4, and then 5 until, well, 730.

I pulled 2 suitcases off the garage shelf -- this weekend Wifey and I will see if we can share one big one and make due with 2 carry ons. If not -- 2 big ones. Supposably (using the Miami spelling), Tauk is famous for handling EVERYTHING, and so from the time we check the bags at AA, Tauk does all the schlepping. We'll figure it out this weekend, but Wifey has a deep fear of being cold, and though Central Europe temps in late May to early June don't seem frigid, she tells me "50 degrees IS cold!"

Earlier I drafted and sent the "Bad News/Good News" email to the Ds I always send before we go on an overseas vacation. The bad news would be if something untoward were to befall Wifey and me. The good news is the money they'd inherit. I fully realize our chances of dying in the Uber on the way to MIA far outweigh the chances of dying due to AA or BA or Danube-related disasters, but my strange brain works in strange ways -- I'd have comfort in a 777 hurtling towards the Atlantic if I knew the Ds knew what's what with all our earthly details.

Yeah -- I DO probably need some more professional help.

In the mean time, we're off to see the Ds and their men as soon as Wifey returns from her PT. We'll fetch Little Man from his Lego camp at the Rec Center. Poor kid is one of us. Wifey asked him Sunday if he worries about anything, and he said "Ippi -- I worry about everything." He's 5.5.

So there'll be love, and support, and enough trying to fix anyone other than myself. I ought to have listened to the Ricky Nelson song and taken heed long ago. I guess it's never too late.

Thursday Fun Day

 So my trainer Jonathan texted early -- could we move our session to Friday, to accommodate other clients? We could indeed -- and so in 1.5 hours I'm off to get my flexibility and strength dose, to hopefully avoid the falls that come with age. Meanwhile, yesterday I got in my 3 miles on the street, encountering the friendly neighbors, including Karen, our new HOA VP. She told me her duty is to plan the holiday party -- what did I think of a progressive party this year. I told her I thought, like many rich areas, we had a lot of Trump voters -- not sure about the progressive thing. As a lifelong Democrat, she scowled.

But then I told her I liked the idea -- probably a decade or so ago, several of our neighbors had a NYE progressive party. Our next door neighbors Diane and Charlie, long divorced and moved upstate, had the apps and some cocktails,and Ann and Mark hosted dinner. They've also fled, to North Carolina, because of a VERY funny reason. Back to that in a moment. The night ended at our place -- nice champagne, and dessert as the bells for the new year chimed. So Karen is now recruiting 4 or 5 neighbors -- not sure if Wifey wants in.

We hosted the a big Devonwood party the year we moved in, and Wifey announced we would do it again in 80 years -- that's how many houses we have, and Wifey figured after everyone else took THEIR turn, we would do it again. Ha -- she's into equity...

But back to Ann and Mark. Ann was a bit of a looker in the 60s on Long Island, but, alas, somehow aged into her late 60s. Unlike many women who accept that, Ann had it with Miami, and the, well, many non appearance challenged women. At lunch at Greenstreet's in the Grove, with her husband, they were surrounded by hot young women at the other tables. "That's it!," Ann announced -- "We're off to Raleigh, NC -- women are frumpier there!" And indeed they listed their house, and made their way to the land where her cohorts wear sweatsuits instead of revealing outfits. Hey -- different strokes...

Anyway, after the walk, Wifey and I motored up to the Shores, and spent time with D2, and then loaded all 3 family dogs to go fetch Little Man, who is in the final weeks of preschool. Wifey waited for him -- no Little Man. A bit of tensosity followed -- where was he? Turns out his after school Drama group had decided to work late, and apparently some of the parents didn't get the email saying dismissal would be at 430 instead of 330. The very friendly Miami Dade Deputy Sherriff who is always at the school assured us our grandson was NOT lost -- just late. And indeed he came skipping out, to be greeted by a car full of dogs and his favorite honey yogurt.

We hung with both boys, and D1 came home, and D2 ordered us in Pura Vida. At 6, D1 had a babysitter coming to spell Lizeth the nanny, as she had a challah bake at Baby Man's preschool. Unlike her mother, Wifey, D1 IS a challah back girl...

Wifey was on her phone, which told me she was tired, and we dropped off D2 and Betsy at home -- I wanted to by at my desk top by 730, for a Zoom Memorial for Kenny's Dad Manny. I made it with minutes to spare!

About 25 folks were on, telling tales of Manny, and Manny's friend and co-worker of many years, himself VERY old, was one of them. He couldn't figure out the camera, and so just participated verbally, and he commented, in a pitch perfect LI accent, about EVERYTHING that was said.

Afterwards, Kenny and I texted, and agreed it was like having the Muppets' Statler and Waldorf on the Zoom.

But mission accomplished -- lovely tales were told of a very good man who was beloved by many, and brought his gift of music to students, and later to residents of his ALFs. He died at 92 in his own bed -- not a bad run, as all agreed.

So today I have my training, and then a trip to Total Wine. Wifey hosts mah jonng every Wednesday, and Lili LOVES my Cosmos, which are just pre-mixed Ketel One Cosmos, but I need replacements -- along with vodka, which somehow seems to go fast. I'll need some for Sunday -- Jonathan and D2 are coming for Mother's Day, and that means some martinis for us...

D1 is bringing the boys tomorrow afternoon -- Wifey and I are babysitting -- as D1 has a local birthday sushi party. We'll bring the boys to Chill 'N -- the local ice cream place with all the smoke that supposedly makes the ice cream better. I have a feeling the boys will appreciate the science lab nature of the place...

And Europe draws near -- 2 weeks from tonight. A boat down the Danube. Talk about a progressive party...

Prisons Of Our Own Making

 I get to travel mostly in very privileged circles. My California sister always points this out -- her tales of friends typically include awful hard luck tales, and as she said "My friends aren't rich doctors and lawyers like yours are."

Still, if I learned anything during these nearly 65 years on the planet, it's that NO ONE is immune from misery and darkness -- no matter how great things look. I first saw this in literature in the great poem Richard Corry by Edward Arlington Robinson -- the rich man admired by all the schleppers in the town, who had it all, and "went home and put a bullet in his head."

The other day I spoke to an old friend who hosted his kids and granddaughter for a week -- they live up North. I asked him about the stay, and all he could tell me about was how "the house is finally back in order -- toys put away -- and laundry all done." I knew him well enough to tell him I didn't give a hell about his house -- how were the humans? But this poor guy, who suffered all his adult life and continues to suffer from awful OCD -- to him -- it was all about restoring the order to his world after the tumult of a family visit.

His wife said the other night "I'm sure we've lost friends because of this -- when people come visit, which is rare, my husband spends the time cleaning up after them -- that tends to make guests feel uncomfortable." Ya think? One past the Woody Allen-like humor in it, I realized he has true suffering -- how can you savor life if your inner voice is compelling you to restore order?

We ALL have demons, and fight them daily, if we can. I joke that, despite my cheerful demeanor, my anxiety is a constant -- truly relieved only by sleeping, drinking, and, well...And as I age, these three respites are harder and harder to come by. I guess I could up my drinking, but don't plan to . Truth is, I never drink alone -- to me -- it's a social lubricant and makes the laughs louder. 

I'm also in a cohort that worries FAR too much about our adult children -- are they happy -- are they making proper choices? I can't help but contrast this with my own experience -- largely NOT needing parental help once I was in high school -- loving the closeness and sage wisdom of my Dad -- but that ended 4 days before I turned 21. From that point on, I supported Mom far more than the other way around -- I wouldn't have DREAMED of burdening her with my difficulties -- I was the MAN -- and I had to watch after her.

Same with Wifey, and her Survivor parents. As immigrants, Wifey navigated THEM through life in America, and not vice versa. So much of our marriage focused on THEIR needs -- were they happy where they lived -- were the finances in order -- Wifey, an only child, handled all of this with my help.

We didn't share concerns about the Ds with any of the 3 grandparents -- grandparents were there to babysit and have fun with. All 3 died without knowing anything about chronic health issues of any of ours, and without knowing any of the crises we dealt with. 

I can't complain, but sometimes I still do, as Joe Walsh sang. Wifey and I are privileged to be VERY close to the Ds and their families -- and eagerly take on roles of support and help -- financially and emotionally.

D1 said the other day how her monkeys "are a lot." Yeah they are, but I reminded them, if Big Man willing they grow and become independent like MOST boys do from their mothers, before she knows it they'll be Middle Schoolers and hopefully wanting less and less to do with her -- just "leave me alone Mom, but can I have a ride to the (        )? as one of the parenting books Wifey read explained.

The alternative is FAR scarier -- we know plenty of failure to launch, or failure to fully launch adult kids still living at home with their parents -- either not working at all, or working and emotionally not ready to get on with independent lives. One friend, a doc in Broward, has THREE of these! All in their 30s, and living at home. 

So I don't see privilege when I see my friends -- I just see folks very blessed in many ways, but cursed in others -- in other words -- flawed, imperfect, but often still wonderful human beings. And though we may look at their lives and see them in prison with the keys to the cell within reach -- that's not the point. Hopefully they grab those keys themselves and walk out into the sun.

Money, Money, Money

 I've always been VERY conservative when it comes to paying my taxes -- I err on the side of conservatism versus aggressiveness, when it comes to deductions. Our company CPA feels that way, as does my personal CPA -- I always tell him, especially as I near Social Security, the LAST thing I want to deal with is an audit.

Fortunately, the last "examination" of my return was back in 2006. I had given sizeable donations to both UF and UM Departments of Peds GI, and the IRS questioned them. I sent them the receipts and checks, and some auditor decided to allow the UM deduction but not the UF, since D1 was a student there and they figured the UF deduction was my paying tuition. Not true -- D1 was on full Bright Futures Scholarship, and the balance was by Florida Prepaid, but I went to my roommate Mark, who handled IRS cases, and he suggested I just let it go, lest the IRS decide to audit our firm as well as this one issue. It cost me a deduction of about $6K, and I followed Mark's advice. Grrrrrrrrr.

Several years later, D2 got a letter -- the Agency had reviewed HER return and found she over paid -- she got a check for $800 or so. That was a nice surprise.

Well, last Thursday, my US Mail App showed 2 letters from the IRS to Wifey and me. Annoyance set in -- what now? When we returned from D2's house, I opened the letters -- again, it was nice news. My CPA Mark had calculated a late payment penalty wrong, since Florida residents were given a break because of all last season's hurricanes, even though South Florida was in the clear. The "recalculation" said we were getting back $1600 and change -- the check came yesterday. Finally, as I like to say -- SOMETHING good for the rich, white man!

Mark the CPA explained his software hadn't caught up with the forbearance. No worries -- a good letter from the government is always welcomed.

Speaking of money, I decided to get some Euros for our trip. Apparently one of the private guides Eric and Dana found wants to get paid in them (the other said dollars are fine). I happened to be perusing my BOA site, and saw they have a nice service: they'll send foreign currency to you, at a favorable 2% exchange rate, by FedEx, for free. I ordered some walking around Euros, and they came today.

Hungary and the Czech Republic don't take Euros, but I don't plan to mess with their silly currencies -- with dollars, Euros, and most importantly, credit cards, we ought to be covered. I'm hearing the Strauss waltzes in my head more as we near departure...

This dynamic is classic. I typically wouldn't choose to travel. Sometimes I feel like Johnny Cash -- I've been everywhere, man, and if I don't see another historic museum, church, or synagogue in my lifetime, that's ok. ZooMiami is as close as I need to get to exotic animals -- I have ZERO desire to visit Africa. I've only dipped a toe into Asia -- when I was on the correct side of the Bosphorus River in Istanbul, and I have no desire to go there, either, with the tiny possible exception of Japan.

Still, Wifey contrives to get me to go, by conspiring with dear friends like Mike and Loni and Kenny and Joelle and now Eric and Dana to plan trips. And, without fail, I end up VERY happy that I took the trip. I suspect this will be true on my second float up the Danube River.

I DO enjoy Fall trips -- relief from the worst part of Miami heat, and enjoying crips evenings. Joelle and Kenny have invited us to meet them in Maine in early October -- we'll plan a few nights on the Maine coast soon. It ought to be leaf season then.

Other than that -- nothing planned. But if I keep getting checks from the government...

For Whom The Bell Tolls

 So at dinner Saturday night, with Wifey, Barry, Donna, and Scott, I shared some research I had done earlier in the day: of Americans born my birth year, 1961, what percentage of us were still alive? Of course, Barry guessed closest: he said 80%. I think the answer, per whatever site I found, was 82%.

I had done the research since, as Scott and Barry noted, "obituaries and death are Dave's hobby." Indeed they're correct.

I guess it comes from losing my Dad when I was 20, about to turn 21. He was 63, and it caused me to think, from that time, that would be my lifespan, too. Of course, he died in the pre-statin age, which is a game changer, and my Mom made it to 93, so if I get more of her genetics and avoid things like crashing cars or airplanes, maybe I still have a good run ahead of me. Or walk. I NEVER liked to run.

Today is my late father in law's birthday. He would have been 100 -- he made it to 90 -- despite amazing hardships (the Holocaust) and a VERY serious heart surgery when he was  my age. I recall it well -- he passed out, and saw his family doc, who sent him STAT to Baptist, where a heart surgeon, Cesar Brea, a very skilled Argentine, recommended bypass immediately. Eric was in training up in Boston and I asked to send the VHS films of Richard's studies to Eric FedEX. I did, and Eric called right away: "I concur -- CABG ASAP."

After the surgery, I asked Dr. Brea what Richard was looking at for future life. "We hope to give these patients 10 more good years." Dr. Brea was humble: Richard survived 27 more -- outliving both the younger Dr. Brea and the family doc who saved him by recognizing the seriousness of his heart condition.

So you never know.

I do know that some folks I know age well, and others poorly. And though lifestyle seems to help, I'm more convinced genetics rule -- and luck, I guess.

We're still dealing with daily updates from "Team Susan" about our friend, my age and a health nut, who suffered a devastating stroke. Last week, she was admitted to Brooks Rehab Hospital in Jville, one of only 4 like it in the US that specializes in "deep brain injury rehab," caused either by CVA or trauma. She faces a long slog to just return to the state where she can have REGULAR rehab back her in Miami. Each day brings baby steps -- though months after the stroke, she still out of it most of the day. I hope to hear better news each time Steve emails all of us.

Paul shares my hobby -- we talk of mortality most mornings on our walks in Aventura and Pinecrest. We wonder how much of our grandkids' lives we'll get to see. Paul's oldest is nearing 15, so I like his chances of seeing at least ONE college graduation. 

My oldest is 5, but I'm 11 years younger than Paul. I look at this gorgeous boy and his adorable brother, turning 3 this July, and wonder the same thing.

But one thing is for sure -- they grow so fast. Wifey is SO happy we live in the same city, as weeks to little ones bring major changes. We're planning a Thursday visit to fetch the pre schooler from school and spend some time.

And at 730, my friend Kenny and his brothers are hosting a Zoom Memorial for their Dad Manny, who recently died. I'll attend either from home, or from North Miami Dade.

So I keep watching those wheels go round and round, as Lennon wrote and sang, and hope I get to for a good long while.

90 like my suegro? I already outlived my Dad. 93 like my Mom? 97 like my suegra? The Big Man knows...

Smaller Dosages

 Our dear friend Elizabeth's yahrzeit is May 25th -- come that date, she'll have been gone 4 years. A memory of her was triggered today -- on my am constitutional, my neighbor Bob was telling me that Perry's Steakhouse had a promotion going -- they were selling diners, I think, $8 pork chops to honor their anniversary in the Gables -- the first 100 diners. Bob scored one last week.

It reminded me of one July 4th -- may have been 2010 or 2011. D1 was in grad school living on Brickell, and our plan was for dinner at the Palm followed by fireworks from her balcony. I believe Norman and Deb were with us -- Elizabeth definitely was. And the Palm offered NY Strips for $17.76 in honor of the holiday. Man, that was great eatin' and a great offer!!

Elizabeth, never much of a steak eater, enjoyed it, as I recall. And another charming thing about her, despite advanced degrees, was her occasional use of malaprops. One she used a lot was inserting the medical 'dosages" for the more general "doses," as in "I can only take her in small dosages."

We'd never correct her, but took that one on for ourselves, like the way I have adopted the very Miami "supposably" instead of "supposedly," and adopted another late friend, Alan's, neologism: "tensosity."

I really miss Elizabeth. She was so wonderful to our whole family, and she and I used to enjoy long talks -- especially during Covid, when I was putting 10 miles per day on my New Balances, and she had downtime from work at Orlando Regional.

She was the picture of health -- major exerciser, and ate clean -- never even a little overweight. But she had awful genetics -- her parents died within weeks of each other, both in their sleep, from heart attacks. She had seen a cardiologist for a rhythm disorder, and got the overnight monitoring, but probably the heart doc should have ordered a calcium score, too, which may have shown blockages in her vessels. Who knows? All I DO know is that she was a beautiful person, inside and out, and she's gone coming up on four years.

My nephew of another mister Scott is in town, and asked if Wifey and I were free for dinner tonight. We are indeed, and so will meet Barry, Donna, and their firstborn at Basilico in Doral -- 30 minute drive for each of us. 

Next weekend D1 and the boys are coming Saturday -- Wifey and I will babysit BOTH of them for the first time while D1 attends her friend's birthday event in Palmetto Bay -- and Sunday is Mother's Day. I remind everyone that I ain't HAD no mother since 2013 -- this will be the 12th MD for me as an orphan. In other words, Wifey gets to choose what we do.

Meanwhile the meter on moving is back to its default setting: staying put. Every time I picture a nice but 1/3 sized house in the Shores, my gut tells me no -- stay in my little (ok, not so little) slice of heaven. Another option, if Wifey insists on being closer, is to rent a condo in a development called Quayside -- blocks from both Ds. Quayside was THE place in the 80s, and it's still nice -- sort of like the Grove Isle of North Miami Dade. I would never buy a condo, but maybe a rental would let us have easy access and give Wifey a coveted "view of the vater," like her late Mother demanded.

For the ease of renting, that might/well could be a compromise -- and hell -- if I really loved it there, we could rent a BIGGER unit, sell Villa Wifey, and become renters. As we age, that actually sounds better and better -- let someone else worry about repairs, and if a hurricane gets a bull's eye on Miami -- well -- we leave and say to the owner "sucks to be you, pal."

We'll see. Right now, our trip is less than 3 weeks away, and hopefully we get a lot of living in before and during that trip. Fun -- that's best in HUGE dosages...