Those We Have Wasted On the Way

 I woke up melancholy yesterday morning, and realized it was because today was my dear Mom's yahrzeit -- the anniversary of her death. She died on April 27, 2013. Wow -- those eleven years seem far fewer.

Mom had an amazingly full and lucky life until she was 89. That's when she crashed her car and had to give up driving. It seems that began a slow but steady decline over the following 4 years.

When she was 91, we knew it was time for her to move to an ALF, and I took her for an evaluation at Miami Jewish. I knew it was falling to me to supervise her final years, and I wasn't going to drive to Palm Beach County to do it. She was "accepted" into the ALF, which I always found the height of black humor -- being accepted into a place where you decline like you get accepted into a college.

We were all set for the move, and then the following week, I visited her, and she broke down, pleading with me to let her stay in her small Delray condo. She loved it there, though most of the day she spent cleaning up the messes from her incontinence. She had a friend come in a few times per week, Louise, who would take her shopping and to appointments. She was not incompetent, and so she got her wish.

The decline continued, with multiple calls to Delray EMS when she would fall and be unable to get up, like the ad we all lampoon. After two door break ins, I told her she couldn't lock her front door anymore, to give access to the EMTs. She agreed, and typically they would arrive, help her up like one flips over a turtle stuck on its shell, and she would crawl on.

Finally, in April of 2012, there was a bad fall, and they took her to Delray Hospital. My brother Eric was her doc, and he reported her albumin levels were consistent with starvation -- she wasn't eating enough to live. That became the "no more monkeys jumping on the bed" moment, and I made plans to move her to Miami Jewish -- now to full nursing home, as she had skidded past the ALF level.

It was the end of D2's semester at UF, and so I flew up to Gville, with plans to stop at Delray and fetch Grandma and take her to Little Haiti. We did, and then on the drive, I thought she had died, as D2 happily played on her phone in the back seat of the Volvo sedan. Oh crap, I thought, I visited upon my sacred daughter trauma that would last forever -- knowing she drove an hour with her dead grandma in the seat in front. Luckily, around Hollywood, Mom awoke, and I breathed a comically loud sigh of relief.

We got her to the facility by nightfall, and that began the final chapter. Steve, an affable estate lawyer, came by and we set up all the final trusts and a Lady Bird Deed, which gave Mom's condo to my sisters and I, to pass to us upon her death.

And the final 11 months passed nicely -- my friend Mirta visited her twice a week, and truly enjoyed Mom's company. I would visit, and take her to a gazebo under ancient oaks, where there was an ice cream machine, and Mom LOVED the chipwich it dispensed. 

The only truly sad thing involved her favorite grandson -- he never visited. He claimed it was because his grandma's physical appearance saddened him too much. She would always ask about him, and at first I would lie about how "busy he was" but then I would just change the subject. It brought to mind the great book Ulysses, and how Stephen's mother "lay beastly dead" since her son hadn't visited her. Hey -- everyone must have a reason for doing whatever they do, I guess.

Anyway, on April 13, we celebrated Mom's 93rd. My in laws were there, as my father in law had joined her as a resident of Miami Jewish. My Ds were there, as was my Florida sister and her daughter and family. Mirta was there. And the beloved grandson's ex wife and daughters were there, too, a final, classy act to a loving, wonderful woman.

We ate cake, and Mom toasted "Happy New Year!" She was indeed out of it, and two weeks later, died in the early morning.

Mirta had been there with her late into the night, arguing with the staff about getting her more morphine as she was very uncomfortable. Mirta was going to spend the night, but I told her to leave -- I would go first thing the next am. I stopped next to MJH to get gas, and the call came in -- she had just passed.

Barry was there -- he had wanted to visit her. He thought he'd see a living lady -- he was off by a day. Wifey was there with her Dad, who had a major fear of death, and I heard Wifey coming down the hall with him -- I tried to semiphore her away, and finally ran up to them to have Wifey return him to his room.

The funeral guy got there later, but not much, and we watched as he gently put Mom into a blue velvet bag and took her tiny body away. She probably weighed about 70 lbs or so -- the large man had no problem doing it on his own.

The Ds met us at Soyka, the restaurant we would typically visit after Miami Jewish visits, and we toasted a wonderful, loving woman, who was blessed with a long and mostly very happy life.

I will tell her story each year. If there's an after life, I hope her soul soars with my Dad's together, like the young lovers they were in Pasadena during WW II.

If they are looking down, I know they're smiling at my Ds, their men, and 2 grandsons who bear both their names -- the bigger one in his middle name, and the little guy's name sharing my Mom's letter S.

And we beat on, as Fitzgerald wrote, hopefully enjoying each day as much as my Mom enjoyed those chipwiches under the oak trees.

The Fun in Fundraiser

 I rarely go to law related fundraisers anymore. Since I don't much have an active litigation practice, I needn't suck up to judges anymore. My friend Joel's  sister Dawn is an exception, as is her friend Cristine, who we call Blondie, on account of she's blonde. We support them out of friendship.

But Joel invited me to one of these a few weeks ago, not for a judge but for the Public Defender, and as I hadn't seen him for awhile, I decided to go. The PD is elected each four years, and ours, Carlos Martinez, is a very popular one. Still, the game is the incumbent has to raise funds for his re-election, to scare off would-be opponents, and then returns the unused part of any contributions.

So I drove to The Moorings, probably the best neighborhood in Miami, where Joel and his wife Courtney live. It's in the Grove, walking distance to everything cool. Joel paid about $1M for his historic house, agreeing to leave the facade alone, and put another $1M into the renovation. Since many of the Masters of the Universe are moving to Miami now, from NY, Chicago, and LA, the Moorings' values have soared. Not like MY hood soar, but REALLY soared. Joel said one realtor said he could easily get near $20M for his house. I'm thrilled for him.

Anyway, it was a lovely evening. I had invited Pat, my broker, in town from PA, thinking he might meet some clients there. Sure enough, some of his old Riviera buddies were in attendance, and he made a nice connection for his girl Marie, who works for a poetry non profit. Our old friend Michelle was there, and she started a City Life Guide -- Marie's non profit is a natural for a profile.

I also saw a bunch of Joel's old crim law buddies -- very colorful people. And Carlos spoke, and was VERY impressive.

He gets reality -- people attend fundraisers for sitting judges, not that they expect favors, he said with a wink. And the State Atty is a good person to know if a relative gets arrested. But if you support the PD, you truly do it out of morality -- you believe in the system. And he has done well for his office -- by far the highest paid Assistant PDs in the state, due to Carlos's ability to navigate Tally pols well.

I ran into an old friend of Joel's named Anthony, who calls himself Ant-ny, with a HEAVY Bronx accent. He hit it big in the crim defense biz -- I saw his Bentley SUV on the way out.

Also, a VERY pretty middle aged Cubana approached me -- old friend Bill's partner. She thanked me for the job Paul and I did for her uncle in a car crash years ago -- especially helping to get the money to relatives in Cuba. It's never bad when a non-appearance challenged woman hugs you warmly -- at least for this aging lawyer.

I drove home near 9, and was hungry. Wifey had cereal for dinner, but said UberEats would be a good idea. I got a few wraps from Carrot Express, and had an epiphany -- what do rural people do without UberEats? Have to eat whatever food they have? Drive long distances? No -- it would be hard to retain my ample belly without a LOT of UberEats choices.

Speaking of long distances -- tomorrow D1 and I have to drive to Margate, in NW Broward, to buy her Lexus off the lease so Wifey and I can own it. Bastard car companies -- they won't let you wire funds directly to them, as they are not "registered car dealers" in Florida -- the whole thing is a scam to charge new dealer fees at the back end of a lease, even though you have a contract saying you can buy the vehicle for a sum certain.

I stared Lexus down with Wifey's old SUV, but D1 doesn't have the time to fight this time -- so I will pay several hundred dollars as a "dealer fee" just because. Sometimes you have to know when a fight is worth it.

But we'll get to see Little MAn and Baby Man, and Sunday hope to take Little Man to Fairchild Garden for a dinosaur exhibit -- they have big statues planted among the tropical foliage. Sort of Jurassic Park without the violence, hopefully.

Now talk about fun...

Like Grand Central Station Around Here

 Typically Wednesdays are the busy day around Villa Wifey -- our housekeeper Miriam visits, and when the landscaper comes, it tends to be Wednesdays. Not this week. It's cray cray around here.

First, Andrew Palmer Roofing came early -- to fix a thankfully small leak in the room above the garage. The helpful expert said the roof is pretty fine -- can get probably 5 more years out of it -- and the leak was caused by a back up of water over the eaves.

To make room for them, I had to move the 5 Series BMW that we've been car-sitting for. Kenny and Joelle are in Southern California, and their dog sitter needed their dedicated condo spot, so they left the car here while they're gone. I ended up driving it to my workout today, as other vehicles were clogging up the property.

After I returned, a car transporter came to fetch Wifey's old SUV, which my consuegro Ricardo sold to a company. An affable fellow came, drove the SUV onto a flatbed, and said he was headed to North Carolina. Apparently there aren't as many Lexuses there, and the price fetched is higher than in South Florida. I took a photo and said adios.

Then the landscapers came -- with my least favorite sound -- the leafblower. While they were here, Henry the car wash guy arrived -- to make like new Wifey's new older SUV -- D1's castoff.

As Henry worked, the pool guy arrived. Man -- it's been non stop.

Of course, I realize how fortunate we are to be able to afford all these services. I'm too old to do most of them anymore, and we enjoy the convenience of having them visit the house.

Oh yeah -- Insta Cart is coming soon, too. Wifey gets it from Aldi, and I order from Publix. Today is her turn.

Early this evening, I'm off to the Grove, for a fundraiser for our Public Defender, Carlos Martinez. My friends Joel and Courtney are hosting. Joel used to be a PD, and is friends with Carlos. No one will challenge him if he builds a war chest each term.

We had the same PD for decades, Bennett Brummer, an old school Jewish Liberal, and Carlos was his protege. I'm guessing Carlos isn't very conservative -- he's attending tonight with his husband.

I'll probably Uber over to the event -- nice to not have to drive, especially with an open bar. Wifey has begged off, but I'll see some old friends I haven't seen in awhile. I'm actually looking forward to it.

Saturday I have to fetch D1 in the afternoon, and we have to drive to Margate, to buy her SUV off lease. It's a legal scam -- the car companies don't register as dealers in Florida, and so the dealers use buying off lease as an excuse to charge a few hundred dollars, even though the contract doesn't state that.

I fought it off when I bought Wifey's SUV off lease in 2019. I no longer have the energy -- I'll pay JM Lexus and hopefully get 'er done. Maybe there'll be a grandson dinner afterwards.

Monday night, Rabbi Yossi and Nechama invited us for the end of Pesach. We haven't been to their new house yet, and we agreed to come. I'm hoping there'll be vodka.

And May is upon us. Wow. Fast year. They're all fast now. But mostly exquisite, too.

Being Useful

 When I was about 9, my friend Mike M and his Dad Bobby were repairing their car. I knew nothing about mechanics, and was sort of standing around watching. Mr. M. said "Hey Dave -- make yourself useful -- go get the wrench in the back of the garage!"

I did, and the words resonated with me. I had never heard them before: "Make yourself useful." So simple, and such great advice.

Unfortunately, so many are use-LESS in life -- you can't depend on them at all. And that's just the way it is.

I always try to be the useful guy, though the circle I serve grows smaller and smaller. Yesterday I dropped off a box of welcome kits for our neighborhood, now that I have retired as "Welcome Chair." My replacement Berta thanked me, and asked the worst part of the volunteer job. I told her it's when you make the effort to go greet the new neighbor, and give them a gift -- in my case it was a bottle of wine -- and you never hear from them -- as if they just assume they're entitled to this, for some reason.

She said she won't abide that -- she will follow up to make sure anyone she serves know it's a volunteer thing. I wish her well.

I long ago learned that treating people royally doesn't mean you can expect anything in return. Sometimes people just forget.

Our neighbor Jose got Wifey to the front of the line to see a specialist at the Med School, last week. The Ds were joking about it last night: Wifey was telling them on a loud phone call that the patient sitting next to her had made her appointment in August, and Wifey cruised right in.

I knew there was zero chance Wifey would remember to thank Jose, so I did. I'll get him some Austin Hope wine this weekend, too -- he really likes it.

So I'll try to be useful, and return calls from those I care about. Being use-LESS, is well, being use-LESS.

Speaking of the Wifey anecdote...

Last night we drove to D1's and spent some time with the boys, and then drove to D2 where we had plans for a non-seder second seder. I poured a Tito's, and waited for Jonathan and D1 and Joey to arrive.

Jonathan did, a ton of Aegean Street Food in hand, and I lampooned my late suegro. When he was home when I arrived after a long work day, he would bark "Go put da short pants on! Relax!" I was too nice to tell him the only way I would relax was when he and my suegra, of blessed memory, would get the F out my house.

Jonathan well knows the tale, and I AM sensitive about getting in the way of my working sons in law after a long work day.

But Jonathan was cool -- he poured us some healthy martinis, and we sat down to feast.

Well, the tale came up about Wifey's bragging to the Ds on the phone in the presence of the poor, non VIP patient.

I had been drinking, a lot, and I lost my breath. It has happened most of my adult life -- after I drink, and laugh uncontrollably, it takes me a few seconds to be able to inhale. It appear I am choking, but I'm not.

Poor Joey jumped up -- thinking I needed the Heimlich maneuver, as his Dad once did when he choked on some steak. I waved him off -- and sure enough, I was fine. But I wrecked his buzz, poor guy.

On the way home, it occurred to me, Dying of laughter is not a bad way to go. I hope it doesn't happen for a good long time -- but hey -- less embarrassment than Nelson Rockefeller's exit, on his office desk with his young assistant. I don't have any young assistants anymore, anyway.

In the mean time, I try to stay use-FUL, and return calls promptly. No uselessness for me. And thanks, Mr. M, for the lesson so many years ago.

Where Are You Going; Where Have You Been?

 So on a blissfully traffic light evening, Wifey and I drove her new old SUV up to the consuegros for their seder. I brought some vodka and gin, as Jacqui only drinks at home when I'm there, and I made her and Joey a couple of G and Ts. I tried a new vodka which was fine.

It was a nice, small group -- D1 and 2/3 of her men, as Baby Man was home with sitter, Jacqui and Ricardo, Tio Alan, and Jacqui and Ricardo's dear friends Debbie and Arturo. Arturo is a retired US Army colonel, and he made sure we added a prayer for the IDF soldiers in Israel. He's Cuban Catholic, but very much a Zionist, as we all were.

We joked about the Columbia protest idiots telling Jews to "Go back to Poland!" What if they were Sephardic -- shouldn't they be told to "Go back to Syria?" 

Jacqui's food was amazing, and Joey updated his haggadah, the seder guide book, which he wrote in honor of his late grandpa Jose. I had learned a lesson with Little Man when I told him about his namesake, by Dad, who had died. "Death" isn't an easy concept for a smart 4 year old -- he always brings it up now -- and so I suggested we tell Little Man that his great grandpa Jose was "in Bogota." That seemed to go over well -- though I was waiting for him to ask why he didn't meet him when HE was in Bogota meeting his "primas."

Since Little Man was the only child, he easily found the afikomen, which excited him. The time just flew by -- talking about politics, and movies, and the best new NetFlix shows.

A Sephardic question is, after the meal, to ask each seder participant where they're from, and where they're going, with the answers typically "Egypt" and "Jerusalem." This year it was more poignant, given the misery there.

We left the door open for Elijah, the prophet, and he was stealthy as always.

D1 shared the tail about a massage therapist who had visited recently, to massage her as well as D2 and Jonathan. She noted that Betsy was "quite a dog," and was anxious since D2 and Jonathan's house, built in 1956, is filled with "happy spirits," which only dogs can see. Who knows -- so long as they're not evil spirits...

I drove home and thought Wifey was napping, but she reminded me her latest ailment, a pulled trapezious muscle, hurt so much she couldn't sleep and kept her quiet. I told her I was sorry about this latest ailment.

I fell asleep and had a busy am planned -- balancing AC man Danny and a workout, but Jonathan the trainer texted -- he needed to cancel on account of a surfeit of vodka and cokes at his family's seder. I told him it would make Wifey happy -- she needn't wake up at the crack of 9 now to deal with the AC guy.

Sure enough, Jorge rolled up and immediately diagnosed the problem. Danny thought it was a a capacitor (my joke about it being a flux capacitor went over his head), but it turned out it was a rusted compressor filter which allowed the refrigerant to leak out -- so no cooling.

Jorge replaced the filter lickety split, and recharged the compressor. It's amazing to have an AC guy show up less than 12 hours after you call him -- Danny is amazing. I joked with him that Norman never set me up with a pretty girl, but setting me up with Danny was better.

And another repair guy is coming. The free refrigerator I got from Home Depot, on account of they botched the order during Covid, is on the blink. Ha. Serves me right -- thinking I got a $2K unit for nothing, and it would last.

So Glynn's is coming today, too -- see if they can get the refrigerator working well. If it's too expensive, I'll just get a cheap one for the garage and have them haul away to freebie.

I get to take Wifey to her THIRD doctor for her fainting issue this afternoon. Yesterday she handed me the phone as she was explaining to the internist what the neuro had said, and then walked away. She is sure enough eccentric these days.

I imagine the young cardio fellow will just keep her blood pressure in safe range. From there, another drive to NE Miami -- first to see Baby and Little Man, and then to Mr. Mandolin for our second night seder lite, with both Ds and their fine husbands.

Indeed, the most wonderful time of the Spring. I've been in Pinecrest; I'm heading to MiMo...

And So This is Pesach...And What Have You Done?

 So the unleavened times are upon us. Wifey succeeded in doing her preparation -- going to Joanna's to buy a flourless chocolate cake for tonight. I bought my bottle of vodka, gin, and tonic, and will bring one of the two boxes of schmurah matzoh we had delivered -- one from Rabbi Yossi, and one from Rabbi Berl in Gainesville.

Schmurah matzoh is the REALLY pure kind observant Jews eat only on Passover. Years ago, I watched it being made -- in Crown Heights. Our friend Nechama's father was a baker at a matzoh bakery, and Jeff, our old friend Alan, and I were given a tour of the Dickensian building. It was something to see -- like watching a fine pizza chef remove the pie at the precise time.

We're going to Joey's parents' tonight for first seder, and we always have a great time. This year it'll be a small crowd, as Joey's older brother Bob and wife Vera and Vera's family are all in Peru for the holiday. I think the group will be Joey's younger brother Alan, and Jacqui's best friend from Bogota with her Cuban American husband -- a retired US Army colonel who I always love chatting with.

I think Little Man is the only child -- Baby Man will be home with a sitter given the late hour. I'll pour vodkas for me and gin for Jacqui -- she only drinks when I'm over - I am indeed that bad influence. You can only handle so much Passover wine.

Meanwhile, our people are in rather chippy times, following the terrorist attack by the Hamas savages last October, and the Israeli response. Here, anti -semitism, with the Hamas crap as an excuse, has reared its head.

Don't people get that you can despise Jews, but things never work out well for nations that persecute us. Israel has given so much tech to us -- cell phones, medical innovations. The Arabs gave us...the abacus. And that was quite awhile ago.

At least closer to home, there is a source of pride. UF's Chabad is hosting the biggest seder in North America -- at the O Dome. The UF President, Ben Sasse, brooks no nonsense from the protesting monkeys, like his cohorts at the Ivy League schools do.

Thankfully there have been relatively few incidents at UM and FIU, too.

I just read that Columbia went to online today because of the unrest. What times we live in.

My favorite is groups like Queers for Palestine. As if Queers would have any chance in the Islamic world. The dark joke is that their only saving grace is that, in Gaza, all the tall buildings have been destroyed, so Hamas can't toss gays off their roofs anymore. Gays owe the IDF for that!

So tonight we'll all ask the Big Man for peace, as we always do. It just seems this year is a bit rougher than usual.

Stephens of Hialeah

 So yesterday we had nothing going on, and then Paul called. I had a check for him, and was going to mail it, but he gets SO happy when he receives the check personally. Would I come to Aventura for lunch? I would not -- the traffic there is hellish -- plus, we are driving to NE Miami both Monday and Tuesday nights for Passover. But, I WOULD meet him somewhere halfway.

We settled on Stephen's, in Hialeah. He had never been there, and heard me crow about their sandwiches. And so I was off in the man sized Caddy SUV, up the Palmetto, to Hialeah.

The place has a cool history. In the 40s, Hialeah was the center of South Florida's mostly Jewish schmatta trade -- sort of Lower East Side South. The factories and workers needed places to eat, and probably 10 delis sprung up. Over time, Hialeah transitioned to probably 300% Cuban -- a mathematical impossibility -- but seems about correct.

All of the delis transitioned to places with ventanitas, except for Stephen's -- it remained. About 10 years ago, a guy from New Jersey bought it, and tried to restore it. Judges from the Criminal Court, and lawyers, came for lunch -- the drive wasn't too far. The place was ok, but the meat of lower quality, even though the long time pastrami slicer, Thompson Biggers, remained. He is the grandpa of Miami Heat legend Udonis Haslem.

But then, Matt Kusher, a local VERY good restaurant guy, bought it -- and he really made the place. Jewish deli meets Cuban kitsch. The urinals in the men's room have pictures of Castro -- so you can piss on his face. There's an adjoining bar with all manner of local Cuban items --even a casa China for outdoor events. But the corned beef is as good as you can get.

So I got a Dr. Brown's Diet Cream, a Rachel sandwich, and Paul got his standard corned beef on rye with Russian dressing -- but not grilled, like a Reuben. 

We talked of days to come and days gone by. Somehow, come November, our law firm turns 30. When we started out in November of 1994, we pledged to "Do whatever it takes"to succeed for 10 years. We have slouched on for another 2 decades.

We talked about how the firm was much more than a couple of lawyers coming together to handle cases -- it was a true joining of both our worlds. Our families are now VERY close. My friends became Paul's, and his mine. Sadly, two of his closest, Alan and Frank, are now gone. I reminded Paul that's because he's 11 years older -- and those pesky actuarial tables tend to work that way.

When I left, Wifey was sitting by the pond, picking the weeds from the rocks. When I returned, she was in the same place, but Bo had abandoned her to wait to be let back into the air conditioned house. Eventually, Wifey came in to eat the tuna salad sandwich I brought her from Stephen's.

Today -- no plans either, though I DO need to walk as I shirked that duty yesterday. And then it is Pesach. And what have I done?

Monday night we're going to Joey's parents' house -- should be a smallish crowd, as Joey's older brother Bob and his family are in Peru with his wife Vera's family.

Tuesday we're meeting D2 and Jonathan at a local Greek place -- no seder -- but Aegean Street Food, as they advertise, and the great surroundings of a restored MiMo Motel, the Vagabond. Supposedly it was a haunt of the Rat Pack back in the day -- the same time the Jews were sewing schmatas in Hialeah. Ah, history.