Fawlty Towers

In the classic British comedy "Fawlty Towers," the best episode by far is the one where the German guests are coming to stay at the Inn. Basil, for most of the episode, pounds into his staff the admonition "Whatever you do, don't mention the war."

Of course, Basil is conked on the head, and ends up talking about NOTHING EXCEPT the war, going so far as to call the guests Nazis, and blaming them for everything that's wrong with the world.

The episode is so funny because we relate to Basil's exasperation. He just asks for one small thing, and then it blows up in his face.

Sometimes this happens in life. We just ask for sone small thing, repeatedly. Sometimes we're promised that thing, and then BLAM! It blows up on us. Sometimes when this happens, it's not funny at all.

Wasting My Time

Lawyers' clients seem to have a disconnect between wanting advice and realizing they have to pay for the lawyer's time.

When you hire a plumber, he comes to your house and you pay by the hour. Last time I had one, I paid over $75 per hour to a fellow who had a high school education, and, when he fixed my leaking toilet, was happy to pay every dollar.

Earlier this week, I took some clients to my friend and neighbor's office, to refer their case. My friend spent a good 3 hours explaining the intricacies of the case to them, and then called to tell me the clients were going to "think about it."

Today, my partner went to see a gentleman in Hollywood, who was badly injured in a car wreck. He spent 2 hours explaining things to the man and his wife, only to have the wife say "Wow --you've really taught us a great deal, and you're impressive, but my son from California forbis us from hiring a lawyer. He has a connection to one, and we'll probably go in that direction."

Lord forbid these jerks told my partner that before he gave up 1/2 of a day to meet with them. Years ago, when I asked a law school classmate about his clients, he said "Dave --clients in this filed are the moral equivalent of cockroaches. I do a good job for them, but never go out of my way." I guess he had LOTS of experiences like this.

In other news in the jerk category, I got an announcement in the mail yesterday from an attorney in PEmbroke Pines who I'll call Susan D, because that's her name. She was asking me to refer her cases. The problem is,years ago she cheated me out of a co counsel fee. Talk about chutzpah! I sent her a sarcastic email, telling her she's a piece of offal.

Not a very inspiring week here in attorney town...

Food Glorious Food

I'm 46, and I really, really love to eat. Today, I saw a client in Hialeah, a working class city here in Miami Dade County, mostly Cuban, and afterwards I went to a great sandwich shop on W 12th Avenue called Sarussi Cafeteria. They've been there since 1965, and make a chicken sandwich with a marinated breast, onions, toasted Cuban bread, and the little potato spears that we used to get with lunch in grade school. It may have been the most delicious sandwich I've ever had, except for a corned beef on rye, which, if I ever fail to respect, will cause my father's ghost to come down and haunt me.

Anyway, it was great, and HUGE. You'd have thought that was enough food for the day, but NO --Barry's on his way over, and we're heading out for sushi next door. More food. I love it.

When I was a child, I hated to eat. Apparently I was very skinny, and my mother remembers buying "slim" pants and having to take them in. Once I passed puberty, though, it all changed, and I've never looked back.

I wish I could report that I was a foodie, but I'm not. I love many simple things, like Cantonese Chinese, pizza, a good hamburger. Hey --as I've already reported, a great sandwich does it for me.

So, it appears this extra 50 lbs I carry around isn't going anywhere for awhile. Besides, compared to many folks I know, I look positively tubercular.

Ah --Barry draws near, and I just told him that the Thai/Japanese place next door has the best bowl of wonton soup in the City. I love to eat.

The End of the Weekend

It's Sunday morning, one of my favorite times of the week. As Greg Allman sang "Good ole Sunday morning, bells are ringing everywhere..." Who am I kidding? As the annoying and upbeat person I usually am, MOST times of the week are my favorite.

But this one is special. Daughters #1 and #2 went out last night to a movie together, and really enjoyed each other's company. #2 is sleeping at a friend's; #1 is snoozing away in her bed here. #1 will leave in a few hours for her return to UF, and 2 final exams, before returning here, hopefully, on December 6.

Wifey and I just dragged the dogs around the 'hood, and then went to Roasters for my Sunday morning ambrosia: coffee, a perfectly toasted bagel, and Nova salmon sliced so thinly you could read the Herald through it.

Friday night our friend from Orlando came, and we set up some chairs in front of the house to gaze at the gorgeous full moon. Clouds came in, and then a summer-like rain started. We brought the chairs under the porch (loggia --it's an Italian style house) roof, and I lit a fire in the chimnea. I drank whiskey and our friend drank wine, while the 3 of us talked about life and love, and how hard it is to find the latter.

At about 1145 pm, we ordered some pizza, and we ate it after midnight, like we were still in college. It was white pizza, and it was delicious.

So, back to work tomorrow. Daughter #1 has a few days of classes, and then a final exam or two. If she can't find a driving partner home, I may fly up to Orlando, have her pick me up at the airport there, and drive home with her. Daughter #2 has 3 weeks of classes before her winter break. I'm thinking that the liklihood of my working the last week of 2007 is pretty small.

So, I'm back to Sunday morning. Wifey just told me that she saw a woman on a talk show saying that she was looking for her perfect man, who would take her on her perfect Sunday morning date: work out together, go for breakfast, and then go to church. Well, I hit two out of three...

The Matriarch

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, and we all decamped to Boynton Beach for a fine feast prepared by my sister. My brother in law spoke briefly, and was beautifully overcome with emotion as he shared his gratitude for his grandchildren, children, wife, and my family. He also recognized my mother, the matriarch of our clan. She beamed.

She'll be 88 in April, and, as far back as I can remember (probably when she was 48 or so) she has treated every single day as a precious gift. She lives very simply, probably on less than $15,000 per year, and feels like she's extremely rich. She envies NO ONE, and NOTHING. I think that's a key to her long and happy life --eliminating all the negative feelings that accompany the "I coulda been a contenda" mantra of life's losers.

At this point in her life, Mom simpy doesn't want to hear the negative. She's cut off contact from people who tell her sad tales. She doesn't watch the news or get a newspaper, because she doesn't want to hear the mostly negative stories.

Sometimes we, her children, feel a bit cheated that we can't share our trials with her. But, the truth is, at almost 88 there's nothing practical she can do when there's a difficult issue, so we act wisely and insulate her. She's taught us well --we now know that telling her negative tales simply lets US vent, upsets her, and changes nothing. It's no longer her job to dispense advice or support. We're thrilled to simply have her with us.

She still makes us laugh. One of her great granddaughters gave her a running hug yesterday, and nearly knocked her down. As we all replayed various permutations of the "flying grandma," she laughed along with us. Later, one of her great grandDOGS jumped up and licked her face. She told me it was the "most action" she's had in years.

She volunteers at a local hospital each week, feeding sick patients and transporting them around. The hospital staff loves her there. One of my closest friends is now a big shot doctor at the hospital. He always goes out of his way to greet her, and give her a big play, as they say in Vegas. She loves that.

So, as I gather and consider my blessings, this one's for Sunny, she of the most appropriate nickname around.

Years ago, I asked my father's advice about chosing a wife. Did he care about her religion, or background. "Dave, it's simple. MArry someone who is PLEASANT." He did that, in 1942, and she remains so 65 years later.

We all love you, Mom.

Erev Thanksgiving

Tomorrow's Thanksgiving, and I thought it best to ease into the holiday by taking the day off. Daughter #1 came home last night, and she awoke and headed for the smoothie shop to bring her sister a "Blueberry Burst" (with soy protein). Daughter #2 LOVES when her sister does this.

Afterwards, the college sophomore met wifey, and the two visited the new Whole Foods store in South Miami. As she called me about this, you'd have thought she visited Disney World for the first time.

Tonight the girls have friends over, and I'm loving the feel and sounds of a full house --having them both here. If I had one goal as a father, it was to have my girls become close friends, and it seems it's mission accomplished. I want them to be there for each other no matter what. They have different personalities, but they love each other deeply. That makes me so happy.

Anyway, tomorrow it's over the Interstate and through the retirees to grandmother's house we'll go, to hang a few pictures and do a few chores for the world's happiest almost 88 year old. Then, off to Aunt T's for her annual Thanksgiving Day feast, the one day of the year we all seem to be able to get together.

Wifey's a bit anxious, since she hasn't been out of Dade County since JAnuary, but we'll take our time and get her there, hopefully.

The rest of the weekend, I plan to continue the Daddy-\Daughter bonding thing.

It's nice to have the kids home for the holidays.

The Land of Our People...

Daughter #1 called wifey tonight with exciting news: she was selected for the "Birthright " program, along with her roommate and some UF fraternity brothers, to go to Israel this December.

Birthright was funded with over $1 Billion (with a B) by a JEwish philanthropist who wanted all Diaspora JEws to visit the Homeland before they were 25. Trips leave from NYC, LA, and Miami (the nation's 3 Hymietowns), and this trip leaves from JFK.

I visited Israel with my parents when I was 8, as our first trip on an airplane. I still remember a good deal, although the most exciting part to me, a junior NASA-phile, was watching Neil Armstrong's moon walk from a store front TV in Tel Aviv.

I want to go back.

Daughter #1 tends to like luxury trips, and the Birthright trips are the opposite. They take the young adults to cultura sites like Masada, and Kibbutzim, and really teach them about their heritage. I'm told they don't tolerate princess-like behavior. We'll see...

My father was always more of a Zionist than observant Jew, and I'm the same. I'm anxious to hear my daughter's take on her mother's native country. I hope she likes it, but not too much --lest we have to buy a condo in Hertzalea someday. We could do worse...

Select A Seat

Yesterday was the day long time season ticket holders were invited to Dolphins Stadium to pick out "Club Seats" for the Hurricanes. My appointment was at 10 am, so, as usual, I left very early. I had a delightful drive in my convertible under blue skies and temps in the 60s, singing along with PAul McCartney to "Oh Darling" as I drove North on the Interstate.

I fibbed to the officials at the stadium, and told them I had lost my appointment card, so they took me at 930. I bought 2 Club Seats for me, and 2 for my partner in the end zone. The seats were a "bargain" at $900 each. The truth is, it really IS the civilized way to watch a game, since you can watch the game, go inside the gorgeous Club Area to eat and drink, and then return to your seats, which are covered and cooled by huge outdoor AC ducts.

Dr. Barry met me as I was finishing up, and we went to sit in the new seats. IT's pretty cool being in an empty stadium, and the enormous TVs played scenes from the Canes 5 championship seasons. Barry and I watched and remnisced, and the populist in Barry wondered how all these folks had the money to spend a minimum of $900 per seat for 6 college games (many people were buying skybox seats, which cost a minimum of $2500/seat, and you have to buy 10 of them!).

We left to go to Mo's Bagels in Aventura. Mo's is named for Mohammed, no fool, who realized his name before a bagel shop in Aventura wouldn't be good for business. We ate heartily, and then returned to the stadium to meet Eric, who was selecting his Club seats.

What a scene! There were at least 2000 people on a very slow moving line, and few things are as funny as thousands of rich folks angry in a line. The stadium folks tried to pacify the upscale crowd, all of whom were saying "I have to wait hours to spend thousands of dollars for a losing team???!!!"

Eric ended up filling out an absentee order, and leaving with Dana and the kids. They had a late afternoon Bar Mitzvah, and couldn't wait. Barry enjoyed grinding Eric, famous for his meticulous planning, about why he didn't come early like I did, to get prompt service. We all decided that my being a lawyer immunized me from following rules.

The trip home only took about 30 minutes, and this time I sang along with Springsteen. After bemoaning the loss of the Orange Bowl, ad nauseam, I've accepted the reality of having to watch my team in the best stadium in the country instead of the most decrepit.

Change is inevitable. And, when I start to miss the old days, I'll just have to step inside the Club Lounge on game days and order another mojito.

Playing Hookey

The season's first cold front came though last night, leaving us a morning with temperatures in the high 50s and ridiculously blue skies. I walked daughter #2 to the front gate to await her ride from Chris, and then I left on my daily 1.1 mile hike around the hood.

When I returned, wifey was just emerging from the house, wanting to take the dogs for a walk, too. I agreed, and we took the bitches for another go-round, where we ran into a gaggle of neighborhood women with their dogs. I was the only husband/man. The others were all off at work, making money so that their stay at home wives could enjoy countless mornings like this. In other words, they're all schmucks.

In any event, I took all of this to mean that today is meant for hookey, or, as John Sebastian sang decades ago, custom made for a daydreaming boy. That office of mine is looking farther and farther away, "el culo del mundo," as the Cubans say when describing a place too far away, literally the "ass of the world."

Speaking of asses, I'll stay on mine for awhile, and then maybe go for a leisurely lunch somewhere.

I have clients who have entrusted their cases to me for professional and competent handling. Nah --not today!

Down on the Human Race

In years past, I was the first person to refer friends and friends of friends to various professionals. I enjoyed putting together people I know, and, if one friend can help another --how sweet is that?

Well, as I 've gotten older and more crotchety, I've cut down on these "fix ups," after repeatedly experiencing the old maxim that no good deed goes unpunished.

Well, a few months ago an out of state aquaintance called me, tearfully needing the help of a professional. The details don't matter, but suffice it to say it was a pretty serious matter that had serious consequences for the person, so I relented. I set her up with a specialist I know, and told him to waive any referral fee he might have sent, in order to pass the savings onto the in need person.

Well, the professional did a sterling job. What could have led to devastating consequences for the out of stater instead ended quietly and without any trace of a problem. The professional, who would have charged $7500 for his services, sent the client a bill for $1500.

I got a call from the person today, and she was livid about the charges. Although she agreed that a fair fee would have been at least $6,000, she felt, I guess that the fellow shouldn't charge at all, She truly thought she "had it coming to her."

Of course, I was wholeheartedly embarrassed, and called the professional to apologize. He's a great guy, and said the $1500 wasn't really a big deal to him, and that he told the client that, although she sees herself as a classy person, she's the same as ALL of his clients, many of whom you wouldn't leave alone to cut your grass. Thanks Professot Shultz --anothr lesson in human nature.

In other news, I went to a friend's mother's pre funeral tonight. The woman lived ntil 90 and died in her sleep. What a way to check out of this grand hotel we're all staying in. I had originally thought I'd go to the services tomorrow as well, but then I learned it's a "full high mass" in a Catholic church. Hey --I don't even like my OWN religion, let alone a much sillier and hocus pocus -filled one. I'm taking a pasadena.

As to the aquianitance --I'm done with her. As Luca Brazzi would have said, you won't see her around here no more.

Veteran's Day

Today is Veteran's Day, and I'll be going to a cemetery, but not for the usual reason. My in laws have been asking wifey to find and buy them a burial plot, and we're going to Mt. Nebo in Kendall later to check out a "slightly used" one. By "slightly used," I mean a resale of a space that some prior purchaser no longer wants, since they've moved. Still, my black humor LOVES this whole affair, and I look forward to an afternoon filled with deadly puns and double entendres.

My father ABHORRED the funeral industry. He had read exposes over the years about their awful sales tactics, and decided to make a stand by being cremated and having his remains scattered over the ocean. Of course, his choice flouts Jewish law. When I asked him about an afterlife, and what becomes of a person after death, he sat back, stroked his chin, and said simply "bones."

Since I'm fiercely proud to be my father's son, I'm taking the same route, as is wifey. Our friend the Chasid is properly scandalized by these choices. The orthodox, like all primitive cultures, are obsessed with the after life, and the fact that, if you're cremated, when the messiah (Moshiach) comes, you won't have all your parts and pieces to use when he revives the dead. Along with my Dad, I'll take my chances.

My in laws have chosen to stick closer to Jewish law, and want a traditional burial. We've learned that buying the stuff before (pre need) costs about 1/2 as buying it when you die (at need). So, at least we're going to save them some money.

Plus, I've been to Mt. Nebo before for a few funerals. It's a peaceful enough place. Oy, the jokes are starting already!

Maybe afterwards I'll drive over to the ocean to honor my father on this Veteran's Day. I always talk to him when I'm at the sea. But, truth be told, he was never a proud veteran --he loathed the stupidity of the military, and its absurd bureacracy. He served his four years, as did many of his compatriots, simpy because it was his duty, as he saw it, not his choice.

So, off the the park of all parks. IT's been a pretty boring day off, and I guess I'm dying to go...

Now it's done

After months of hoopla, and anticipation, it's over: the last Canes game in the Orange Bowl.

Daughter #2 and I drove there in my yellow convertible yesterday afternoon, arriving about 4 pm. As we pulled up to our familiar corner of lot E2, we saw a group of folks in green t shirts. I thought it was an African American family mourning the early death of one of its members by gunfire --it seems that whenever a young Black person is shot, the T shirts with the victim's likeness appear within hours. No --it turns out that my friend Mike's father in law, a Cane great from the late 50s was being honored, and his OTHER son in law had the shirts made for the family to wear.

My partner handed me a tall plastic cup of his patented vodka juice, and it reminded me of the scene in "Animal House" where the fraternity brothers toss Bluto, played by John Belushi, a bottle of whiskey to soften the blow of seeing their beloved house taken apart. The vodka juice did the trick.

Old friends came by, and there was a lot of hugging and showing of "man love." I think after 3 of the vodka drinks I actually kissed 5 or 6 friends, on the cheek I hope.

I made Mike's sister Jeanine cry by reminiscing about her late father, my mentor as a lawyer and Cane fan.

Inside the stadium, I let the atmosphere wash over me. I looked up to the Upper Deck of the West endzone and imagined 2 undergraduate boys watching a Dolphins game with their fathers, now both dead. The game was in 1980 or 81, and it was a very cold December day. IT was the first and only football game my father went to, and we laughed all the way home about feeling so cold in Miami. I got misty eyed remembering.

Was there a football game played? Oh yeah --the Canes were awful, losing 48-0 in the worst shutout in their home playing history. IT was almost like the team was telling us that the stadium doesn't matter when you have either a great or bad team. Of course, for me, the stadium most certainly DOES matter --it's the place where some of my happiest memories were created. As Jim remarked, 15 years ago, it was a place where he had his most fun ever while wearing his pants.

Daughter #2 and I left in the 4th quarter. I had seen enough ghosts. She drove home --succesfully navigating through drunken pedestrians, and crazy drivers. She's nearly an adult. A symbol of my young adulthood is no more. Apparently the City's demolishing the place in March or April. Daughter #2 wants to watch it happen, so we'll probably make one last trip to that part of Little Havana.

It was a lovely evening, and a lovely way to say goodbye to an old friend.

A World Without Us

So last night wifey and I went out to dinner with my friends Ken and Joelle. I've known Ken since 7th grade, and he and Joelle just moved here. Ken's a pediatric radiologist, and Joelle's a law professor at FIU's spiffy new school.

We parked on Miracle Mile in the Gables, and went to a restuarant with a packed happy hour. Next door there wan another one also packed, and the scene was really alive.

We had a nice dinner and then walked down the Mile to a book store. People were out, walking and drinking, having a good time. It occurred to us that we typically stay home, and don't take part in this whole scene. We felt old.

Today we walked the funny looking dog and enjoyed the cool November weather. I got a call from Daughter #2 to pick her up from her sleepover and drop her at Driver's Ed. At noon my in laws are coming over, so I'm leaving for awhile (once a month is MORE than enough for me to encounter them), and then, at 330, Daughter #2 and I leave for the last waltz.

Yes, tonight the Canes play their final game in the storied Orange Bowl, and we'll be there for the final tailgate party in lot E-2, final game, final everything. As I've said before, they'll be some grown men and women crying there tonight.

So, soon there'll be another "scene" I won't be a part of. What's left?

I guess it's true that humans all crave being a part of something larger than themselves. We all want to belong, to a church, to an extended family, to a "nation" of sports fans.

To be, in a nutshell, part of some world.

Unimaginable Sadness

So Sunday afternoon I was out buying some new koi for my pond down in the Redland, wifey was at a play with her friends in the Gables, and Daughter #2 was about halfway home from visiting her sister in Gainesville. Daughter #1 called. "Dad --I wanted to tell you because you're probably going to hear about it in the news --a girl in my sorority was killed early today."

It turns out the girl, Pam, flipped her jeep on 34th street at 2 am, was ejected, and died at the scene. Daughter #1 barely knew her, even though they were in the same pledge class, but this sure has affected wifey and me.

Pam's parents, from Coral Springs, presumably did all the right things. They raised their baby daughter, got her through adolescence, and into our state's flagship university. Then, for reasons known only to, I guess, the Big Man, their daughter was taken from them.

It turns out that there have been several UF motor vehicle deaths this semester. A first year law student, hit while jogging, just died today. Two other undergrads died in October.

I don't know. These things shock us back to reality. My friends and I have been trading emails about the "tragedy" of our beloved Canes leaving the Orange Bowl (the last game is Saturday). How silly it is to be upset about this, or just about all of the other "small stuff."

Daughter #1's sorority rented a bus for the long round trip to Coral Springs for PAm's funeral. Daughter #1 and her friends, who barely knew Pam, aren't making the trip. Still, my heart breaks for these parents.

When I was in college, the first of my contemporaries began to die. One girl, Dianne, a pretty blonde, was killed in a car wreck in California. Another young man, Carl, who I was fairly close with when we were kids, drowned, Monty Python-like, when he fell through the ice on a pond while playing hockey, and his goalie pads filled with water, dragging him down. That was nearly 30 years ago.

I've been fortunate to do a LOT of living since 1979, and I wonder about Diane and Carl. Now Pam joins their fraternity/sorority --the saddest group to be a part of.

Somewhere Out There

As I write this, my sister's in some small Northern California town looking for her son. He's going to be 26 in April, and left her home last Summer, and hasn't called or written since.

The last evidence of him comes from a woman my sister spoke to, saying she had seen my nephew in September. In August his brother went looking for him without any success.

We're all heartbroken. We die a little when our kids have a bellyache, or struggle in their lives. To not know ANYTHING about one of our children is unthinkable, and yet my sister is living this.

She left on the 7 hour drive yesterday. I'm hoping against hope that she calls me with some positive news. Just to know he's alive would be so positive.

So, here are some positive vibes sent out West. I pray that, as I'm writing this, my sister is with her son, drinking a cup of coffee, and figuring things out.

I have no advice for her, just empathy, hope, and love.

Crazy Numbers

It wasn't that long ago that I sheepishly entered the senior partner of my law firm's office to ask for a raise. It was 1988, I was two years out of law school, and I was making $38,000.00 per year. Wifey was pregnant, and we knew we were going to lose her salary for awhile (she was making close to $50,000/year --little did I know that "for awhile" would come to mean "forever"), and I had been offered $45,000 per year by another firm.

I told my boss, Calvin F. David, that I truly loved my job, knew that I was making a good deal of money for the firm, and that the additional $7,000 per year would mean a lot as I supported my growing family. Cal, as he liked to be called, began a didactic that became legion among my friends. "Young man --you are at the equivalent of the Sorbonne. You have been offered a small raise to go work at the equivalent of a community college. Would you leave the Sorbonne for a few dollars?"

Fortunately, even at the age of 26 I had a highly developed bullshit and pompousity detector, and I left his office, immediately returned to mine, and phoned the other firm to take the job. Calvin, one of the Waspiest Jews of all time, married a rich divorcee, took the money he had made from years of frugality with his employees, and moved to Italy a few years later. I never wrote to thank him.

Anyway, that financial turning point flooded back into my mind yesterday as I opened my real estate tax bill for this Ponderosa Ranch where I live. The Florida legislature reduced property taxes, so this year I'll pay a paltry $22,000.00! How has this happened? How did I go from a guy worried and obsessed about a $7,000.00 raise to one who pays the County three times that amount just to live in my house?

It boggles my mind.

As I thought back to 1988, I recall being very happy. Daughter #1 would arrive in November, and we brought her home to our house, all 1400 square feet of it, in a neighborhood of rather colorful characters (a white supremacist small engine mechanic who said he had "no problem with most Jews," but "major problems with negroes and Spanish," a nightclub owner who commuted to work in Cincinatti, and brough home a gorgeous Asian stripper to live in his Miami house, and a Metro Dade fireman/ Vietnam vet who had to shoot his commanding officer in the jungle, and jumped out of bed at night and held a knife to his wife's throat whenever a helicopter flew overhead).

I remember gorgeous winter days riding my bicycle with daughter #1 in the baby seat, and I'd feel the gentle bump in my back as she fell asleep and slumped forward, having inherited her mother's habit of sleeping in all moving conveyances. I remember playing with her and our black lab Midnight, who burst with energy, along with his sidekick Alfred the cocker spaniel.

Today's a day like those in my cherished memories, dry and cool with dazzling sunlight.

In other words, the money's really NOT relevant. I'll just shut up and pay.

Losing Mental Acuity

Well, I had a smooth trip to NC. I took care of my business, then checked in to the glorious Inn on the Biltmore Estate. I hiked a bit, and had a fine dinner in the Inn's library, as the sun set over the western hills.

The next morning, I ordered breakfast in my room, which had a patio overlooking the valley and Biltmore Estate. There was fog gathered in the lowest points of the valley, and I watched the sun burn it off. The leaves were a burst of Fall color. I drank my coffee and smiled.

I then went to Malaprops, and bought a few books, and chuckled at the Asheville denizens. "Excuse me," said a tiny fellow to the barista, "are these carrot muffins PURE vegan-friendly?" I told him I had a friend who was vegan before becoming Catholic. The little man didn't laugh.

I drove back to Charlotte, early for my flight as always, and was stopped by the TSA agent who checked my internet printed boarding passes. "This flight was yesterday, sir!" And so it was. When I bought my tickets, I made the return flight the same day as my initial flight. Since my flight home left 5 hours after arrival, the computer didn't stop me.

I went to the ticket agent, and learned the 415 flight was "oversold." I bought the very last ticket on the 1015 pm flight, and got on the 415 standby list. As I watched the entire 415 flight board, the gate agent gave me the sad news: there were 2 standby openings, and I was #3 on the list.

I then spent another 5 and 1/2 hours at the Charlotte Douglas Airport. I had dinner, and a few beers. IT was now 530. Four hours to go. I found a US Airways executive lounge, paid a $40 admission fee, and read the entire Charlotte Observer (the Catawba River is polluted) and the entire NY TImes. I then read an entire New Yorker magazine, started an "Economist," and then paid to use the internet for another 1/2 hour or so. Somehow, at a snail's pace, it was time to board.

Well, hopefully my lesson was learned. It's not enough to stop multi tasking, I now have to double and triple check all I do.

I woke today to a beautiful morning. I told my neighbor Sherri I brought the hint of cool air back with me from NC. I didn't tell her about my "adventure."

No Saints Day

I'm up extremely early, even by my lark-like standard, to catch a flight to NC.

Last night was Halloween, and a little something happened that was lovely.

Daughter #2 was home with her friends, and wifey and I waited on our porch for trick or treaters. A large number came, despite the blustery weather caused by Tropical Storm Noel churning over Cuba.

A large group of kids came, nearly 20, with about 6 parents in tow. As they were ready to leave, a deluge came, in one of those waves. We invited the kids in, and under our porch, and enoyed their giggles and excitement. Daughter #2 got everyone bottled water and sodas, and we chatted with the parents about schools, the neighborhood, etc...

It was so pleasant.

The rain passed, and the group moved on. The kids high fived me, and the dads shook my hand and thanked us for providing refuge. Earlier in the day, my rabbi friend was in my office discussing Torah. A major tenet is giving rest to strangers at your gate. Funny.

Giving shelter from the storm. Isn't that what it's all about?