Greetings Well Met Fellow, Hail!

Last night we went to a Holiday party hosted by our friends Arnold and Cathay. They typically have the party before Christmas, but this year waited until one of their 3 daughters and son in law could make it in from their home in Hong Kong.

Arnold and his wife Cathay are Wifey and my polar opposites politically. They're staunch Conservatives, and thought Sarah Palin was the finest candidate on the national scene in years. They're both practicing Catholics, and are very pro-life.

Despite this, we've remained good friends, and the core values are why: they exalt in their families and friends.

They had about 100 people to their house last night. Arnolds closest friends are 2 fellows he met in high school, both Jewish and much more Liberal than he. One is now a medical professor at Harvard, and the other a well known civil rights lawyer and former Clinton administration member. The lawyer, Sam, went to Harvard, and has 3 sons --the youngest a freshman at Harvard, the middle one a Harvard grad and now a "green" business exec in Boston, and the oldest also a Harvard grad and now writer for "The Colbert Report."

In the midst of the party --Arnold asked for everyone's attention. Arnold, a former Auburn U lineman, is a tall and imposing fellow,with a commanding presence. When he asks for attention; people listen. "How many of you know any Emmy winners?" he asked. He held up a photo of a young man. "Well, you do now. Sam's boy won an Emmy for his writing on the 'Colbert' show. How about that?!!!" We all applauded.

I kvelled. Here was Arnold celebrating the accomplishments of a dear friend's son. It was beautiful --the truest expression, in my book, of friendship.

Arnald has 3 gorgeous daughters. The oldest married a former grade school friend, who is now an aircraft leasing executive in Hong Kong. The young man, Jason, used another childhood friendship to his benefit: he played little league with a skilled infielder, who grew up to be known as A -Rod. A-Rod helped him start his career.

The middle girl is a lawyer, married to another lawyer, and just had a baby. Wifey and I love watching our former babysitter now babysit her own baby.

The youngest girl, a bubbly Daisy Miller, is a first year law student in JAcksonville.

So, with much to be proud of in his own family, Arnold chose to spotlight a dear friend's child.

D1 and D2 were at the party. Afterward, I joked that I was arranging marriages to the 2 younger Harvard boys, especially since Wifey really adores their mother.

On the way out, Arnold joked with us, OBama supporters, that this may be his last big party, as the coming increased taxes may make him too poor. We laughed, and I told Arnold what he already knew: with his family and friends, no matter his bank account statement, he was one of the richest men I knew.

Now THAT'S a Fan!

I went over to Kings Bay Athletics to exchange a gift for my friend's son. We thought he wore a man's small; we forgot about the last 2 years of growth. From there, I went to the best French bakery in town, and had a delicious latte. As I drank it, I read in the local paper that a new sub shop had opened, in the very shopping center where I was! I took it as a sign from above that I needed to visit, and buy some sandwiches for Ds 1 and 2.

I entered the shop, and saw it decorated with Canes posters. The owner turned out to be a fellwo alum, and we chatted about the football team. It turned out that he was about 7 years younger than I was. He said he was the "biggest Canes fan."

"Ha, Ha," I retorted. You may be a big fan, but I'm 7 years older, and therefore was a fan longer --so I'M the biggest fan." I stood there, self satisfied, while his assistant wrapped by turkeys on whole wheat.

A little boy walked over. "Meet my son," said the owner, whose name is Rob. "Hello there. I'm Dave. What's your name?" "Sebastian," he answered.

Rob looked at me and smiled. He had named his son after the Canes Ibis mascot! "Wow," I said. "You're right --you ARE the biggest fan."

We each made the "U" sign, and wished each other Happy New Year, and Go Canes.

On the way home, I wondered if it was too late to change D1 and D2's names...

Vacation

So Wifey and I went on a 4 day cruise with Ds 1 and 2 and my old, dear friend Eric and his family. We went on one of those new aircraft carrier sized ships, the Navigator of the Seas. The ship is like a floating Vegas hotel. It has an ice skating rink, 1500 seat theatre, and an entire shoppping street, with bars and shops, with new urbanism-style rooms looming 8 stopries over the plaza.

I kept thinking of my father seeing such a ship, and how he would have marvelled at it. I also pointed out to all of us that, as third generation Americans (except Wifey --she's a foreigner), our grandparents came over to the US on ships somewhat less luxurious and comfortable.

Anyway --we had a blast. We laughed heartily, ate heavily, and drank a bit. On Cozumel, the one stop, we hired a driver who took us to the San Gervasio ruins. We were underwhelmed, but the refreshment center had high level tequila. Eric and I had a couple of shots. We then went to some seaside restaurants, and drank, um another 4 shots each. We ended up at a breathtakingly beautiful beach, where the Caribbean Sea's waves break over volcanic rock --Playa Sur, I think. Eric and I ended up taking off our shirts and dancing for our families, followed by a belly bump. I think our daughters wet their pants.

BAck on the ship, D1 got some awful news: one of her sorority sisters was killed on the way home to Ohio for Winter Break. D1 wasn't close with the girl, Michelle, but knew her pretty well. She was 21. Somehow, I don't think there will be Happy Holidays in that Cincinnatti home for awhile, if ever.

It brought back to focus how life's not fair, and tragedy strikes so randomly. We had Michelle and her family in our thoughts for the duration of the voyage.

We returned today, happy and relaxed. The trip cost a fraction of what our last, more exotic trips cost, and was a ton more fun. We decided there will be more family cruises.

So, it's Chanukah, and Christmas Eve. I feel for Michelle's family, and I don't even know them. I wish them, eventually, peace.

As for us --tomorrow is Wifey's birthday. She doesn't want anyone to mention that it's her 52nd birthday, so I won't.

It's amazing --this time thing. We met 1/2 of her life ago. She was 26; I was 22. We thought we were all grown up. We've built quite a life together, and are amazingly blessed.

This sea cruise was a capital way to celebrate.

Children. Perhaps in a few years...

Wifey and I are nearing empty nesterhood. D2 is nearly 17, and mature for her age. Recently, while Wifey was out of town, I was the primary caregiver, and I learned that D2 is completely on autopilot, "like a soldier," as my father in law would say. I concluded that she basically just needs someone to keep her check card funded. "Pretty much," she agreed.

With this stage in life has come the realization that we really can't stand children. I mean, for years our lives were child-centric. If we went to a restaurant and there was a tantrum-having kid, we felt for the parents, knowing it could be us. We had kids around all of the time, and enjoyed them. We revelled in our kids' friends, and prided ourselves on being the house where all of the kids were always welcome.

These days --not so much. At a restaurant where there's a whiny kid, we ask to be moved to a distant table. One of my friends brings his lovely daughter with him to watch ball games, or did. After the last time, as "But Daddy, why..." was repeated for the 100th time during a 3rd quarter defensive stand...well, let's just say there haven't been as many invites.

A few weeks ago, a dear friend, who is 48, stopped over with his beautiful and very active 4 and 6 year olds. After one hour, I was gently reminding him that he might want to leave to beat the traffic back to North Dade. It was a Sunday --there was no traffic.

Yes, Wifey and I are more curmudgeonly, and I realize it's just a stage. I'm sure that if we're blessed with grandchildren, our old adoration for all things child will return.

On a related note, it continues to amaze me why anyone would remarry at an advanced age where there are still kids involved. I take my responsivbility to my kids and family enormously seriously, and if I had step kids, they'd be on my radar screen. I like my radar screen the way it is.

I joke with Wifey that if she died, any future wife of mine would have to be an only child, orphan, with financially independent grown kids, and be between 30 and 40 years old. Okay, so I tell her 30-55, but the point is the same.

I just don't get undertaking new responsibilities as I get older, at least in that arena.

We'll see what the next stage brings.

Lawyers (and Wives) Gone Wild

I rarely go to parties anymore other than either the tailgating variety, or the typical boring dinners with other middle aged folks, where we discuss politics and the economy.

Well, one of my office roommates decided to have a holiday party, and invited all of us, along with abo0ut 250 of his other closest friends.

This fellow, who I'll call Joel, because that's his name, is one of favorite people. He grew up in Miami, went to college in New Orleans, and law school in NYC. His father's a well known criminal defense lawyer in town, and Joel is a chip off the old block. After learning his chops in the Miami PD's office, he opened his own shop 2 years ago, and has seen his career skyrocket --representing wealthy Colombians accused of making their money importing commodities other than fresh flowers and textiles.

Joel recently bought a historic house in Coconut Grove, a coral rock place build by a Grove pioneer. It's a gorgeous place.

Anyway, Wifey and I went to his holiday party, last night.

I'll leave out details, but suffice it to say that there was a very high level of imbibing. One of our friend's wives sat on a couch smooching --but not with our friend!

There were judges there who were famous for their colorful pasts, and lawyers and prosecutors sufficient to fill any Carl Hiassen novel.

We laughed heartily, and met some interesting folks, including a gorgeous, statuesque DJ for a local rap station, who is the new girlfriend of another dear friend.

Wifey and I left the party after 1 am, and get this: D1 called US --worried about our whereabouts!

It's the type of party that will be talked about for weeks, starting with the debriefing that will take place tomorrow, I'm sure.

Wifey and I agreed --we need to get out more!

Still Kicking

So D1 was going to drive home alone from UF, and I decided to take the train up to Grandma's house, have her pick me up, and accompany her on the final leg of the long drive.

I took Metrorail to TriRail to Delray Beach. It was nice to read the entire NY Times instead of dodging 18 wheelers on I-95. I took a taxi from the station to Grandma's condo. The Haitian cab driver said "Dis place have lots of old people, yes?" I told me that my mother moved here when she was already old, and that was nearly 30 years ago! He laughed, so I gave him a huge tip.

Grandma is still kicking. We went to lunch at Fratelli's, a local Italian place. We had eggplant parm, minestrone, and iced tea --for $4.99 per person! I didn't think prices like that existed in the First world anymore!

What a blessing it is to have a mother live so long. She's a bit goofy and on a several second delay, but still in good spirits.

As it turned out, the weather in North and Central Florida was awful, and Wifey decided to accompany D1 after all. Grandma loved seeing them.

I've decided that Grandma, who turns 89 in April, needs a visit every 2 weeks or so. It's a schlep, but the right thing to do. I mean --she's Mom, right?

So, we have both D1 and D2 in the house until 2009. D2 is working much harder than I ever did in high school, and her mid terms are next week. She's looking forward to a well deserved and well needed rest during the holidays.

As for Grandma --still kicking!

Where''s the Free Toaster?

I used to love going to the bank with my father. Since he grew up poor, I think that just the fact that he had the money to NEED a bank thrilled him, and it was always a fun errand.

When he moved to Florida, he made friends with all of the older lady clerks and assistant managers, and he flirted with them. Whenever he opened an account, there was an extra "free gift," typically a toaster or small appliance.

Those days are long gone. I do most of my banking online now, although I AM friendly with the tellers in my building. The recent financial crisis has taught me to spread out my accounts to various banks, since none of them seem immune to failure.

Today I went to a local bank, Ocean Bank, to open a CD. They were offering a 13 month rate of 4.5%, so I decided to open an account there. This is another example of changing times --I remember my father routinely getting 15% on his CD accounts. This is a major reason my mother still has money to live, nearly 30 years after my father retired with a comfortable but no means princely nest egg.

Anyway, Ocean has an office pretty close to my house. I walked in, and there was no lobby. The heavily accented clerk asked why I was there, and I told her to open a CD. What followed was a commercial transaction with all of the charm and warmth of a visit, I suppose, to the Welfare office.

I mean, I was depositing a rather large sum of money with them, and was treated, not rudely, but certainly extremely dryly.

The young clerk had to repeat three times that I had a choice of having the interest applied monthly, or sent via mail. She got angry when I kept asking what "eeeeentrest vy de mooonth" meant.

Anyway, I got my CD, and she said "Jor offeeeecer es Lourdes --I jeees open el account." Great --can I meet Lourdes? "Well, she going on vacation and eees muy busy, so I don know."

I walked to the next desk and introduced myself to Lourdes, who was one step above the first clerk, in customer relations.

"Hey Lourdes --I just deposited a lot of money in your bank. I'm a new customer. Where's my toaster?"

Lourdes looked at me like I was the biggest nutcase she'd ever encountered in either Venezuela (I'm guessing) or Miami.

"Never mind," I said, as I walked away, watching her scowl, and think "Gringo loco!"

Well, as I said, I mostly online bank these days. If Ocean goes under, I'll simply make my application to the FDIC, and wait to get paid.

Dad's gone, as are the ways of the banks of old...

Indian Tragedy

I'm not religious, but I consider one Orthodox Rabbi a pretty good friend. Wifey and I met Rabbi Yossi and his wife Nechama in 1995 when they moved to Miami and became tennants in our rental house.

Through them, we learned and became familiar with Chabad Lubavitch, their outreach group, which sends young emmissaries around the world, not to proselytize, but to try to bring more Jewishness to lapsed members of the tribe.

These emmissaries, called Schluchim, tend to be young, charming, and energetic couples, some of whom go to the world's far corners.

Well, two of them were killed last week, in the terrorist attack in Mumbai India. When it was first reported that their Chabad house was one of the targets of these creeps, along with some hotels and restaurants, Rabbi Yossi sent out an emergency email, asking everyone to pray, and to do acts of charity in honor of his friends, the Holtzbergs.

We complied, sending a check to a charity raising money to give a Bahamian boy a liver transplant (in yet another Miami small world story, the boy is one of my friend Barry's patients).

Well, the worst fears were confirmed, and the young rabbi and his wife were killed, though their toddler son was rescued by a nanny.

Yossi sent an email that showed his grief and shock. He knew these two for years. He asked us all to light shabbat candles --to bring light into a darkened world.

So the waxing and waning of human goodness goes on. As we were celebrating a joyous weekend, with D1 turning 20, and our amazing family's togetherness, another family was burying two young people, and making plans to raise their orphaned children.

Rabbi Yossi teached that God is in charge of all, and that it's as pointless to try to figure out God's logic as it is for a 2 year old to figure out why his parents do what they do to love and protect him. I guess he's right --there's no sense to this to me at all.

Jim Morrison noted that no one here gets out alive. I guess the only logical thing to do is enjoy the party while it's going on.

Thanksgiving Weekend

My cup truly runneth over this weekend. First, D1 came home from UF, and we spent a glorious day together. I had decided to buy her a watch for her 20th, which fell on Thanksgiving Day this year. I took her to a jeweler I know, and she picked out a used classic watch, and I had it inscribed for her.

I'm not into jewelry, but I am into time. To me, time is all we truly have, to spend, and to share. I guess the old English major in me is drawn to the metaphor of a timepiece --wearing time onone's wrist, as my old professor once remarked.

Anyway, D1 IS into jewelry, and really loves her new watch, whcih I hope she wears in good health forever.

We then went to a big box store, and bought D1 a new bedroom TV. The one she had dated to 1993, and was showing its age. It only played shows from the 90s! Not really, but I think that was a John Cheever story from years ago. Anyway, D2 seemed to like her surprise gift, but would not violate the "law of the disinterested, apathetic, and surly teenager" by showing true glee, so it was hard to tell. Whatever. Ha!

Thursday we took ancient Mom to sister's for Thanksgiving, and were thankful she was still among us. She got to see her 4 greatgrandchildren, and 2/3 of her grandchildren, so for her it was a sweet, complete day. I drove her home, and left a very, very happy old lady in her condo that evening. Mission accomplished.

Yesterday our neighbors and friends Charlie and Diane invited us over for ANOTHER Thanksgiving dinner. Diane is one of the most gracious hosts I know. She's always up, and always makes guests feel so welcome in her gorgeous house. One of D1's friends from UF came in at the last minute, and Wifey called Diane. Before she could meekly ask about bringing an extra guest, Diane shouted "I HOPE you have some more people coming, because I have TOO much food!"

Diane brought in delicious stuff from Joanna's, our best local market, and we sat around her table talking about the past election. It was a grand feast --and the new comer, D1's friend Rachel, seemed to have a great time as well, even when grilled about her political beliefs! (Fortunately it was a table full of Obama-philes, so all was well).

The phone rang, and it was Diane's daughter in Chicago, ready to have her first baby! Diane made a quick reservation for an early morning flight to O'Hare, rejoined the table, and we al toasted to the good health of her coming first granddaughter. Diane said "I'll ALWAYS remember this Thanksgiving."

Today we're hosting 15-20 of D1's friends at a lunch at a French place in the Gables. More damned celebration! I'm hoping the bar has a TV, so I can escape to watch the Canes game in that coming fog of estrogen.

Wednesday morning, we gave D1 a journal Wifey and I kept since the day she was born. The theme was how much we loved her, and how having her had shown us true joy and happiness. In other words, we were incredibly thankful back in 1988, when we had a toy sized house, and some subcompact Japanes cars.

Wifey and I wept as D1 read some early entries. D1 did, too. Those were the good old days. As Carly Simon sang, THESE are the good old days.

This was the grandest Thanksgiving weekend, ever!

The Political Kiss of Death

We have a neighbor who prides herself on being a local political "insider." Her husband is a commercial lawyer, who always seems immersed in something extremely serious. In fact, when I run into him at a Downtown restaurant, and stop to chat, he walks briskly away, inthe manner of someone involved in something of vital importance.

Well, over the past election season, the neighbor has emailed and stopped to talk about a judicial candidate, school board candidate, and most recently, a local commision candidate. The judge lost (and was arrested 2 months later for showing his, um briefs, in a local college restroom). The school board candidate lost to a political novice, and, just recently, the commision guy did, too.

I joke with Wifey that this lady's endorsement is the kiss of death. I'm just glad shs didn't have an Obama poster on her lawn.

I'm not sure why things like this annoy me. Wifey says I'm getting more and more curmudgeonly as I age, and MANY things annoy me. I guess self important folks, and know it alls, like my neighbor, have always been hot buttons for me.

I gave money to a neighbor for HER political campaign, and posted 2 of her signs. I knew she had zero chance to win against an popular incumbent, and sure enough, my neighbor lost in a landslide.

I see this as a positive. NExt time I'm asked for a political contribution, I can argue that my support is a kiss of death, too. I doubt it will dissuade a money hungry politician.

Well, enough about annoyances. I have a comical looking Basset Hound baying behind me, wanting to go outside into the cool weather.

Stirring it Up

My father was an accomplished practical joker. He preyed upon human foibles. His last and best in this arena was in 1980, the year after he reitred to Delray Beach. He was standing around the bakery counter at Publix, waiting for my mother. The elderly Jews were grumbling about how slow the service was, as if they had anywhere else important to go, my father added.

He turned to one of the loudest grumblers, and said, sotto voce, that the reason the line was so long was that they were giving away free rye breads to the first 25 customers. There were probably 40-50 pensioners waiting.

Within seconds, my father reported, the cry rose up "I vant MY free bread. Dis isn't fair. Vy not I get free bread!"

After a few minutes, the Chief Baker stood up on the counter. "Please remain calm. There are no free rye breads. That is a rumor. There is plenty of baked goods available for purchase for everyone. That was a false rumor."

My father slinked away, grinning. He knew then that he had too much time on his hands for an active mind (how's THAT for mixing a metaphor) and shortly afterwards went back to work part time selling gift clocks for a friend.

Well, I'm my father's son, and I feel a compelling need to likewise stir things up.

I immensely enjoy the over-seriousness of many of my neighbors. Last year, everyone was up in arms about our resident Asshole's threat to poison dogs that were crapping on his lawn. Eco terrorism nearly resulted.

Now, again, dog poop has reared its stinky head. Signs are appearing anew warning dog owners against this scourge. I walked past our newest resident's house today, and they had drawn, in chalk on their driveway, a request on behalf of their grass-playing children to keep the poop away.

I don't know. I grew up on working class Long Island, and dog crap was considered part of life. In fact, stepping in it became, in our mythology, an omen of good luck. When O'Leary, Columbo, or Goldstein (again, this was working class Long Island --you were either Irish, Italian, or Jewish) enjoyed good fortune, his contemporaries would say "Wow --O'Leary really stepped in it this time!"

So I don't get this pathological fear and aversion to dog crap. I may have to take steps... Ha!

I've already planted a seed. I emailed our Association president that part of the problem was human --that my friend and neighbor Jeff sometimes defecated on peoples' lawns, too. The president thought I was telling the truth! Hmm... if a majority of residents thought this was happening...

Somebody stop me, before I summon my father's spirit, and stir up unrest...

Hope I....Before I Get Old....

So, I'm enjoying a lovely morning here at Villa Wifey. D2 left for school, the dogs have been fed, and I'm reading about the great Canes victory I attended last night. I'm drinking my morning Joe. The sun is shining --the whole 9 yards.

My cell phone rings. It's Mom, weeping. "I have trouble. Big trouble."

I remember my father saying "I have trouble." It was the Spring of 1982, and he returned to our condo from his nightly walk. He felt pain in his upper chest as he walked. He got it checked out, was told he was fine, had a massive heart attack, and then a second one on July 14, 1982. So my father was dead within a few months after reporting "trouble." When my parent says "trouble," it's not a good thing.

I asked my mother what the trouble was. "I got this new Ben Gay stuff that Wifey sent me. I can't open the container. Who would send such a container? I don't know what to do. I need to use it. Yesterday I couldn't mention it, in the middle of all else that was going on. (An electrician was at her house, replacing the nearly 30 year old flourescent lamps. This was the overwhelming thing of yesterday).

I let her weep for awhile, and then told her it was ok, she could keep using the Ben Gay, and just "ignore that bad BioFreeze." It was the same as comforting a toddler who is convinced there's a monster in the closet. The problem is, with creeping senility at the end of life --the monster is real.

So I watched my father die, suddenly, at 63. It was too young. I have friends now nearly that age, and they're sleeping with multiple women 30 years their junior. (Thanks, Viagra!). But, my Dad checked out without any of this awful decline.

Is my mother's course better? She's nearly 89, and was blessed for so long with a wonderful life. She loved her friends, and her volunteer work. She savored visits with her grandchildren, and great grandchildren (as long as they were brief).

These days, it seems the focus of her life is how daunting everything is.

I guess the lesson to learn is that neither end is pleasant. We have to savor our youth, before it's robbed. My friend's father said it best. (He's dead now, too). Mother Nature is a nasty bitch.

Intimations of Mortality

First off --bonus to anyone who gets the joke of this title. Hint: Lake Country poet...

I was on the patio reading the paper this morning when D2 left for school. I have a silly little custom with her in the mornings I see her leave the house: I imitate a whipporwill's call, badly, and she looks up at me, with a half smile and a smirk. There's an ability at sarcasm and feigned apathy teenagers have that's lost as they approach the non teen years. Whatever.

Anyway, I make my silly bird call, we each say "I love you," and she's off for school. I always watch, amazed, in the same way I did when her older sister left for school. I'm amazed at my daughters' beauty and grace. To steal from McCartney, I'm amazed at how much I love them.

So I turned back to my newspaper, and the front page story was about the latest South Florida tragedy: a sophomore at Dillard High in Broward shot a fellow 15 year old to death, apparently because of spurned romantic advances.

I thought about the spectrum of life: how I was sitting at my house, enjoying the morning sun and quiet, watching my beloved child drive off, and less than 50 miles north of me a family was dealing with the unthinkable. It's what I've been teaching my girls their whole lives: the unfairness of life.

I have a friend who always tries to rationalize and justify misery in the world. She believes that there's always some explanation for the horrors that befall us. In this case, the victim was a white girl in a 90% Black school. I'm sure my friend would say "You see --that's what the parents get for sending their child to such a school. I would never have sent my child there!"

I see things differently. It's just a random horror. Of course, my friend thinks the way she does as the ultimate self protection mechanism: thinking her generally prudent life choice confer some type of immunity from tragedy. I know better. It's comforting to separate ourselves from "them" --the victims of life's random acts of cruelties, but it's also wrongheaded and immature.

So, I'm left to be thankful for another day, is all. Hopefully my beloved D2 will come home safely this afternoon, and take her place at the kitchen computer for homework and IMs and Facebook chats. Hopefully D1 is safe up at UF --nearing the 3/4 finished with a degree mark!

No one here gets out alive. As parents we always hope and pray that we leave first.

Old Friends

My oldest friend came yesterday for a visit. I met Eric when we were 8 --nearly 40 years ago! He's a computer engineer near Tampa, and married Jackie last year in a service on Key Biscayne, where I was the minister.

Eric and I grew up together on Long Island. We grew apart in our early 20s, around the time my father died, but now we see each other about once per year, and it's always pleasant.

He does contract work, and thinks employment is over rated. He earns enough in 6 onths to sustain him in his modest lifestyle (he and Jackie own a small condo in Tampa, and have no kids.) Jackie is a university professor, or was, and shares Eric's disdain for the rat race. They travel, kayak, enjoy their hobbies (Jackie sings ina choir; Eric's taken up the saxaphone, and buys and sells vintage instruments on Ebay). They're very laid back and happy --terrific house guests.

Last night we bought some sandwiches and wine and went to the Deering Estate for a jazz concert. It was positively delightful. The 4 of us lay on blankets, under the half moon, and actually snuggled and kissed. Then we danced to a sax player named Allbright, and a singer named Patti Austin.

Afterwards, we walked to the edge of the lagoon, and watched 2 boats get stuck on a sandbar, laughing as the captains cursed and tried to motor away. If there was a lovlier way to spend a Saturday night, I didn't know what it was.

This morning we had breakfast, and then Ken stopped by. Eric and I met KEn in junior high, and he lives here now. I tried to engage in some nostalgia, but Eric had none of it. IT turns out that his childhood was much less happy than I thought it was, and he chooses to leave it in the past...

He and Jackie drove off in the early afternoon. He figures it's time to go back to work in January, and Jackie will probably teach English composition online. After they replenish their savings, it'll be off next Summer, maybe to the South Pacific.

The two of them really seem to relish their marriage. I'm thrilled for them.

As Wifey and Jackie walked to the restroom last night, Eric and I lay on the blanket, looking at the night sky --the way we used to when we were 9 or 10. We always talked about many things.

Last night we realized we agreed on something 40 years after we became friends. One path to happiness is avoiding negative people, and surrounding oneself only with those who are happy.

Bravo, Eric! Mission accomplished.

Best Halloween Ever

So I voted Friday, and then headed out to buy a few pumpkins to carve. When I was a kid, Halloween was my favorite holiday, since I loved to be scared, and I had a fascination with the whole pagan Celtic thing.

As a teen, my friends and I would have parties, and then go out with eggs for some light vandalism against the houses of mean neighbors, or girls who rejected us. One year, I nearly escaped death. I was probably 13 or 14, and as I walked down the streets, pockets bulging with eggs, a police cruiser came by. The Nassau police would stop all adolescents on Halloween, and pat us down, to break any eggs we were carrying. I stashed the eggs in the open metal bottom of a streetlight.

The police car stopped, and the officer exited, and sure enough patted us down for the offending weapons. My friends and I smirked. In my memory, the officer had a cliched Irish brogue. It was true that most of the cops were Irish, but by the 70s were 3rd or 4th generation American, and sounded more like Archie Bunker than the friendly officers of Warner Brothers movies.

Anyway, I reached in to retrieve my eggs, and got an electric shock that literally knocked my back 5 feet. Somehow, I wasn't electrocuted, and walked away stunned and amazed, from what was one of my first examples of the uncommonly good luck I'd see in my life.

Back to the present. I returned from an errand to Fox's Saloon, where I had left my credit card from the evening before (Wifey actually met a friend and I for drinks, midweek!), and walked into my kitchen. Standing there was D1, who had surprised us by coming home for the weekend! I was floored, and extremely happy to see her.

She went out to Coconut Grove that evening, but last night sat on the porch with Wifey and I , talking about ships and shoes and sealing wax...It was lovely.

She heads back to Gainesville today, and is due home again for Thanksgiving, also her 20th birthday! She asked: "So, Dad --how's it feel to have an almost 20 year old daughter?" It feels terrific, especially since I'm blessed with such a wonderful one.

She truly made my weekend with that surprise.

So, she's heading back to study more French, and Sociolinguistics, and other things. Most importantly, she continues her study of human nature --the most vital of academic pursuits.

When she returns, we'll have a new president, and hopefully things will be looking up for our country.

As for me, I'll still be treasuring this finest Halloween treat.

The End of the Innocence

It's 6:10 am, and I'm waiting to head over to a local library to vote. The early voting station opens at 7, and I plan to be near the front of the line. I HATE lines. I hate them so much, I refuse to go, ever, to a theme park, where I'm asked to pay money to wait on lines.

Still, this election is pretty important, and I figure I can use one of my many episodes of insomnia for some civic good.

Regarding this whole campaign, to use my daughters' diction, I am, like, so over this whole thing.

Wifey continues to be obsessed with converting voters to Obama. She is blogging, watching CNN and Fox, and reading political crap constantly. Dr. Barry is truly worried about her --wondering if there's a post partum alalogue called post election blues.

It's nice to see her so excited about something, although catching her constantly staring and sighing at pictures of Obama is a bit disconcerting.

I get no respite at my office. A young criminal lawyer roommate, Todd, has been an active Obama campaigner since before anyone knew about Obama. I had a visit 2 days ago from a sweet young banker, classic 30 something Cuban American, FIU Finance degree, deadbeat husband at home --the whole cliche. Todd asked whether she had voted yet. No, she answered, but she was for McCain because Obama was a "socialist."

Todd leaped from his desk, and was literally in the young banker's face. She was almost physically afraid. He didn't, it appeared to me, change her mind.

Afterwards I pulled the Young Turk aside, and explained he had become exactly the type of repulsive zealot he lampooned all of the time, although on the Left instead of the Evangelical Christian Right.

I didn't change his view, either, and he said he wouldn't even talk to me until I early voted.

The nastiness is really enough, already, as my father might have said. I'll be thrilled when this is all over.

Then we can get back to discussing more pleasant and amicable things, like whether Jesus Christ was merely a hippie rabbi 2000 years ago, or truly a son of God...

In the Plane I Went to Carolina...

Parenting has many challenges, but in my experience, manifold joys. So far, near the top of the list of joys is taking your near adult child on tours of colleges.

I did it with D1 to two places: UF, where she ended up, and New College in Sarasota. The Sarasota trip was delightful --D1 and I sat on a Gulf beach in the evening, watching sharks swim off shore. She ended up NOT LIKING New College, but I still treasure the memory of our visit.

Well, with D2 I had a new experience: combining a college visit with Canes football AND a fun trip with a dear friend.

Mike, Amanda, D2 and I just got back from Raleigh, NC. We flew up Friday, rented a car, and drove to Chapel Hill. It is early Fall there, and the trees are just turning colors. We had a great tour led by a very openly gay Carolina senior. He saw D2's "Wicked" sweatshirt, and fell in love with it. I mean OPENLY gay!

Carolina is a gorgeous campus, with rolling hills and oaks, and quads of traditional buildings. They have a wonderful bookstore, where we drank coffee and talked of the future. D2 and Amanda have known each other since they were born, and to see these lovely young women, finishing high school soon...ah...the strains of "Sunrise, Sunset" play in my head...

After the tour, we went to a restaurant I knew in Raleigh called the "42nd Street Oyster Bar." It's Raleigh's Joes Stone Crabs --packed, but predictably more downscale and cheaper. I knew Mike would love it --they bring over a huge basket of hush puppies and butter. Mike and I drank local beers and the four of us ate fresh oysters, mussels, and fish.

Saturday, we slept in,, and then headed for Durham to see Duke. The skies had cleared, and we parked and walked around. But then --it was 11:30, and Mike insisted we visit a famous barbecue place: Bullocks. We got there as they opened at 1130, and ate heartily, again. Fortified, we walked around Duke's gorgeous campus, and spent a delightful half hour on a grassy knoll behind the famous chapel. D2 and Amanda rolled down the hill, like they did when they were little girls.

At 3, we headed to the stadium, to watch our beloved Canes play the Blue Devils. The Canes started out poorly. We were concerned. The day lowly Duke beats Miami in football, the sun will rise in the West. Fortunately, the Canes rallied, and won going away.

Afterwards, we found some great pizza, and then back to the hotel for a 445 am wake up call.

It was a succesful, delightful trip. D2 seemed to like the colleges, but still favors her sister's place: UF. I'd love it if she went there. I guess we'll know in a little more than 1 year.

Thanks, Carolina, for a swell weekend.

Unsettled Times

My grandmother, dead nearly 20 years, used to say that if you wan't peace and quiet, it was available one place: in the grave.

She had five children and now only two are alive. Her youngest, Florence, is 78, and in poor health. She lives in an ACLF in Hollywood. The other survivor is my mother, who was the third born, and is now nearly 89.

We've had Mom move in with us, to try to get her more ambulatory. Her hip is arthritic, and left her barely able to walk. Just yesterday I helped her into my pool, for some water exercise --something she loves. Had I not been there to help her up off the pool's coping --she'd still be sitting there right now.

She's mentally sharp, and told me she's none too happy about her physical state. I told her she's already won the longevity contest in her family (I'd be shocked if Florence lives 10 more years), and every extra day was a bonus.

We've started taking her on our evening walks --Wifey takes the dogs, and I push her in a wheelchair. It's comical --both Wifey and Mom talk to me simultaneously, about different topics. Mom is typically is about 2 conversations behind...

As I sit here this early Sunday, she just came in with her walker, my 2 dogs trailing behind her. We've bought her favorite foods (pickled herring, bagels, tuna salad) and she's been eating great. She tells me she feels like she's staying at the Catskills resorts of yesteryear...

So --here's hoping that the Miami team of medical pros Wifey is assembling (2 orthopedic surgeons, a physical therapist, and a chiropractor) can bring Mom some relief.

In the meantime, we've adjusted to the strong scent of Ben Gay in the mornings...

Post Atonement

Well, I succumbed to peer pressure, at least partly, and went to LolNidre services Wednesday night. But, I brought Jorge with me, a very staunch Catholic friend of mine, who is VERY into his church.

I had a blast. First I tortured him for awhile convincing him there was a secret handshake, and that there would be a circumcision check (he was born in Cuba, where the ritual maiming still isn't done). Next, I made fun of him when he tried to shake hands with the Orthodox Rabbi's wife.

Inside, Rabbi Yossi was in World Seried form. He passed Jorge, who he knows and likes (Jorge is a stronger Zionist than most Jews I know) and said "Great --so much for the Christian jokes this year." He then went on to speak eloquently about fate versus faith. It was good stuff.

The Cantor chanted the great eerie Kol Nidre melodies. Lewis Black once called the service's music the creepiest of all time. Once, when the voiced rose to Alvino Malkeinu, I felt a twinge...of something.

Anyway, Jorge asked why he couldn't have a gold threaded prayer shawl like the guy in front of us. The best was when a lawyer he knew from his days as a Judge did an actual comical double take. The lawyer's wife is Catholic, and goes to Epiphany Church with Jorge. Seeing him in a kippa and prayer shawl, with his dark hair and beard, weirded the lawyer out!

I spent the actual Yom Kippur napping, fasting, and thinking about stuff. It really WAS cleansing.

Today I worked a bit, and then fetched my 88.5 year old mother from her condo. Wifey suggested we bring her to live with us for awhile, and Wifey will bring her to various doctors in an attempt to get her a better result for her arthritic him, which has, in the last weeks, robbed a lot from Mom.

So far, so good with the octogenarian. I stopped at Lots of Lox and bought her some bagels and pickled herring, which she ate with an almost secxual enjoyment. Then we got her a rented wheelchair, and took her on our typical 1.1 mile walk around the hood.

I've placed her "medicinal" vodka on the kitchen counter, and we begin our first night as the adoptive foster parents of this special needs child.

It's a blessing to be able to help an elderly parent. To my LAtin friends, bringing an older parent home to live is the norm, as it was for MY people 2 generations ago.

Maybe that's why I enjoyed this Day of Atonement so much. Sometimes going back to the future is the way to go.

Money Money Money

As we all know, the economy is in shambles. Our houses are worth 60% of what they were a year and a half ago, and it doesn't even matter, since no one can get a mortgage to even buy them! If we own stocks ( and I do, or did), their value has been sheared away like blades of grass by a lawnmower.

Last night, as I was pulling into my driveway, I saw my neighbor, friend, and broker, Pat. Pat, normally as cheerful as I am (and that's saying something!), looked most glum. His employer, Wachovia, was sold at a fire auction, and his clients have been calling him all day threatening to jump out of windows.

I had previously told Pat, essentially, that while the losses annoyed me, hey --it's only money. "I wish more people had your attitude," Pat said. He was so down, he didn't even mention his beloved Gators, until I brought them up. "Oh yeah --they have a big game at the Swamp against LSU." Besides, I told Pat, we live in 2 story houses --a defenestration (great SAT word, D2) would only cause a broken leg or two.

I don't know. When Wifey and I got married, we had a total of $9,000 in savings. My mother gave us (and each of my sisters) $10,000, which Wifey and I used as a down payment for our first house, which we bought for $86,500.00.

After D1 was born, Wifey quit work, and we lived on my $45,000 per year salary. We were wildly happy. We had our beautiful daughter, 2 lovable dogs, quirky and funny relatives, and friends. The Canes were winning championships, in what my friend Jeff labeled the Lawrence Welk years, based on their ranking finishes "Ah, one, a two, a one, a two..."

So now, 20 years later, there's more money (or was, anyway). The $86,000 house was replaced by the Village of Wifey, our med style Ponderosa. We eat fancier meals, take fancier vacations. I still dress, when my business doesn't require otherwise, like a homeless guy.

I used to give small amounts to charity, now I give more...I guess that's the sweetest thing about having more bucks...but --the happiness hasn't changed.

The stuff that gave me the most joy before the money came still does. I just wish the Canes were good again!

Ds 1 and 2 are grown, and nearly so, and still bring us so much happiness. We have even more quirkier and funny friends and relatives. Hell --my niece even married a standup comedian, and my sister Sue and I just ranked him about #5 in funniness in our family --so that says something!

So hopefully the economy under President Obama will improve. (Dad --are you seeing this --we're going to have a 1/2 black guy as president. Amazing, huh?). If it doesn't, well, we'll be out there, on the corner of Chapman Field Drive and South Dixie, selling mangoes. Brother --can you spare a few million?

Days of Awe

Well, the Jewish High Holidays are upon us, and I sit here NOT going to synagogue. I was raised a proud Zionist Jew, but an apostate one, but for the last 14 years or so flirted with the organized part of the religion.

Wifey and I met a delightful young Chabad couple, who brought us back, so to speak, with their warmth and charm, and generous helpings of vodka. We'd attend services, sometimes, and sent Ds 1 and 2 to Hebrew School for Bat Mitzvot.

Alas, I have come full circle, and returned to be my father's son. The reasons are manifold, but a major one involved a TV Movie of the Week-like incident where Dr. Barry resuscitated a near drowning child, who happened to be an Orthodox Jew. The ensuing circus, where the family made Barry out to be like Dr. Kevorkian, for advocating letting the child go, hit home too closely.

As I write, the child remains in a permanent vegetative state, and even my friend Rabbi Yossi continues the believe that this was the right outcome. It struck home to me that, when it comes to the Orthodox, well, it ain't me babe.

Wifey and I had previously rejected the Reform shul, as well, where the ultra liberal rabbis said it was ok to play golf on the sabbath, as long as "in your heart" you were remembering this commandment, and what a wealthy woman wore for services was far more important than the meaning of the holidays.

So, here I sit on this rainy day, an agnostic, and not even a "terrified " one, as Wifey is.

Last night we had the family over for dinner, and it was delightful. My sister Sue's here from California, and we ate, and drank, and looked at old photos, some dating from the 30s. Most importantly, we laughed together, and rejoiced that my mother and in laws, in their 80s, are still with us.

D1 was here until Sunday, but had to go back to college Sunday night. We missed her, but called so she could feel the spirit of the afternoon.

So, to honor my peeps, I won't work today, and will probably head out to the ocean, to contemplate stuff, talk to my late father, and toss my sins into the water (I do dig some of the symbolism). I hope my many sins don't stir up another tropical storm!

Next week, I'll probably fast, and think deeply about my life. Part of me wants to be, as Adam Duritz sang "someone who believes." For this year, though, I'm staying on the sidelines of religion.

That said, Feliz ano judeo, and to all a good night.

Walking Reverie

I had another great walk this morning, despite the too high heat and humidity. I reflected on last night's final game in Yankee Stadium.

Everyone made such a big deal about how old the place is. It opened in April, 1923. My mother happened to call, and we spoke about it. She was born in April of 1920. I told her she had outlived another icon. She said that these days she feels like a creaky old building.

I ran into a neighbor, Scott, with his lovely little girl, who's in first grade. We chatted about schools. He asked about Ds 1 and 2, and I told him how they each were more than 1/2 done with high school and college. "Wow!", he said, "you're in a totally different stage of life!"

Then I found myself looking ahead, to my girls' graduations, and weddings.

It's funny, I never fantasize about my own career future. I guess that comes from doing something for so long. I have no desire to win any more important cases. I just sort of plod along as a lawyer.

Last Saturday, I watched the Canes game with 4 doctor friends. I've know them all, except one, since college --one since junior high school. One is out of the profession due to a disability. One is still in the thick of his profession --working long hours, and teaching young doctors. One treats his job like a high paying 9 to 5 gig. One only cares for rich patients and is looking only for an easy time of things.

So --the mornings will always come, as long as they do.

When I Do Count the Clock That Shows the Tiime

Last week had it all. There was the satisfaction of delivering the settlement drafts to my favorite clients, signaling the end of their 3 year case, and insuring that they have the funds to hire the aids and assistants they need to make their lives easier, and there was the sadness of learning of the death of one of D1's classmates at 20, of cancer.

The latter put me in a rather blue mood for most of the week. I hear about and work with death and tragedy in my line of work, but when it hits close to home, like this young man, it really hits hard. His name was Paul, and he was from Coral Springs. Although D1 didn't know him beyond seeing his face at fraternity parties, she called after the memorial to say she loved me.

His family and friends had gathered at the football stadium to spread his ashes on the field. He was a rabid Gator fan. Wrong team, but he was clearly a young man after my own heart.

To further explore my ennui, I called Barry, the doctor with the world's worst and sometimes best job. He had just finished sending a dying boy off in a helicopter to Delray Hospital, where he would be transferred home to die on his favorite couch. The boy was 9, and had received a liver transplant some years before. Barry's team figured out the boy had a rare metabolic genetic condition which doomed him. The lover transplant had given him 2 more years. His dying wish was to ride in a helicopter. Barry got the company to donate a ride. The boy died hours after he arrived home.

In other words, Barry is truly the expert on human misery.

He told me that much of what we do is whistling past the graveyard --contemplatig and analyzing the dreaded, so keep it at bay from our own lives. He's right, of course.

Awful stuff happens all the time.

And, I'm going to deal with that fact the best way I know how, at least today. Wifey's out to lunch with some loquatious friends. D2 is going out to lunch with a friend. D1 is happily at UF, working on a French project and adoring some new boyfriend.

Some of MY boys are coming here in 2.5 hours to watch our Canes play Texas A and M. We will drink beer. We will eat pizza. We will celebrate this moment in our lives, to borrow the phrase from the old coffee commercial.

To borrow and mangle another line, this one from the classic movie "The Grand Hotel:" tragedies come and tragedies go. Nothing ever really happens.

Funny Mother in Law

My mother in law is one of many people who are extremely funny without having any idea they're funny. She's funny like Mr. Magoo --going through life and leaving disarray in her wake, without realizing it.

Now, she gave up driving years ago, so her pecadilloes aren't traffic related (though she had a few of those in her day, too). No -- she says things, thinking no one hears, when they in fact hear her Eastern European accented voice like she were an opera singer.

Years ago, some friends from Central America we had met on a cruise were visiting. My mother in law "whispered" something about the mother, but her whisper would carry across the Grand Canyon: "You know --she must have been pretty ven she vas a young voman!" There's no doubt our guest heard the comment, and Wifey tried to shush up her mother. That only makes it worse, as she then carries on about how Wifey "Can't tell her mother to be quiet!"

Last year, Wifey was driving us all to lunch, and decided to take a short cut through a neighborhood to our South. We got lost, and Wifey pulled over to a nice young lady to ask how to get back to US 1. The teenager was a tad, um, husky. Before Wifey was able to pull away, we again heard the not sotto voce "Oy --such a pretty girl --it's a shame she's so fat!"

Thereafter, Wifey was in a psychiatrists office with her, to get medical backup for the Holocaust Reparations claims. An incredibly obese woman came in, and my mother in law decided this was the perfect time to discuss weight loss, and Jenny Craig with Wifey. Poor Wifey. For all her efforts to change the conversation, it wasn't going to happen. We can only hope that poor patient wasn't pushed over the edge that day.

Now --much of this comes from my mother in law's lost youth. At 16, she was taken prisoner by the Nazis, and much of her famly died in the concentration camps. The years she might have learned social graces were spent, literally, as a slave. So, she gets a very large pass in the behavior department, in my opinion...

Still, yesterday she struck again. She was at the table with D2,who, like many teens, is rather taciturn. Wifey gave her mother something D2 had written, which was masterful. My mother in law went into the kitchen, and said to Wifey, in the famous non whisper "You know --she doesn't say nothing. You think she's a dummy, but she's very intelligent!"

D2 and I began to laugh hysterically. D2, who happens to be brilliant, gets her grandmother. My mother in law just doesn't get herself.

Years ago, my father in law asked a waiter at a Chinese restaurant "Your parents --they're Chinese like you are?" I didn't have my wonton soup that night, convinced the young man had spit into all of our food.

So --Mr. and Mrs. Magoo ride on!

Religion and Politics

Recently a friend started an email campaign in which he passionately called for all of us to vote for McCain in the upcoming election --saying it was a "historic time" that required us to take a "moral stand." Now, this friend is a great guy, but he's out of central casting when the director calls for a Miami Cuban Republican.

He's rich and Catholic, but has many Jewish friends from growing up in Miami in the 60s and 70s, so he's also staunchly pro -Israel.

Well, after McCain picked the Katherine Harris chick from Alaska to pander to the evangelicals, Wifey blew a fuse, and started enlisting our liberal friends to join in the blogging war. In fact, there are now posts from Indiana Law School Deans, critical care doctors, lapsed Catholic CPAs, and plenty of secular JEwish Democrats, also out of central casting.

The whole affair brings home to me that there really ARE 2 Americas. They are the faith based, who believe we're all tools of God and/of Jesus Christ, and the seculars, who believe the faith based are a bunch of idiots who believe in, as George Carlin called him, the "invisible man in the sky."

Unfortunately or fortunately, I'm with the Carlins. But, unlike some of my comrades (my right wing Cuban friends, hateful of Communism, would say that's an apt term), I realize that the majority of Americans belong to the former.

My rabbi friend, a Chasid, thinks Sarah Palin is the most righteous woman to enter politics in years. This same fellow would refuse to walk into a church, or even gaze upon one, yet he has no problem with Palin's "Jesus this and Jesus that." The old cliche is so true: politcs make for strange bedfellows.

Anyway --the whole blog thing has been fun and entertaining. We've had septugenarian retured schoolteachers weigh in ( a delightful lady who had never eaten a bagel and lox but claims Golda Meir is a lifelong hero) as well as college poli sci students ("you can't vote Republican --what if one of your kids needs an abortion???!).

I think the cooler heads agree that the differences are insoluble. Such is our great country. We're indeed under the ancient Chinese cures of living in interesting times. Wake me after Election Day.

Swamped!

I got back from Gainesville, Canes lost big in the Swamp,and you know what? Who cares!

Mission of the trip was accomplished. Friday night I took Barry, my partner's nearly 30 year old son Alex, his uncle Jeff and cousin Grant to dinner at a fine restaurant in Downtown Gainesville. We drank martinis (and a tequila shot) and had a fine time.

Later, Barry, Geoff, and I met up with a doctor friend and had coffee, while Barry and the doc friend Chris traded tales of childrens hospitals in Gainesville versus Miami.

Sat am Barry and I went to another hotel and met Eric and his extended family, where we chatted and talked of days passed. I drove Barry to his old med school and apartment, and he marveled at how the town's grown in 20 years.

Then, we went to D1's apartment and hung some curtains, while Ds 1 and 2 laughed at our Laurel and Hardy ability with power tools. We got the curtains hung and they're fine, as long as D1 isn't a fanatic about opening and losing them too often!

Friends came and went from her apartment, and it reminded Barry and me of our 3 years together, where folks would come and go, and most had funny tales to tell, like an episode of Seinfeld. More nostalgia...

Later we met Eric and his family in front of a classroom building and ate pizza and drank beer. We tailgated for about 3 hours. There is no better college atmosphere than UF has on gameday. It's truly a sight to behold --over 100,000 people partying in he streets, many with generators powering high def tvs and stoves.

At 7, we headed to the stadium with our UF doc friend Chris. Chris is a Texan who went to SMU and U Texas, and doesn't care too much if the Gators win. We enjoyed his company.

D2 arrived via rick shaw from a fraternity party, and we enjoyed the game together, even though our team lost.

This am we left early, while D1 slept, and drove to Boca to watch MORE football at Eric's house. The Jets beat the Dolphins, so Barry was happy. Dana baked cupcakes and sent our for Mexican food.

So, indeed back to a simpler place in time. Barry loved it! He made one critical error: calling home Friday night to hear his wife complain about his leaving her and her sons, and not putting up storm shutters. Of course, Ike is passing far away from us. Despite that one wet blanket, he thoroughly enjoyed himself, as did all of our number.

So, tomorrow back to the office for all of us, and school for Ds 1 and 2.

May even sweeter times lie ahead.

Road Trip

When I was a young teen, I had a strange fantasy: I wanted to be a PIP. As in, Gladys Knight and the PIPS. Those guys were so smooth, and great dancers, and seemed to have a great time performing. One of their best tunes was "Midnight Train to Georgia." It had the great line about going "back to a simpler place in time."

And that's what I'n doing in about 20 minutes! I'm taking a road trip with my dear friend and college roommate Barry, up to Gainesville to see our Canes play the Gators. It's the first road trip we took together since 1983. Well, we went to Chalet Suzanne in Lake Wales about 9 years ago, but that was with our wives. That trip doesn't count.

I'm more than a little excited about this. Some might dread the 5 hour car ride, but Barry and I have to solve issues about the medical negligence crisis, the upcoming presidential elections, our children, our careers, and why our wives don't appreciate us as much as they should.

D2 is coming along for the ride. I've already cautioned her to bring her I Pod, lest she rapidly grow bored of our conversations. She tells me she has a ton of homework. She'll stay with D1 --Barry and I are staying in a motel along with my law partner, his son, and some more friends.

Back in 1983, we travelled to Gainesvile, too, to watch our Canes. I returned to start law school, and Barry to start his senior year. Eric, who also went with his girlfriend Dana, returned to start medical school. Eric and Dana are going on this trip, too, but with their kids.

It seemed there was so much going on in 1983. Ha! The selfish studies of one 22 year old, and helping care for a widowed mother.

Now, I have a business, wife, 2 girls --much more to return to. Plus, Hurricane Ike is bearing down -- I may have to return to storm preparations.

All of that makes the road trip the more precious.

So --here we come Turnpike! There's plenty of cold beer in Gainesville. Life is grand!

Sandwich Generation

I'm a late Baby Boomer, but still have the privilege of having to care for an elderly parent at the same time I'm raising my own kids.

Grandma's been going through a rough time lately, but until now has been fortunate --nearly 89 years of pretty good health. The latest: clinical depression.

I know adults who still look to their parents for support, both financial and emotional. I wonder what that would have been like --I've been more the parent to my mother since my father died 26 years ago.

I'd never DREAM of telling my mother my problems, or asking her help. Rather, she depends and leans on me. She always did.

I learned from my father to take control, and not worry others. I'M the one to worry. It's as if my father were Vito Corleone, who said that women and children could afford to be emotional and weak minded, but men couldn't.

I love Sidney Poitier's definition of the measure of a man: how he takes care of his family. I've been privileged to be in that position since I was 20.

How must it feel to be a child late into life? I'll never know.

Yesterday I was at lunch with my partner, office roommate Brian, and another lawyer, Sherry, and paralegal Carol. All of our fathers died in their 60s.

Brian's experience was the worst: his father died at 60, while Brian was still a teenager. Also, he died of ALS, one of the worst deaths there is.

Sherry asked Brian how that experience affected his life. Brian answered that no family knows about an early death until it happens to them. How true!

Brian says he takes a moment each day and savors something --even something as simple as the smiles of his children.

Brian is very much a man, in my estimation. He also takes care of an older mother, as do my partner and Sherry.

When we were all in high school, this wasn't something in the user's manual of life. We knew we'd have to figure out our own lives and then be responsible for our children. Where was the chapter about caring for a parent?

Oh well --I guess it's a privilege to be the caregiver rather than the care recipient.

Maybe I'll call my mother tonight and tell her I find the practice of law unfulfilling, and am having a crisis of identity. I'll ask her advice about whether I should teach full time, or start a different business. Right! As if!

Baseball Night

Barry cancelled a trip to Marco Island, and as consolation to his boys he bought 4 Club seats to watch the Marlins play the Mets. Even though Barry is wary of Dave overload (we'll be spending next weekend together on a Gainesville trip), he invited me along.

It was a glorious night! Barry still loves the Mets, since he grew up in Flushing, in the shadow of Shea Stadium. They were my boyhood team, too, but I move on, and have adopted the Marlins. Scott, Barry's almost 12 year old, is a Marlins fan. Josh, nearly 11, shows solidarity with his Dad and favors the Mets.

It was a breezy night, as the outer bands from Hurricane Gustav swept through. The game was a good one, with a bench clearing brawl for added excitement. The MArlins won in the bottom of the 9th, on a bases loaded walk! I explained to the boys that you rarely see a walk in run in the Major League.

We chatted, and laughed, and Josh asked a million questions about everything from the game to JAckie Robinson to why plastic bags were floating down from the upper deck. He is such a sweet young man, though, and never annoying like some curious kids. His brother is much more taciturn, but a bigger baseball fan, who LOVED both having his team win and jabbing his father about the Met's loss.

After the game, there was a fireworks display, and we oohed and aahed at the explosions. I took a mental snapshot of the lovely summer evening, to remember when these boys graduate high school, and get married.

There was also a post game concert --a Puerto Rican singer named Olga Tanon. She danced energetically, and sang well, but all in Spanish, except for a comical "Goooood eeeeeevening my Eeeeeeeeenglish friends." We listened to a few songs and watched the Latina girls dance to the music. I explained to the boys that American girls don't dance that way. I think they understood.

Meanwhile, Gustav is taking aim on New Orleans. It's funny -- we enjoyed a delightful Labor Day Saturday night, and those poor bastards were running for their lives. Such is the unfairness of things in life.

CH CH CH CH CHANGES....

All of my nostalgic whining about the sanctity of the Orange Bowl has turned out to be just that: nostalgic whining. I went to the first game of the Hurricane's new era, and it turned out just great! RIP Orange Bowl. Thanks for the memories, but change is good.

D2 and I picked up Amanda and caravaned to Dolphin Stadium last night. We parked right next to the building, and then walked over to Mike's crew, where the grill was already fired up. The sun was setting, the blender was whirring, the beer was cold, and the bonhommie was everywhere.

We ate and drank and laughed. My partner Paul cornered D2 and explained the true meaning of life, along with the benefits of attending a $50k/year college, as his kids did.

The sun was setting and all were in high spirits. "Is this so bad?" I asked. No one thought it was. Rob smoked his cigars. Old friends stopped by, like Norman, whose life has paralleled mine, except for 3 sons and a divorce instead of my 2 daughters and long marriage. Norman and I reminisced about Canes years of yore, and spoke about our kids. I introduced him to crazy Steve the cop, and we shared some police/lawyer jokes.

D2 and I entered the stadium. We're sitting in the "Club Level," which has huge air conditioned plazas, and bathroom attendants. It was the first time I gave a tip after peeing at a sports event! The staff all welcomed us, and asked if all was ok. It was.

D2 and I agreed that even famously finicky D1 would enjoy a game from the Club Seats, since she could escape to one of the leather sofas overlooking the city, and eat organic chicken sandwiches on whole wheat while texting her friends.

We walked over to Eric's section, where he was there with Dana and his mother. More talk of seasons of yore. Norma, Eric's mom, told me the new seats were at the same angle that her first UM seats with Eric's late father Marvin had at the OB. There's always a bittersweet moment at a happy event; talking about Marvin was it.

The game was great, too, as the Canes completely dominated Charleston Southern. Someone once said that if a college has a direction in its name, it's a rinky dink institution. This was true last night --many Miami high school teams are better than Souther Charleston, but that's ok. We got to see our beloved Canes play well, and that made the house warming party complete.

I came home to Wifey watching Barack Obama on TV. She has a huge crush on him. Years ago, my 11th grade Social Studies teacher, Fred Froelich used to say that "the dream of every middle class white woman is to be taken by a large black man." This was, of course, in 1970s all white Levittown, LI, so Mr. Froelich wasn't fired. He was prescient, though.

That's ok. Wifey used to have a crush on Tony Soprano. I guess Obama is a step up, although I like to fantasize about a Tony Soprano administration.

So, Canes football is back, and there's joy in the heat of late Miami Summer. We're off to Gainesville next weekend, likely to see our team lose handily. That's ok, though. The beer will be cold, and the laughter freely flowing. D2 will be at a fraternity with her sister D1, enjoying REAL sorority.

Paul, Mike, Eric and Barry will be there --some of my closest brothers. Change is inevitable. Sometimes it's great.

You Go Girls

So D1 flew back to Gainesville last night, and will start her junior year of college Monday. D2 started HER high school junior year last Wednesday.

I'm so proud of them.

They both put so much into their studies, and are properly proud of their accomplishments. They have their challenges, physical and emotional, and deal with all that comes their way.

I used to think some people had it easier than others, and were less deserving of praise when they soared. I now realize that's ridiculous. We each battle our own demons, and challenges, and those who do this successfully are the winners in life.

I told D1 that my junior year in college was the time I began to find myself intellectually. I had spent 2 1/2 years pursuing a career I wasn't meant to have, and as I turned 20 I realized I was just going to pursue my true interest --and switched to an English major.

D1 seems to have a pretty well defined goal now, and met with a Masters Program Advisor while she was home, and is now excited about a graduate program.

D2 is taking 4 AP classes and studying HARD for the SAT, while balancing clubs and activities.

So, as this pivotal academic year has started, I wish them fun and learning, and the creation of memories...

Tropical Whiff

As I write this, it's barely raining, and the wind is "gusting" to about 15 mph. Despite these mild conditions, our city is effectively shut down for the second straight day, afraid of what might have been. What WAS, was Tropical Storm Fay, which missed us and is heading up Florida's West Coast, bringing much needed rain.

This is the only time of year I wished I lived somewhere else. The hurricanes are tolerable --my family survived Andrew, the most powerful to rip through here in 100 years --it's the media hype and anxiety I can't stand.

My office roommate Mark does something I hope to someday emulate: he leaves town at the first sign of a "storm event." He owns a high rise condo on Brickell with impact resistant glass, and figures there's nothing he can do to protect it anyway. He simply flies to Chicago, or NYC, and checks into a nice hotel, leaving all of the worry and annoyance behind. While we're checking storm paths and schlepping patio furniture, and buying gas for generators, he's eating steaks and watching plays.

Of course, D2 still has 2 years of high school left, so it's not as easy to flee, but someday I plan to close my accordions at the first scent of one of these annoyances and take flight like a storm avoiding bird.

Yesterday the media actually got a wish come true. While a news crew was setting up on Ft. Lauderdale beach, an idiot on a kite sail forgot to let go when the wind gusted, and the camera caught him being gruesomely pulled across the sand before smashing into a building on the other side of A1A. CNN picked up the story, and all of the reporters got to moralize about how "dangerous thses storms can be." No --being a moron is what's dangerous!

I avoid the TV as much as I can, but I'm thwarted by Wifey. I don't know that Wifey ever walks into a room in our house without turning on the TV. Then she watches and asks me what the reporters mean. As soon as she leaves, I shut the damn thing off (unless football, The Sopranos, or any of the Godfather movies happen to be on).

So --hopefully we'll be back to normal function tomorrow, having "dodged a bullet" as the latest clown director at the Hurricane Center just cliched. I haven't trusted those guys since Andrew, when their one day before the storm prediction said the hurricane would hit Palm Beach County, causing me to keep my elderly mother with me in South Dade, away from harm.

Of course, my house was in ground zero, and my mother got to watch the roof blow away over us, while we huddled inside a car in my garage, hoping that the car's roof would protect us from any falling beams.

They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Tropical Storm Fay just made us all annoyed.

First Day of School

Some of my sports minded friends love baseball's opening day. That never did much for me --I really only watch baseball at the end of the season, when the pennant races are going on. For me, a favorite day was always the first day of school.

I used to love seeing old friends, and the anticipation of meeting the new teachers. Of course, one first day for me --in third day, was filled with as much anxiety as an 8 year old could have.

Late in the season of second grade, my friend Michael Monahan and I got the brilliant idea of throwing rocks while on the back "blacktop" of East Broadway School at midday recess. We hurled with glee and abandon, until a young teacher came over, rubbing her head. One of us had beaned her!

We each got pink slips, which were disciplinary notices. When you got 3, you had to each lunch in the principal's office --the height of embarrasment. I got 2 that year --Michael made it to the big three. I still remember his screams as he was led off to the awful punishment --pleading like a comdemned man.

Anyway -- fast forward to the following Fall. Michael and I sat together, and in walked the teacher. It was her --the lady we had beaned! Miss Dempsey! Michael and I both began to fidget and sweat, convinced that she would spend the entire school year paying us back for what we had done.

It turned out that she had forgotten, or at least she never brought it up. As I recall the year (now nearly 40 years past), she was a terrific teacher. I remember specifically a trip to NYC and climbing the Statue of Liberty, all the way to the crown, and learning in the days of NYC yore, they let you all the way up to the torch!

When my own girls were young, I also loved taking them to school. The atmosphere was charged. Optimism was everywhere. The screw ups hadn't screwed up yet. No one had been disciplined. No one had failed any tests.

I'd introduce myself to the teacher, and kiss my girls goodbye. Recently, D1 told me she remembered how proud she was of her well dressed, "hot young dad" as I took her to school.

Of course, those days ended for me years ago. D2 is starting 11th grade. My last allowed visit for the first day of school was when she was in 5th grade. Now, she'll get up and drive herself.

But --one tradition will survive! I always take the Ds pictures in front of a tree --to see how little they grow relative to the tree. On this coming Monday, I may even wake D1 and make her stand outside (she returns to UF on Thursday).

Then, as I drive past all of the schools on my way to work, I'll think of all of the first day memories being created inside, on the day before any disappointment sets in.

The Lonely Surgeon

So D1 had to have a cyst removed, and needed a surgeon. She was going to do it up in Gainesville, but decided against it, lest her recovery time interfere with her summer finals. She wanted to do it here, get healed, and leave a few days later for UF.

So --getting a qualified surgeon for a completely elective procedure in no time flat --ha --as if! Well, I called my dear friend Vince, a former anesthesiologist, and he called a top guy and made the appointment. D1 had the removal today, and her surgeon spent as much time chatting with Wifey and me as he did operating.

We compared notes about Vince, and how much he missed him at the hospital. We also chatted about Barry and Eric, since Barry runs a Residency PRogram, and Eric trained at Harvard, where the surgeon went to college and medical school.

The surgeon said "You know --I really don't keep in touch with any friends from college or med school, and I wish I had. You're a lucky guy Dave."

Well, this guy didn't go to Harvard for nothing! Of course I'm lucky, and a main reason is the wonderful friends with whom I share this trip called life.

Yesterday D1 and I visited my mother, and then Eric and his family on the way back. D1's turning 20 soon, and Eric's kids are a senior and freshman in high school. Eric met Dana when she was YOUNGER than D1. It amazes us.

We're blessed to share our lives --education, weddings, kids growing and moving away.

Yes, Dr. Canning, you're a wise and skilled man.

Intimations of Football

Yesterday marked a pleasurable annual event: my Miami Hurricanes tickets came in the mail. Each year, going back to 1987, I always savor their arrival. I take the cardboard tickets out of the envelope, check them for accuracy, spread them on the carpet, and then gleefully roll around on them, like a dog with a dead squirrel. The last thing I don't really do, but I think about it.

My Dad wasn't much of a sports fan, and we never had season tickets for any sporting events. We'd go to the rare Mets or Jets game, and that was it. When I came to UM, I was smitten by the Canes, probably because their rise to greatness paralleled my college and grad school days. More importantly, going to tailgate parties and games was, as my friend Jim noted, the most fun you can have with your pants on.

This year is the first season away from the Orange Bowl. My friends and I have grieved and moved on, and I'm actually excited about the new stadium. I bought Club Seats, which are air conditioned and have waitress service, so I figure that even a few losses will be tolerable with a steady supply of mojitos.

I called my friend Dave about the tickets' arrival. He uses my long term account. Dave's a senior partner at the most important law firm in town. He's a Harvard Law grad (we went to UM undergrad together). I know, because my partner's son is a young associate at his firm, that Dave is in the middle of an enormous case, with hundreds of millions of dollars at stake. Still, Dave and I chatted about the Canes quarterback and linebacker outlook for a solid half hour. Had I been paying for his time, it would have cost me $400!

I then emailed Mike about where our new parking assignments fell. Mike took over tailgate manager duties from his late father Ed. Ed, one of my life's beloved mentors, hosted the parties since the mid 60s! Mike, also a big time lawyer, is already planning the season's festivities. Like his father, he's a tavern keeper first, and lawyer just is his day job.

Barry and Eric, two big shot doctors, will always put aside life saving procedures for their patients to discuss the Canes. Barry's boys are old enough to go to games this year, and he has season tickets, too. Eric's kids have been going since they were babies.

So, the tickets and their parking pass are safely tucked away in my night stand. I'll separate each one from the pack as game day arrives.

I'll hand them to the ticket taker, explaining how wrinked they are because of my joyful carpet rolling.

The Very Busy Teenagers

My girls are lucky in so many ways, and they know it. They live nice lives, and don't trouble about finances. Still, I'm so proud of them --they take little for granted, and put so much effort in their studies.

D1 just returned from UF's Summer Session. She's decided that she wants to go for a Masters in Nutrition Science after she graduates. The problem is, while she's a whiz in the Humanities, she struggles in the Sciences.

She took a Chemistry class, and found it very tough. She got herself a tutor, and worked it all summer. She's high strung, and would call each time she got a low exam score. But guess what? She still got a B in the course.

I'm so proud of her. I'm proud whenever she gets good grades, but in the liberal arts classes it's a bit like being proud of Shaquille when he dunks a basketball --natural abilities abound. But when D1 took on something very tough, and still conquered it --way to go, my girl.

D2 worked like a demon last year, and came out of her sophomore year with one B and the rest As. She's volonteered all summer at a camp, taking care of little children. On weekends she volunteers at a pet rescue operation --taking care of the dogs, and helping them get adopted.

She spends a little time with her friends, but then sees two tutors --one for her difficult upcoming math class, and another to maximize her SAT score this year.

D2 is much more driven than I was. And --she's not naturally a hyper person like her sister. D2 is, in her natural habitat, very happy to sleep until 2 pm if she can. So --I know the effort she puts in doing all these manifold activities.

Ah, girls, what can I say? My cup runneth over with the two of you.

Hopefully the next week you'll take a well deserved breather from your industrious lives.

Brava, ladies!

Meeting Charo

It really is the worst time of the year here. It's so hot, that venturing outside for more than a few minutes mid day leads to a soaked shirt. The early mornings and evenings are at least passable. Anyone with sense is up in North Carolina, or out west.

My partner and I went to dinner on Tuesday. We met another friend out near MIA, and went to a Venezuelan steakhouse. It was nice -piano bar with a singer performing comically accented Sinatra. And then Charo walked in.

Ah Charo --fleeting icon from the 1970s --the "cuchi cuchi" girl. I think she guested on "Love Boat" 100 times, and Carson probably 100 more. She sat with a 60 ish fellow who looked like he came out of a Montana ranch. She wore a track suit --like a New Jersey mobster.

At the table next to hers, a large Cuban family, celebrating a birthday, noticed her and squealed. Charo went over and sang happy birthday to a 60is woman.

On her way out, I waved and said "Buenos Noches." Charo looked great for her age, although the lighting in the restaurant was dim.

The next day, I told some of the office staff, in their 30s, about my meeting. They had no idea who Charo was...

Such are the Summer doldrums, when even the most trivial event is newsworthy...

When's football starting?????

Albert Schweitzer Rides Again...

So Barry pulled another Albert Schweitzer. I really wish he'd stop.

One of his patients was dying, after a long illness, and the mother went to a quack who sold her some sort of "miracle juice" that she wanted injected into her daughter. The poor mother, desperate as would be anyone with a dtying child, came under the spell of this shaman, who charged her hundreds of dollars and told her American doctors were ignorant.

Anyone else would have simply refused, and that would have been the end of it. Not Barry. Amidst a week where his manifold responsibilities were even greater than usual, he spent hours on the phone with NIH and the FDA getting permission to try this "medical experiment."

It turned out the substance was a Chinese herb that IS known to have immune boosting qualities. After Barry's persistence, both federal agencies gave the ok, figuring it couldn't hurt (the girl was terminal). Next, he battled his OWN hospital's administration. They finally relented, and the miracle juice was given.

There was to be no miracle. The girl died Thursday morning, 6 hours after the magic potion was given.

I'm sure the mother, steeped in grief, will not recognize Barry's extraordinary efforts. In fact, one of his colleagues DID give him thanks --in the form of a ton of paper work he has to fill out to explain this "failed medical experiment."

This is vintage Barry. Where others may have good hearts, he dives in to peoples' problems. Years ago I nicknamed him Horton, after Dr. Seuss's character. Barry is always saving Hooville, or sitting for days on an egg to hatch it.

I just worry after him, now that he's 45. These adventures in altruism take a toll on him. His own affairs suffer. He has little time for himself. Some selfishess is necessary.

I just hope someday that there's email between heaven and hell. If the Devil gives me coffee breaks, I'll email Barry to see what's up in the other place.

The Road

My favorite tavern in Miami is Tobacco Road. It's been open since the early 1900s, and holds the city's first liquor license. I discovered it in 1983, when I was a senior in college. My friends and I would go there to listen to a group called the Fat Chance Blues Band, which changed its name to Iko Iko, and is probably the most famous local band in South Florida.

The Road caters to a business lunch crowd during the day, and my partner and I eat there a few times per week.

Yesterday, the place was packed. It turned out that to celebrate their 96th anniversary, the Road was offering 96 cent burgers for lunch. We sat at the bar, and ate two of them. They were delicious.

Jack the bartender, a guy about my age but 150 lbs heavier, has been there forever. He told us that when the Miami Vice movie was beong made, Colin Farrell made the Road his second home.

Jack tells a great tale, and kept us entertained for quite awhile with tales of Colin Farrell's sexual liasons, some even in "Doc's Closet," a supply room named after an ancient black fellow who worked at the Road for years.

Turns out that after the actor left town, he asked for a bar stool to be sent back to Ireland, where it sits in his pub there. Ah, the connections --a barstool from my favorite tavern in Miami gets Guinness spilled on it in Ireland.

It occurred to me that the perfect job for me would be bartender or host at a friendly tavern. I enjoy few things as much as good conversation, and the hearing and telling of stories.

MAybe someday...

Early Morning Thunderstorm

As I age, I find I sleep an entire night, without waking, maybe 2-3 times per week, tops. The rest of the evenings I either wake up at 2 or 3 am, and read, or wake up at 5 and figure it's time to start the day.

This morning, it was a 5 am deal, after falling asleep around midnight. I read for awhile and then checked the news on my laptop, since I am an admitted news junkie. Fortunately, it was a slow news overnight --only a few more grisly domestic murders for the papers to report.

Then,I had a rare treat --a violent thunderstorm came through. I love t storms when I'm inside with nowhere to go, and at 5 am...

There were flashes in the black sky, and loud rumblings of thunder. A neighbor's dog barked in the distance. Then came the downpour, and I got up to watch as the trees glistened in the lightning's flashes.

I'm always conforted being in bed during a storm --it brings back the childhood belief that pulling the covers over your head will immunize you from the attacks of all nature of monster.

I actually fell asleep for another hour listening to the rain.

I awoke and Wifey and I watched the end of a good Netflix offering: "The Savages." It was a small movie; I like small movies.

Then, I had a great breakfast with an old college friend who's now a Public Health Doctor. We told tales and laughed so hard that at one point the restaurant actually all stopped to look at us.

Thunderstorms in the early morning and breakfast with old friends. These are a few of my favorite things...

No One Here Gets Out Alive

I had lunch today with my friend John, whose young wife died of melanoma a few months ago. He's adjusting well, as is his 13 year old daughter.

He's going to the church service tonight for a mutual friend's mother, who died last week following heart surgery, at 60.

Another friend from Miami, who moved to Atlanta, died July 4, at 65. One of my consulting engineers is dying of brain cancer. I just asked after him yesterday, and was told he probably wouldn't see another Autumn.

When my father died, many friends and acquaintances tried to comfort me with words, some kind and some awkward. One of my professors, who was also a Presbyterian minister, said something that resonated with me: "Dave, we all do it."

Somehow, being jerked back into reality like that conforted me. My father didn't engage in some mysterious and scary process -- he had died, as we all will.

Of course, when a relative or friend dies, there is grieving and pain.

What's next, after this life? A young Rabbi was in my office this morning, and he said there is, indeed, heaven, where the soul is again with God. A better place.

I hope he's right, but just in case, I intend to continue cramming as much into this life as I can.

To those who have left or are leaving, I say see ya --maybe.

Dream Job

Our friend Elizabeth was in town this weekend, to celebrate her big 5-0 with us and her family. We loved having her here --she's a lovely house guest.

Last night, she asked us to go to Grove Isle for a dinner with her sister Ruby, who lives there, and a gentleman friend named Gregg. Liz was fixed up with Gregg by a mutual friend, but, alas, there seems to be a lack of "chemicals," as my mother in law malaprops.

Too bad. Gregg is a great fellow, born and raised in Minneapolis, who has my dream job: CEO of a charitable foundation. He spends his days deciding which charities to give money to --and typically they relate to health care for children, or education for deserving students.

The foundation was started by a transportation magnate in the Midwest, who had one son, who died after a lifetime of mental illness. Greg is the great nephew of the founder, and really the only family member. Greg himself has an interesting story --his mother died in childbirth, he was an only child, and has, as he reports, "zero family."

But, he lives part of the year in South Fla and part in Minneapolis, meeting with hospital administrators and educators, charged with giving away nearly $10M per year.

I couldn't imagine a better job --being charged with doing so much good, in a responsible way. I'd hate to be the REQUESTOR of charity, but it's great to be the giver.

He truly loves his job. The foundation is having its name put on a neonatal intensive care unit soon, and Gregg gets to write the check.

I joked with Wifey that if Elizabeth won't date this fellow --hell --he's MY type!

But, for me, back to work today, keeping my aging law practice limping along. I'll send out some legal papers today that will probably annoy their targets. How much grander it would be to send out a check to a children's hospital!

47

Today I'm 47, and really didn't want to make a big deal out of my birthday. I'm a decade man --I like to mark the "zero" birthdays with a big party. Three years from now, I'm thinking big sail boat and vomiting up into Biscayne Bay.

Still, yesterday my partner took me and another office roommate, Brian, for a few at the Blue MArtini. My friend and receptionist Mirta tagged along. To celebrate, I gave Mirta a $100 bill to spend on her grandkids. My partner followed suit. We're both so spoiled, self indilged, and pampered, but we truly share preferring to give than to receive.

I woke up this am to see signs D2 had put up around the house wishing me a happy 47. She also left me breakfast. I got a bunch of calls from family and friends as well.

D1 is on her way, with our friend Elizabeth from Orlando. Elizabeth turns 50 on Monday, and we'll all have dinner tonight before Elizabeth goes off to begin her sixth decade on this planet with her family in Coconut Grove.

Ah, birthdays. Just another day, but so nice to be loved.

I received one particularly poignant message. My friend Alan called from Atlanta to wish me a happy one. Alan's beloved wife Helene just died on July 4th of cancer.

Alan's always happy, and has tons of friends. His children and grandchildren adore him. His marriage to Helene was storybook, if they wrote the story in Queens, NY, with later chapters in Miami.

I know Alan is in tremendous pain, and yet he called to wish me well on my birthday. Even in the depth of despair, he gives. What a guy. I plan on continuing to emulate him.

Dog Days

I just got back from my daily constitutional, and it was less than it's usual lovely experience. It's been raining for a few days, and now the awful mosquitoes are here in force. I once went flats fishing in the Everglades in summer, and running from the car to the boat, my arms and legs grew black with the bugs. It's not that bad here today, but seems like it could get there.

People with good sense have left town until the climate grows friendly again. One neighbor is in Pennsylvania, another in Maine. It's said that in summer Asheville, NC and its surrounding area has more Dade County residents than locals.

Maybe after D2 graduates, Wifey and I will "summer" elsewhere, but not yet.

So, for now, it's saying prayerful thanks to Mr. Carrier and his invention, and especially for the fellow who figured out how to air condition cars.

What a Town

Got back from Vegas this am, after nearly 4 days of fun and excitement. My partner and travelling companion, typically not given to social commentary, answered a question posed by Dr. Barry why he loved Vegas so much. I have to note this exchange took place in the back of a limo at 2 am Saturday, as we shuttled from Club Tryst in the Wynn hotel to a raodside diner called the Peppermint Rhino.

"Vegas is the most honest town in America. There's no pretense here - if you have money, you're at the front of the line. If you're poor --go to the back. It doesn't matter if you have an Ivy League education, or your relatives came over on the Mayflower. The lowest groups who have the cash are king --the "classy types without the bucks are worthless. America is ALL about money, and Vegas is the clearest expression of America."

I was impressed. I was also feeling the effects of 4 stolis on the rocks, and dozing off. Still, Springsteen said it best, about Vegas's poorer cousin, Atlantic City: "There's winners and losers, and don't find yourself on the wrong side of that line..."

We stayed at the Bellaggio, and the place is beyone belief. Literally millions of dollars of Chilully glass sculptures. A courtyard beyond Disney, where Aaron Copland's "Hoedown" crescendoes --competing with the piped in jazz in the adjoining Cafe Bellagio, Sarah Vaugn.

My favorite spot was a piano bar, where EVERY player was terrific. At 1 am Sunday, after I left my companions to their nights of intrigue and mystery, I sat in the bar and gave the man a $20. Thank you sir, he said, may I play a request? Yes --please play "Misty" for me. He complied. A gorgeous blonde weekend warrior came by and said "Wow --a sensitive type." I literally shooed her away.

The wedding was lovely --the Bellagio has amazing banquet facilities. And, just when it seemed like the affair could have been held at the Plantation Sheraton --Elvis walked in, and sang 3 songs.

Other than the wedding, there was great food, and laughter. One of our number lost his watch and wedding ring at the pool. We decided the better story would be that he passed out in his room after an encounter with a Kenyan professional woman, and woke to find she had taken most of his cash (leaving $200 as a gesture of mercy) as well as his watch and ring. What's the truth? In Vegas that's a slippery thing...

Anyway --I got that city out of my system for awhile. My partner already wants to plan another trip.

The one funny thing was I found myself pitying couples there. They all seemed to be having less fun. Vegas IS a place where you oughtn't be responsible for anyones well being but your own.

Also, speaking of couples --there was a curious thing. I must have seen at least 100 grandfathers there squiring around their gorgeous granddaughters. It was creepy, though --they were showing atypical levels of phyiscal affection. Such is LAs Vegas...

Another Trip!

After recent trips to Baltimore, San Francisco, and Europe, I'm enjoying being at home. But, fate calls again, and I leave this Friday for my fourth (and final, for awhile I think) trip of this Spring and Summer: Las Vegas.

LV isn't on my list of favorite places. I don't gamble, and the shows playing there have zero interest for me. I'm one of the minority who DETEST Cirque du Soleil --I find acrobatics set to spooky and dreamy music tedious. In fact, the only time I enjoyed one of their performances was when it was lampooned in the movie "Knocked Up."

I checked the list of shows playing next weekend, and the only performer I'd see, I can't: Bette Midler. I think there's a federal law preventing a straight man from going to a Bette Midler show unaccompanied by a female,

Anyway --Dr. Barry's sister Phyllis is getting married Sunday, which is why I'm going. I've known Phyllis since she was 15, and, although I don't see her or speak to her too often, feel close to her. She's a Broward County teacher who knows tons of people, and figured it would be impossible to have a wedding locally without either inviting 500 people or offending many, so she opted to do the Vegas thing.

Wifey's back is still iffy, so she can't go, though she DID go to Atlanta and is planning another trip there soon. So, my law partner is going as my date, since he LOVES Vegas, and always looks for an excuse to go.

Phyllis, having a keen and wonderful sense of humor, is sitting Paul and me at a table with some gay friends. Hmmm...among drinking gay men in Vegas...there ought to be a few blogs on that when I return.

The only other time I was in the desert city was 1996. We had just settled a huge case, and decided to host a firm retreat there (actually Paul did --I would have taken folks to Key West or NY). We paid all expenses for a group of 14 --with rooms at the Mirage, meals, limo rides, etc... PAul's girlfriend at the time was a former, um , dancer, whose best friend from LA was living with a casino owner. She ended up killing him for his money. Paul got away from HIS femme fatale with his life, though quite lighter in his wallet.

That trip was out of a movie --watching goon bouncers lifet people out of the way so that our party could have a table at a premier restaurant (the casino owner was CONNECTED).

This time, I'm reading "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" for inspiration, although I think I'll stay away from the hallucinogenic drugs. I might enjoy a cocktail or two over the long weekend.

As a last minute development, our good friend Stuart is joining us. We owed him a co counsel fee, and Paul suggested he take it out in tickets and a room, so Stuart will be flying out with me on Friday. He was one of the merry pranksters along for the ride in 1996, so we'll have plenty to reminisce about while we're in the 110 degree heat.

Stuart's goal is to sit at the pool at the Bellaggio and watch the gorgeous women. I figure I ought to be able to help him out in that regard.

So --off to Las Vegas on Friday. Who knows what's around the bend?