Microcosm

I fell in love with my house, the best place I've ever lived, because of the pond out front. It's a dug out sinkhole, probably 20 feet wide by about 80 feet long, with a stone bridge built over the middle.

My pond is my favorite place. A few years ago, Wifey and Ds 1 and 2 bought me an aluminum bench and a sign identyfying the pond as mine. They chuckle when I sit there, most days, gazing at the koi, and cichlids, and other species of fish and terrapins that happily ply the waters.

Every few years, there's a big fish die off. The first was about 2 years after we moved in --the koi that came with the house, many of which were close to 2 feet long, and about 10 years old, gasped for air on the banks of the pond and died.

I replaced them, and after the prolonged powere shortage of Hurricane Wilma, where the aerating pump I have was off for 2 weeks, there was another die off --leaving only the smallest fish.

2 weeks ago, we had some pretty serious wildfires in the Everglades, and a LOT of ash fell in our neighborhood. Coupled with that, the ficus trees dropped much of their biannual berry blossoms, and the pond water turned an unattractive rust color. Then came another die off, of 12 large koi, and all of the larger cichlids and tetras.

The pond stank of dead fish for a week, but the raccoons and buzzards did their scavenging, and all of the corpses disappeared.

This morning I went to the pond, and the water was clear, and the remaining fish swam rapidly. One who had never seen the pond would conclude that all was well and healthy, because it was. Nature had replenished herself --the world started fresh and new.

My sister told me about a PBS science show depicting the look of New York City if all of the humans left. Within a remarkeably short time, plants and trees would take over, and in the relative blink of an eye, the city would be forest again.

This all tells us what we should already realize --the writer of Ecclesiastes nailed it --all is vanity. We stress and we struggle and we worry and we ruminate --and then we're gone as if we never existed. We're like my pond fish, in the scheme of things.

The single worst event of my life was the day my father died. I was 4 days from 21, and friends all tried to console me with kind words. One of my professors, a colorful Religious Studies man and Department head, hugged me and said simply "We all do it."

His simple sentence resonated --we all DO die, as foreign a notion that seemed to a 21 year old college senior.

That same year, I read Turgenev's "Fathers and Sons," and the scientist Bazarov (I STILL remember the character's name) explained why he dissected frogs --by learning how the frog works, he can learn how the larger human works.

The same principle is apt for me with my little pond world --my microcosm. Everything dies, and yet life goes on.

I love to sit and watch it.

Family Celebration

I just returned from the City by the Bay, where I attended my nephew's college graduation. It took him 5 years, but he made it through with a B average. My Florida sister and brother and law flew out to SF, and we met the graduate's mother and brother at the airport.

I love San Francisco. We took a cable car from Union Square to Fisherman's Wharf, and the architecture and vistas always blow me away. Speaking of blowing away, each time you turn a corner, the wind drops the temperature 20 degrees. I guess that's part of the charm.

We went to dinner at Morton's, joined by the graduate's uncle from his father's side, and his wife. Some guys figure out life. As far as I can tell, Michael has never been gainfully employed, but he has an 18 year younger wife who works as a research scientist and supports him. Each time I was in Michael's presence, I heard Dire Strait's "Money for Nothing" in my head. Power to this guy --a good gig if you can get it.

The graduation ceremony was Saturday, and it was cold and rainy. We attended only my nephew's Departmental graduation, held on a nearby high school football field. The faculty, which seemed overwhelmingly gay (it IS San Francisco State), shared their wisdom. My favorite was a professor who said that a college degree was worth more than $1M in future earnings versus a non college grad. "More importantly," she said, "becoming a college graduate will prevent you from becoming a guest on the Jerry Springer Show."

Saturday night my new hero Michael and his patroness wife went on their way, and we had some delicious pizza at Uncle Vic's. We laughed and told tales of family yore. It was delightful.

The graduate and his girlfriend left, and the next day my sisters, brother in law, and non graduating nephew drove to Monterrey. We walked by the bay there, and listened to the sea lions barking. I could have spent the whole afternoon with them, in the cool breeze, along with the occasional otter floating by. Instead, we had lunch at a chowder house, and then left on the PCH, through Santa Cruz and Half Moon Bay.

I've driven on the PCH probably 10 times, and it's always breathtakingly gorgeous. We stopped at an overlook and my sisters and I spoke to our father's spirit. I told him about his yeoman-like grandson, and asked him to watch over all of his grandchildren and great grandchildren.

The sisters and brother in law dropped me at SFO, and I read 2 newspapers in the Admiral's Club. I boarded the red eye, slept most of the way, and was joyously greeted at 530 by D1, who had retired early the night before so she could welcome me home. John Denver's "Home Again" played in my head.

D1 and I traded stories of the weekend. If we're blessed and lucky, 2 years from now SHE'LL be the latest Bachelor winner in the family. How grand that will be.

He Said It's My Job...

The dryer vent cleaner man came today. Our 3 year old state of the art dryer was taking too long to dry clothes, and Wifey called for a warranty appointment. We typically don't buy the extended warranties, since they're typically a rip off, but these new fangled washers and dryers looked mighty complicated, and cost as much as some new cars in the 1970s, so I bought the "extended protection."

Well, the warranty repair fellow came, and said that the washer was fine, but we had a lint problem! He didn't do lint vent clean outs.

So, Wifey called our trusty repair company Glinn's Appliances, and the fellow recommended a dryer vent cleaner. Glinn's, by the way, is out of the 1950s. The repairmen come on time, are courteous, and wear white uniforms with embroidered names like "Chuck," or "Biff." Even the Cuban guys have 1950s era appliance repairmen Anglo nicknames. Glinn's fixes stuff for a fair price, and recommend only great subspecialists.

So, back to the dryer vent cleaner guy... This man LIVES for lint cleaning. He removed the dryer, and immediately cleaned out what looked like 10 lbs of lint. He then showed me a common problem with modern design --the new machines' exhaust outlets are located higher up than the old ones, but most exhaust outlets are near the floor. Since solids (lint) settle, and steam rises, you have an inherent difficulty --and a built in recipe for lint build up disaster!

He then went on the roof, and sucked out even MORE lint!

He told me to have him over once/year, and I plan to. He explained that a dirty lint vent makes the dryer use more electricity, and subjects clothes to more wear and tear in the dryer as it takes more time to dry them. Also, lint from a clogged vent leaches into the house, carrying all of the laundry chemicals, like bleach, in the same way that asbestos fibers sickened even family members of workmen who were exposed.

I'm not joking here, and the lint man wasn't just trying to sell me an annual service. He really had a knowledge and passion for his work. I'm jealous of him.

As I age, I appreciate the beauty of those who love and take pride in their work. So many of my college educated contemporaries have jobs that pay well, but have ill defined goals and benefits. Even when I settle a case for a client, there are often mixed feelings --should there have been more money, was it the right thing to do?

When you're an employee in a large corporation, unless you buy into the whole myth of corporate culture ("I'm a barista, but an intergral part of Starbucks,") there isn't that much satisfaction.

The dryer lint vent man has left. I'll see him next year, and hopefully learn more about lint, and its properties. Meanwhile, he'll probably save 500 people money, and clothes wear and tear, and prevent lint fires, all the while going home each night satisfied.

Yellow Bird

I've not been into cars since high school, when they were of importance second only to girls. But then, in 2002, Ford came out witha retro looking Thunderbird, and I was overtaken by illogic, fantasy, and longing. I wanted one of those convertibles.

We had just settled a few big cases, and I decided to treat myself. I went to a dealer, thinking I'd pay about $35k for the $40k sticker priced car, and was told that there was a MARKUP of close to $10k, since the new cars were in demand. Well, every fantasy has its limit, so I went home, carless.

Sure enough, near the end of the model year, they started to discount the T Birds --to about the level I wanted. One evening, near Memorial Day of 2003, Wifey and I were driving past a local Ford dealership, and a bright yellow T Bird was sitting on the lot. "Go buy it," she said. "You do so much for others --treat yourself once in awhile." We went inside, and I followed her advice, and drove the car off the lot.

When I got home, D1 quickly approved of the purchase, for the wrong reason. "Wow, Dad --it looks like a Barbie car!" D2 walked around it and said, in a crescendo, "It's so Yell-ow!" So much for impressing the chicks.

Over the past 5 years, I have had some fun in the car. I've taken it to Key West a few times, and over to Naples on a gorgeous morning, doing 80 mph over Alligator Alley. Last January, I drove it up to Dolphin stadium to buy my new Hurricane tickets, and as an old Allman Brothers song came on while I was on the Turnpike, I had a moment...

Well, in the same way I impetuously decided to buy the car, I've decided to sell it, at the 5 year mark. Wifey's back won't let her go with me anywhere in the car, and I srarted adding up the costs of maintainance and insurance against the time I actually drive the car.

I placed an ad on the internet --it seems the car should sell for about $23-$24K, although the mileage on it (9500) is the lowest of any of the '02 models for sale.

I haven't sold a car, as opposed to trading in, since the LAST car I had an emotional connection to --my 1978 Firebird --which my parents bought me. I had many more memories in that car, which goes along, I guess, with owning a car from age 18 through 25, as opposed to age 42-47.

The Firebird was banged up pretty bad in a wreck in North Miami, as I was returning from a visit to Wifey's apartment. The car never ran the same after it was fixed, and I sold it to a redneck, grease monkey type fellow who was going to use it, essentially, for parts.

So, we'll see the fate of the yellow bird. The Buddhists are right --our possessions own us more than the other way around, and it feels liberating to have few of them. The best part of owning the '02 Ford is the memories.

Doctor Perspective

We all try (or at least I do) to live by the credo of being thankful for all we have, and "keeping things in perspective." It's easier said than done, as we get upset over the small things in life.

Last week I vented to Dr. Barry about several annoyances, both in business and at home. As I write this, I don't even remember what they were --probably my law partner's annoyances, or something Wifey said or did.

Dr. Barry's been on service in the pediatric ICU this week. I asked him what he's been doing. His reply: "Withdrew life support for a 3 month old. Mom was at bedside, holding him as he died, wailing uncontrollably. The baby died at 1805 (6:05 pm)."

I guess we need these doses of reality, as the cliche goes, to remind us that the problems we have don't amount to a hill of beans...

So, on the bright side of life --I'm off Monday am for Baltimore, where I will meet for an hour with a fire safety expert, before returning to Inner Harbor for some crab cakes and beer. A goodly amount of beer. Then home Tuesday after my deposition, to push paper around Wednesday and Thursday, before taking flight again Friday am, this time for SF.

I'm going to have a fine dinner to celebrate my nephew Henry's graduation from SF State. Several martinis at Morton's Steakhouse, waiting to be poured, already have my nephew's, 2 sisters', and brother in law's names on them. I can hear their faint call...no wait --that's the sound of the gay couples celebrating their right to marry...Whatever! A celebration's a celebration!

Open up that Golden Gate!

He Could Not Make Things Possible...She Could Make Them Holy

Last night my most enlightened friend asked me to go to his synagogue to hear a lecturer --well marketed as "See Seinfeld Perform." No --not THAT Seinfeld, but a very bright rabbi named Alexander Seinfeld, originally from the Pacific Northwest but now out of Baltimore. Rabbi Seinfeld talks about bringing spirituality and holiness into everyday life.

Bright guy. He has an Anthropology degree from Stanford, studied in Israel, and lived among Evangelical Christians in Mississippi. Talk about exotics! He touched upon Einstein's theories, and their interconnect with his Judaism's teachings about the Beginning of Time, and related that to the concept of our connectedness to the infinite.

He also used an analysis of the roots of words like "finite" and the Hebrew counterparts. The gist of his message was the need to savor EVERYTHING, to gracefully accept all of the gifts from the "infinite Oversoul" (reform guys seem creeped out by referring to God in the traditional sense).

Some of the audience showed, once again, why I dislike people more and more as I age. One lady, whom Wifey and I know, who is 60 never married, and without kids, asked repeatedly about the "paternalistic and misogynistic basis of Judaism...blah, blah, blah..." In other words --"Rabbi --what about MY agenda --stuff significant to ME????!!!!"

Seinfeld deftly put off the question, like his namesake TV star would have handled a question from Kramer, and the evening continued.

I guess I've always been blessed to, like the old commercial for International Coffees used to urge..celebrate the moments of my life.

Just this morning, I saluted the singing birds, and the giggling of D1 as I encountered her out for a run/walk. Alas, I eschew the "run" part --the better to keep intact my ample belly --my badge of financial success!

Indeed, I savored last night's talk. The ability to think a bit more deeply about things is a pleasure. Wow --it IS all connected.

It Ain't Necessarily So...

The Obama debate continues... A young idealistic lawyer who works for one of my roommates is a huge supporter, and he's been urging all of us to get behind his candidate. Meanwhile, my Conservative friends are telling me that a nuclear Iran is no more than 6 months post an Obama presidency.

We've been sending back and forth charged emails, filled with biting political satire and insults. It's a beautiful thing.

One dear friend, a Cuban American, says he became a Conservative while running for his life with his family from a leftist regime, whose leader (Castro) gets holiday cards from Jimmy Carter.

The fact that we all openly debate this, and speak freely, is, of course, the cornerstone of our democracy. No matter who wins --it's wonderful to have this ability. I never forget it.

Meanwhile, D1 wants to be mentioned in these writings. Hello D1.

Seriously --she got her magna cum laude-level sophomore grades, and is interning this Summer at a language translation company. She's also going to be an au pair for a neighbor's kids for a week while the parents are in Europe. What more can be said of a 19 year old who has engendered that sort of trust from people --they know that D1 will take fine care of their precious children. I guess that's much more impressive than the great grades.

Meanwhile otherwise, D2 just took her AP Euro exam, and is likewise chugging along in school getting fine grades. She's also active in many clubs and organizations, and is, in my humble opinion, the most wonderful 16 year old there is. She's even begun to tolerate her mother a bit more.

So -- I hope for D1 and D2's sake the next president is the best person for the job. They're the future of this great country.

Mother of All Days

I've said this before but it bears repeating: of all of my manifold blessings, I'm probably luckiest in having parents that messed me up the least of anyone I know. I claim complete ownership of all of my neuroses and personality defects -- my folks gave me unconditional love and support.

Wifey --not so much. Her parents were damaged terribly, as expected, by the Holocaust, and they have visited much pathology on her. It's never on purpose --they love her dearly --but Wifey has borne the burden of the Shoah as the child of survivors.

To her credit, she has overcome much of the difficulty --and become a tremendous mother. She loves D1 and D2 more than life itself, and she has followed through on her design for parenthood, something she told me when we first got into this business nearly 20 years ago: "Give them roots, and then give them wings."

I'm so proud of my girls, and Wifey gets the lion share of the credit. Today we celebrated her Congressionally mandated Day.

We went to the Deering Estate, where they had a Mother's Day brunch. We ate a delicious meal (Wifey even had a few sips of champagne) and then toured the grounds. The Estate was built by the much less flashy of the Deering brothers, James, and it shows in the rustic house he had built in the 1920s, in comparison to Vizcaya, the opulent mini Versailles his brother John built 15 miles to the north.

We walked down the grassy hill to Biscayne Bay. D1 and D2, in flowing sun dresses, held hands and laughed. If there's a sweeter sight than your children truly bonded and best friends, I don't know what it is. Wifey smiled. It was a DAMN fine morning.

Probably by tomorrow, reality will return, and D2 will do something to make Wifey sad, and D1 will get angry,,, Still, the job Wifey did, in raising these 2 fine young women can't be gainsaid.

I'm a literal minded, task oriented guy. While I realize that parenthood is forever, my legal responsibilities end in February, 2010, when D2 turns 18. I'm having a HUGE party for all of us, I promise, to celebrate our official "retirement" from the intense task of raising children we have undertaken. The guest of honor at this retirement party will be Wifey. Happy Mother's Day, W.

The Undertaker Drew a Heavy Sigh

My father, always the iconoclast, despised the funeral industry. He read a big expose on them, probably in "Fact" or one of the other leftist magazines he loved to read, and learned about all of the abuses visited upon pepole at a vulnerable time. "Mrs Goldblatt --thing hard about this. Wouldn't Seymour really appreciate the gold trimmed casket for all of eternity?"

Since he also eschewed the "hocus pocus" of our Jewish faith, he decided to be cremated when he died. My mother wants the same thing. When the time came, we called the Neptune Society, they did the cremation, and sent us a certificate showing the latitude and longitude of the drop off point in the Atlantic Ocean (somewhere off of Pompano Beach). Mom is already prepaid for the same service (it costs about $500).

Well, my in laws feel differently, which is why, as I write this, a "Pre Need Consultant" is sitting in our living room with Wifey, getting ready to accept a $5000 down payment towards a $20,000 total bill for their funerals and gravesites. When I finish this, I plan to go see whether the fellow has a pale complexion and cold handshake. I already know he has a healthy bank account.

My in laws are Holocaust survivors, so the thought of cremation to them is about as repulsive as it gets --that was the fate of their parents, siblings, and friends. For this reason, I can't fault them, in addition to their desire to more closely follow the dictates of the Jewish faith.

My Rabbi friend is on a mission to get me to change my mind, by the way. He's a messianic Jew, and they believe that when Moshiach (the true Messiah) comes back, he will raise the dead, and if you ain't got your parts and pieces available to be reconstituted, you miss the party. When I asked Yossi what happens to the Shoah victims, who were cremated against their desires, he changed the subject. That's the problem with religion --when the light of reason is shined too brightly, the wrinkles are exposed.

Anyway --may my in laws' need for these "pre need" products be far into the future. As for me, as much as I love the ocean, I can wait 4 or 5 decades before I join my father there. I guess we'll see...

Politics in Polite Company

So last night Wifey and I went to a dinner party with 2 other couples, probably 4 of the most politically liberal folks I know. The other 2 wives met at a church in Coconut Grove that's famous for performing "commitment ceremonies." Much wine was drunk last night.

It was clear that the other 4 folks were IN LOVE with Obama. They were disenchanted with Hillary, apparently because she was too ruthless in her quest for the nomination. They feel Obama still has plenty of ruth, apparently.

I listened politely for most of the night, offering the occasional anecdote, but I guess not professing my love for B. Hussein Obama. Finally, one of the other wives pressed me: "So who's YOUR choice, David???!!!"

I told her my first choice was Hillary, but that I might well vote for McCain over Obama, if it came to that. The evening got much more passionate after that, as these evangelical liberals thought it their duty to bring an apostate back to the church.

I guess my politics HAVE changed as I've aged. I felt the way the 4 others did when I was in college "Blacks have been so traumatized by slavery, we MUST never blame them for any of their problems...criminals are a symptom of a failing society, etc..."

I no longer buy it. When one of the other men told me he admired Jimmy Carter, and that the only way to try for peace in the Middle East was to negotiate with Hamas, a known terrorist group, as Carter has been doing, they all lost me.

In law school, I'd always debate my friend Mike, a man who thought Reagan was the finest president in modern times. Over the years, I came to understand Mike was probably more Libertarian than anything else. I think I am, too.

Anyway --it was an entertaining night. My neighbors, who live in a $2M house and spend a lot more on expensive tchtokes than they contribute to the ACLU or NAACP, I'm sure, think if McCain is elected, they have to leave the US. Right. I'll believe it when the for sale sign goes up.

The other woman began to cry when she talked of how awful our nation has become, and what's in store if the Democrats don't win in November. Hmmm...somehow I don't think I'll be getting any postcards from Canada from them, either.

Next time we're all together, I think I'll steer the conversation to religion...

Truly the Boss

Last night I went to see Bruce and the E Street Band up in Sunrise. I drove to the Sawgrass Mall, and met Ken , Joelle, and Megan, another FIU Law professor. We ate a fine dinner at Legal Seafood, with 2 martinis each, and then had another vodka at the arena. It was a great mood setter.

I've loved Springsteen since I was 14, and "Born to Run" came out. So much has been written about him , his band, and his music, but to me he's the best American poet there is. No one turns a phrase like he does, or captures a time and place in words and music.

I sat down in the arena, and recognized the two ladies next to me, but couldn't remember who they were. I launched into a blarney tale that I had "an unforgettable night in 1980" with one, and I was devastated that she didn't remember me. Turns out she was D1's teacher, and probably a lesbian, so my joke must have gone over like a lead balloon. Still, we all had a real good time.

The show was grand. The Boss played for 3 hours, including a lot of the "deep tracks" from old albums I used to play sitting on the floor of my room and later campus dorm. I sang to all the lyrics. One of my favorites is from "Badlands," which has proven true to me as I go through life: "Poor man wants to be rich, rich man wants to be king --the king ain't satisfied until he rules everything..."


I walked back to the mall, and went to a Cheesecake Factory where I had a large soda to rehydrate for the drive home. As I made my way down the highway, I remnisced about growing up with Springsteen as my sound track (he played "Growing Up," by the way --"when they said sit --I stood up.").

Overall --a grand Friday.

Today was a lazy day --D1 went to the beach with a Gator pal, D2 and I each took long naps, and Wifey puttered around prodigiously.

Life goes on, and Springsteen's music plays in my head. To me --that's high praise.

Scent of the Morning

I've often read that the sense of smell is out most primitive, and therefore most compelling when it comes to memory.

This morning, as I walked though the neighborhood, I smelled the unmistakeable essence of mellaleuca, a tree from Australia. Mellaleuca was brought to South Florida to help drain the Everglades, because of its unmatched thirst. Over the last 20 years, ecologists realized that wasn't such a great idea, and set about destroying the trees. Most seem to be gone from Dade, although I always see huge stands of them along I-75 in Broward. I guess one or two escaped the ax around here.

At dawn and dusk, the things smell like --mashed potatoes! Of all things.

The scent brought me back to the Spring of 1980, when my Dad came to visit me at the U Miami campus. We took a long walk around, and the smell was everywhere. We kept looking for a restuarant or cafeteria, but none were around. My Dad, a meat and potatoes guy if ever there was one, got very hungry, and I recall us going to the Rathskellar for a couple of hamburgers with fries (they didn't have mashed potatoes). He left for home, with both of us puzzled by that mashed potato smell.

A few days later, I was walking around with one of my roommates, a prodigious pot smoker from Ohio, and also a Botany major. "Dude --smell the mellaleuca?" The mystery was solved --the scent came from a tree.

That night I called my Dad, and he was fascinated. "What a place we live in --the trees smell like mashed potatoes --with butter! Can you eat them?" I didn't know.

So, I thank that maverick tree or trees this morning. They brought me back to a nice place and time.