See Ya, Aughts!

So today is the last day of the "aughts," as in aught one, aught two, etc... I seem to remember heating that in an old movie, when some anciet coot had a line like "I remember back in aught 9..."

Well, aught 9 is going out, and the 10s are coming in!

I spent a rather busy final week. We returned from our annual Holiday cruise Saturday, and that night there was a party at our friends Arnald and Cathay's house.

Monday I went to the office and actually did a bit of legal work --preparing a lawsuit for filing next week, against a driver who rammed my client and broke her arm. The driver is insured by Geico, and they've offered 1/2 of their policy. They'll pay more after suit is filed; I've been doing this so long, I know the calculus of settlement with car insurers. They're such predictable fools -- which is why it was so easy taking their money over the years...

The adjuster on this case sounds like she's about 6 months out of college, and on the phone was giving me the standard corporate line. I was pleasant to her, and prepared a letter for delivery next week saying, really," Best wishes for a happy and prosperous 2010. Enclosed please find a lawsuit I filed today..."

If I couldn't have fun doing the law business, I really WOULD have to immediately quit.

Tuesday Joel and I blasted up the Turnpike to Orlando to watch our Canes in the 2nd Rate Bowl. There were a ton of fans there, and we each ran into some good friends. We had a great steak at Kress Chop House, and some fine martinis at our hotel bar --The Grand Bohemian. Nice hotel --more New Orleans than Orlando.

The game was awful --the Canes played terribly, and were beaten by a bunch of slow white guys from Wisconsin. I wouldn't want to be going to any New Year's parties in NW Miami tonight, if I were any of the players.

Still --Joel and I laughed a lot, and had a blast. We're both raconteurs --plus we're good story tellers --so the 3/5 hour drive each way seemed to fly by.

I was greeted by D1's boyfriend Thomas, and I took him and D1 to Titanic Brew restaurant near the U for dinner. Afterwards I drove him around and showed him the campus --still my favorite place in the world.

Today I had D2's car waxed and de-mildewed (the price we pay for living in a damn arboretum) and then drove her to my office, where she had her hair cut by the hilarious gay French guys in my building's salon.

Afterwards we are sushi and Thai food al fresco (wow --2 Asian references and one Italian in a single sentence) and debriefed a bit about her friend's funeral. The young man's death haunts these final days of '09 for him --he was so alive and vital to me just months ago.

And tonight? D1 and Thomas are going to a party at Fox's Saloon in South Miami --one of my favorite old Miami pubs. It's across from the hospital where she was born, and the place my mentor Ed Perse taught me about martinis...

They're taking a cab home, though it's not more than two miles away.

D2 is going to a sleepover party at one of her friend's houses ALSO in the neighborhood. Ah --her last New Year's Eve before adulthood...

Wifey and I were invited to a few local get togethers, but I'm still troubled by a few I've been to where the guests were struggling to stay awake past 10 pm. If one is going to be an old fogey, and admit they're over the hill, to me there's more dignity in doing it at home than there is in front of others.

Wifey LOVES movies, so we're going to see the new George Clooney flick, and probably be in bed by 10. With luck, we'll stay awake to see the ball drop in Times Square, and maybe the red slipper with the drag queen that falls on Duval Street in Key West.

Adios, aught 9.

A Terrible Waste

On last Winter's cruise, all was great until one evening D2 turned on D1's cell phone, and had a message from D1's roommate: a sorority sister, en route to her Ohio home for the holidays, had been killed in a car crash. D1 was of course upset, and cried, and we spent the rest of the trip saddened by the unfairness of life.

This year, on the final night of the trip, D1 turned on HER cell phone as we sailed off the Florida coast, and an urgent message came on: one of D2's friends had also died, on Christmas Eve.

D2 was devastated. The young man was a close friend of hers, and he killed himself with an overdose of pain medication.

He was a FSU freshman. He was tall, handsome, and brilliant. He's been to our house many times over the years, and I was always struck by his charm and maturity.

2 years ago, he took too much Xanax, and was found unconscious in his house. He went through rehab, and seemed to be back on track. He graduated last May, and I saw him and his parents before the senior prom. All seemed fine. I guess not.

Apparently, he remained very troubled, and decided to stay in Tally for the break. After a few days of non contact, his parents asked the police to check, and they made the horrible discovery.

Well, he made an awful, irrevocable decision, and now he's gone, of course. He'll be mourned, and glamorized as are all who, James Dean or Jim Morrison-like, die young.

But his parents? I don't know them well, but can there ever be a recovery for them?

There's a memorial service set for Tuesday, at his family's synagogue. He was raised Jewish, though his father was Christian. I'm off to Orlando that day, to see my Canes play in a bowl game, and I've never felt more relieved about missing an event. The Ds will go. I have a feeling that Wifey will be elsewhere during the service -- losing an 18 year old is just too close to home, as the cliche goes.

D2 tells me that the young man's father, a succesful writer and college professor, has already spoken to some of the friends, and, as a very spiritual man, told them that some are just fated to be here fewer years than others.

I don't know him well, and I grieve for his pain.

Dr. Barry, along with his stellar accomplishments, has an odious one: he's been to several children's funerals. It goes with the territory of being a pediatric intensive care doc.

When called upon to speak, he always quotes a passage, beautifully written, by a young rabbi from the 50s named Josh Liebman, who wrote a book called "Peace of Mind." Liebman died very young, but was a wise man, and gifted writer. He compared life to a child's glorious day in a park, which sometimes ended too soon, as when a winter storm blew in, and the child was put down to sleep by the gentle nurse called Death.

The words offer comfort, and I plan to send them to the parents of the young man.

What a terrible waste.

It's Been a Lovely Cruise

So off we sailed on Monday, with a group of dear friends, and a cargo hold full of rum and vodka.

Dr. Eric set the tone as soon as we boarded by ordering a couple shots of tequila, and off we went.

Drs. Eric and Barry and their families, as well as Wifey's dear friend Edna, her husband and delightful daughters, and our neighbors and friends Charlie and Diane and their boy --we packed the ship it seemed.

Tuesday we docked in Key West, one of my favorite places, and most of us toured the newly renovated Truman White House. Eric and Mark (Edna's taciturn husband) shot some great photos, and then we split up for lunch.

There was another day at sea, and then on Thursday we called on Georgetown, Grand Cayman. The Ds swam with dolphins, and we took a public bus back to the port. The impression of Grand Cayman was very positive --Bahamas with much friendlier folks, and less poverty.

We met at the ship with the others, and compared our Caymanian (Caymaniacal)? adventures.

Friday was Wifey's birthday, as well as some other holiday folks make some sort of fuss about, with trees, and lights, and carols, and I woke her at 7:30 to show her a glorious Caribbean sunrise. It was something to behold: red streaks coming up from the East. The rest of the day Wifey was treated like a queen by her family and friends , including a serenade by the shipboard a capella group, in four part harmony.

We returned this morning, after hearing tragic news about one of D2's friends. It was almost as if the Big Guy upstairs wanted to make a point about how we'd better damn well savor the good times...

So -- if there is a better way to spend the waning days of 2009, I can't imagine what it is.

Now I'm off to bed, sans the motion of the ship, but still, maybe, to dream of sea turtles and pirates.

Anchors Aweigh

I guess I need to pack for tomorrow's trip, but the cool weather and a slight hangover from last night's party are fueling world class procrastination. Plus, the Dolphins were on TV today, and had a spectacular 4th quarter comeback, only to suffer an even more spectacular choke in overtime.

Last year we went on a cruise with Dr. Eric and his family, and had a great time. We decided to do it again this year, and added Dr. Barry and HIS family, too. Wifey then went a bit nuts, and invited her friend Edna and her family, and our neighbor/friends Diane and Charlie. Somehow our group is now up to 19. And, my friend Lauren from Atlanta, coincidentally, is ALSO on the cruise, with her husband and 4 kids. Watch out, Celebrity Cruises.

My partner Paul tried to grind me about the trip, as Paul is wont to do, saying that I'm responsible for everyone's good time. Ha! As if!

If I've learned anything in life, it's that I'm responsible for the happiness of precisely one person, and he's the fool typing this blog.

Still, I do look forward to spending some quality time with Wifey, my Ds, and some of our closest friends.

The only thing I sort of want to do is visit the newly renovated Truman White House in Key West. I've been there twice, and it's just undergone a major renovation.

Other than that, I plan my typical vacation itinerary: planning almost nothing. I've been around the world, and learned that I rarely savor or remember the museums, historic sites, etc... I remember the people I'm with , and how they enjoy the experiences we share.

Wifey just put together a Facebook album on some of our vacations. As I look at the photos, I remember the jokes, and mishaps. The St. Petersburgh Winter Palace might as well be the Biltmore Estate in North Carolina. They're both old houses where rich folks lived. But I'll always remember a family we met on the Baltic cruise, and their little girl who, after hearing the tour guide go on about Peter and Catherine, screwed up her face in disappointment at never seeing "Peter the Grape."

So --hopefully there'll be some memories like that we'll all take away from this little ship ride.

Ahoy!

Poor Loser

I was just having my year end philosophy (bullshit) session with my sister Sue in California, and she reminded me about a sad sack my dear friend Edee, the neuroscientist told me about.

Edee recalled the life story of this schlub about 6 years ago. She met him in a bar, drunk and stoned as usual, unemployed, and divorced from his third wife. The fact that he even got women to marry him was a combination of the desperation of aging ladies, and the fact that he DID have a charming personality.

Anyway, Dave, as I'll call him because that's his name, grew up middle class, and won a scholarship to college. Things were going well. He was very close to his parents, and had a great girlfriend.

In January of his junior year, the girlfriend mysteriously broke up with him, leaving him broken hearted. She never told him why she no longer wanted to be with him, or why their talk of sharing a life together were so much garbage --she just left one day and never returned. When Dave called her family, they hung up on him, like all of a sudden he had become some sort of criminal.

He limped along his junior year, and then that summer, tragedy struck. His father had a massive heart attack, and died in his arms. It was surreal to him; he never experienced death personally, let alone the person closest to him. Making matters worse, his mother was from the old school --she never even knew how to write a check or pay a bill, so now Dave was expected, at 20, to become the "man of the house."

By the time Edee got to this part of her tale, I knew who she was talking about: me!

Of course, I hadn't turned into a drunken, drug addicted loser, so she made her point: that I was blessed with the wherewithal to deal with the misery that came my way, instead of allowing it to become the excuse for loserhood.

To this day, Edee's is the supreme compliment I ever received.

As I sit on my porch sometimes, I wonder about the other Dave. Would he have had more fun than I have?

One of my minor life's goals, like seeing baseball games in all major league parks, was to spend a whole week drunk in Key West. I've never gone past 1/2 day in that department, and doubt I ever will.

Some folks get more than their share of misery --like my client who has lost 2 beloved children, and her second marriage. She keeps on keeping on...

I hope to keep Loser Dave at bay...

Well It's A Rainy Night in Florida

I picked an EXCELLENT day to keep away from the office today, as it rained like it was Summer. No lightning or thunder, but sheets and sheets of water flooded the streets. Hopefully the long awaited cool weather is on its way.

I took D2 to a pulmonologist to check on a couple month cough. He gave us the good news that it's not asthma or pneumonia, but probably just a sinus infection. I told Dr. Barry about it, and he scoffed at the non academic's prescribing of antibiotics --thinking the thing will probably go away on its own, and community doctors over prescribe antibiotics, etc... He's such a medical snob!

D1's friend Hannah came over, and regaled us with tales of her semester in Chile. Hannah's an incredibly cool Stanford junior -- brilliant, charming, and funny. She's also self deprecating --she has As in Organic Chem --and doesn't even mention her accomplishments unless D1 pulls them out of her like teeth. Hannah enjoyed her time away, but is thrilled to come back home.

So --another uneventful day in the 305 --just the way I like it!

Tomorrow night we have a Holiday party at my friend/office roommate Joel's house in the Grove. He lives in a 1920 house which was originally built by a Grove pioneer family, and then added to over the years. He and his wife Courtney know how to throw a party --last year's was the best holiday party I've ever been to. Things got a bit out of hand with the wife of one guest and Joel's "idiot cousin," as he calls him, and several people drank more than they ever had before.

I think this year will be a bit more tame, but it still ought to be a good time. D1 is going, but not D2. The teen's reason for staying home? "I don't particularly want to go watch 40 year olds snort lines of cocaine." I don't, either...

The cruise looms on the horizon. If it's 1/10 as much fun as last year's, it'll be great. The great thing about cruising with a group is that you can all choose to be together, or escape to quiet parts of the ship, as the mood strikes.

I'm thinking I'll get through 2 or 3 books, and probably gain back some of the weight I've been losing. What more could one ask for?

Slouching Towards the New Year

Each year, at this time, I find myself putting off the commencement of new projects. In the Law business, at least the accident case side of things, NOTHING gets done near the end of the year. Defense lawyers would give up their first born children rather than go to trial during the Holidays, when jurors are feeling all nostalgic and sympathetic, and therefore prone to award big damages.

So, at the office it's been mostly tying up loose ends, and delegating. Today, if I'm honest, the only reason I'm even going to work is because the cleaning lady will be here, and I HATE to be home when she comes. First, since my basic Spanish is better than Wifey's --she asks me all kinds of questions about stuff in the house. But the bigger reason is my proletarian distaste of having someone else clean up my toilet and floors, even though I pay her fairly to do it. You can take the boy out of the middle class, but...

D2 has no such break. She's had a group of AP Economics students over each night, working on some major project. She wrote an editorial for her paper comparing her senior year to her father's 30 years ago. While I was spending most of my time at the Planting Fields or Jones Beach, she's still working hard! No easy time for her --she's the one who will most savor the coming vacation time.

D1 finished her finals, but was still working on a paper on Bulgarian language! I refuse to accept that there's such a country as Bulgaria --I'm convinced it was the place the cartoonists created as the homeland of Boris and Natasha Badanov.

Wifey, world class putterer and FaceBooker, is no less busy than usual.

No --I'm the family slacker, and proud of it!

So, if all goes according to plan, we'll leave Monday for a cruise with our closest friends. There are 19 of us booked to sail to Key West and Grand Cayman. Since the destinations aren't exotic, I plan to read, drink, and stare out into the open sea.

I figure the way I'm spending this week is good preparation.

The Magical Dog

Our usual dog pack consists of 2 dogs --a sweet, elderly Labrador, and a comical Basset Hound. When D1 is home, our pack expands to 3, with the cute puppy Madeleine, the King Charles Cavalier Spaniel.

These types of spaniels were bred to be lapdogs, and companions, and Madeleine excels in both areas. She LOVES to be around people, and I haven't met the person yet she can't make happier. Wifey took her to Cara's yesterday, to help soften the grieving over Cara's husband's death, and she said it worked! Cara laughed and cuddled with the puppy. Wifey also claims that Madeleine in the house causes a quantitative decrease in D2's surliness. Now THAT'S impressive!

My morning routine consists of feeding the 3 dogs, putting the coffee on, and then walking to my front gate to fetch the morning paper. Typically the Lab follows me closely, while the Hound and the Spaniel wander around the front of the house, and meet me on the front porch. The three then frolic while I drink my coffee and read my paper.

Today, I sat down, and the Spaniel was missing. She usually follows the waddling Basset, but, alas, no Madeleine. Wifey had warned me that the puppy can fit through the bars of the front gate, so I had awful visions of a flattened dog behind a speeding garbage truck. I walked around to investigate.

Uh oh: no Madeleine. I thought of D1 sleeping sweetly in her room, dreaming the dreams of a 21 year old near college graduate, and how I would have to ruin her morning with the news of a missing puppy.

I walked back to the house, and there, behind the door, was Madeleine! It's magic, I thought. How did she manage this sleight of paw?

It turns out the back gate was left open, and she ran to the back of the house, walked in the rear family room door, and came looking for the rest of her pack.

Ah --reunited. The missing Cavalier story had a happy ending.

And as I write this, all 3 dogs are napping, awaiting the next adventure.

Wifey and I are heading to a cemetery west of MIA, to say goodbye to Jack. The planes fly very low over the cemetery --it's directly below the main landing pattern.

A sad way to spend a day...

See Ya, Jack

A terrific man, Jack Hartley, died yesterday. He had just turned 78.

Wifey and I met him through Cara, his wife of a few years and companion of over 20. Cara and Wifey were co workers in the flower business, and she met Jack around the time I met Wifey.

Jack was from old Miami Beach --Beach High, U Florida, the whole bit. He was married to ANOTHER Cara, and had 2 kids, who are now near my age. He divorced Cara #1, and lived the life of quite the bachelor in late 70s/early 80s Miami, with a cast of characters right out of a Carl Hiassen novel. I loved the tales he used to tell. Private planes to the Bahamas, stuff that looked like talcolm powder but wasn't --heady times indeed.

He met Cara, 15 years his junior, and called her "Bugs," because of how she used to bug him. Somehow their mutual bugging turned into a strong and lasting love --it was a joy to be around them.

Though Jack was old enough to be our father, he was mentally a very young man. He thought young, and acted young. I never felt like a "son" around him --he always wanted to hear my tales of the law business, even though his contemporaries were the giants of the Miami legal community.

Wifey and I would meet Jack and Cara for dinner, and the nights were precious. Cara and I would drink a few vodkas, and then the 4 of us would regale each other with tales and jokes. I never saw Jack and Cara argue --they truly adored each other --and that love spilled over to all of those around them.

When Wifey and I were first dating, I used to call her my "Reason for Living." Jack LOVED that! Whenever he'd call, to talk about life or to ask about my pond fish and turtles (he WAS the pondmeister at his condo), he'd say, in his happy way "And HOW is your reason for living?"

I'll miss most our dinners at Joe's. Jack and Cara were old friends of Roy, the famous Joe's host, and it was always a kick to go there on a Saturday night in the "season" and be rushed to our table, in front of people waiting for 3 hours. One time I remember being taken ahead of Shaquille O'Neill! They then became friends with the subsequent hosts, and enjoyed the same treatment.

Jack didn't have a good death. He ended up in the ICU at Mt. Sinai after surgical complications, and stayed for months. Wifey visited several times, but I only went once. I truly didn't want to see Jack in the state OPPOSITE his natural way: full of life.

We did go last Saturday, his 78th birthday, and I promised him I wasn't visiting him in the hospital any more. I wanted another fun and enchanting dinner together.

Well, I won't have that, but at least I know our friend is resting.

Wifey was balling yesterday before she went to go be with Cara. I wasn't. I was sad, but also happy to have known a man who so well lived his life. He was rich in friends and laughter. He deeply loved, and was deeply loved by, the woman of his dreams.

So --rest peacefully, Jack. If there's a heareafter, I hope you've already run into one Hy Auslander, and are debating whether to have corned beef sandwiches or stone crabs (my Dad HATED seafood). And --hopefully not for awhile-- but save a seat at the table for me. I'll have half a sandwich, on rye, of course, and an order of the jumbos. I know you'll get us to the front of the line.

Riding the Rails

D1 was driving home from UF, a long trip she didn't look forward to since her crash last October, and she also wanted to visit Ancient Grandma. Eureka! I hit upon an idea: I'd take TriRail to West Palm, let her pick me up at the station so I'd break up her drive, and then we'd go visit Grandma.

I handled the logistics like an engineer! D1 left Gainesville around noon, and I figured she'd make it to West Palm in a tad over 4 hours, given the Turnpike construction that's been going on near Orlando since her freshman year. I took the 2:20 out of the Miami Airport station, due to arrive at West Palm around 4:10. We both made ot to the historic train station within 15 minutes! I felt like the Seinfeld cast who appreciate a succesful "pick" at the airport!

Tri Rail is most pleasant. The trains are clean, and usually on time. You get to see parts of the 3 county area you'd typically miss, from the factories and depots of North Dade and North Broward, to the "wrong side of the tracks" yet struggling to look upscale neighborhoods of Boca Raton.

The folks in my car were an interesting mix. There were a few airline crew members who got off at the Lauderdale airport station, clearly transferring from MIA jobs to FLL ones. There was a 60 something fellow in shorts and sandals talking on his cell phone the whole trip in a comically thick Southern accent, who was a yacht mechanic just finished a job on the Miami River, and now headed to Palm Beach where he "heard Tiger Woods was headed" to go out on HIS yacht.

One middle aged woman, with spiked hair and goth clothes, got on at Delray, which I learned recently was the Florida capital for drug rehab. Poor thing was clearly schizophrenic --every so often she'd laugh out loud to a joke she must have heard in her head, and then asked everyone and no one on the train whether the next stop was Lake Worth. Several people told her it was, and when seconds later the conductor announced "Lake Worth --next stop" she held her hand to her mouth like an embarrased grade schooler.

I was starving, and a kid behind me ate a peanut butter sandwich, which smelled very tempting. I thought about grabbing it from him as I exited the train, but decided to leave him be...

I exited at the old West Palm Seaboard station, which has been beautifully refurbished. I fantasized that I was Henry Flagler, back from Key West and headed over to the Breakers for a ball in my honor.

I received a SUPERIOR greeting --D1 in her Mom's green Volvo suv!

We stopped at Three Gs to pick up some sandwiches. I was the only one in the restaurant under 75, except for the staff. It's true: old people live in Broward, and their PARENTS live in Palm Beach County!

D1 and I greeted a happy Ancient Grandma, and we talked about D1's boyfriend. Grandma seemed pretty with it, until she started confusing my old Labrador Midnight with one of her grandsons.

D1 had a tape measure, per Wifey's request, and measured Grandma for some new clothes. She's gone from a size 12 to about a 6, it seems. She protested that her clothes are FINE, but if we bought her some for her BIRTHDAY, it would be ok.

I went through her paper work, got her mail, took out her trash, and D1 and I left for home. When we got into the car, we looked at each other and said, simultaneouslyl "She's SOOOOOO Old!"

There was a warm homecoming, with D1 and D2, and her mom, and her Spaniel, who hopped around happily.

It's nice to have, as the NY Islanders announcers said after the penalty was over, "the team back at full strength."

The Most Horrible Group

So in typical Dr. Barry fashion, he emailed me an invite to an event --THE SAME DAY OF THE EVENT! He had forgotten to tell me about a kickoff party at JohnMArtin's involving his friend and partner, Dr. Patti. Patti was named Medical Director of a new non profit health care group, and Barry wanted to go to support her.

The group is called TILLIKDS, and it's a new arm of the South Florida Hospice network. TILLIKDS provides support and care to families with terminally ill or "life limiting" illnesses. That's what TILLIKIDS is an acronym for: terminally ill, life limiting illnesses.

Wow. Just the group for me, Mr. Perspective. Children with cancer isn't sad enough --how about a group for children everyone knows are going to die!

Well, it turns out, that there's a need. Most children who die do so, horribly, in hospital ICUs, instead of home, surrounded by their families. Patti has been a pediatric ICU doc for more than 20 years, and has learned a lot (far too much) about dying children. But, as the compassionate, brilliant practitioner she is, she wants to help make even that most horrible event more humane.

One of the mothers of the TILLIKID program spoke, about how her baby was supposed to live just a few weeks, and instead made it through 2.5 years of "Christmases, birthdays, and familiy memories," and how much TILLIKIDS helped her. As a result, the mom is volunteering for others facing this awful situation.

They held a raffle, and I bought some tickets. Funny thing about me and contests: whenever I enter one, I assume I'm going to win. I'm the luckiest person I know, and I just carry that over to sweepstakes. Sure enough, my ticket was called, and I won 6 free facials from a swanky salon in South Miami, whose owner is a TILLIKIDs supporter. Wifey and the Ds can enjoy them.

I also left a check, in honor of Patti, for TILLIKIDS. And then Dolores, Patti's domestic partner, hit me up, as she always does, for a donation for HER organization: a Pediatric Day Care Center at UM/Jackson for ventilator dependent and other "medically complex" children. Patti and Dolores --imagine --helping the truly most needy and deserving --the sickest and dying children.

Afterwards, Barry and I headed out for some late steaks in the Gables, and had our typical "we can solve the world's problems so why can't we figure out human nature?" discussions.

I asked him how he can be around these saddest of situations, dying children, and not lose large chunks of his soul along the way. He deflected, as usual, and talked about the saintliness of Patti.

So I plan to continue to support TILLIKIDS. Each time some minor problem or issue in my life starts to loom larger, I plan to think about them.

And I fully intend to savor and admire Wifey's and the Ds' glowing skin, after they return from their facials...

The More You "Work With People"

In his wonderful "Speech to Graduates," Dave Barry observed that most of the neophytes want to "work with people" in their careers. He noted that the more they "work with people," the more they will grow to "hate" people. How true!

A few months ago I got a call from an acquaintance, a fellow who hits me up from time to time for free legal advice. He was having a personal dispute with another family, involving one of his children. He needed a criminal lawyer, and one to sue the other family. I referred him to both.

After the hearing on the criminal matter, he called me to profusely thank me for the referral. Then he got the bill from the lawyer, and called me again to complain. I told him to take it up with the other lawyer.

I also referred him to a friend of mine for the civil part of his issue. My friend agreed to take the case, and send a claim letter to the other family.

Since it was a small matter, the letter didn't go out for 7 weeks.

The "client" called today, furious that my friend sent the claim. Apparently, all of the differences were settled, and the "victims" no longer wished to sue.

This idiot was angry that the civil lawyer sent a letter, since it was now embarrasing in light of all the touchy, feely developments. He implied that my friend had done damage to him!

I profusely apologized to my friend for bringing this bastard into his life.

MAybe I learned my lesson once again: no good deed goes unpunished. The bigger lesson: Dave Barry's wisdom endures.

A Day That Will Live In Infamy

Today is Pearl Harbor Day, and it always takes me back to a vision I have. Like most memories of events you weren't a part of, in my mind's eye the events play in sepia tones.

I see a young man, 22, pushing racks of womens' clothing, though the streets of NY's Garment District. He sings loudly as he works, and is never rushed, but is purposeful in his deliveries. Every once in awhile, a taxi cab driver slows down, listening to his singing, and says "Hey kid --you're pretty good! You ought to go on the radio!" The young man just smiles, content in the music he provides for himself, and the fact that his life is pretty good. It's still the Depression, and he has a job. He also has a home, in the Bronx, where he was born and raised, and a sort of girlfriend who lives across the street.

He wants to go to college, but there's no family money for that. He spoke to his father, a stern immigrant with a solid job inthe needle trades, about attending a school to learn how to create store displays. He had spoken to a young fellow doing that in Macy's window, during one of his deliveries, and the fellow told him it was a great union job. But, the young man's father, SImon, listened, and then slapped him on the head. "You HAVE a good job already! Don't make waves!" he shouted in his heavy Yiddish accent.

But back to the street. I'm conjuring up electronic billboards flashing the news of the evil Japanese attack. I'm seeing newsboys yelling the cliched "Extra, extra --read all about it! Japs attack us!" I'm seeing the young man's contemporaries gathered around street radios, listening to the news.

In any event, the young man, Hyman Auslander, 22, knew what this meant for him. Despite his lack of formal education past high school, he was "smarter than the average bear." He GOT stuff. He saw trends. He understood the way stuff worked. He was going to be drafted into the army, and all was going to change. There'd be no more singing while delivering dresses through the streets of 1940s New York. There'd be travels far from the familiar confines of his Bronx home.

He was right, of course, as he was about most of the events in his life. The notice came a few months later, and he reported to Ft. Dix, New Jersey, and an adventure of nearly 4 years of army life that was more boring and ironic than it was glorious and adventurous.

He learned to detest taking orders from people higher ranked but much stupider than he. One sergeant was illiterate --a hold over from the old cavalry, and Hy had to sign his name for him on orders and write "His mark." He experienced quaint anti semitism from the folks who lived near the rural bases. "We ain't NEVER met a real live JEW before. Ain't you go no horns on your head?"

He learned to NEVER volunteer, and to always sit when you were given the opportunity. He learned to detest forced exercise, a hatred his son inherited and practices nearly 70 years later.

And somehow, the sort of girlfriend from across the street in the Bronx, became, through letters (long since discarded --what I'd pay to have them!) and the occasional long distance call, his fiancee, and finally his wife.

In my mind's eye, the scene shifts to sunny Pasadena, where Sunny from the Bronx steps off a train to join Hy on their life adventure. The tones are no longer sepia, they're California technicolor, in the same way my mother woke up my father's soul, and lighted his life over nearly 40 years of marriage.

But that's a long, long, boring to outsiders tale.

From December 7, 1941 to December 7, 2009. What a lenghthy passing of time, but still squarely with my family's history. My father's been dead over 27 years. Sunny has 6 grandchildren and 4 great grandchildren. She still lives comfortably on the savings my father accumulated over the course of his working life, as a salesman who was largely his own boss because of the lessons he learned in the army.

Whenever I sing, in a voice decidedly more tinny than the one my father had, I think of him, pushing the dress carts on that December day. I think how much has changed. How temporary "evil" is --especially as I watch my Japanese tvs, drive my Japanese cars, and eat sushi a few times per week.

The Day That Will Live in Infamy was a major milestone in the life of my family.

No One Here Gets Out Alive

While D2 and her merry band of AP Economics students worked on a project in our dining room, Wifey and I left yesterday for Miami Beach.

Our friend Jack turned 76 yesterday, but it was anything BUT a happy birthday. He's been in the ICU at Mt. Sinai for several months.

I hadn't been to Mt. Sinai for quite awhile, but each time I visit it brings a chuckle. There is virtually NO bare wall space -- brass placques from all of the benefactors cover it all. My friend Jorge, whose son was born there, called it the "Wall of the Ashkkenazim," and it's true. A novelist looking for funny Jewish surnames would do well to peruse the walls of Mt. Sinai Hospital in Miami Beach.

Jack's not doing to well. I think he barely, if at all, realized we were there. Cara says there's hope he can be weaned off of his ventilator, and put into a regular room. Wifey and I hope she's right.

Jack is a wonderful fellow. He has a sharp sense of humor. He and Cara have been together about as long as Wifey and I have been, and seeing them together is always elevating. Cara has a deep, throaty laugh, and Jack brings it out often. The two of them always seem happy to be together.

Cara's had a hellish time of it lately. She's at the hospital for most of each day. She hasn't worked. Her sister has visited often, as well as her friends. Wifey tries to go each weekend. I really hope things improve.

But to me, who has always had a phenomenal grasp of the obvious, the lesson is that the end of life sucks. Either it talkes too long or it's too sudden.

So --next time I go to Miami Beach, it'll be to visit Lincoln Road, and have a great meal. I said this to Jack --that next time I visited him, it wouldn't be in the hospital --I wanted to share a meal and laughs with him. He seemed to smile...

Nice Dinner

Three years ago, Wifey and I were fortunate to make some gifts to UM and UF --so their Pediatric Departments could send young doctors to an annual conference on digestive diseases held in Hollywood. Since conference planners know their stuff, they schedule it for December, to lure top scientists and clinicians here for the grand weather.

As a fun part of the program, each year we host the young docs for dinner --the UF program director and the UM counterpart. This year my partner Paul graciously agreed to have us to his club, where we drank and ate well.

At the start of the evening, some of the older, surgically enhanced residents were at the bar. Dr. Barry and I saw a few 80 year olds going for the 40 year old look. It didn't work. Years ago, my friend Allison named the place "The Island of Dr. Moreau," and as more of the failed experiments entered the club, I kept thinking of that apt description.

As the evening went on, though, most of the chimeras left, and the younger folks came in. Wifey swore she's now avoiding Botox.

Meanwhile, the conversation was terrific. Two young UM Residents, from Miami and Puerto Rico, regaled us with tales of becoming pediatricians under the loving, strong hand of Dr. Barry. One is headed to Cincinnatti Childrens to become a Peds GI doc, and the other to U Pittsburgh Childrens, to follow the same path. A UM Peds GI fellow was there, too, who's finishing her training and joining the faculty this summer. She's a local Cuban girl made good --returning to work here after a stint at Michigan.

The UF Chief, Chris, a very charming fellow, knew many of the young docs' mentors, and it was nice to see the 2 generations sharing stories.

It's really a treat to me to be around accomplished young folks --their enthusiasm is terrific.

I also made some small workd connections, which I love. The acting UM Director, a very witty British lady, did much of her training in the English Midlands, and thinks she knows friends of friends of mine who live there. I put her in touch with English Dave, electronically. It'll be interesting to see the overlap of folks.

Today, alas, I'm going with Wifey to visit her friend Cara and her sick husband JAck. Jack's been in the hospital for quite awhile, and Wifey has dutifully gone each weekend to take Cara away for a few hours. JAck's prognosis is unknown, but Cara so much appreciates Wifey's friendship.

Wifey's a true and loyal friend.

We may try to see a movie on Lincoln Road, and then maybe walk on that street for awhile.

The young docs are back at their conference, learning and improving. Ah --the next generation...

By the Thinnest of Margins

My client Betty came to the office yesterday, having returned from South America, where she buried her 18 year old son. This is the young man who was terribly burned in 2003, in a fire that killed his sister.

Betty, Paul, Mirta, and I talked of the young man, and all cried. Betty told us that the week before he died, he asked that his mother take some of his lawsuit money to pay for a Christmas feast for the poor children in his native city.

Earler yesterday (a day of misery), another old client came by asking for my advice. I represented her son when he was 9, after he was in a car wreck. The nine year old is now 20, and was living a workaday life until last month, when he went on an excursion with some friends to collect a debt, and the debtor, apparently a drug dealer, ended up dead. The young man is now charged with murder.

This poor lady was understandably bereft. I brought Joel in to chat with her, and Joel is referring her to a friend of his, to hopefully take the case for "only" $25K. $25K will require my client saying goodbye to her life's savings, and then asking her mother to kick in hers.

As I drove home, the message was driven home --how lucky I am by the thinnest of margins. I made Gainesville hotel reservations yesterday am for D1's college graduation. 2 months ago, with a few more mph or a passing 18 wheeler, I might have, like Betty, been making funeral arrangements.

D2 checks her grades each nights, and frets over the rogue "B" that creeps in. With some bad friend choices, or maybe a few milliliters of changed neurochemicals, she might have turned out to be troubled, and Wifey and I could be dealing with the Juvenile Justice System instead of the College Application System.

I NEVER forget how blessed and lucky we are.

Of course, this living on a precipice (as we all do, unless we block out reality) causes anxiety and sleepless nights.

Ironically, Betty told us she's been sleeping well. But I'm sure the nightmares are constant companions...

Bah! Holidays!

The so called most wonderful time of the year is here. Yay. The only thing I like about it is college bowls and cooler weather.

My partner Paul is puzzled why I, a usually cheerful, non Scrooge type of guy, is so annoyed at the whole scene. I guess it's the crass materialism of it all, and the thought that, somehow, you show love to others by buying them tchockes.

My sister Sue handles estate sales, and has learned a very basic thing about things: they rarely hold their value. Of course, there's the occasional treasure, but most "collectibles" get sold after their owners die for maybe 2 cents on the dollar.

So, the stuff has nearly zero intrinsic value.

And still, the paper is filled with stories about people lined up to buy, well, crap for their friends and relatives. Most of the girls in my office are in this group --they go into debt buying electronics and clothes and what-ever for nieces and nephews and co workers.

Not me. I can't stand being told when to be generous and when it's ok not to be. I much prefer plucking a $50 bill out of my friend Barry's kids' ears when I see them --even in July!

So --as usual, no "holiday shopping " for me this year.

PAul and I will do our usual around the office: we get a stack of $50s, and hand them to the security guards, tellers, car parkers, etc... They seem to appreciate the cash more than cheap wine or ugly ties. I figure --why should THEY suffer just because I'm a closet Grinch.

This year, fortunately, we'll be on a cruise during Christmas. The most we'll have to put up with is the incessant holiday music playing in the bars. The tequila shots I intend to share with Eric and Barry ought to drown those out.

And, as my friend Jeff once pointed out, December 25th IS a very holy day: Wifey's birthday. She shares my disdain for the Holidays; she's even more militant than I am. She quicky turns the radio dial when Christmas music comes on. But, since she IS my personal and true savior, we'll honor HER birthday as we sail around.

So, I'll continue to wish everyone a Merry Whole Damn year, and try to spread good cheer the other 12 months. As for December? I get to lay back --there's enough cheesy good will in the air already.

Turning Korean, I Really Think So...

This afternoon, in honor of our slumping economy, I leased my ride for the next 3 years: a Hyundai. I pick it up tomorrow, and the monthly rental is exactly 1/2 what I've been paying for my Lexus.

In my unsophisticated judgment, the two cars are very similar. They're sedans with leather seats and satellite radios. They both have more gadgets and doodads (power rear window shades) than I'll ever use. The Lexus has been, in the words of one of my car -philic office roomates, "an appliance." In other words, boring and dependable. I hope the Hyundai proves to be the same.

Over the 15 years I've had my law firm, I've allowed my partner to convince me that we need prestigious cars for our image. Our old boss taught us that a succesful plaintiff's lawyer has to make the defense bar think that money is no object, or else the insurance companies will shortchange you. He's probably right.

And --who am I kidding --it was fun to drive the rides I had : BMW 740 IL, Lexus LS 400 and then 460, Jaguar XJ6 (two of those) and, in my Tony Soprano phase, a Cadillac DTS.

But, the times they have a changed, and I no longer give a rat's tuches what defense (or any ) lawyers think about my image. I've entered my post-lawyer, lawyer stage.

The aforementioned office roommate, the car buff, was aghast at my choice. He warned that, once word gets out that I'm driving a Hyundai --"people will talk, and it won't be good talk." My other roommate, Joel, said it reminded him of a Seinfeld routine, where Jerry said that once you start leaving the house in exercse clothes and you're not going to work out --it's over --you might as well kill yourself.

The car buff drives a Corvette. If ever there was an image projected by a 60 year old man who drives a Corvette --well...

And, my friend and secretary Mirta brought me back to reality, when she reminded me, gently, that the car I'm going to be "slumming it" in is costs more than twice a month what hers costs.

So, beginning tomorrow, I'm giving back my Japanese chariot, and driving away in a Korean cream puff. Will my life change? If it does, based on my ride, then Seinfeld was right.

More Boredom (And it's Great!)

So yesterday I DID leave the house, to go to the barbecue store to buy more firewood for my outdoor fire pit. I think the firepit is my favorite possession.

Wifey bought it for me at Target for about $40. I light fires in it on cool nights, and just sit watching the flames, mesmerized. I love the smell and feel of the fire, surrounded by the cool night trees and cool night air.

While I was at my second stop, at Home Depot, I ran into an old friend. Wifey and I stopped socializing with him and his wife last year, after it occurred to us that most of their conversations centered around bashing people we knew. We've decided, Wifey and I, to eliminate, as much as possible, those sorts of toxic people from our lives.

The fellow asked about Wifey, and put in a few jabs about whether she's STILL not working, and STILL not cooking, keeping house, etc... I sort of smiled. Then he asked when we were going to get together again, and I sort of changed the subject, in my charming, disarming way --asking about HIS kids, etc...

I got into my car amazed at the disconnect: come spend more time with me so I can have the ability to make your wife feel bad about herself! Nah -- I'm taking a pass there.

So, it's Sunday am, and our friend Elizabeth just left for Orlando. She came to town for Thanksgiving, and used us as her base. She's working part time these days and taking Masters classes full time, to become a Nurse Practitioner. I'm very impressed she has the focus and energy to earn a graduate degree at this stage of her life. She's always learning and improving herself.

AND, she's our one houseguest who LOVES our sloppy Basset Hound. She had 2 herself, and understnads their quirkiness. Miss Molly is grieving Elizabeth's departure. Either that or she's just snoozing in the sun because that's what she does.

D1 and her boyfriend are spending their final day here before they leave for Gainesville tomorrow. D1 is sleeping in.

Wifey turned to me yesterday and said "Isn't it wonderful to have the house filled with family and friends?"

It is, Wifey, it is...

It Was 21 Years Ago Today...

At essence, not much was different. I was a lawyer, happy and anxious at the same time. I had a wife and a house, and was prematurely in charge of an aging mother. (She seemed an old woman THEN!!!!). I had 2 dogs.

Wifey woke me before dawn, thinking her water broke. We were calm as we left for South Miami Hospital. Wifey spend the whole day in labor. It was a Sunday. The Dolphins lost to the Jets in one of those great Marino/O'Brien shootouts. The score was 40 something to 40 something. The late game began at 4. San Diego played. Around 5:30, Drs. Strasborg (a mellow, U Wisconsin Madison grad who clearly smoked a LOT of dope in his day) and Wifey's friend/doc Debbie Kenward (the smart, nice Jewish girl from Kendall who started at Miami Dade and made it through UF Med School) decided it was time for a Ceasearean (or babyectomy, as I called it).

And so, that evening, EVERYTHING changed. I fell in love in a way I didn't know one could love. D1 was born!

Three and a half years later, her sister joined our wolfpack, and I learned I could love that way AGAIN.

Wifey and I were exquisitely happy. We had a 1300 square foot house and 2 cheap Mazdas, and felt as rich as anyone we knew.

We brought D1 home, to the place we nicknamed "The House where it's impossible to be lonely."

And then, someone put the VCR tape on fast forward. Pre K, Elementary School, Middle School, High School, College, Friends, Lost Friends, Illnesses, Deaths, --it whizzed by.

So now we have a 21 year old daughter. A real woman. A member of society considered an adult in the eyes of all except rental car companies. And her sister is running, at breakneck speed, right behind.

So I'm still a lawyer, somehow. Wifey and I are still married, and looking to celebrate our 23rd anniversary. I'm still in charge of caring for my mother (no longer aging --now, like cheese, FULLY AGED). I still have 2 dogs (and a granddog, who, as I write, is taunting the Basset Hound and then fleeing, in a comic pastiche).

The house is much bigger, but my favorite part of it is sitting outside, admiring the trees, the same as I did at the tiny first house. I guess, when D2 moves out, it will no longer be impossible to be lonely, but it's still a pretty happy place.

So Happy 21st, my darling daughter. Revel in loving and being loved. Continue to live outside of your own head. Give. Learn --always. Never grow tired of appreciating beauty.

And accept the gratitude of an aging father who fell deeply and and madly in love, and remains so 21 years later.

November 26, 2009

So here it is, a glorious morning. The incessant rain yesterday was a cool front, and today we have sunshine so bright and clear it looks painted outside.

I slept late, and came downstairs to feed the large dogs. D1 met me with her puppy, and all of us went out to the front porch. I drank coffee and made D1 "Daddy Tea" which she misses when she's away.

Wifey joined us, and we remnisced abou the day D1 was born, and her first birthday. Wifey asked D1 if she was adored enough here. She smiled and agreed she was.

Wifey's friend from Orlando called. She's coming in for T Day at her sister's, and already there's trouble in that air. There's a personality clash about staying over, with OCD rearing its ugly head. In short, the sister is simply unable to make her sister feel welcome.

As far as I'm concerned, there are already SO many women here --what's one more?

We invited Elizabeth to stay here, and she's so appreciative to have a quiet room. Wifey's puttering away now, clearing out the room so there'll be a bed to sleep on.

So the heady days continue. Yesterday my friend Todd called, from Colorado. If there's something better than a talk with an old friend, I don't know what it is. He's taking his family skiing in Breckenridge "Breck" to the locals, apparently.

Feliz dia del gracia a todos!

Beaming Thanks

So tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and for me, it's typically a redundant holiday. I'm thankful EVERY DAY!

Still...D1 just got to my office with her fine boyfriend Thomas, and Madeleine the puppy. She had a hair appointment at the salon in my lobby, and Thomas and I walked the puppy around my building before he left for Villa Wifey and a nap. I'm waiting for D1, and will drive her home.

I stood at the elevator and peeked into the salon. D1 was in the chair, talking with the hairdresser, and was BEAMING! She was so happy and giggly, a young woman about to turn 21, and in love and loved. She's pretty and graceful and charming, and she sat in the chair BEAMING.

I'm thankful for the beaming.

Early this am, her sister stood in her bathroom, brushing her teeth. I came in with a toasted English muffin with melted cheese, and a glass of grapefruit juice. I started to dance to the hip hop on her tv, and she caught a glimpse of me. She smiled and rolled her eyes at the same time. It was a complicated expression, but, as gorgeous as D2 is, was attractive.

I'm thankful for her expression.

Last week, as I left the house, Wifey was at the front door, in the morning sun. Rod Stewart had an unkind line about the morning sun and an older woman's face, but all I saw was Wifey's beautiful blue eyes sparkling in that early light.

I'm thankful for Wifey's sparkling eyes.

And so it is, on this erev Thanksgiving. No one knows who'll be where, or even be, next year, but I choose to live in this most delightful and wonderful moment, and to be thankful.

Sign Posts

MY friend Stuart called yesterday, and we caught up. I'm thrilled for him, since he just settled two major cases. I'm even more thrilled that they're cases I referred to him, so my firm will share in fees!

More importantly, he told me his son just celebrated his 7th birthday. He also has a 5 year old. Stuart is a year older than I am.

I started wondering what it would be like to have little kids at this age. I stopped wondering --I'm thankful I don't. It seems to me that parenting small ones is best left to those in their 20s and 30s. I rather enjoy days around my house not worrying about fingers in electrical sockets and toddlers in swimming pools.

Then again, as Wifey observes: little kids; little problems; big kids; big problems.

The way I figure it, I'm resting and saving up my energy for grandkids. We'll re-baby proof our house when that happens, because I already plan on essentially having my girls give birth, and then taking the babies to raise for awhile. I hope my Ds and their husbands agree with this arrangement. (I'll give them back when they have tantrums --the babies, not my daughters).

On another note, I just read a terrific quote from an old Long Island friend on FaceBook: "It takes a family to raise a mother." I'm assuming he's dealing with his mother's decline, as Wifey and I are doing here. As someone noted --"It's no fun."

Speaking of which, Very Old Mom called over the weekend, happy, and wondering why I didn't tell her about the "new" photo of her great granddaughters that I fetched from her mail and placed on her coffee table. I didn't, I told her.

The only package that came was a book that Wifey had ordered for her, which I opened and left for her. She had forgotten a photo she received last Summer --the last time she heard from or saw her great granddaughters, and assumed it had recently arrived.

She wasn't at all sad or upset when I pointed out the mistake --she truly savored the "newly discovered" photo. It was like a little girl finding an old doll in her closet. I just hope Mom keeps that positive attitude as the seas become even stormier.

Meanwhile, MY little girl turns 21 this Friday. I remember when she turned 7. It sure doesn't seem like that long ago...

You Gotta Have Friends

So Wifey made the mistake of eating some sorbitol laced yogurt Saturday night, and suffered the consequences. While I was downstairs at 5 am getting her Pepto Bismol, the phone rang. I thought it was Wifey calling to tell me to hurry tings up, but it wasn't: it was an old friend calling to tell me his son had been arrested.

I sprang into action, such as a lawyer ever really springs, other than to go sign up a lucrative case, and figured out a plan. I called my friend Joel and left a message, since I don't know NOTHING about criminal law.

Throughout the am, I spoke to my friend and we devised a plan, and then I went with him to a hearing to get the boy out under house detention. He's charged with, essentially, teenaged boy stupidity, and fortunately neither he nor anyone else got hurt.

Joel is coming back to town and will take over from here.

I spoke to the young man, who probably DOES need a dose of a good ass kicking, and told him he cost hs father at least 5 years off his life. I asked him to agree with me, man to man, to take no more years. He tearfully agreed.

Later yesterday evening, after a PRODIGIOUS nap I took while the NFL played quietly on tv, Wifey and I took our frineds Lew and Maria to dinner. Lew is my hand surgeon friend who treated D1.

He's opening his office Friday JUST to see her, and follow up with her progress while she's visiting from UF. I protested with him, and said she could stay an extra day (Monday) for her visit, but he was having none of it. His oldest goes to college in Atlanta, and he wouldn't want to have her miss school, he said.

I guess there's a way to go through life without the help of friends, but I 've never understood it. This voyage on Earth is fraught with misery. I wouldn't want to go it alone.

The father of the teenaged Defendant hugged me at the courthouse and cried. I made him laugh by reminding him that if HIS father were alive and present at the proceedings, the young man would have begged to be kept in lockup rather than face his wrath. I think the young man would benefit from a bit of his late grandfather's brand of parenting. I think he'll get it now, and will turn out just fine.

Joel gets the friend thing, too. He's always helping out his peeps' kids. He sees the big picture as well...

Ugly People

So D2 and I went to a fine breakfast with Barry and his boys (Paul made a cameo appearance) and then watched the Canes wake up for the second half to beat Duke. It was a glorious day, and D2 learned that cough medicine can be hallucinogenic!

She napped on the way home, and I called Wifey, and we decided to have an early dinner at Tony Roma's, a place we rarely visit. D2 and I sat into our booth, and she told me she knew the folks behind us. They were a family from our old neighborhood.

I'll call them Warren and Lana, since those are their names. I remember them being the local scolds and malcontents. Warren, a lifetime teacher, had a chip on his shoulder the size of a boulder. He once went to a boundary meeting and made such a horse's ass of himself, in his booming baritone voice, that I remember it 12 years later.

They both were two of the most sanctimonious scolds I had ever met. They thought that the fact that they were teachers, instead of more highly paid professionals, gave them some sort of moral high ground. Meanwhile, they lived in a very nice house, and seemed to enjoy a fine lifestyle.

Anyway -- back to the restaurant. There was a South American family next table, with a 3 year old boy who was laughing and dancing. At one point, the child shrieked, and Warren yelled at him, "NO! No screaming!" He got up and looked for the manager.

The manager came over, and moved them away. As she walked away, Lana leaned over to the family, with her face that's as attractive as her sour personality, and hissed "Your child is obnoxious!"

The family looked befuddled, and looked back at me. I said "Listen --I know those two from our old neighborhood, and THEY are the most obnoxious, sour people in the world. Don't take it personally."

I think D2 realized before I did that this family spoke ZERO English, so both the scold and my attempted mollification fell flat.

So, angry, miserable people from years ago remain that way. The truth is, the little boy WAS a bit loud, but Warren and Lana reacted like the nasty people they are. I only hope that neighter of these 2 is still in the classroom. I can just imagine the misery they'd each cause in their little fiefdoms...

I don't get it. I was out on a Saturday with my beloved daughter and wife. We were enjoying each other's company, and Tony Roma's mediocre food. How could their be anger and negativity? How could an ebullient child cause so much nastiness...

We headed home, and D2 taught Wifey all about Lady Gaga, a performer she's going to see in January.

And then --D1 came onto the screen via an I Chat! She was all dressed up for a Chonga Party at UF, where the girls, I guess, try to lampoon a culture that lamppons itself.

D1's daughter made Wifey squeal with delight. Madeline the puppy has clearly become the favorite to her.

All I know is, as we shared in the laughter and inside family jokes, and warmth, I wondered what life could do to folks like Warren and Lana to make them so bitter.

Academic Politics

I'm on a committee at the U, even though I pledged years ago to avoid all committees. The Arts and Sciences Dean and I had become friends, and he asked me to serve on a "Visiting Committee" to advise him about the great strides the College would take in the future. Shortly afterwards, he left for a better job at William and Mary.

So I sort of got stuck, and yesterday went to meet one of the prospective new Deans, an impressive woman from UF. Next week they've asked us to meet the other 3 candidates.

Of course, we have zero input into the decision. There's a "Search Committee" who THINKS they get to decide, but clearly the UM President will make the call. They will then say how all of the OTHER committees vetted the candidate, blah, blah, blah.

Dr. Barry has meetings like these all week. I don't see how he stomachs it. People, particularly academics, LOVE the hear themselves talk, and seem convinced they have deep, insightful gems to add to discussions.

The academic groupies, like me, can be even worse. At yesterday's meeting, there was another member named Lou, who spoke quite a bit. Lou is a millionaire investor of some type, originally from NYC. who has given a few nice gifts to the college, so he was asked to serve on the committee.

He made it very clear to all of us that he has so little time, because of ALL the other foundations he founded. He then mentioned that he was a bit disappointed with ALL of the candidates because none had Ivy League educations, which he thought was important for "attracting top scholars."

I asked him, later, where HE went to school. "City College." Oy. The irony that HE was obviously succesful with an educational pedigree LESS than he wanted to see was lost on him, as he went on about his OTHER NGOs...

I think I'm going to skip next week's meetings. I do love the College, and will happily meet the new Dean, whoever they pick.

I DO happen to think it's time for a woman to get the job. The current interim Dean is a woman, who did not make the final four, for, I guess, political reasons. Maybe she told the truth to someone at one of the many meetings.

Generational Gaps

Wifey and I visited Very Old Mom yesterday, to install an "I've fallen and I can't get up" system in her house. Wifey stayed in her condo working on the unit, while I took Mom to the bank and for lunch.

She's strikingly frail. As I helped her into and out of my car, it was like I was feeling a small skeleton with some flesh around it. Like a baby bird...

But she's still hanging in there. In fact, she's happier than she's been over the past several months, which I attribute to the anti depression meds kicking in, finally.

The new warning system requires she wear a button on a lanyard, and basically press it. An attendant comes on, and asks if all is ok. If there's no answer, the attendant calls for help.

Just the fact that she has to remove the lanyard when she leaves, and put it back on when she returns, was daunting to her. Wifey wrote a note and taped it to the back of her door. It truly is amazing how much life is a cycle. At nearly 90, she's become a little girl again.

On a more humorous generational topic, I bought the Ds an early Chanukah gift: tickets to see a performer named "Lady Gaga". The Ds are thrilled. I have zero earthly idea who this singer/dancer is.

D1 posted a Facebook (tm) line about how excited she is. One of Wifey's friends responded that she "didn't get" the big deal about this person, and started comparing her to Madonna.

Of course she doesn't get it! The lady is closer to 60 than 20, and has no RIGHT to get youth culture! I asked her whether her parents, Greatest Generation members, used to "get" The Doors, or Neil Young. I suspect they didn't understand all of the noise (or in the case of Neil Young the self referential arrogance and whiny voice) while they listened to Sinatra and Glenn Miller, back in the 70s...

That's one thing about Very Old Mom --she accepts her generation and place. I guess that makes aging a bit easier for her than it is for Baby Boomers. I think Wifey's friend still sees herself as a 20-something...

Still, I couldn't help but recall Tete Townsend's lyric about hoping to die before I get old. On the other hand, I want to give my Ds something to look forward to: maybe I'll become a terribly irrascible old man...or not!

The Trials of Job

One of the last true legal wars I fought was for Betty. She hired my firm about 6 years ago after a tragic fire at her apartment, where her daughter was killed, and her then 13 year old son was badly burned.

We litigated her case for 2 years, against the landlord. The case was based on his failre to have a working smoke detector in the apartment. After a battle of experts that cost each side hundreds of thousands of dollars, we settled.

Betty's son did remarkably well. He underwent many surgeries to improve his appearance, but blossomed into a fine young man who did well in school and had friends. Betty stayted in touch with our firm, and asked for our help last year about a rental house she had bought which was now in foreclosure.

She felt awful, but we assured her that many people with far greater financial sophistication than she had gotten into trouble in the real estate market. Since the same bank which held her son's settlement funds was the one trying to foreclose on her, we were able to convince them of the public relations nightmare they'd have, and they ended up working things out with Betty and her family.

Alas --the nimbus clouds were still gathering. She called a few months ago to tell us her son was diagnosed with an agressive form of leukemia. He was in the ICU of a children's hospital, and I called Dr. Barry about having him seen by the top guy at Barry's place. Betty ended up keeping her son where he was, and he seemed to be inmproving.

We learned he died Monday. He had just turned 18.

On my way home, alone in my car, I lost it. Hadn't this woman endured enough? She lost her beloved daughter, and lived through the ordeal of her son's debilitation. And now another death?

Betty is flying her son back to South America, to be buried next to his sister. We'll see her when she returns.

We're making a donation in his memory to a local food bank. We're doing all the proper things to grieve with a client.

But what words can anyone share with one who is so bereft? I have no idea.

Rabbi Yossi once told me that when he visits a dying patient, or the patient's family, he just listens, mostly. I guess that's what we'll do, but it will still leave a big hole in our hearts.

Rest in peace, young Roberto. I guess that's all there is to say.

The Writers

Wifey and I took the train and Metromover to the Book Fair yesterday, under gloriously sunny skies. We walked around and I ate an enormous sausage and peppers and onions sub. I thought it the literary thing to do.

We went to a tent and heard a lecture by 4 Miami writers. 2 were women whose names I didn't catch, and the other 2 were JAmes Grippando and Edna Buchanan.

Grippando talked about the need to truly research a site before writing about it, a lesson he learned after portraying Tallahassee, only to be taken to task by a reviewer from their local paper. He has a new book featuring a college baseball star, and he set that part of the book at U Texas, which has a great team. He admitted that the U would have worked, too, but as a Gator he couldn't bring himself to glorify UM. I admired his honesty!

Edna Buchanan talked about her career as a Herald crime reporter, which led to work as a murder novelist. She echoed my thoughts about Miami, which is probably the weirdest and most fascinating city in the US. She pointed out that it's ALWAYS been thus, not just in recent times. She told a great tale about a criminal who was tackled by Miami cops, only to leave them holding his artificial leg while he "out hopped them" to a getaway car. It's like Carl Hiassen observed --it's tough to write fiction in this city, because fact is typically stranger...

We needed to get to MIA to fetch D2, who was returning from her D.C. trip. I directed Wifey onto the Metromover, and it was the wrong loop. I got to see the parts of the system I never had --all the way north and west. It was actually pretty cool, and Wifey sat next to a young Black mother who used Ebonics most creatively. It's good to get Wifey out of the suburbs once in awhile.

We made an excellent Seinfeldian "pick" at the airport, and then stopped at "Sir Pizza" on the way home. D2 wasn't at all hungry, so she ate 1/2 of a large pie with me.

Last night I sat on my porch, fantasizing about being an actual paid writer --travelling to places like Grippando does, and conjuring stuff up. Then I called my partner to discuss today's professional agenda.

Today I have 2 boring depos in my office. My partner "would like to enlist (my) agreement that I will commit my full attention and effort to the task at hand." That's truly how he talks sometimes. He also said something about "Agreeing to commit to our responsibility to the professional representation of our clients, so we would not be seen as doing so in a way that would be seen as amateur hour."

I know, I know. I already have some great stories right in front of me.

From Tiny Acorns...

So I went over to my friend Mike's yesterday to watch the Canes. Ugh! They lost, and what's worse --they're getting crappier as the season progresses --the opposite of what a fan wants to see.

But, there was an upside: spending some time with Mike's boy Chris. Chris is 14, and watched part of the game with us along with 2 of his buddies. Chris was always, it seemed, the little guy in our group --his older sister Amanda is D2's age.

But he's become, as D1 remarked when she last saw him, " a regular person." He's funny, and into school, and a tremendous baseball player.

It's nice to have younger kids in my life, as my own girls approach 18 and 21. I'm lucky in that regard, as my close friends started reproducing after Wifey and I did, so there are still plenty of the young-ins around.

Eric and Barry's boys are wonderful, though the older Josh is pretty grown up already. He's a scholar and golf star, and driving! Young Josh and Scott are still in middle school, so I get to keep my finger on the pulse of what's up with the young teen world.

Scott and I are Facebook (tm) friends, and he's a budding writer. His father, though a doctor, is probably the best writer of all of my friends, and Scott inherited his abilities. It's great to read about the ups and downs of 7th grade from such a keen observer.

Meanwhile, D2 is due back from D.C. this afternoon. Wifey and I are heading over to the Book Fair, and from there to MIA to hear about the adventures from the Capitol.

D1 is in Gatorland, winding down her second to last college semester. Where DID that time go?

Oh well, from the younger crop, at least I can still vicariously experience middle school.

Quince

Tomorrow is my law firm's 15th anniversary. On November 15, 1994 Paul and I incorporated, and were "off to the races," as he'd say. We planned to practice together for 10 years, and then move on. Somehow we're still slouching along...

15 years ago, Ds 1 and 2 were little girls. D1 was in 2nd grade, and D2 in preschool. Wifey had the main responsibility of raising them, as I was putting in a lot of time at the firm. We'd work on the cases by day, and host referral sources by evening. They were heady times for us, professionally.

Yesterday we went to lunch at the Capital Grille, the steak place that opened around the time we did, and where we'd typically celebrate victories. Mirta came with us, along with Norma and Andrea, our 10 year secretaries, now retired. We toasted and laughed, and I admotted something to all of them which is already an open secret: I've hated being a lawyer since about 2 years out of law school, and being around all of them was the only thing that made it palatable for me.

Norma started the firm with us, but shortly after got pregnant with a change of life baby, and had to be on bed rest. Andrea had just had her 3rd child, and came in when we moved to our long time address. Albert and Mirta came aboard a few years later, and Albert now has his own firm. Mirta changed from receptionist to our prima donna last January, and has been running the operation since then.

A decade and a half has really flown by. The years were truly packed with, as Jimmy Buffett sings, good times and riches and son of a bitches.

There's a virtual certainty that there won't be another 15 years at the firm, at least for me.

But for now, I say to all at my work: Feliz Quince!

A Tale of Two Men

So Wifey and I set out last night for a fun evening. On our agenda was having dinner, and then dropping off two gifts. The first was a check to Samantha, who spent a week at our house with D2 while we were in NC. It was the FINAL time D2 would have an overseer, as she turns 18 in February. The second gift was for our friends' granddaughter, who turned 1 a few weeks ago. We missed her birthday party, and wanted to drop off the hand crafted potty seat Wifey found for her.

We walked into a local deli, and recognized an old acquaintance. He's a long time friend of my partner, Paul. I'll call him Chuck, since that's his name. He's a tall fellow with a sardonic sense of humor. He used to be a lawyer. Wifey and I stood by his table while he was onhis cell, and he ignored us. Vintage Chuck, I thought -- that's his sense of humor. We sat at the next table and invited him over. He declined.

For the next 30 minutes, as we chatted and caught up, I was dumbfounded. This man was the most miserable, anhedonic creature I've ever encountered. NOTHING was good in his life, he told us. The only stories he seemed remotely interested in were those of pain and sadness.

The truth is, he has been bedeviled by awful back problems over the past 14 years. He's endured multiple surgeries, and I'm sure intractable pain. But, he has 3 wonderful kids, and a new grandson. His wife hasn't left him. Any time Wifey and I attempted to swing the conversation towards his manifold blessings, he'd turn off.

Wifey, not famous internationally for HER perspective on life, tried to ask him about the concept of gratitude --the fact that he was out at a restaurant eating a meal, and able to walk, and function on that level. Wifey spent nearly 2 years nearly home bound with HER bad back, and so knows something about how debilitating it is.

Chuck would have none of it. No gratitude, only misery, and negativity, and more and more pain.

We left the restaurant, and I felt like heading to a bar for 3 vodkas. Instead we went to our friends' house.

I'll call the proud grandfather Arnald, since that's his name. He's not a peppy, happy type of guy. In fact, Arnald has deep set eyes and a looming physical presence (he's a former college football lineman) that used to make us laugh thinking of the poor boyfriends his 3 beautiful daughters would bring home.

As we sat with Arnald and Cathay, his wife, Arnald went on and on about the tremendous accomplishments of his friends and family. Cathay, a school principal, told about coming to a new school, and the mess it was. Arnald spent his money and time, and recruited workers from a local labor pool, and spent a weekend turning the place into "Disneyworld."

What a guy! I'm sure he battles demons just like Chuck, but he has chosen to live outside of himself --to focus on the good in others --and to become a heroic man.

The real meaning of this is best left to deeper thinkers than I am, but as an empiricist, I know what it means to me.

I can't wait to spend more time with Arnald, and maybe involve myself with some of these behind the scenes acts of charity. He and Cathay have a huge Christmas party each year, and hopefully will have it again in a few weeks. Last year, Arnald called for quiet. I thought he was going to offer Christmas prayers (he's a devout Catholic) but instead wanted to recognize his high school friend's son, who won an Emmy for his work as a comedy writer.

As for Chuck --next time I see him, I will literally cross the street to avoid contact. That man has raised the concept of being a pathetic downer to remarkable heights. Woody Allen himself couldn't make heads or tails of him.

Of course, I wish him well, but that's a waste of positive energy. He already HAS so many blessings to balance his miseries, but he chooses to revel in the pain. I choose not to share in that ever again.

So, in South Miami Dade, 2 50 something men go about their lives. One attracts me; the other repulses.

Worth the Early Rising

This year D2 is an editor of her school paper, and they have a new faculty advisor. He's the coolest looking high school teacher I've ever seen --Jamaican American, with dreadlocks, and a clipped way of speaking. Plus, he's a Cane, so he must be smart.

He's taking 20 newspaper and year book kids to D.C. today for a student journalist convention. One of D2's classmates's fathers is a big shot in the Democratic Party, so the kids are also scheduled for a VIP tour of the Capitol.

I woke up at 5 this am to take D2 to MIA. We met her classmates, the teacher, and the two parent chaperones, one of whom is our friend Loni.

Talk about exhuberant! These kids were so excited about the trip --laughing and joking with each other despite the early hour, acting like adults but keeping their youthful energy going --it was a sight to behold.

Dr. Barry texted D2 to wish her a great trip, and she asked what he's doing up so early. I explained that he's on service in the PICU, and has probably already saved the life of a kid or two. She believed me, I think.

D2 called Wifey to say goodbye, and told her I looked sad. "I think Dad really wants to go."

She's right, of course. I'm here in my office ready to speak to some annoying, greedy clients, and D2's group is soon off to D.C. to explore and learn. Hmm--not much of a choice.

The teacher is planning anohter trip in March --to Columbia University --for another student journalist program. There'll be side trips to Broadway and some NY museums.

You can bet I'll be on THAT plane, trying to play the role of the cool parent chaperone.

As I drove East on the Dolphin, the sunrise painted a gorgeous back drop to the Miami skyline. It was a new day. With young folks, it's ALWAYS a new day.

Strong Message

Wifey and I went to the Book Fair last night, along with our friend and neighbor Jody. Wifey looks up to Jody, the mother of 5 wonderful kids, because of the way Jody is sort of a Mom/CEO with her family --keeping track of all of them, helping them with their lives, and giving non stop love.

The three of us took the train to the Metro Mover and ended up at Miami Dade college for a lecture by Jeannette Walls. I haven't read her book, but it's a best seller about a miserable, deprived childhood, and the fact that Walls hid it from her succesful co workers and friends for so long.

She had a lot of wisdom to share, but one message resonated with me: all of us in America come from pretty tough stock. Our grandparents, or great grandparents, or parents, had the wherewithal to emigrate here, to start new lives. She gave the examples of Irish fleeing the Great Potato Famine, or Jews fleeing the Nazis.

So, she said, even though we may lead spoiled privileged lives, we have to reach back to the "tough old broads," or "tough old coots" from whom we came, in order to deal with whatever comes our way.

She also believes, as I do, that those who overcome difficulties are at an advantage over those who don't. so long as we keep the positive in mind. It's foolish to welcome difficulty or tragedy, but once we deal with it, we strenghten --the old whatever diesn't kill me makes me stronger philosophy.

Anyway --it was a fine evening, with a glib and delightful speaker.

Wifey related this message to Very Old Mom, and how she's a survivor. She buried my father (well, not really --she got a letter confirming the ocean disposal of his cremated remains, but same thing) as well as a long time companion, Max.

She's blessed to have been left by my father in decent shape, financially, and to have a lot of help from us. Still --she just keeps chugging along, typically looking on the bright side of life, as the funny "Spamalot" song urges.

D2's heading to D.C. tomorrow, for a high school journalist trip. She hasn't been there since she was 4, and was only interested in chasing squirrels on the Mall.

That means Wifey and I will have an empty nest, and I think we may just head to a few more Book Fair events. It's to me, the most wonderful time of the year...

Tough Being a Grown Up

I had breakfast with my old friend the other morning, and I asked him about his aging mother. She's in her late 70s, and has been declining for the last 10 years, since her husband died. Her husband was one of my favorite people --a true mentor. I think about him all the time.

Anyway, the mother lives upstate, and my friend visits her as often as he can. His sister lives close by, with her domestic partner. She complains to her brother that watching her mother decline, and the care it requires, is "no fun." The sister, who is my age, was always a master of understatement.

The heavy lifting in relationships is never any fun. Kissing and hugging adorable babies is the nice part; true love comes in changing dirty diapers, and staying up all night with their illnesses.

It strikes me that some of the grade school scolds had it right: immaturity is avoiding the unpleasant realities of life, while being a grown up involves tackling them head on.

I understand this intimately, which is why I'm very careful about assuming responsibility. My girls are the world to me, and I savor them, but I can't IMAGINE having any more kids.

So many friends in second and third marriages take on entirely new step families. It would kill me. The problems and concerns of my own little group of ladies are plenty for me.

I guess the answer, to be able to deal with the blended families, is the ability to say, essentially, "Hey it's not my job." I just don't see it --children are either your responsibility or they're not.

Wifey has a pretty full time just dealing with her elderly parents, and helping out with my mother. As they age, everything is daunting, like it was when they were children.

To me, the real love comes with the changing of diapers, with the assumption of the responsibility. Yeah --it AIN'T no fun, but it's what being a grown up is all about.

The Better Season

It's here, finally --the best time of the year to live in Miami. The oppressive heat is gone, and we're getting into the heart of terrific activities.

The neighbors seem to sense it, too. Saturday night we went to Wifey's Book Club Meeting, Husband's Division. The local ladies who lunch and read decided last year to expand their social activities to include the husbands, and take turns hosting dinners.

It was Ellen's turn Saturday, and 3 1/2 couples went to her house. Ellen is a Venezuelan Jew, and she cooked Pad Thai! We had great conversation and laughs, and afterward walked Jody, the 1/2 couple (her husband Bob was up in Maine closing up their summer house for the winter) home. As we did, we felt the lovely, almost cool evening breeze.

It was also truly a pleasure Saturday watching my Canes and not sweating. The day was overcast and most comfortable. I savor the late Fall games for this reason.

Yesterday I went with Drs. Ken and David and Ken's boys to the renewal of the Homestead Air Force base Open House. Maybe some men get over their infatuation of really cool machines, like jet fighters. I'm not one of them. The planes soared and kicked in afterburners, setting off car alarms. Ken is a retired Navy flight surgeon who has been privileged to fly supersonic a few times, and spent over a year on an aircraft carrier during the Gulf War. He regaled Dave and me with his tales.

The Book Fair started yesterday, and Wifey is all excited, because the author of a memoir and loves is speaking tomorrow night. She plans to come Downtown and we'll ride the People Mover to the event.

Sunday we'll go back for the big outdoor Street Fair, an even we love each year.

Yes --it's what I call the better season, and we're in it. It looks like the hurricanes have spared us again this year, although the poor bastards in the Gulf are hunkering sown in advance of a late storm season blast.

I say --bring on the cooler weather, and all the neat stuff we get to do in Miami.

Religion

A few years ago, our friends from the English Midlands visited, and we chatted about religion. Dave was raised Catholic, and Sandra Protestant, but both are "lapsed." Most of their friends are, too --the only observant folks they knew are some Muslims and the odd Orthodox Jew.

It struck them how much more religious the US was.

Last week in Highlands, NC, Dana and I were sitting in the very cozy Old Edwards Inn library, waiting for Eric and Wifey. We were reading, and drinking tea. In the seating area behind us, a couple and another fellow were carrying on a conversation. It went like this:

"Wow --the three of us are the picture of diversity! I'm a Baptist, you're a Methodist, and your little wife there --she's Episcopalian."

"Yep, we sure are. But we all know there's the same Lord -- Jesus Christ, our Savior!"

Dana and I were like a couple of junior high kids who want to laugh, but have to keep it inside because the teacher's there.

First, the fact that these three Southern WASPs thought they represented Diversity was too much, and second the tone of the fellow, assuming that EVERYONE was Christian --struck us as hilarious.

But that's the way it is in the good ole' USA.

I admire truly religious folks, I really do. Some of them have pure hearts, and are convinced that God has a plan for them. I've always loved the line from the Counting Crows song "I wanna be someone who believes!"

But this idea that one's beliefs are for everyone, this arrogant "Well we ALL know" --nah, doesn't cut it with me.

So, for Eric, Dana, Wifey and me, the "We ALL KNOW who the Lord is" will remain a catch phrase from a great vacation, along with "Farm raised Elk."

To that wonderful, glorious mosaic of diversity sitting behind us, I guess it's something much more serious.

Dumb As A Box of Rocks

So Wifey and I went to the U last night, for the inagural lecture for the newly created Center for the Humanities. In another example of UM being a much smarter college now than it was when I attended, they've started this Center and asked leading scholars to come and teach and lecture to the public.

About 200 showed up to hear Marjorie Garber speak about Shakespeare and Modern Society. She's a Harvard Professor, and "public intellectual." She was so brilliant, that I sat there feeling like an imbecile. She has recall of lines from Classic Literature the way I have recall of lines from "Animal House." She speaks so fluidly and poignantly --it was something to behold.

Her point is that Shakespeare shapes all of the Humanities, and our time shapes our understanding of Shakespeare. She also has an encyclopedic grasp of modern culture, and she weaves her examples with current films alongside of Dante.

A few audience members asked her some tough questions, like whether Shakespeare was impacted by Classic Greek plays like "Oedipus," and she knew, from her research, that any Greek study done in Elizabethan England would have been in Latin, since the Greeks were just being rediscovered, etc...

I went home and Googled her, and it turns out she grew up on Long Island, loving literature. But, while I read poems and stories in order to impress girls, she did stuff like read all of the footnoted materials in Eliot's "Wasteland." She said she loved to read, and later learned that it was called "scholarship."

Turns out she was probably trying to impress girls, too, since she's a well known bisexual, who has written scholarly articles about various forms of sexuality, too.


Still --she was just so brilliant, it was a privilege to hear her speak.

I guess I've always been an academic groupie. My father prized education and intellect, and I'm completely his son.

My partner Paul, though he is loathe to admit is, is impressed by wealth. When he's around someone very rich, his whole demeanor changes --he puffs out his chest, and measures his words.

Money is grand, of course, but like the country song says, that don't impress me much. In the news lately, South Florida's latest rich big shot, a Lauderdale lawyer named Rothstein, who owned fleets of Bentleys, and streets of million dollar houses, is being exposed as a crook and a fraud, while just weeks ago, he was lauded as a benefactor of politians and charities.

Somehow, I don't think the impressiveness of Professor Garber will fade, and I intend to at least read some of her books.

Out of Touch

I had lunch with Dr. Frank at Michael's Genuine Food yesterday. He was in from LA for a dive trip. He mentioned that he dined recently with some hot actor named Pattinson. I had no idea who he was.

I mentioned this to Wifey, and she was shocked. It seems that this fellow is "The" actor in Hollywood now, in some sort of vampire flicks. I'm ,like, totally out of touch.

I wonder if my 8 track tapes still play. I remember in the late 70s, when my Dad bought me my first car, I had a choice between an 8 track deck and a cassette. I picked the 8 track. I picked wrong.

Years later, when Wifey and I first moved in together, VCRs were coming out. We had a choice between VHS and Betamax formats. One of my life's mentors, Ed Perse, had a huge Betamax collection, and told me to choose that one. Again, it was the wrong choice...

So it's no wonder I don't know who the latest stars are. I'm an anachronism.

College Fair

So I took D2 over to the Palmetto High College Fair last night. We went last year, and now that her applications are largely done I thought she'd skip, but apparently the latest college admission rumor is that an applicant needs to show up to show a school they're serious about getting in.

It was held in the school gym, and it was packed. Wifey had been there earlier, to help set it up with the PTA, so she opted out of going to the actual event.

D@ was immediately disappointed: 2 of the schools she wanted to "visit," Duke and Emory, weren't there! And the "hot schools" for the Miami High School set, Florida and the U, were packed with students 20 deep, making any chance of interaction tiny.

Still, we had a good time, seeing old friends and their parents. I wandered over to SMU's booth, and struck up a talk with the representative, asking her if she knew my friend Ross Murfin, the retired Provost there. She did, and the Joycean connections flowed, and soon it became apparent that her daughter, now a Princeton senior, probably knows D1's boyfriend, since she went to Boles High in Jacksonville, etc..., etc...

The representative, Carol, was a Tulane alum, but she told D2 how she WISHED she went to SMU, even though she was Jewish. She went on about how great it is, and how Dallas is a terrific city, and how D2 ought to apply. I didn't ask her why she sent HER daughter to Princeton, given how wonderful her employer is...

We ran into D1 and D2's wonderful guidance counselor, Harry Nerenberg. He was profiled recently in the Herald under an article about people who love their jobs. He truly does, and was there for D1 during a rough patch, and continues to be there for D2. To show what a mentsch he is, he noticed one of the colleges at the Fair, St. Joseph's of Brooklyn, NY, wasn't getting any attention. He took D2 over to the nice fellow, and made an introduction.

The representative was a charming fellow, and asked D2 about her class rank and ACT scores. He offered her a full academic scholarship on the spot! I told him that D2's mother grew up in Canarsie. "Wow!" he said "Then it would be a homecoming!"

As we walked away, we agreed that it was a long shot that D2 would attend any college with "Saint" in its name, unless it was part of Oxford as part of a Rhodes Scholarship. I guess the same goes for a school with "Methodist" in its name, too.

As we left, D2 thanked me for coming, to another in a line of "last" events. "The last Homecoming, Back to School Night, etc..." As much as I like to make sport of attempting to embarrass my teenage daughter, its clear she now takes sport in making her old Dad get teary eyed. It's happening more and more.

Hot Autumn

So it was back to the 305, where the heat is still on. Wifey and I stayed home Halloween night, giving out candy to the neighborhood kids. It really is remarkable to see how they mature from one year to the next.

A few years after we moved in, a wonderful family moved in across the street, with an adorable 3 year old red haired boy. He came by, now in 7th grade, and a fine young man. He always calls Wifey and I "Mr. and Mrs." and we then tell him to use our first names. In the few minutes we spent with him, he made some remarks using grad student vocabulary. Wifey and I agreed this young man will be going places, as they used to say.

My Canes eked out a victory, and all of my diehard friends and I agreed it was one of the most disappointing wins in awhile --the team was flat, and nearly lost to a really crummy opponent.

Yesterday I drove to Dr. Barry's, where he and his wife hosted Dr. Eric and his boy and me for a Dolphins watch party. Barry and his boys are Jets fans, and the 3 Fins backers had a great time with the 3 Jets partisans. It was a terrific game, all back and forth. The Dolphins won, so Eric and his boy and I got to strut a bit to Barry and HIS sons.

I don't have sons, but if I did, I'd be thrilled if they were like the 3 young men I spent yesterday with. It's cool to be their uncle.

So, back to the quotidian. D2 is fighting a bad cold, and I brought her breakfast to her room as she dressed for school. I told her to stay home, but she explained, tartly, that she had 2 tests, and a review for a third, etc...

Her focus and commitment continually amaze me. My senior year I'd stay home if it were too cold or hot outside. This kid really has it going on.

Up at UF, D1 has exams, and a suddenly misbehaving puppy to deal with. I figure she'll handle it --the dog weighs less than 10 lbs. D1 will show her who's the boss!

Now when's that cooler weather coming?

NC (Enough Already!)

So the duration of the Asheville stay was fine. I visited my second favorite book store inthe US --Malaprops -- and bought a coffee mug with the inscription "Eat Sleep Read." I commented to the goth -looking saleswoman that only one activity was missing, and I was getting too old for that one. She smirked. I AM becoming a creepy old guy.

Eric, Dana, Wifey and I had a fine day at the Grove Park spa, with massages and dips in the waterfall-laden pools and hot tubs. There's an outdoor area with a huge burning fireplace, overlooking the Fall valley, and I think the Lord spoke to me there about the beauty of life.

We walked a bit more, watched some more sunsets, and on the last day visited the UNC Asheville Arboretum. We walked in the woods some more, and admired the Bonsai displays. Eric snapped away --his goal was 1000 photos. He's going to edit them and send them to us to enjoy and use to bore our children.

We had one last stop -- 12 Bones Barbecue, on the outskirts of town. Simply --it was the best I've ever eaten. The ribs were so savory, I'm convinced they would have tempted my friend Rabbi Yossi to give pork a try. Well, maybe not, but close...

We flew home and endured a typical Atlanta airport delay. While at the airport, my old friend Lauren, an Atlanta lawyer, called my cell phone. I was convinced she spotted Wifey and I walking past, but no, it was only serendipity. She's started a new career, and will fill me in on the details Monday.

And so, once again, to Wifey's never ending enjoyment, I was able to channel the old sign off from the Disney travelogs I watched in the 60s at East Broadway Elementary: "As we reluctantly say goodbye to beautiful North Carolina, we reflect on the memories we'll forever treasure of the time we spent there."