I'm hanging home, today, fighting a late Winter cold. D2 is up at UF with D1, and D2 has the cold, too. I guess there's something going around her high school...
Tonight Wifey and I are headed to our friends' parents 50th anniversary party. How amazing --1/2 a century of marriage!
Ron and Barbra are both Miami Beach kids, who went to UF and UM. Ron's an engineer, now retired, and their son Steve is my age. Daughter Dana went to UM with us, and has been married to my dear friend Eric since 1986.
Ron is one of the sweetest guys I know. In the 27 years I've known him, I've never seen him angry, or with a negative word for anyone. He absolutely ADORES his grandchildren.
Barbra is the tougher of the couple. She's been a devoted mother, grandmother, and wife. She's battled health problems over the years, but never dwells on the negative.
Tonight's party is a surprise. It'll be really great to see their reaction --how their daughter and son in law have put together this celebration.
I asked Dana for a gift suggestion. Her reply to me says it all about how her parents have made it to this milestone:
"Well, their favorite restaurant is Morton's Steakhouse. Actually --that's my mother's favorite, and my father likes whatever makes my mother happy."
There it is -- about all the relationship advice anyone ever needs. A man who, 50 years after saying "I do," still wants to please his bride.
Happy 50th, Ron and Barbra! May you have many, many returns of this day.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Perspective
I had contact with two friends this morning, and the content of each one's experience affected me.
First, I got an email from Dr. Barry, just back from speaking at the funeral of a 4 year old former patient, who died in Naples last week. The girl had received a multi organ transplant at age 6 months, was doing well, but then went into septic shock. Barry was in Miami with the child's mother and brother --ALSO a very sick child. He literally stayed on the phone with the Naples ER doc, during the "code" , until the father arrived.
The whole thing was dramatic. The father, racing down I-75 from Tampa, was pulled over by FHP. When he told the trooper his daughter was in extremis in Naples, the trooper called in a helicopter and flew the father to the hospital.
Anyway --Barry sent me a copy of the address he gave at the funeral, and it was stunningly powerful. I HATE that he's a better writer than I am. Not really. It was an amazing eulogy, filled with despair, but also hope.
And then, I got another call, from a very upset wifey friend. The subject is unimportant, but let's just say that, compared to lost children, it would appear trivial.
Yet to the friend, it was earth shattering. This poor woman was inconsolable.
I went to fetch the Sunday Herald, and saw Dr. Eric, a neighbor who's a practicing psychologist. We chatted, and then I brought up this diversity of grief.
He said that as a person, he always wants to tell his patients "Hey --get a life! You're upset about NOTHING! Have perspective --you have so much to be thankful for!"
But then, as a therapist, he has to remember that for someone living in a little snow globe, even a slight nudge can set off a blizzard.
He spends as much time counseling some patients getting over the death of a pet goldfish as he does patients who lose life long spouses, or children.
Dr. Eric's a great guy. NY Jewish sense of humor, just like mine. He has twin girls fraduating from high school, as well as a 3 year old from his current marriage. I asked him where his girls are going to school. One to UCF, the other has a list of "Most Expensive Colleges," and will choose from there. "She's still angry with me for divorcing her mother, and wants to make me pay."
Anyway --such is human nature. One person's speed bump is another's Mt. Everest.
All I know is --it's an early Sunday afternoon, and a breeze is blowing through the house. Wifey is out at a movie (with one fewer friend), and D2 just left for dance rehearsal. D1 called this am --all happy about a new young man in her life.
I have a sleeping Labrador and Bassett Hound at my feet, and an order of Canton wonton soup a phone call away.
Life is exquisite.
First, I got an email from Dr. Barry, just back from speaking at the funeral of a 4 year old former patient, who died in Naples last week. The girl had received a multi organ transplant at age 6 months, was doing well, but then went into septic shock. Barry was in Miami with the child's mother and brother --ALSO a very sick child. He literally stayed on the phone with the Naples ER doc, during the "code" , until the father arrived.
The whole thing was dramatic. The father, racing down I-75 from Tampa, was pulled over by FHP. When he told the trooper his daughter was in extremis in Naples, the trooper called in a helicopter and flew the father to the hospital.
Anyway --Barry sent me a copy of the address he gave at the funeral, and it was stunningly powerful. I HATE that he's a better writer than I am. Not really. It was an amazing eulogy, filled with despair, but also hope.
And then, I got another call, from a very upset wifey friend. The subject is unimportant, but let's just say that, compared to lost children, it would appear trivial.
Yet to the friend, it was earth shattering. This poor woman was inconsolable.
I went to fetch the Sunday Herald, and saw Dr. Eric, a neighbor who's a practicing psychologist. We chatted, and then I brought up this diversity of grief.
He said that as a person, he always wants to tell his patients "Hey --get a life! You're upset about NOTHING! Have perspective --you have so much to be thankful for!"
But then, as a therapist, he has to remember that for someone living in a little snow globe, even a slight nudge can set off a blizzard.
He spends as much time counseling some patients getting over the death of a pet goldfish as he does patients who lose life long spouses, or children.
Dr. Eric's a great guy. NY Jewish sense of humor, just like mine. He has twin girls fraduating from high school, as well as a 3 year old from his current marriage. I asked him where his girls are going to school. One to UCF, the other has a list of "Most Expensive Colleges," and will choose from there. "She's still angry with me for divorcing her mother, and wants to make me pay."
Anyway --such is human nature. One person's speed bump is another's Mt. Everest.
All I know is --it's an early Sunday afternoon, and a breeze is blowing through the house. Wifey is out at a movie (with one fewer friend), and D2 just left for dance rehearsal. D1 called this am --all happy about a new young man in her life.
I have a sleeping Labrador and Bassett Hound at my feet, and an order of Canton wonton soup a phone call away.
Life is exquisite.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The Very Busy Teenager
Years ago, we gave D1 that nickname, based upon one of her beloved children's books, "The Very Busy Caterpillar." D1 had a ton of school work in high school, and added to that a bunch of clubs and other activities.
Well, D2 continues in the same tradition. It seems every time I observe her in the house, she's at work on some school project or another.
Times have really changed. I did very well in high school, but don't remember ever having that much homework. Occasionally there was some big project, but that was the exception. I discussed it recently with my friend Ken, who moved here last year. Ken was the smartest kid on our school (his wife Joelle, a Stuyvesant High grad, says that being the top scholar at a Levittown school was like being the tallest of the midgets), and he doesn't remember working that hard, either.
Of course, D2 is taking 4 AP classes, which are college level, so that explains it.
In addition, she has dance practice for a charity program, and other clubs and activities. On top of that, she has SAT tutoring, as well as math tutoring. I really admire her.
Last night, I had dinner with Dr. Barry, whose oldest son Scott is in 6th grade. Barry tells me that Scott is really being worked hard, too. Barry is a math whiz, and spent over 1/2 hour working on a geometry problem with his son. What happens to the kid who DOESN'T have a M.D. or engineer for a parent?
Scott, at the age of 12, is already stressed with school. Scott is in the gifted program, and Barry wonders whether this is such a good thing, in the long run.
Meanwhile, D2 DOES make time for friends and fun, but she does so with a maturity that's really astounding. My father in law says she's "like a soldier" in her responsibilities.
So -- rock on, D2! Hopefully a year hence we'll be celebrating her acceptance to her first college choice, and all of this work will have been worth it.
Well, D2 continues in the same tradition. It seems every time I observe her in the house, she's at work on some school project or another.
Times have really changed. I did very well in high school, but don't remember ever having that much homework. Occasionally there was some big project, but that was the exception. I discussed it recently with my friend Ken, who moved here last year. Ken was the smartest kid on our school (his wife Joelle, a Stuyvesant High grad, says that being the top scholar at a Levittown school was like being the tallest of the midgets), and he doesn't remember working that hard, either.
Of course, D2 is taking 4 AP classes, which are college level, so that explains it.
In addition, she has dance practice for a charity program, and other clubs and activities. On top of that, she has SAT tutoring, as well as math tutoring. I really admire her.
Last night, I had dinner with Dr. Barry, whose oldest son Scott is in 6th grade. Barry tells me that Scott is really being worked hard, too. Barry is a math whiz, and spent over 1/2 hour working on a geometry problem with his son. What happens to the kid who DOESN'T have a M.D. or engineer for a parent?
Scott, at the age of 12, is already stressed with school. Scott is in the gifted program, and Barry wonders whether this is such a good thing, in the long run.
Meanwhile, D2 DOES make time for friends and fun, but she does so with a maturity that's really astounding. My father in law says she's "like a soldier" in her responsibilities.
So -- rock on, D2! Hopefully a year hence we'll be celebrating her acceptance to her first college choice, and all of this work will have been worth it.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Thin Line Between Quaint and Annoying
My in laws visited yesterday, and came in with their usual flourish --barking at Wifey, demanding I notarize some documents, smothering D2 with questions about school, etc...
I usually leave the house when they first come over. My father in law, when he arrives, is a man on a mission: he has to feed my pond fish, and then fertilize a cactus plant he keeps on our front porch. Then, he settles down into the couch, and watches the news and naps.
My mother in law always has "urgent documents" to be reviewed --usually ads for auto insurance, AAA membership, or things of that nature. Then there are matters of her burial plot --the purchase of which has taken well over one year --and problems with her Jenny Craig deliveries (I think she's the world's oldest eating disorder patient). Eventually she settles down, and watches a movie with Wifey.
Ah, Wifey and her parents. She's an only child, and a dutiful one. She acts as her parents' case manager, tech support (they can NEVER figure out their cell phones), and even lawyer (she successfully handled her father's smoker's claim in a class action, and got him a check for several thousand dollars).
After they left yesterday, we discussed her parents. We recalled how, when our girls were small, they were ALWAYS there for us. My mother in law considered it a privilege to change her granddaughters' diapers. They took the girls, 2 times a week, to the beach, insisting, in my father in law's words, that they needed "Good AIR!" to grow up healthy.
My in laws insisted Wifey and I go to dinner and a movie at least weekly. They lived (still do) for our girls. There was nothing they wouldn't do for them.
We recalled a day, right after we moved into our house, when Wifey was working part time. My in laws had moved about 40 minutes away. One of our girls was sick, and Wifey was home with her. Her mother called, and Wifey mentioned that (D2, I think it was) was sick, and Wifey was staying home from work.
In what seemed like 20 minutes, my in laws were at the door, hot chicken soup in hand, insisting they stay home and care for their granddaughter. They repeated that sort of thing innumerable times.
So, we concluded, that sort of love and devotion deserves respect and devotion in return.
My in laws are truly amazing grandparents --the best I know.
Still, I may, in all due respect, skip a few of their visits...
I usually leave the house when they first come over. My father in law, when he arrives, is a man on a mission: he has to feed my pond fish, and then fertilize a cactus plant he keeps on our front porch. Then, he settles down into the couch, and watches the news and naps.
My mother in law always has "urgent documents" to be reviewed --usually ads for auto insurance, AAA membership, or things of that nature. Then there are matters of her burial plot --the purchase of which has taken well over one year --and problems with her Jenny Craig deliveries (I think she's the world's oldest eating disorder patient). Eventually she settles down, and watches a movie with Wifey.
Ah, Wifey and her parents. She's an only child, and a dutiful one. She acts as her parents' case manager, tech support (they can NEVER figure out their cell phones), and even lawyer (she successfully handled her father's smoker's claim in a class action, and got him a check for several thousand dollars).
After they left yesterday, we discussed her parents. We recalled how, when our girls were small, they were ALWAYS there for us. My mother in law considered it a privilege to change her granddaughters' diapers. They took the girls, 2 times a week, to the beach, insisting, in my father in law's words, that they needed "Good AIR!" to grow up healthy.
My in laws insisted Wifey and I go to dinner and a movie at least weekly. They lived (still do) for our girls. There was nothing they wouldn't do for them.
We recalled a day, right after we moved into our house, when Wifey was working part time. My in laws had moved about 40 minutes away. One of our girls was sick, and Wifey was home with her. Her mother called, and Wifey mentioned that (D2, I think it was) was sick, and Wifey was staying home from work.
In what seemed like 20 minutes, my in laws were at the door, hot chicken soup in hand, insisting they stay home and care for their granddaughter. They repeated that sort of thing innumerable times.
So, we concluded, that sort of love and devotion deserves respect and devotion in return.
My in laws are truly amazing grandparents --the best I know.
Still, I may, in all due respect, skip a few of their visits...
Sunday, February 15, 2009
What a Marvelous Night for a Star Dance
Wow --what a great night! D1 came in from UF to surprise her sister, and last night we went to the Valentine's Day concert at Deering Estate.
D2 was out on a date, but she was there when Professor Steve, Mary, and Mike and Loni came over. We drank some champagne, and all were in a festive mood. We piled into Mike's new stretch, all options included, Black Ford Expedition, which easily fit the 7 of us and all our gear. "Is gas expensive, and are folks downsizing?" we asked. The huge SUV roared away in a manner that said "No freakin' way!"
The event was sold out, and probably 3000 people were on the great lawn. It was gorgeous out. We spread our blankets, and drank more champagne, along with the bottle of cabernet Steve and MAry brought. We ate Joanna's gourmet sandwiches, and raspberry tarts, and chocolate dipped strawberries. We laughed and enjoyed the company under the blanket of stars.
Brian and Michelle joined us. As I saw them approaching, pushing a stroller, I figured they had decided to bring their 10 month old along. Nope. Brian used the stroller to push his wine and food supply, realizing that people gave way when they thought he had a baby in tow.
The opening act was a girl named Petit, a country singer. Loni told us she was a junior at Palmetto High, and we were way impressed. The 17 year old had a terrific voice, and D1 knew some of the Dixie Chicks and Lonestar songs she played. Steve, a North Carolina native, remarked that at least my 3rd generation Yankee daughter got SOMETHING worthwhile out of her time in Gainesville.
The headliner was Nicole Henry, with a powerful, velvet voice. She sang great jazz, and a great old Blues song about preferiing to drink muddy water than put up with her man's fooling around.
The show ended about 11, and we headed for Mike's urban assault vehicle for the short drive home. If there was a better way to celebrate Valentine's Day, I don't know what it was.
Well, D1 left for Gainesville, with her friend Chelsea, a Laura Dern (at 20) lookalike, who came to Miami for a friend's mother's funeral.
Wifey's parents blew in an hour ago, with their usual subtlety (equal to a Category 4 hurricane) and I already notarized some documents for them while they barked simultaneously at Wifey.
I guess the cacaphony of loud, Yiddish accented English makes the smooth jazz sounds of last night that much sweeter.
D2 was out on a date, but she was there when Professor Steve, Mary, and Mike and Loni came over. We drank some champagne, and all were in a festive mood. We piled into Mike's new stretch, all options included, Black Ford Expedition, which easily fit the 7 of us and all our gear. "Is gas expensive, and are folks downsizing?" we asked. The huge SUV roared away in a manner that said "No freakin' way!"
The event was sold out, and probably 3000 people were on the great lawn. It was gorgeous out. We spread our blankets, and drank more champagne, along with the bottle of cabernet Steve and MAry brought. We ate Joanna's gourmet sandwiches, and raspberry tarts, and chocolate dipped strawberries. We laughed and enjoyed the company under the blanket of stars.
Brian and Michelle joined us. As I saw them approaching, pushing a stroller, I figured they had decided to bring their 10 month old along. Nope. Brian used the stroller to push his wine and food supply, realizing that people gave way when they thought he had a baby in tow.
The opening act was a girl named Petit, a country singer. Loni told us she was a junior at Palmetto High, and we were way impressed. The 17 year old had a terrific voice, and D1 knew some of the Dixie Chicks and Lonestar songs she played. Steve, a North Carolina native, remarked that at least my 3rd generation Yankee daughter got SOMETHING worthwhile out of her time in Gainesville.
The headliner was Nicole Henry, with a powerful, velvet voice. She sang great jazz, and a great old Blues song about preferiing to drink muddy water than put up with her man's fooling around.
The show ended about 11, and we headed for Mike's urban assault vehicle for the short drive home. If there was a better way to celebrate Valentine's Day, I don't know what it was.
Well, D1 left for Gainesville, with her friend Chelsea, a Laura Dern (at 20) lookalike, who came to Miami for a friend's mother's funeral.
Wifey's parents blew in an hour ago, with their usual subtlety (equal to a Category 4 hurricane) and I already notarized some documents for them while they barked simultaneously at Wifey.
I guess the cacaphony of loud, Yiddish accented English makes the smooth jazz sounds of last night that much sweeter.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Crying
I've rarely cried as an adult. I don't think it's a sign of weakness in a man, or anything, it's just not a way I've ever expressed my emotions.
My law partner Paul is the opposite. He's bombastic, and aggressive, and cries easily. Once, when we learned some awful news about a client we both had grown close to, he grew dewey eyed, and I sat impassive. "Boy," he said, "you are really one cold son of a bitch."
Well, as I slouch towards 50, things are changing. Maybe my male hormones are decreasing, or maybe I'm gaining more wisdom and feeling. Whatever it is, I need to stock up on the Kleenex.
Over last Winter break, as Wifey and I were confronting marital issues, I let loose several times. The peak was coming down to D1's room one morning, where she, Wifey, and D2 were all lying together, laughing. It was the most beautiful scene I had ever witnessed, and the tears flowed like a river.
Last night, D1 made it home safely from UF, and she and Wifey were downstairs, laughing and talking. D2 was with them, and then went out. I went to bed, and turned on the TV. One of my favorite movies was on Turner Classics: "Fiddler on the Roof."
I've always loved that musical and Sholem Aleichem's character Tevye because I imagine my grandparents and great parents living exactly as Tevye did, in Tsarist Russia. But now, as the father of adult (nearly) daughters, his character and dealing with his daughters takes on a new resonance.
"Sunrise, Sunset," played at the wedding scene, didn't get me this time. That's one of my family's dearest songs --it ALWAYS makes my sisters and mother bawl, with its melancholy sweetness, of watching our children grow to adults.
No --this time, it was Tevye taking his daughter to the train station our in the middle of nowhere, so she could meet her fiance in Kiev. She sings "Far from the Home I Love," and of course the film shows scenes of her as little girl, running through fields of flowers, into her loving father's arms, contrasted with her as a grown up, now making the heart wrenching choice of leaving her family to join the man she will marry.
At the end of the scene, Tevye helps her onto the train, and you can just feel his grief. She turns back to him one last time, and says "Papa --God knows when we shall see each other again." He replies, choked up,"Then we will leave it in God's hands."
The train pulls away, over the frozen Russian plains, and he runs after it, as his daughter looks back on him and her homeland, seeing them for probably the last time.
I bawled like a baby. I don't remember EVER crying like that before. I mean, the scene in "Mask" where Eric Stoltz dies got a few whimpers out of me, but nothing like this.
I don't know. Today is Valentine's Day. Maybe all of this emotional crap is just in the air, and I've caught it like a respiratory infection.
This morning, I made D1 French toast, and Wifey came down to the table. As I was recounting the movie's scene, I got teary eyed again. D1 hugged me and said in her sweet voice: "Daddy --but I'm never moving far away from you."
I hope that remains true.
My law partner Paul is the opposite. He's bombastic, and aggressive, and cries easily. Once, when we learned some awful news about a client we both had grown close to, he grew dewey eyed, and I sat impassive. "Boy," he said, "you are really one cold son of a bitch."
Well, as I slouch towards 50, things are changing. Maybe my male hormones are decreasing, or maybe I'm gaining more wisdom and feeling. Whatever it is, I need to stock up on the Kleenex.
Over last Winter break, as Wifey and I were confronting marital issues, I let loose several times. The peak was coming down to D1's room one morning, where she, Wifey, and D2 were all lying together, laughing. It was the most beautiful scene I had ever witnessed, and the tears flowed like a river.
Last night, D1 made it home safely from UF, and she and Wifey were downstairs, laughing and talking. D2 was with them, and then went out. I went to bed, and turned on the TV. One of my favorite movies was on Turner Classics: "Fiddler on the Roof."
I've always loved that musical and Sholem Aleichem's character Tevye because I imagine my grandparents and great parents living exactly as Tevye did, in Tsarist Russia. But now, as the father of adult (nearly) daughters, his character and dealing with his daughters takes on a new resonance.
"Sunrise, Sunset," played at the wedding scene, didn't get me this time. That's one of my family's dearest songs --it ALWAYS makes my sisters and mother bawl, with its melancholy sweetness, of watching our children grow to adults.
No --this time, it was Tevye taking his daughter to the train station our in the middle of nowhere, so she could meet her fiance in Kiev. She sings "Far from the Home I Love," and of course the film shows scenes of her as little girl, running through fields of flowers, into her loving father's arms, contrasted with her as a grown up, now making the heart wrenching choice of leaving her family to join the man she will marry.
At the end of the scene, Tevye helps her onto the train, and you can just feel his grief. She turns back to him one last time, and says "Papa --God knows when we shall see each other again." He replies, choked up,"Then we will leave it in God's hands."
The train pulls away, over the frozen Russian plains, and he runs after it, as his daughter looks back on him and her homeland, seeing them for probably the last time.
I bawled like a baby. I don't remember EVER crying like that before. I mean, the scene in "Mask" where Eric Stoltz dies got a few whimpers out of me, but nothing like this.
I don't know. Today is Valentine's Day. Maybe all of this emotional crap is just in the air, and I've caught it like a respiratory infection.
This morning, I made D1 French toast, and Wifey came down to the table. As I was recounting the movie's scene, I got teary eyed again. D1 hugged me and said in her sweet voice: "Daddy --but I'm never moving far away from you."
I hope that remains true.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Venerable (Continued)
So in keeping with the pledge I made to myself to see my mother more often, I drove up to see her yesterday, accompanied by Wifey. We took her to a bank, where her questions to the befuddled teller about Mom's own ledger system led the teller to whisper to me "It's good you've taken over her finances." After that, we went to lunch at "Ben's Bagels and Beyond." Wifey ordered the "Beyond," and it came well cooked and delicious.
We were thrilled to see how Mom was doing. She was walking better, though still with a cane, and her mood was excellent. The depression that was creeping in several months ago has lifted (Thanks Zoloft!), and it was actually a fun visit.
Wifey interviewed her about her early years and her family, and I actually learned things I never knew. Wifey asked if Mom's father was a lot like her deceased brother Marty, and Mom said "Oh no, Marty was much smarter." I told Mom that using her brother being smart was like being declared the tallest of midgets, and we all shared a big laugh.
She's really blessed, that lady. She still treats each day as a gift. She lives on an income well below the poverty level, and yet feels rich. I pointed out to her that her condo, purchased in 1979 for $39K and now worth maybe $70K has actually LOST value, when adjusted for inflation. Mom thinks that's crazy --her condo has been her home and haven for 3 decades, and to her, it's the best investment my father ever made.
Afterwards, Wifey and I drove up to a housing development off of US 441 and Boynton Beach Blvd --a huge place carved out of the Everglades, it seemed. Wifey's FSU friend Faye was visiting from Pensacola, to bury her mother, who died at 95. Faye's sister lives in Palm Beach County.
I knew about Faye, but never met her. She and her husband Chip are delightful folks. Chip's a Pensacola native who took over his father's glass business after realizing his Masters in Counseling from FSU wasn't the career path he wanted. Faye's a New Yorker who moved to Florida like I did, right after graduating high school in Queens, to be close to her Holocaust Survivor parents. She ended up at FSU where she found the other Survivor child, Wifey.
Faye and Chip have 2 girls very much like D1 and D2, and they were in for the funeral. The older one is a lawyer in Memphis, and the younger in grad school at UCF. They were putting together old photos of their grandmother, who they truly missed. You could tell that Faye's mother had a great post War life, and was greatly loved by her family.
We left, and Wifey was asleep when we got on the Turnpike, so the whole way home I reflected on the very old. I guess as long as they have their family's love, the physical ravages of aging are tolerable.
Rock on, Grandma Sunny!
We were thrilled to see how Mom was doing. She was walking better, though still with a cane, and her mood was excellent. The depression that was creeping in several months ago has lifted (Thanks Zoloft!), and it was actually a fun visit.
Wifey interviewed her about her early years and her family, and I actually learned things I never knew. Wifey asked if Mom's father was a lot like her deceased brother Marty, and Mom said "Oh no, Marty was much smarter." I told Mom that using her brother being smart was like being declared the tallest of midgets, and we all shared a big laugh.
She's really blessed, that lady. She still treats each day as a gift. She lives on an income well below the poverty level, and yet feels rich. I pointed out to her that her condo, purchased in 1979 for $39K and now worth maybe $70K has actually LOST value, when adjusted for inflation. Mom thinks that's crazy --her condo has been her home and haven for 3 decades, and to her, it's the best investment my father ever made.
Afterwards, Wifey and I drove up to a housing development off of US 441 and Boynton Beach Blvd --a huge place carved out of the Everglades, it seemed. Wifey's FSU friend Faye was visiting from Pensacola, to bury her mother, who died at 95. Faye's sister lives in Palm Beach County.
I knew about Faye, but never met her. She and her husband Chip are delightful folks. Chip's a Pensacola native who took over his father's glass business after realizing his Masters in Counseling from FSU wasn't the career path he wanted. Faye's a New Yorker who moved to Florida like I did, right after graduating high school in Queens, to be close to her Holocaust Survivor parents. She ended up at FSU where she found the other Survivor child, Wifey.
Faye and Chip have 2 girls very much like D1 and D2, and they were in for the funeral. The older one is a lawyer in Memphis, and the younger in grad school at UCF. They were putting together old photos of their grandmother, who they truly missed. You could tell that Faye's mother had a great post War life, and was greatly loved by her family.
We left, and Wifey was asleep when we got on the Turnpike, so the whole way home I reflected on the very old. I guess as long as they have their family's love, the physical ravages of aging are tolerable.
Rock on, Grandma Sunny!
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
8 Great Years
A long time ago, Wifey nicknamed D1 "Rainman," for her scary ability to remember dates. One of us will mention a restaurant, and D1 will proclaim "Yes --we ate there on March 3, 1996."
Well, D1 texted me this morning, and told me that today was the 8th anniversary of moving to our house. I remember it was near Valentine's Day, since shortly after moving in, I brought in food from DiNapoli, our favorite local Italian place, and set up a Valentine's dinner fo all of us outside on the front patio. But leave it to D1 to remember the precise date!
8 years ago. D1 was 12, and in 7th grade. D2 was 9, and a little third grader. We moved in with Midnight, the Marley-like Black Lab, and Alfred, the aging cocker spaniel, as well as the still puppy-like Honey. Wifey was working part time in the flower business. I was a lawyer wanting to do something else.
Now, D1 is finishing her junior year of college, and D2 her junior year of high school. Midnight and Alfred are cavorting at that big dog park in the sky, and Honey has settled into a comfortable old age, still easily walking 1 mile with us daily. We've added a comical Bassett Hound, Molly. Wifey no longer works. I'm a lawyer wanting to do something else.
We've had some tears and fears in Villa Wifey, and some angry words. But always, there has been tremendous love.
We've hosted some fine parties, like the Arts and Sciences farewell to UM President Tad Foote, where I told that impressive gentleman that he visited my dorm when he came to UM in 1981 and now visited my house on his retirement. Wifey hosted a great 40th birthday party for me. We've had many parties for D1 and D2, including a terrific surprise D2 sweet 16 her sister coordinated from Gainesville.
We've had some great New Year's Eves, and Jewish holidays, and thrilling Canes games, and the tragedy of the Fiesta Bowl where the Canes were robbed of a championship by a corrupt ref who, I later found out, WENT to Ohio State, not that I'm still bitter about this 6 years later...
We're amazingly blessed to live where we do. Just last night, Wifey and I pulled some chairs onto the front patio, and drank tea while gazing at gorgeous full moon, framed beautifully through our giant ficus and palm trees.
D2 came home from a dance practice, and actually smiled a little bit through her teenaged surliness. I called D1 in Gainesville and made her look at the moon, too.
I look forward to all being together at Villa Wifey, making some more memories. Dean Martin sang it best: "Memories are made of this."
Well, D1 texted me this morning, and told me that today was the 8th anniversary of moving to our house. I remember it was near Valentine's Day, since shortly after moving in, I brought in food from DiNapoli, our favorite local Italian place, and set up a Valentine's dinner fo all of us outside on the front patio. But leave it to D1 to remember the precise date!
8 years ago. D1 was 12, and in 7th grade. D2 was 9, and a little third grader. We moved in with Midnight, the Marley-like Black Lab, and Alfred, the aging cocker spaniel, as well as the still puppy-like Honey. Wifey was working part time in the flower business. I was a lawyer wanting to do something else.
Now, D1 is finishing her junior year of college, and D2 her junior year of high school. Midnight and Alfred are cavorting at that big dog park in the sky, and Honey has settled into a comfortable old age, still easily walking 1 mile with us daily. We've added a comical Bassett Hound, Molly. Wifey no longer works. I'm a lawyer wanting to do something else.
We've had some tears and fears in Villa Wifey, and some angry words. But always, there has been tremendous love.
We've hosted some fine parties, like the Arts and Sciences farewell to UM President Tad Foote, where I told that impressive gentleman that he visited my dorm when he came to UM in 1981 and now visited my house on his retirement. Wifey hosted a great 40th birthday party for me. We've had many parties for D1 and D2, including a terrific surprise D2 sweet 16 her sister coordinated from Gainesville.
We've had some great New Year's Eves, and Jewish holidays, and thrilling Canes games, and the tragedy of the Fiesta Bowl where the Canes were robbed of a championship by a corrupt ref who, I later found out, WENT to Ohio State, not that I'm still bitter about this 6 years later...
We're amazingly blessed to live where we do. Just last night, Wifey and I pulled some chairs onto the front patio, and drank tea while gazing at gorgeous full moon, framed beautifully through our giant ficus and palm trees.
D2 came home from a dance practice, and actually smiled a little bit through her teenaged surliness. I called D1 in Gainesville and made her look at the moon, too.
I look forward to all being together at Villa Wifey, making some more memories. Dean Martin sang it best: "Memories are made of this."
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Go Lady Bulls!
My law partner and I are fortunate to be able to do charitable stuff in the community, and last year I met Patrice, a friend of my friend Steve the Cop who is involved with the Miami Northwestern Girls Basketball team. After we gave a small donation, Patrice brought 2 of the players and the 2 coaches to my office, and, now somehow, my partner and I are honorary Bulls.
Northwestern High is in Liberty City. It almost always wins team championships, and the students and faculty are proud of their team. My beloved Hurricanes have no fewer than 10 Northwestern grads on the team, and these young men will be the foundation of our building dynasty!
Anyway, Friday the Lady Bulls (apparently I'm the only one who realizes that a lady Bull is a cow, but no one mentions that) were in a playoff game against Miami High. Paul, our friend Lou from Philly, and I went to the game.
We had a blast! The girls are terrific players. In warmups, it appeared that the Miami High girls had no chance. Their team is mostly shorter Latinas, and the Northwestern girls seemed taller and more athletic. Alas, the Stings (Miami High is the Stingarees) were a mostly senior team, and it showed. They won, although the game was close. The Stings have one player who I learned was born in Cuba, but was tall and blonde. I'm guessing there was some Russian ancestry there. The girl was draining threes like nobody's business, and was a great ball handler, too. I'm guessing a school like Georgetown will salivate for her.
Some of the NW girls' parents were hilarious fans. One dad was on the refs the whole game about failing to call fouls on the aggressive Stings. "Ref --I've seen people ARRESTED for less!" That dad had us in stitches.
After the game, Coach George came and chatted with us. He's 50 and could pass for Denzel Washington's brother. He was a star player at Miami Killian, and then played for Rutgers. He's a terrific guy, and knows he now has a couple of empty nester (in my case nearly so) lawyers with a new, fun interest.
My partner is much more into and knowledgeable about basketball than I am. I'm a baseball and football guy. Still, I think we're going to end up spending some more time with this Northwestern team. Go Lady Bulls!
Northwestern High is in Liberty City. It almost always wins team championships, and the students and faculty are proud of their team. My beloved Hurricanes have no fewer than 10 Northwestern grads on the team, and these young men will be the foundation of our building dynasty!
Anyway, Friday the Lady Bulls (apparently I'm the only one who realizes that a lady Bull is a cow, but no one mentions that) were in a playoff game against Miami High. Paul, our friend Lou from Philly, and I went to the game.
We had a blast! The girls are terrific players. In warmups, it appeared that the Miami High girls had no chance. Their team is mostly shorter Latinas, and the Northwestern girls seemed taller and more athletic. Alas, the Stings (Miami High is the Stingarees) were a mostly senior team, and it showed. They won, although the game was close. The Stings have one player who I learned was born in Cuba, but was tall and blonde. I'm guessing there was some Russian ancestry there. The girl was draining threes like nobody's business, and was a great ball handler, too. I'm guessing a school like Georgetown will salivate for her.
Some of the NW girls' parents were hilarious fans. One dad was on the refs the whole game about failing to call fouls on the aggressive Stings. "Ref --I've seen people ARRESTED for less!" That dad had us in stitches.
After the game, Coach George came and chatted with us. He's 50 and could pass for Denzel Washington's brother. He was a star player at Miami Killian, and then played for Rutgers. He's a terrific guy, and knows he now has a couple of empty nester (in my case nearly so) lawyers with a new, fun interest.
My partner is much more into and knowledgeable about basketball than I am. I'm a baseball and football guy. Still, I think we're going to end up spending some more time with this Northwestern team. Go Lady Bulls!
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Venerable
Last weekend I had a delightful phone conversation with my Aunt Ann --95 and well and living in Jackson Heights, NY. My sister Sue keeps in touch with her, and gave her my number. We chatted and caught up --I don't think we had spoken in over 8 years. It was great to hear how well she was.
She still keeps her house and cooks for my cousin Steve, who is 57. Steve is like a character out of a John Cheever story --a gentleman bachelor who never married --and keeps busy when he's not working as a n accountant with hobbies.
Ann's voice came through loud and clear. She's like my father -- a self educated person, who keeps advised of issues local and national. Her husband Jordan died in 1969, and she never remarried, but worked for many years and then volunteered teaching English to Russian immigrants.
In one of my life's regrets, I've never been very close to my extended family. Ann visited my mother in Florida a few times after my father died, but the visits withered away. I asked Ann about my other first cousins --Gary, Russell, and my step cousin Adam, and heard about their lives, too. I haven't spoken to them or my uncle Harry's widow Elaine in over 20 years.
My sister Trudy and I talked about this yesterday. In some families, there are dramatic fights, or slights. We've never had these --it just seems we never get around to keeping in touch with the cousins. As Trudy recalled, she called Elaine about 18 years ago, and invited her for a visit. Elaine said she'd call after an Australian trip, and simply never did. That was that.
Whenever I see my cousins on my mother's side, we have a great time. We laugh, and reminisce. And then --time passes, and we never keep in touch. I guess it's emblematic of the modern life of 3rd and 4th generation Americans.
As I listened to Ann's voice, I heard the accent and inflections my father had. I imagined them, in the days before WW II, in their Bronx apartment, sitting around, and reading, and listening to the radio --sort of like my daughters do. Did they discuss the election of FDR in excited terms like my girls discuss Obama --D1's first presidential vote?
I may visit New York in March, to straighten out some issues of a case I handled a few years back --where a Russian boy was hurt on vacation in Miami, and the local NY lawyer is handling his guardianship. If I do, I'll call Ann and Steve, and take them to lunch.
I told Ann this, and she chuckled "If I'm around then!" By the sound of her voice -- she's not going anywhere, and I look forward to catching up some of the lost years.
She still keeps her house and cooks for my cousin Steve, who is 57. Steve is like a character out of a John Cheever story --a gentleman bachelor who never married --and keeps busy when he's not working as a n accountant with hobbies.
Ann's voice came through loud and clear. She's like my father -- a self educated person, who keeps advised of issues local and national. Her husband Jordan died in 1969, and she never remarried, but worked for many years and then volunteered teaching English to Russian immigrants.
In one of my life's regrets, I've never been very close to my extended family. Ann visited my mother in Florida a few times after my father died, but the visits withered away. I asked Ann about my other first cousins --Gary, Russell, and my step cousin Adam, and heard about their lives, too. I haven't spoken to them or my uncle Harry's widow Elaine in over 20 years.
My sister Trudy and I talked about this yesterday. In some families, there are dramatic fights, or slights. We've never had these --it just seems we never get around to keeping in touch with the cousins. As Trudy recalled, she called Elaine about 18 years ago, and invited her for a visit. Elaine said she'd call after an Australian trip, and simply never did. That was that.
Whenever I see my cousins on my mother's side, we have a great time. We laugh, and reminisce. And then --time passes, and we never keep in touch. I guess it's emblematic of the modern life of 3rd and 4th generation Americans.
As I listened to Ann's voice, I heard the accent and inflections my father had. I imagined them, in the days before WW II, in their Bronx apartment, sitting around, and reading, and listening to the radio --sort of like my daughters do. Did they discuss the election of FDR in excited terms like my girls discuss Obama --D1's first presidential vote?
I may visit New York in March, to straighten out some issues of a case I handled a few years back --where a Russian boy was hurt on vacation in Miami, and the local NY lawyer is handling his guardianship. If I do, I'll call Ann and Steve, and take them to lunch.
I told Ann this, and she chuckled "If I'm around then!" By the sound of her voice -- she's not going anywhere, and I look forward to catching up some of the lost years.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Exquisiteness in the Quotidian
Today's title is a phrase I came up with just moments ago, as I described a homeowner's association meeting last night to my friend Barry, a fellow student of the greatest subject of all: human nature.
In college, Barry and I would spend hours analyzing and dissecting why people did what they did. One of our favorite subjects was Jeff G, now an estranged friend practicing Gastroenterology in Mt. Dora, Florida. Jeff had a unique take on humanity coupled with a schlemiel's luck with people that provided us with unending material.
Anyway --back to last night's meeting. Wifey and I are on our Homeowner's Executive Board --she's Crime Watch Chair, and I'm the Welcome Guy. My job is the best --I greet new neighbors with a bottle of wine and info about their new 'hood, and it lets me get a sense of whether we're having a new academic,say, move in, or Al Qada operative, or both.
The Board has two, um, older members. One is a delight: a realtor still active near 90, with a sharp mind and wit. She's widowed, with a bunch of kids who visit her, and who she visits. She routinely gets speeding tickets on the Florida Turnpike, and talks her way out of them with her sweet Texas charm and accent.
The other long time person is a dead ringer for the Gladys Kravitz character on "Bewitched." She seems to have something negative to say about EVERYONE. One of the Board suggested a fellow neighbor for an empty seat. "Oh no!,"Gladys said, "When they moved in, the mother let her daughter STEAL mangos from my lawn!"
Wifey counted 5 examples of negativity from Gladys. She's the embodiment of the great joke about the waiter in Hallandale serving a group of sour looking women: "Ladies --is ANYthing ok?"
I'm not immune from her scorn. She's been after me to have my gardener remove branches that "litter" the swale beyond my back yard stone wall. As much as I'm working on diminishing the passive aggressivity I inherited from my dear mother --I can guarantee that those branches will continue to litter the swale for as long as I live here.
So, as I commented to Barry --there is delight in the every day, if only one takes the attitude of an anthropologist instead of an annoyed participant.
Complain on, Gladys!
In college, Barry and I would spend hours analyzing and dissecting why people did what they did. One of our favorite subjects was Jeff G, now an estranged friend practicing Gastroenterology in Mt. Dora, Florida. Jeff had a unique take on humanity coupled with a schlemiel's luck with people that provided us with unending material.
Anyway --back to last night's meeting. Wifey and I are on our Homeowner's Executive Board --she's Crime Watch Chair, and I'm the Welcome Guy. My job is the best --I greet new neighbors with a bottle of wine and info about their new 'hood, and it lets me get a sense of whether we're having a new academic,say, move in, or Al Qada operative, or both.
The Board has two, um, older members. One is a delight: a realtor still active near 90, with a sharp mind and wit. She's widowed, with a bunch of kids who visit her, and who she visits. She routinely gets speeding tickets on the Florida Turnpike, and talks her way out of them with her sweet Texas charm and accent.
The other long time person is a dead ringer for the Gladys Kravitz character on "Bewitched." She seems to have something negative to say about EVERYONE. One of the Board suggested a fellow neighbor for an empty seat. "Oh no!,"Gladys said, "When they moved in, the mother let her daughter STEAL mangos from my lawn!"
Wifey counted 5 examples of negativity from Gladys. She's the embodiment of the great joke about the waiter in Hallandale serving a group of sour looking women: "Ladies --is ANYthing ok?"
I'm not immune from her scorn. She's been after me to have my gardener remove branches that "litter" the swale beyond my back yard stone wall. As much as I'm working on diminishing the passive aggressivity I inherited from my dear mother --I can guarantee that those branches will continue to litter the swale for as long as I live here.
So, as I commented to Barry --there is delight in the every day, if only one takes the attitude of an anthropologist instead of an annoyed participant.
Complain on, Gladys!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)