Sad News in the Paper

Cheryl Epstein died, according to today's Herald, and though I only met her once, briefly and casually, I was saddened by her death.

Cheryl was the mother in one of the most star crossed families I've ever known.

In 1998, her son Alan, a Palmetto High Honors grad, was killed along with another student while on their way home for Thanksgiving from UF. Apparently, Alan fell asleep at the wheel. The passenger was a young lady who was North Miami Beach friends with my law partner's daughter.

To this day, each trip up the Turnpike by D1 or D2 brings that tragic event back home to me, and I only relax when either my front door opens by a tired and smiling D1 or D2, or I get that happy cell call that says "I'm home, Dad!"

Alan's father was Murray, a very likeable and succesful lawyer. My partner and I did some business with him, although my partner knew him better --they were contemporaries. Of course, after his son's death, Murray was never the same. I learned later from a mutual friends that he used to wake up in the morning and curse the dawn, for the never ending pain of his son's death.

Six years later, Murray died, of leukemia. He told no one about his illness, and his death came as a shock. The mutual friend, who was close to Murray, said Murray related he told no one about his terminal illness because he couldn't stand the looks of pity he got from everyone after Alan's death, and swore to never "get those looks" again.

Well, first the son died, then the father, and now the mother. The paper said she died of breast cancer, but I'm sure she died of the same thing as her husband --a broken heart.

And then I contrast this story with examples of artificial human drama --people blessed with good health and life who commit the ultimate act of ingratitude --failing to appreciate their precious gift.

Cheryl is survived by two other children, a son and daughter. May this string of terrible fortune end for these two.

As for me , well, it just reinforced my philosophy of going through life happy and appreciative. Bad things happen, to good people and bad, I guess.

While the party is still going on, it seems a total waste not to have a few drinks and laughs.

She's SO Old...

LAst week I visited my mother up in Delray Beach. I picked her up and met my sister for lunch. We went to a cheese steak sandwich shop on Atlantic Avenue, on a gorgeous sunny day.

Afterwards we had ice cream, and then I suggested we drive over to the beach, to sit and look at the ocean. Of course, in my family that's a code way of saying, let's visit Dad, since his ashes were scattered of of Pompano Beach in 1982.

Mom said no, she was tired, and wanted to go home.

She's so, so old. Her cognition is fine, and she's still largely independent, but she appears as if a stiff breeze would (it really could) blow her down.

Her 89th birthday is a tad over 2 weeks away, and she'd be the first to tell you what a blessedly long life she's had. I just hope she doesn't decline more. She wouldn't want to live that way.

Still --she has her sense of humor intact. My sister mentioned a relative's wife, and remarked that Mom didn't care for her. "I hate her guts!" Mom corrected.

At her age, she gets to say whatever she wants.

Meanwhile, D2 is up in Gainesville with the new puppy, visiting D1. Wifey and I are empty nesters this weekend.

We may head over to Deering Estate for their seafood festival, and maybe a Canes baseball game tonight. I haven't been to the new "A Rod Park" yet, which is already nicknamed A Roid Park, after his revelation about steroid use.

Then again, the day may just melt into a few walks around the neighborhood, and an epic nap. My 89 year old mother will probably have more action today!

Next Generation

D2 had 2 friends over tonight: a high school senior she's been going out with, and his good friend. Both are headed for UF after graduation.

They're extremely well mannered and bright young men. They play in a band together. They're articulate. I made a comment about D!, who the young man didn't know, and I explained she was D2's sister. "Yes, sir," he said, "I inferred that."

Inferred! I don't know the last time I heard a high schooler get that right! I was impressed. I don't need to imply that.

We hear so much about what's wrong with the next generation, but based on my girls' friends, I just don't see it. These kids all work much harder at school than I did, and they seem to want the right things out of college: to learn, someday get a good job, and have fun.

Few of them seemed destined for medical or law school, as my college friends almost all were. I guess it's a generational thing. Most of us, late baby boomers, were the chidren of parents who never went to college, or, if they did, weren't "professionals." I guess that's a function of my peer group, too.

We third generation kids were EXPECTED to get advanced degrees. It was a cliche, but there was truth to wanting to let our parents be able to say "my son the doctor," or, if the grades weren't high enough, "my son the lawyer."

Among my friends who went that route, few of us feel compelled to see our kids head to medical or law school. In my family, preventing my girls from following in my footsteps is a running joke. (D2 is already making noises about ending up in law school. I have 5 years left to dissuade her).

So, college is shaping up for these kids to be a better rounded experience than it was for the "grinding out" pre meds.

All I know is, I look forward to seeing how these great kids turn out. I infer that these kids will be, to paraphrase The Who, allright.

Great Break

D1 is now safely back at UF, after the best Spring Break ever. She arrived last Friday, and relaxed over the first weekend, and then on Tuesday we were joined by an, um gentleman caller.

This was a first: having a college boyfriend come for an overnight visit. I'm thrilled to report that her young man, Thomas, was a wonderful guest. All three of us --Wifey, D2, and I, approve.

D1 squired him around town, including a stop at my office where young Thomas was grilled by my partner. He survived. We took him to the new condo failure in town, Icon, and marvelled at it. We had a great dinner in Coral Gables. It was a very nice visit.

On Friday, D1 and I picked up Madeleine, D1's first puppy. She's a Cavalier Spaniel, and has already made a much bigger splash around here than I would have thought a 2.5 lb puppy could make. Wifey is thrilled with her first "Granddog," but I refuse to be known as Zaide, the Yiddish term for grandpa. I'll wait for human grandkids for that.

Last night we watched D2 dance, and enjoyed it thoroughly. D1 left home today teary eyed --both at leaving her human family and new puppy. Madeleine's going to bunk here until August, when D1 takes her back to UF for her senior year.

I think my favorite part of the week was seeing D1's fellow Spring break friends, all of whom came to see the new puppy. Nicole came by, home from Wash U in St. Louis, Hillary from UF, and Kerri the Maryland Terrapin.

I've known these girls since they were 11 or so, and to see them as beautiful and talented young women is an amazing thing.

I'm due to travel to UF to watch D1 dance. After years away from dancing, she joined a local dance group last year, and has been enjoying it. This semester she's choreographing a dance set to Springsteen's "Thunder Road." She picked that song in my honor. Does my cup runneth over, or what?

It's a Marvelous Night for a Moon Dance

D2 danced tonight, and brought us great joy.

Three years ago, she joined a wonderful group called Kids 2 Kids. It's a collection of local high schoolers who rehearse and then put on a dance show, with the proceeds going to VAAC Camp. VAAC camp is a one week program for kids who are ventilator dependent. After tonight's show, the amound given to VAAC camp exceeded $70, 000.

Anyway, D2 puts many hours into K2K. The kids all seem to have a great time performing.

D2 had a lead, and glided across the stage like a pro. She beamed, and we beamed (including her biggest fan, D1, who is still home for Spring Break)

I've told my girls this for years, but it's as true today as ever: if there is something more beatiful to a parent than watching his child perform --I have no idea what it is.

D2 is in the middle of an extremely stressful year. She is taking 4 AP classes, which are college level, and was preparing for the SAT, which was given this morning. It seems that she's ALWAYS studying, and rushing from one thing to another.

D1 remembers this period of her life as the worst, too. She told me tonight that it will get better once D2 gets accepted to college. She's right, I'm sure.

But, in the mean time, D2 followed the advice of the sappy but beautiful song my ladies all love: "I hope you dance."

She did, and we loved it.

Beautiful Afternoon Funeral

Monday afternoon I was finishing up some work, looking forward to attending the Miami Heat game with Wifey, D1, and a banker friend named Carole. As it turned out --it was the best game I've ever seen --double overtime win, with Dwayne Wade playing like Michael Jordan.

But back to the pre game. Wifey called, with awful news: her dear friend JEannette's brother Larry was found dead in his room at Fellowship House. He was 49.

Poor Larry was such a gentle and wounded soul. Wifey met him when he was 10, and an adorable and funny little brother to Jeannette. When Larry turned 16, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and was began the challenge of his life.

He was never able to work, but seemed to enjoy is life. He moved into Fellowship House in South Miami probably 20 years ago, and enjoyed the friends he met there. As long as he stayed on his medication, Larry was functional. We'd see him at Jeannette's many family functions, and he was a sweet, charming guy.

When he stopped the meds, he acted manically, and Jeannette and her parents had to deal with those episodes. It was, to say the least, trying for them.

Ah, JEannette's parents --Inez and Dave. They're such warm and genuine people. Wifey is like a second daughter to them. They drive down from Hollywood to see JEannette and her family every week. They live for their kids and grandkids.

Anyway --LArry died of an arrythmia. The Director of Fellowship House found him in his room.

Yesterday, we met at the cemetery just west of Miami Airport. I've been to two funerals there before --both young people: a lawyer who died of a congenital heart defect in his 30s, and the ex wife of my friend Alan, who was in her early 50s.

The graveside ceremony was my first Sephardic Jewish service. The Rabbi spoke, in Spanish, and then the casket was lowered. We all helped shovel some of the soil, which the Ashkenazis do, but then the crew came and put ALL of the soil back into the grave. I guess they truly want closure.

One of the attendees, who I know, whispered to me that this was a blessing, since Larry had brought so much difficulty and sadness to his parents. I looked at Inez and Dave --they didn't look like they felt blessed. They looked like any parents who have to bury a child -- inconsolable.

I looked off into the distance at the landing jet liners --to dry my tears --and I saw that some developer built some townhouses SMACK next to the cemetery. The second floor windows looked directly on to the site. I wondered if some budding first generation Cuban immigrant poet had one of those bedrooms, and would grow up inspired by the souls of the departed Jews he lived right beside. Strange thing.

Wifey drove to Miami Beach for a service at the Sephardic shul. They began the healing reminiscing there.

A van load of Larry's friends attended the funeral, from Fellowship House. They were such sweet folks --they reminded me of the scene from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" where Jack Nicholson takes some of the mental hospital patients for a field trip. They miss their friend and companion dearly.

If, as Tevye wondered, there is some vast eternal plan out there in which parents bury a child --I can't imagine ever understanding it.

Recapitulation

My father had 2 daughters, like I do. He also had a son (me) who came along later on.

Some of my earliest memories are of my sisters' boyfriends hanging around the house. I think I was 6 when my older sister started dating the man she'd marry, and my younger sister started dating her first husband about the same time.

I remember the curious dynamic of having these 2 young men hanging around the house. As a little boy, I was thrilled -- older guys to toss a baseball with!

Well, fast forward 40 some years, and I find myself in the same position. D2 has been seeing a young man, a senior in high school who is headed off to UF after graduation. D1 has a boyfriend who is coming for a 3 night Spring Break visit tomorrow night! I've met D1's fellow on a video chat, and he strikes me as a terrific young man.

Dr. Barry asked me if it was weird having suitors for my girls "sniffing around." Actually --it's curiously nice. If my girls are happy; I'm happy.

Of course, it's easy to be so positive given that these are quality young men. Both of my girls have shown, fortunately, excellent taste in the young men they're attracted to.

I'm sure my disposition would change if they brought home losers. Then I'd have to switch to Tony Soprano mode, and do whatever was necessary to protect them.

Fortunately, this is not the case. Instead, I'm looking to showing D1's young man some fine hospitality. We have dinner plans in Coral Gables on Wednesday.

Dad --I guess everything comes around...

Cousins

My cousin Jeff and his wife Lynn came for a lovely visit. Wifey and I always enjoy their company immensely, but somehow rarely get together. The last time we saw each other was a few years ago when we visited them at their beach front condo.

Well, I called Jeff last week, because his son in law is a newly minted cardiologist, and my friend Eric's group is looking for a young doc. It turns out that his SIL is happy where he is, with a group in Fort Lauderdale, but my call turned into an invitation, and they came for a visit.

Their daughter is a gastroenterologist, who just had her 2nd daughter. She works 12 hour days, with a nanny and Grandma Lynn, who spends each day with her granddaughters. Jeff and Lynn are ecstatic --these 2 little girls are the light of their lives.

We caught up, and reminisced. Wifey's parents were here, and kept pretty quiet. Ds 1 and 2 were home, and enjoyed getting to know their Dad's cousin. It was a great Sunday.

Alas -- we talked about family relations, and there was sadness. Jeff told me he last spoke to his sister Gloria in 1985. Nearly 25 years have passed with no contact! Their mother Lorraine (my Mom's sister) died in 1993, and Gloria didn't travel down for the funeral.

Fortunately, Jeff and LYnn talk to Gloria's son Isaac, who graduated Cornell and is living in Naples, Florida.

Jeff's brother, Michael, my other favorite cousin, has become religious, and those two families rarely speak, either.

Jeff asked me about my nephew, who is close in age to his daughter, and I had to tell him that he's shut us out of his life, too. I last spoke to him 1/3 of a year ago, and he last spoke to his parents last Summer.

"Wow," Jeff remarked,"he lives in South Florida, right?"

We agreed that the causes of this extended family disfunction are manifold, but their effects are still sad. Once the years pass, they're never recoverable.

Jeff is an optimist, though, like I am. We both savor the good. He was thrilled to hear that his aunt, my Mom, was still doing pretty well. Jeff's Dad, my uncle Abe, is 87, and still visits Jeff's maching shop daily. Last week, as they were moving a washing machine, Abe stepped in and grabbed the moving truck!

So, we agreed to stay in closer touch. Wifey remarked how much she enjoys their company. We have tentative plans for a Lincoln Road meeting this Summer.

Ah, family...

On Being A Man

Yesterday morning I was killing some time before dropping D2 off at school, as her accomplice in 2 periods worth of hookey, to avoid a math test, when I decided to go feed my pond fish.

The dogs raced to the pond and started barking and whining, especially the Bassett, who is quite the hound. I soon saw what excited them --a large, dead animal, lying partially in the water, by the far bank.

I'd had dead animals there before, usually raccoons, but this thing was different. It was brown, about 2 feet long, and fat. I called D2 out to see it. Her take: "Yuck! Gross!"

I went inside and did some research. For some reason, my distant past Biology studies evoked the term "water rat" in my reptilian (rodent?) brain. Sure enough, with no more than 3 clicks, I had identified the dead critter: it was a Florida round tailed muskrat.

It turns out that muskrats don't live in Florida, except for ths species, which has a round tail instead of the typical flat one.

So, humming the Captain and Tenille's awful tune from the 70s, "Muskrat Love," I fetched my net, some hefty bags, and a box.

There was ZERO chance anyone else in my house was going to do this unpleasant job. Had D1 been home, she wouldn't have even gone NEAR the pond. D2 would sooner touch radioactive waste than a dead animal, and Wifey would have offered "Who can we call to come take care of this???"

Actually, I thought for a minute about calling Mike, myself. He's my camping friend --always catching lizards and turtles with his son Chris, and he'd have found the task amusing. In fact, he might have even wanted to perform a necropsy to determine the cause of death.

No, I summoned the testosterone I have left (dwindling each day, it seems) and bucked up. Here is the downside of being a man. It's not all the fun of dressing like a slob, and peeing outside at night.

I tried to lift Ed (by now I named him after the crying senator, Ed Muskie), but he was wedged pretty good in between some rocks. I had to pry him lose, whereupon he flipped in the water and floated away, exposing his scary looking (more so in death) rodent teeth.

I was able to get the net around him, and I lifeted his waterlogged carcass. Damn thing must have weighed 30 pounds! Luckily, the net held, and I plopped him into the waiting hefty bags. Of course, the net stuck to his softened flesh, so THAT took some wiggling to extract the net.

And then came the stink! Suffice it to say, I now have a new metaphor for describing a putrid smell. It is "Jeez --this smells like wet, dead muskrat!"

If there is a worse smell on this earth, I don't know WHAT it is.

Anyway, I now had a boxed, dead Florida muskrat, and my inner Bart Simpson spoke up: "Does anyone deserve to have this left at their door?" Fortunately, the answer was negative, as I do have SOME maturity to go along with my diminishing masculinity.

I tossed Ed into the green trash bin, to await burial by Miami Dade's Department of Solid (not for long) Waste.

So --mission accomplished. I washed off the net, but left it by the pond, to remind myself, for the next few days, that I AM the only one in this house with a Y chomosome.

Meanwhile, the community cat, Nala, watched these proceedings with great alacrity. I immediately decided that she was the muskrat murderer. Cats!