Once a year I hire a professional tree trimmer to keep the enveloping foliage of our neighborhood from swallowing my house.
Last year, my regular lawn man asked me to hire HIS crew instead. I asked him if he were sure --he doesn't have the cherry picker my tree trimmer owns. Oscar assured me he was up to the task, and would charge me 1/2 of the trimmer.
Well, the rains have conspired against Oscar, until today. He set about with his crew, in ladders, cutting offending limbs. I held my breath against the horror of one of the fellows falling 30 feet to his death or paralysis.
Oscar called me to come to my pool. He was apologetic. In removing a large ficus limb, the worker let it fall, and it smashed the concrete pool coping pretty bad. Oscar says he can fix it. We'll see. All I know is, I'm just happy it's concrete coping, and not someone's cervical spine. Next year I'm going with the experts again.
The episode reminded me of MY lawn cutting business, which I ran from age 12 to age 16. I used my Dad's Lawn Boy, and cut up to 10 neighbor's lawns in the Summer. I'd charge $5 per lawn, and after subtracting costs for gas and blade sharpenings, net about $40/week. It was great money for a young teen in the early 70s.
My next door neighbor, Tom Cunningham, was a great fellow. He looked like Donald Trump, and was some sort of professional in New York City. He hired me, and he was the only customer with underground sprinklers. The heads were brass.
He'd point their locations to me, but it was rare that more than 2 weeks would pass without my hitting one or more. Mr. Cunningham would come out at the unmistakeable sound of a steel blade hitting the brass head. He was very patient. I felt terrible.
Finally, he bought a bunch of orange cones, and put them on top of the sprinkler heads. My job then became more fun --like driving an obstacle course.
Years later, it came out that Mr. C was "working late" in the City with one or more secretaries. His was one of my block's first divorces. It's remarkable how memory works.
I also recall how a week of rain would wreak havoc on my lawn schedule. The grass would be too thick and wet to cut efficiently, and I'd have to stop often to clean out the mower. In hindsight --it's amazing that I survived the business with all of my fingers intact.
IT taught me an invaluable lesson. Manual labor was for the birds! It was great to have the money those Summers, but any thoughts I may have had about NOT going to college so that I could earn money WITHOUT getting my hands dirty --well, Summers of being a lawn man cured me of that.
Oscar's from Costa Rica, and works very hard. I guess I'm going to find out soon how adept he is as a mason, as well as a landscaper...
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Putting Stuff Off
Last December, my family joined Eric's family for a 4 day cruise. We all had a real good time. We went to Mexico, but the destination was really irrelevant --the point was sharing good times with old, dear friends.
This December, we're trying to have Barry join us with his family. Alas -- he said he can't because, as the only Jew in his Division, he feels compelled to work Christmas week.
Wifey suggested I email his Division Chief, Patti, one of his closest friends, and ask her to change his schedule. I was reluctant, but then I did it. Patti didn't miss a beat --she texted me the next morning to say she had rearranged the schedule to give Barry hsi first Christmas week off since 1993.
Patti's a terrific person. She's a retired Navy officer, and heads the UM/JMH Critical Care Pediatrics Division with compassion, strength, and brilliance. She's got one of the keenest senses of humor around --I think Barry has only lasted as long as he has in the PICU because of his fellow sufferer.
I told Patti she was doing him a big favor taking over Christmas for him. "Nah --if he's a little less morose when he returns from your trip, it'll be more than worth it."
I was telling my partner Paul about my intervention. He told me about a recent funeral of one of his neighbors --the fellow died of cancer in his late 50s. He owned "Shorty's" , a famous local barbecue place. This death brought home the capriciousness of fate.
I hope Barry joins us. His boys will be near 13 and 12, and would absolutely love hanging with Eric's boy Josh, who'll be nearing 16. They can shoot baskets and play golf, while we drink and tell stories of the past 30 years of our friendship.
I really have no desire to travel to any more of the world. I mean, maybe Japan and Argentina are the only 2 places that hold even a moderate attraction for me, and if I don't see these places --no true regrets.
I've been to Istanbul and Israel. I've drunk beer in Copenhagen and eaten chocolates in Vienna. I've felt the golden afternoon in Luxumburg Gardens in Paris.
I still prefer a good meal and drinks with close friends. And --this cruise stops by Key West. They just finished renovating the Little White House, where Truman spent a lot of time, and I want to check it out.
I ain't putting off nothing I want to do. I hope Barry gets on board, literally.
This December, we're trying to have Barry join us with his family. Alas -- he said he can't because, as the only Jew in his Division, he feels compelled to work Christmas week.
Wifey suggested I email his Division Chief, Patti, one of his closest friends, and ask her to change his schedule. I was reluctant, but then I did it. Patti didn't miss a beat --she texted me the next morning to say she had rearranged the schedule to give Barry hsi first Christmas week off since 1993.
Patti's a terrific person. She's a retired Navy officer, and heads the UM/JMH Critical Care Pediatrics Division with compassion, strength, and brilliance. She's got one of the keenest senses of humor around --I think Barry has only lasted as long as he has in the PICU because of his fellow sufferer.
I told Patti she was doing him a big favor taking over Christmas for him. "Nah --if he's a little less morose when he returns from your trip, it'll be more than worth it."
I was telling my partner Paul about my intervention. He told me about a recent funeral of one of his neighbors --the fellow died of cancer in his late 50s. He owned "Shorty's" , a famous local barbecue place. This death brought home the capriciousness of fate.
I hope Barry joins us. His boys will be near 13 and 12, and would absolutely love hanging with Eric's boy Josh, who'll be nearing 16. They can shoot baskets and play golf, while we drink and tell stories of the past 30 years of our friendship.
I really have no desire to travel to any more of the world. I mean, maybe Japan and Argentina are the only 2 places that hold even a moderate attraction for me, and if I don't see these places --no true regrets.
I've been to Istanbul and Israel. I've drunk beer in Copenhagen and eaten chocolates in Vienna. I've felt the golden afternoon in Luxumburg Gardens in Paris.
I still prefer a good meal and drinks with close friends. And --this cruise stops by Key West. They just finished renovating the Little White House, where Truman spent a lot of time, and I want to check it out.
I ain't putting off nothing I want to do. I hope Barry gets on board, literally.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
High School Graduation
Last weekend my dear friends Eric and Dana were here, one day before their girl Jen graduated from HS. She's heading up to UF this Summer, and wanted to spend some time with D1 getting the low down on Gainesville. We drank some wine and shared many laughs.
Today, D2 is getting tutored in Math, for the final time this year. Ron, the tutor, a jovial Israeli fellow, was waxing nostalgic. "I'll help her next year in Calculus, and then, since she's your last one --that'll be it for you as clients." I asked him if he'd tutor our grandkids. He laughed and agreed he would.
These two events brought me back in my mind 30 years --as I finished my tenure at Douglas MacArthur High in Levittown.
A few days before graduation day, my friend Eric picked me up at a party. We were heading to my girl friend's house. He turned to me and said "You already know she's having a big surprise party for yopur going away, right? I mean --you had to have figured it out."
Well, I hadn't any idea, so the surprise was ruined for the first surprise party anyone had ever thrown for me. Thanks, Eric! 30 years have passed, and I still remember!!!!
I arrived at Alison's house, and acted like I was stunned. Alison and her Mom had gone all out. Probably 50 people were there --friends and family --and they all toasted my graduation and impending move to Florida. It was a great way to say goodbye --ruined surprise and all.
I remember standing outside my house, in my blue gown with the Honor Society gold sash. My father wore a sports jacket. He had my mother take a picture of him handing over his wallet -- symbolizing the college tuition he was going to pay. (As an aside, I found my Presidential Scholarship Award letter recently. It reminded me that my schlolarship was worth 1/2 a year's tuition --$1500! A private university's tuition was $3000 per year --less than 10% of what it costs today).
I recall nothing about the graduation ceremony, except some talk about how much weed some of my stoner friends had smoked. Alsison and I said goodbye in Bob Seger fashion, and then I remember my oldest friends Eric, Mark, John, Mike, and Jerry coming over to the house as we were ready to pull away.
We felt so mature --like real men saying goodbye. We had known each other since we were 6 or 7. We were 18.
My parents and I caravaned to Lorton, Va, where we spent the night. Dad drove his evergreen colored Olds 98 Regency. It was a 1975 model. I was in my 1978 Carmine Red Firebird. OK --so my parents spoiled me. At least I thought so until I started U Miami and saw kids driving Porsches and Ferrarris!
We spent the night in a motel, and the next morning boarded the Auto Train. My Dad didn't spring for a cabin, and I remember sitting up in the seat the entire night -- unable to sleep for the 17 hour train ride. I pledged there and then never to take the Auto Train again, and I never did.
We retrieved the cars near Orlando (Sanford, I think) and drove to Delray Beach, where we checked into an ocean front motel, the Bermuda Inn. I spent the days on the beach, and the nights at Boston's, a beach side bar -- learning something about the local South Palm Beach denizens.
I remember missing my friends more than my girlfriend. I guess I knew then Alison and I weren't destined to spend eternity together, as lovely as she was.
I had a terrific tan as I went off to see U Miami for the first time. It was love at first sight. I met a hard boiled Queens guy --Pete Hamm. His hero was Jimmy Breslin, and he actually became a reporter. Over a beer at the UM Rathskellar, he told me I was naive to love Miami. "It's a plastic paradise, Dave."
He had the whole city figured out, he thought, in a single day.
I never agreed with him. I was starting a new life, in a new place, and I was thrilled.
Have 30 years since graduation day really passed?
Today, D2 is getting tutored in Math, for the final time this year. Ron, the tutor, a jovial Israeli fellow, was waxing nostalgic. "I'll help her next year in Calculus, and then, since she's your last one --that'll be it for you as clients." I asked him if he'd tutor our grandkids. He laughed and agreed he would.
These two events brought me back in my mind 30 years --as I finished my tenure at Douglas MacArthur High in Levittown.
A few days before graduation day, my friend Eric picked me up at a party. We were heading to my girl friend's house. He turned to me and said "You already know she's having a big surprise party for yopur going away, right? I mean --you had to have figured it out."
Well, I hadn't any idea, so the surprise was ruined for the first surprise party anyone had ever thrown for me. Thanks, Eric! 30 years have passed, and I still remember!!!!
I arrived at Alison's house, and acted like I was stunned. Alison and her Mom had gone all out. Probably 50 people were there --friends and family --and they all toasted my graduation and impending move to Florida. It was a great way to say goodbye --ruined surprise and all.
I remember standing outside my house, in my blue gown with the Honor Society gold sash. My father wore a sports jacket. He had my mother take a picture of him handing over his wallet -- symbolizing the college tuition he was going to pay. (As an aside, I found my Presidential Scholarship Award letter recently. It reminded me that my schlolarship was worth 1/2 a year's tuition --$1500! A private university's tuition was $3000 per year --less than 10% of what it costs today).
I recall nothing about the graduation ceremony, except some talk about how much weed some of my stoner friends had smoked. Alsison and I said goodbye in Bob Seger fashion, and then I remember my oldest friends Eric, Mark, John, Mike, and Jerry coming over to the house as we were ready to pull away.
We felt so mature --like real men saying goodbye. We had known each other since we were 6 or 7. We were 18.
My parents and I caravaned to Lorton, Va, where we spent the night. Dad drove his evergreen colored Olds 98 Regency. It was a 1975 model. I was in my 1978 Carmine Red Firebird. OK --so my parents spoiled me. At least I thought so until I started U Miami and saw kids driving Porsches and Ferrarris!
We spent the night in a motel, and the next morning boarded the Auto Train. My Dad didn't spring for a cabin, and I remember sitting up in the seat the entire night -- unable to sleep for the 17 hour train ride. I pledged there and then never to take the Auto Train again, and I never did.
We retrieved the cars near Orlando (Sanford, I think) and drove to Delray Beach, where we checked into an ocean front motel, the Bermuda Inn. I spent the days on the beach, and the nights at Boston's, a beach side bar -- learning something about the local South Palm Beach denizens.
I remember missing my friends more than my girlfriend. I guess I knew then Alison and I weren't destined to spend eternity together, as lovely as she was.
I had a terrific tan as I went off to see U Miami for the first time. It was love at first sight. I met a hard boiled Queens guy --Pete Hamm. His hero was Jimmy Breslin, and he actually became a reporter. Over a beer at the UM Rathskellar, he told me I was naive to love Miami. "It's a plastic paradise, Dave."
He had the whole city figured out, he thought, in a single day.
I never agreed with him. I was starting a new life, in a new place, and I was thrilled.
Have 30 years since graduation day really passed?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
#1 in a #2 Job
I spent yesterday morning with a man who completely knows his shit: Pedro from Smith's Septic Systems.
At our first house, we had major septic tank issues, and constant back ups, so I became very sensitive to proper septic system maintainance. I met Mr. Smith, owner of the company, when our Hurricane Andrew destroyed home was re built. I've been a loyal customer ever since.
Mr. Smith installed a good number of the septic tanks now in use in Kendall and Pinecrest. Pedro is his main woker --I met him 2 years ago at our every 2 year cleanout.
Pedro has heard every joke that goes along with his line of work. His favorite is "A shitty day is a great day at Smith's."
I met Pedro in my back yard, when he loudly tooted (ha!) the horn on his pump truck. He vaulted the stone wall, since it's easier to access our tank from behind the house (ha again). He remembered where the access was, and quickly dug up the soil around the top. Roaches fled in every direction. He said he sees them at every job, but never sees rats. I guess they stick to the sewers.
As Pedro pumped, we chatted. He came from Cuba in 1980, as a Marielito. His job is a great one --the pay is good, and he's raised a family nicely on his income. He pointed to my belly, and said "Mr. Dave --you've put on a few in 2 years." I told him he was right. He pointed at his own nice sized tool shed. "With me, it's the beer. I LOVE beer. But I only drink at night and weekends. Never on the job. A DUI in my truck would be bad, and I wouldn't want to fall in one of the holes!!!!"
He gets satisfaction from his labors. "You can have a $10 million dollar house, and if the toilets don't flush, it's worthless. Even the very rich need me!"
We chatted about the Dolphins, and then I agreed to have him install a manhole cover instead of the concrete plug. I asked him if I needed the clean outs each 2 years instead of less frequently, and he pointed in the tank at our prodigious production. "No --2 years is good for this house." He didn't say it, but was probably thinking that we're full of ...
I went inside to get ready for work, and brought Wifey to the upstairs window to show her Pedro's work. She feigned interest. Most women, if the toilet flushes, have no interest in the reasons why plumbing operates.
Women often care less about shit than men do.
At our first house, we had major septic tank issues, and constant back ups, so I became very sensitive to proper septic system maintainance. I met Mr. Smith, owner of the company, when our Hurricane Andrew destroyed home was re built. I've been a loyal customer ever since.
Mr. Smith installed a good number of the septic tanks now in use in Kendall and Pinecrest. Pedro is his main woker --I met him 2 years ago at our every 2 year cleanout.
Pedro has heard every joke that goes along with his line of work. His favorite is "A shitty day is a great day at Smith's."
I met Pedro in my back yard, when he loudly tooted (ha!) the horn on his pump truck. He vaulted the stone wall, since it's easier to access our tank from behind the house (ha again). He remembered where the access was, and quickly dug up the soil around the top. Roaches fled in every direction. He said he sees them at every job, but never sees rats. I guess they stick to the sewers.
As Pedro pumped, we chatted. He came from Cuba in 1980, as a Marielito. His job is a great one --the pay is good, and he's raised a family nicely on his income. He pointed to my belly, and said "Mr. Dave --you've put on a few in 2 years." I told him he was right. He pointed at his own nice sized tool shed. "With me, it's the beer. I LOVE beer. But I only drink at night and weekends. Never on the job. A DUI in my truck would be bad, and I wouldn't want to fall in one of the holes!!!!"
He gets satisfaction from his labors. "You can have a $10 million dollar house, and if the toilets don't flush, it's worthless. Even the very rich need me!"
We chatted about the Dolphins, and then I agreed to have him install a manhole cover instead of the concrete plug. I asked him if I needed the clean outs each 2 years instead of less frequently, and he pointed in the tank at our prodigious production. "No --2 years is good for this house." He didn't say it, but was probably thinking that we're full of ...
I went inside to get ready for work, and brought Wifey to the upstairs window to show her Pedro's work. She feigned interest. Most women, if the toilet flushes, have no interest in the reasons why plumbing operates.
Women often care less about shit than men do.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
The Only One Worth a Damn...
The rainy season is back. Last night it poured from sunset all through the wee morning hours, with spectacular lightning and booming thunder.
I've loved T Storms since I was a kid. I used to love to fall asleep to them; still do. The T storms are really something to behold in Miami. At about 4 this morning, a thunderclap set off our gate call box, and it woke me. As a middle aged guy with coming prostate issues, that seemed an excellent opportunity to get up to pee. As I returned to bed, I watched the lightning flash far off to the East --over Biscayne Bay, I guess. It was awesome.
I took the day off to visit the antique Mother. I took her out for breakfast. The same meal we pay $10 in Miami costs $3 in Delray Beach. The owner of Ben's Bagels and More, a woman my age with a delightful North Jersey accent, told me that if she charges even 25 cents more, the seniors stay away in droves. I ordered the More. The waitress laughed.
Afterward, I took Mom to ABC Liquors to replenish her vodka supply. She takes a strong nip each night, as a sleep aid. She only buys herself the cheapest vodka, so when I visit I buy her some flavored Absolut or Stoli. We then stopped at a card shop for some greeting cards --her friend turns 94 next weekend. I bought her 5 Lotto tickets. We're partners. If I win --this blog will disappear for awhile --until I hire a REAL writer to do it for me.
Back at the Villa, D1 started her internship with the eating disorder clinic. It's no pay, but all the meals she wants. Ha. Actually, she looks adorable in the scrubs she wears. She's really enjoying it.
D2 is trying to stay awake for the final weeks of her junior year. Since the APs are done, she's a happier camper. Not happy, but happier. (I wouldn't want to jeopardize her membership in the surly teenager club).
I have a few fire cases heating up at work. Ha, again. My partner and I are waiting for a shoe to drop with the clients whose case we settled and now are ignoring us. I'm going to the office tomorrow to deal with that, and some new issues that have cropped up.
I might as well go to the office. It's raining outside.
I've loved T Storms since I was a kid. I used to love to fall asleep to them; still do. The T storms are really something to behold in Miami. At about 4 this morning, a thunderclap set off our gate call box, and it woke me. As a middle aged guy with coming prostate issues, that seemed an excellent opportunity to get up to pee. As I returned to bed, I watched the lightning flash far off to the East --over Biscayne Bay, I guess. It was awesome.
I took the day off to visit the antique Mother. I took her out for breakfast. The same meal we pay $10 in Miami costs $3 in Delray Beach. The owner of Ben's Bagels and More, a woman my age with a delightful North Jersey accent, told me that if she charges even 25 cents more, the seniors stay away in droves. I ordered the More. The waitress laughed.
Afterward, I took Mom to ABC Liquors to replenish her vodka supply. She takes a strong nip each night, as a sleep aid. She only buys herself the cheapest vodka, so when I visit I buy her some flavored Absolut or Stoli. We then stopped at a card shop for some greeting cards --her friend turns 94 next weekend. I bought her 5 Lotto tickets. We're partners. If I win --this blog will disappear for awhile --until I hire a REAL writer to do it for me.
Back at the Villa, D1 started her internship with the eating disorder clinic. It's no pay, but all the meals she wants. Ha. Actually, she looks adorable in the scrubs she wears. She's really enjoying it.
D2 is trying to stay awake for the final weeks of her junior year. Since the APs are done, she's a happier camper. Not happy, but happier. (I wouldn't want to jeopardize her membership in the surly teenager club).
I have a few fire cases heating up at work. Ha, again. My partner and I are waiting for a shoe to drop with the clients whose case we settled and now are ignoring us. I'm going to the office tomorrow to deal with that, and some new issues that have cropped up.
I might as well go to the office. It's raining outside.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Really Good, Sometimes
So, poor D2 missed the NYC trip on account of school, but she's been cooking with gas, lately.
She studied HARD for 4 AP classes, and finished the last one last week. I was talking with my friend Mike last week. Mike was on Law Review at UM, and is a partner with a large Miami firm. Neither he nor I worked 1/2 as hard in high school as our kids do now. It's the damn AP tests --it gives them college classes in high school. I guess time will tell if it's a good thing.
Anyway -- D2 got invited to UF for a program where they try to convince a select group of high school juniors that they SHOULD go to UF --not the other way around. When I cross examined D2 about that, she let on that, based on her PSAT score, she was a National Merit Scholarship finalist. Apparently, that's like being a blue chip athlete in the academic recruiting world. UF prides itself on having many Merit Scholarship types, which is why they're going after D2.
Last weekend, D2 also got letters from Princeton and Yale saying they think she's their "material," and ought to apply. I joked with her that maybe her exotic first name sounds African --so she's an affirmative action recruit!
Regardless --even attracting notice from these places is quite an honor. Go D2!
I thought I was done with Gainesville for the Summer, but now it appears I'll be heading there mid June for this recruitment program. Maybe we'll go home via Tampa, and celebrate at Bern's Steakhouse. D2 will make the call.
Yesterday, she had some friends over, re-creating scenes from famous paintings, which the kids then photographed. It was hilarious. The project was for AP Art History.
Maybe AP isn't so bad after all.
She studied HARD for 4 AP classes, and finished the last one last week. I was talking with my friend Mike last week. Mike was on Law Review at UM, and is a partner with a large Miami firm. Neither he nor I worked 1/2 as hard in high school as our kids do now. It's the damn AP tests --it gives them college classes in high school. I guess time will tell if it's a good thing.
Anyway -- D2 got invited to UF for a program where they try to convince a select group of high school juniors that they SHOULD go to UF --not the other way around. When I cross examined D2 about that, she let on that, based on her PSAT score, she was a National Merit Scholarship finalist. Apparently, that's like being a blue chip athlete in the academic recruiting world. UF prides itself on having many Merit Scholarship types, which is why they're going after D2.
Last weekend, D2 also got letters from Princeton and Yale saying they think she's their "material," and ought to apply. I joked with her that maybe her exotic first name sounds African --so she's an affirmative action recruit!
Regardless --even attracting notice from these places is quite an honor. Go D2!
I thought I was done with Gainesville for the Summer, but now it appears I'll be heading there mid June for this recruitment program. Maybe we'll go home via Tampa, and celebrate at Bern's Steakhouse. D2 will make the call.
Yesterday, she had some friends over, re-creating scenes from famous paintings, which the kids then photographed. It was hilarious. The project was for AP Art History.
Maybe AP isn't so bad after all.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Too Little Time on My Hands
Dr. Barry would be happy about me, finally. His Protestant work ethic (morphed into a native Flushing, Queens Jew) thinks I have too much time on my hands - that I'm slothful. He's right, but not for the past 2 weeks. I've been busy! Too busy to write in the blog!
Let's see ... what's transpired. Last weekend D1 and I took her English friend Esther to NYC. We had a blast! We saw "In the Heights," a musical we all loved, and the next night the girls saw "Shrek the Musical" while I saw my favorite TV actor James Gandolfini in "God of Carnage." My play was a funnier "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf," but I found it ponderous after the first hour. I mean --people arguing --even about weighty issues? Enough after about 60 minutes!
The girls shopped and we met my partner's daughter Tracy and her fiance Jon for coffee. I met Tracy when she was 8, and now has a Master's in Education and teaches in the City. Jon's a Wall Street lawyer. They're so full of life and happiness --it was great to spend the mile and 1/2 we walked with them. They showed us Bernie Madoff's building, and then Jon lamented how expensive it is to live in the City. They have a 750 swaure foot place they pay $3500 per month to live in. I have a feeling that marriage and children will send them to another city.
We also visited the Guggenheim, although much of the building was closed for the installation of a Frank Lloyd Wright exhibit. The truth is --I like the IDEA of visiting art museums more than actually visiting, so 3 floors instead of 8 was a plus for me. Esther --an Art History major in England, loved the place.
On the way to LaGuardia, we stopped to see Aunt Anne and cousin Steve. It was terrific! Anne is 95 and sharp as a tack --she actually corrected my arithmetic about a date. She showed D1 and I pictures of HER grandmother --D1's Great, great grandmother! D1 loved it! Anne and Steve were headed to dinner for Mother's Day, so we headed for LGA and home.
When I got back to work, my partner and I had a long inspection at the house where our clients' father died. We brought in 2 engineers and an investigator. The inspection went great, and then 2 days later, we got the bill for the little foray: $15,000! As my partner said --that part of our business makes us ill...
The previous week, we settled a case for a family from Haiti. I never want to see myself as racist, so I'll just say that Haiti is a country that shares an island with the Dominican Republic. The family, let's just say, has become difficult.
I guess it's only reasonable to expect tsuris from work. After all, work pays the bills, and isn't supposed to be all good, right? It makes me think of a great, simplistic expression I got on one of those sappy emails --the types I usually delete without reading: "Life isn't fair, but sometimes it can be really, really good."
More later...
Let's see ... what's transpired. Last weekend D1 and I took her English friend Esther to NYC. We had a blast! We saw "In the Heights," a musical we all loved, and the next night the girls saw "Shrek the Musical" while I saw my favorite TV actor James Gandolfini in "God of Carnage." My play was a funnier "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf," but I found it ponderous after the first hour. I mean --people arguing --even about weighty issues? Enough after about 60 minutes!
The girls shopped and we met my partner's daughter Tracy and her fiance Jon for coffee. I met Tracy when she was 8, and now has a Master's in Education and teaches in the City. Jon's a Wall Street lawyer. They're so full of life and happiness --it was great to spend the mile and 1/2 we walked with them. They showed us Bernie Madoff's building, and then Jon lamented how expensive it is to live in the City. They have a 750 swaure foot place they pay $3500 per month to live in. I have a feeling that marriage and children will send them to another city.
We also visited the Guggenheim, although much of the building was closed for the installation of a Frank Lloyd Wright exhibit. The truth is --I like the IDEA of visiting art museums more than actually visiting, so 3 floors instead of 8 was a plus for me. Esther --an Art History major in England, loved the place.
On the way to LaGuardia, we stopped to see Aunt Anne and cousin Steve. It was terrific! Anne is 95 and sharp as a tack --she actually corrected my arithmetic about a date. She showed D1 and I pictures of HER grandmother --D1's Great, great grandmother! D1 loved it! Anne and Steve were headed to dinner for Mother's Day, so we headed for LGA and home.
When I got back to work, my partner and I had a long inspection at the house where our clients' father died. We brought in 2 engineers and an investigator. The inspection went great, and then 2 days later, we got the bill for the little foray: $15,000! As my partner said --that part of our business makes us ill...
The previous week, we settled a case for a family from Haiti. I never want to see myself as racist, so I'll just say that Haiti is a country that shares an island with the Dominican Republic. The family, let's just say, has become difficult.
I guess it's only reasonable to expect tsuris from work. After all, work pays the bills, and isn't supposed to be all good, right? It makes me think of a great, simplistic expression I got on one of those sappy emails --the types I usually delete without reading: "Life isn't fair, but sometimes it can be really, really good."
More later...
Saturday, May 2, 2009
The Door Mat
Door mat is one of Wifey's favorite phrases --she uses it to describe a person who repeatedly allows herself to be taken advantage of. Typically, it is seen when she does favors or good deeds for someone, and they never recriprocate.
I've had a habit for awhile -- I buy breakfast and lunch for all of the staff in our shared offices. It's become a running joke --whenever I do it, I ask the ladies when my wealthy lawyer suite mate is going to pick up the tab. He never does!
Actually --that's not true. Each Christmas, he goes to the Honey Baked Ham store and buys a ham and some rolls for the staff, and caters the "holiday lunch" with great fanfare. My partner PAul and I always find a reason to miss it.
Anyway -- I realize the fellow is on to something. Sadly --the ladies in the office (with the exception of my secretary) have no appreciation for being treated well.
LAst week, I bought them pizza, and then Friday, breakfast. They ordered lunch later, and I heard them munching away in the kitchen, while I sat alone like the nerd at the high school cafeteria no one wants to lunch with.
I came in to the room, and said, loudly "What did you guys order for me??!!!" There was awkward silence.
Anyway --the whole thing is silly, and the truth is, no one needs to miss some meals as badly as I do. But it underscores another lesson in human nature --we hate to feel taken for granted. At least I do.
So --office ladies --buy your own damn pizza and breakfast! I'll bump up my contributions to charity. These women treat the bosses the same regardless of largesse. I guess the annual Honey Baked Ham is enough!
As for me --no more Mr. Door Mat, at least in that regard!
I've had a habit for awhile -- I buy breakfast and lunch for all of the staff in our shared offices. It's become a running joke --whenever I do it, I ask the ladies when my wealthy lawyer suite mate is going to pick up the tab. He never does!
Actually --that's not true. Each Christmas, he goes to the Honey Baked Ham store and buys a ham and some rolls for the staff, and caters the "holiday lunch" with great fanfare. My partner PAul and I always find a reason to miss it.
Anyway -- I realize the fellow is on to something. Sadly --the ladies in the office (with the exception of my secretary) have no appreciation for being treated well.
LAst week, I bought them pizza, and then Friday, breakfast. They ordered lunch later, and I heard them munching away in the kitchen, while I sat alone like the nerd at the high school cafeteria no one wants to lunch with.
I came in to the room, and said, loudly "What did you guys order for me??!!!" There was awkward silence.
Anyway --the whole thing is silly, and the truth is, no one needs to miss some meals as badly as I do. But it underscores another lesson in human nature --we hate to feel taken for granted. At least I do.
So --office ladies --buy your own damn pizza and breakfast! I'll bump up my contributions to charity. These women treat the bosses the same regardless of largesse. I guess the annual Honey Baked Ham is enough!
As for me --no more Mr. Door Mat, at least in that regard!
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