Summer began two days ago, and no one here even noticed. We've been into summer pattern weather for over a month now, and yesterday had recoed heat --nearly 100 degrees. People think of Miami as having brutally hot summers and we do, but because of the humidity. The temperature rarely climbs past the low 90s. Yesterday was an exception.
Fortunately, our thunderstorms came today and cooled things down a bit. We all welcome the relief --it's a comparatively chilly low 80s today.
I'm in the office, killing time. The best news is that D2 is with me --as my summer receptionist. My office roommate had to let our shared receptionist go. He hasn't gotten a new case for quite awhile, and is seriously cutting back on his overhead. He'll have to find a replacement in the Fall, but for now D2 is doing a FINE job getting the calls where they need to go.
I walk by her and see her all dressed up and looking far more mature than her 17.5 years. The staff loves her. She's so charming and funny, and earning some bucks!
D1 got a B in Chemistry, and is enjoying a few days of vacation before her 2nd summer session begins. She'll also go back to her internship, where she gets to wear hospital greens. She's a real adult, too. Ah, sunrise, sunset...
Wifey and I are heading to Naples Saturday for my partner 's son's wedding. Another rite of passage. I met Alex when he was 11; he's now 30, and marrying a terrific young lady. I look quite forward to a few days of great food, frozen rum runners, and sharing in this delightful event.
In the good old summertime...
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Wostfulness-Free Father's Day Post
Today is the actual Father's Day. As I write this, my father in law is fast asleep on the couch behind me, Wifey is on the other computer showing her mother Polish web sites, and D2 is napping. D1 is at Disney World with her boyfiend, paying big money to wait in long lines. I hate Disney World.
Both Ds emailed me lovely messages for FD. And the truth is, I'm damn proud. I take my job as their Dad extremely seriously, and, all modesty aside, am the best Dad in the world.
After trying and winning a few trials as a young lawyer, I realized that Law didn't do it for me. I've been lucky to make a good living at it, but my identity as a lawyer is a small part of who I am.
I'm a pretty good husband. I could be better. I'm still a work in progress. I AM an excellent friend. I take the true meaning of friendship to heart --I truly exhalt my friends' accomplishments, and I hate it when they find sadness.
But fatherhood? That's my number one identity. It has been since November, 1988.
My father in law loves his daughter, but truly lacks the capacity to communicate with her or offer life wisdom. He's gruff. He's stuck in many ways in his adolescence --the age he was when the Nazis kidnapped him and killed his parents.
When he arrived today, he barked a request that I notarize one of his many affidavits showing he's still alive, so the German government has to continue paying his reparations. As a proud Jew myself, I rather enjoy the fact that, 2 generations after WW II, those bastards are still paying for their crimes. I like to think of a 20 something clerk in an office in Munich somewhere signing a check each month for Jewish pensioners living in Broward County, Florida, and thinking "Vat the fuck?"
As Archie Bunker might have said: "Don't screweth with the Chosen People..."
Anyway, Wifey wished her Dad a happy Day, and I'm having one myself.
D2 turns 18 in February, and my legal job as a father is done. Of course, my moral, ethical, and loving job will continue as long as I'm on this Earth.
Happy Father's Day, Dave!
Both Ds emailed me lovely messages for FD. And the truth is, I'm damn proud. I take my job as their Dad extremely seriously, and, all modesty aside, am the best Dad in the world.
After trying and winning a few trials as a young lawyer, I realized that Law didn't do it for me. I've been lucky to make a good living at it, but my identity as a lawyer is a small part of who I am.
I'm a pretty good husband. I could be better. I'm still a work in progress. I AM an excellent friend. I take the true meaning of friendship to heart --I truly exhalt my friends' accomplishments, and I hate it when they find sadness.
But fatherhood? That's my number one identity. It has been since November, 1988.
My father in law loves his daughter, but truly lacks the capacity to communicate with her or offer life wisdom. He's gruff. He's stuck in many ways in his adolescence --the age he was when the Nazis kidnapped him and killed his parents.
When he arrived today, he barked a request that I notarize one of his many affidavits showing he's still alive, so the German government has to continue paying his reparations. As a proud Jew myself, I rather enjoy the fact that, 2 generations after WW II, those bastards are still paying for their crimes. I like to think of a 20 something clerk in an office in Munich somewhere signing a check each month for Jewish pensioners living in Broward County, Florida, and thinking "Vat the fuck?"
As Archie Bunker might have said: "Don't screweth with the Chosen People..."
Anyway, Wifey wished her Dad a happy Day, and I'm having one myself.
D2 turns 18 in February, and my legal job as a father is done. Of course, my moral, ethical, and loving job will continue as long as I'm on this Earth.
Happy Father's Day, Dave!
Friday, June 19, 2009
Father's Day
So this Sunday is Father's Day. My partner (law, not domestic) Paul called and asked me what my plans were. I told him the one thing I really wanted to do, I couldn't. He asked what that was. I told him it was to spend the day with my father.
That said, I never make a big deal out of the day. Ds 1 and 2 used to go to the same summer camp, and the orientation and "kick off" was always on Father's Day. They had a big jamboree, and we all learned that summer's song, typically a silly ditty sung to the tune of a popular or Broadway tune.
Wifey and I savored those days --watching our happy little girls giggle with their friends, away from the pressure of school. Now we're closer to taking grandchildren to events like that. It's ok --it's been a fine ride through their childhood.
D1 is up in Gainesville with her boyfriend. They'll be in Disney World on Father's Day. I told her I didn't mind her being away --if she's happy; I'm happy. D2 is stuck with us, and Wifey's parents will probably come over for the standard Canton take out lunch. D2 will be resting after her first week of working as our summer receptionist.
So, Father's Day I'll probably get up early, and read the Sunday paper, and watch the dogs run around. I still miss you, Dad. I guess I always will.
That said, I never make a big deal out of the day. Ds 1 and 2 used to go to the same summer camp, and the orientation and "kick off" was always on Father's Day. They had a big jamboree, and we all learned that summer's song, typically a silly ditty sung to the tune of a popular or Broadway tune.
Wifey and I savored those days --watching our happy little girls giggle with their friends, away from the pressure of school. Now we're closer to taking grandchildren to events like that. It's ok --it's been a fine ride through their childhood.
D1 is up in Gainesville with her boyfriend. They'll be in Disney World on Father's Day. I told her I didn't mind her being away --if she's happy; I'm happy. D2 is stuck with us, and Wifey's parents will probably come over for the standard Canton take out lunch. D2 will be resting after her first week of working as our summer receptionist.
So, Father's Day I'll probably get up early, and read the Sunday paper, and watch the dogs run around. I still miss you, Dad. I guess I always will.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
A Day at the Races
Last Saturday was a banner day for my girls and me. My partner (Law, not domestic) Paul invited us all to the horse races, and we accepted.
D2, D1, and D1's boyfriend all met there. (We'll call D1's boyfriend "Thomas," since that's his name). Alas, Wifey said it was too hot to go, so she stayed home in our house's hot garage applying varnish to a picnic bench --but that's another story.
Anyway, we met at Calder Race Track, and Paul had already won a few races, so he gave Thomas and the girls the proceeds --$150. We had lunch, and started picking ponies.
D2 was on fire! She stuck with her number (3) and brought in some long shots. Paul made sure everyone won, by spacing our the picks, but then even HE was surprised. D2 picked an Exacta (correctly pick the top three finishes (win, place, and show)) in a race in San Francisco that was simulcast to Calder. The #3 horse in that one was such a prohibitive longshot that few bet it. The Exacta won.
Paul sent the girls and Thomas to cash the ticket, and D1 came back breathlessly proclaiming "They need a Social Security number to cash the ticket!" The $1 bet paid off $974!
Paul loves the track, but gambles modestly. His average yearly outlay is no more than the average salary of a middle class worker. Ha! But the payoff was even large for him!
We split the winnings among the 3 youngermembers of our group, and they took $500 each. D2 no longer sees the point in going to college and getting a job.
I explained to her that the difference between a professional gambler and an amateuer is that the pro loses his money much more slowly.
But not Saturday!
D1 and Thomas went from the track to Palm Beach, where Thomas's mother's boyfriend treated them to a weekend stay at the Breakers. The Breakers was full, so they roughed it at Brazilian Court. Shocker: D1 now wants to move to Palm Beach. She likes the "pace" there...
D2, Wifey and I headed to Gainesville for a recruitment program. UF targeted D2 because of her test scores, and they spent a day telling her what a great school UF is.
She actually did the Gator chomp when asked. I nearly got ill watching that. I spent the time secretly making the "U" sign.
D1 is back at school/internship this week, although she has her final exam this Thursday. Her summer sessions are nearly 1/2 over.
D2 started working as a summer clerk at my office, answering phones, getting coffee, getting lunch, etc... After her 7 hour day today, she's even MORE convinced that working is for the birds. I hope I can keep her away from the ponies.
D2, D1, and D1's boyfriend all met there. (We'll call D1's boyfriend "Thomas," since that's his name). Alas, Wifey said it was too hot to go, so she stayed home in our house's hot garage applying varnish to a picnic bench --but that's another story.
Anyway, we met at Calder Race Track, and Paul had already won a few races, so he gave Thomas and the girls the proceeds --$150. We had lunch, and started picking ponies.
D2 was on fire! She stuck with her number (3) and brought in some long shots. Paul made sure everyone won, by spacing our the picks, but then even HE was surprised. D2 picked an Exacta (correctly pick the top three finishes (win, place, and show)) in a race in San Francisco that was simulcast to Calder. The #3 horse in that one was such a prohibitive longshot that few bet it. The Exacta won.
Paul sent the girls and Thomas to cash the ticket, and D1 came back breathlessly proclaiming "They need a Social Security number to cash the ticket!" The $1 bet paid off $974!
Paul loves the track, but gambles modestly. His average yearly outlay is no more than the average salary of a middle class worker. Ha! But the payoff was even large for him!
We split the winnings among the 3 youngermembers of our group, and they took $500 each. D2 no longer sees the point in going to college and getting a job.
I explained to her that the difference between a professional gambler and an amateuer is that the pro loses his money much more slowly.
But not Saturday!
D1 and Thomas went from the track to Palm Beach, where Thomas's mother's boyfriend treated them to a weekend stay at the Breakers. The Breakers was full, so they roughed it at Brazilian Court. Shocker: D1 now wants to move to Palm Beach. She likes the "pace" there...
D2, Wifey and I headed to Gainesville for a recruitment program. UF targeted D2 because of her test scores, and they spent a day telling her what a great school UF is.
She actually did the Gator chomp when asked. I nearly got ill watching that. I spent the time secretly making the "U" sign.
D1 is back at school/internship this week, although she has her final exam this Thursday. Her summer sessions are nearly 1/2 over.
D2 started working as a summer clerk at my office, answering phones, getting coffee, getting lunch, etc... After her 7 hour day today, she's even MORE convinced that working is for the birds. I hope I can keep her away from the ponies.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Intimations of Paternal Mortality
I attended the depo of a client today, whose father died in an accident last December. My client is in his late 20s, and succesful. He's married, and has close friends and family.
He spoke very lovingly of his father. I related, of course.
Most of my closest freinds have lost their fathers. Last Saturday, I had breakfast with Dr. Barry and Dr. Vince. We all spoke about our dads --mine gone the longest --since 1982.
My partner Paul, my friend Mike, my dear friend Eric, my favorite brother in law --we're all fatherless.
My client's father was about the same age as my Dad when he died. Too young.
Wifey's father is still alive --in his mid 80s. I remember when he had bypass surgery in 1989 --the surgeon hoped it would give him another good 10 years. He's doubled that, of course, and still doing pretty well. He's so fortunate to have the gift of all of these years.
My client is not an emotional fellow. He spoke in clear language about how he misses his father.
After his depo, I drove him to the train station. I told him that I was not yet 21 when my father died, and, like he had just testified --he was my best friend. I told him my Dad died 27 years this July. He asked if I ever got over it. No, I told him.
His life goes on, of course. He and his wife are trying to have a baby. His career is going great. I'm going to win him a big chunk of money in his lawsuit.
Still --he misses his father.
I miss mine, too.
He spoke very lovingly of his father. I related, of course.
Most of my closest freinds have lost their fathers. Last Saturday, I had breakfast with Dr. Barry and Dr. Vince. We all spoke about our dads --mine gone the longest --since 1982.
My partner Paul, my friend Mike, my dear friend Eric, my favorite brother in law --we're all fatherless.
My client's father was about the same age as my Dad when he died. Too young.
Wifey's father is still alive --in his mid 80s. I remember when he had bypass surgery in 1989 --the surgeon hoped it would give him another good 10 years. He's doubled that, of course, and still doing pretty well. He's so fortunate to have the gift of all of these years.
My client is not an emotional fellow. He spoke in clear language about how he misses his father.
After his depo, I drove him to the train station. I told him that I was not yet 21 when my father died, and, like he had just testified --he was my best friend. I told him my Dad died 27 years this July. He asked if I ever got over it. No, I told him.
His life goes on, of course. He and his wife are trying to have a baby. His career is going great. I'm going to win him a big chunk of money in his lawsuit.
Still --he misses his father.
I miss mine, too.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
This, too HAS passed...
The stupidest dog in our house, the Bassett Hound did it for the THIRD time: she swallowed a rock! The first time, when she was a puppy, the rock passed with drugs and luck and about $700 in vet bills.
The second time, months after that, required a surgical procedure: a rock-ectomy, I called it.
After that, we fenced the areas where the round, large rocks exist in our yard, and we watched the moron dog when she was outside. Over time, we figured the Hound outgrew this habit, or learned her lesson. We were wrong!
On Friday, I opened Molly's crate, and she didn't make her usual comical "dash" for her food bowl. She looked awful. She went out front, curled up in an unfamiliar spot next to the fence, and looked like she was going to die. Wifey took her in to Dr. Langdon, our wonderful vet, who really, really loves our Bassett. Of course, part of the reason for that is the dog is a damn annuity for her.
The X rays confirmed it: another huge rock, but farther down the bowel than the last one. Dr. L suggested laxatives, IVs to keep the stupid Hound hydrated, and some intestinal meds designed to "shake things up."
We got twice daily calles, Friday and Saturday. We followed the rick's progress. It was very slow.
This morning, a very happy Vet called to say the rock had passed. I told D2 the Vet tech heard a loud "click" on the floor --that was how they knew. She's gullible, like her sister, sometimes!
Anyway --Dr. L is keeping her tonight as well, to make sure Molly's all hydrated and over her latest medical adventure. Three nights in the Vet hospital, and all kinds of IVs and drugs. I'm guessing a bill, this time, in the high 3 figures, if not the low 4 figures.
When we retrieve the idiot dog, we have to keep her inside, or get her a muzzle. Wifey says she'll look like Hannibal Lechter.
Years ago, I fell in love with the philosophy of a bumper sticker: "Life begins when the kids move away and the dog dies."
Alas -- it does not appear I'll be enjoying the second part of that message.
The second time, months after that, required a surgical procedure: a rock-ectomy, I called it.
After that, we fenced the areas where the round, large rocks exist in our yard, and we watched the moron dog when she was outside. Over time, we figured the Hound outgrew this habit, or learned her lesson. We were wrong!
On Friday, I opened Molly's crate, and she didn't make her usual comical "dash" for her food bowl. She looked awful. She went out front, curled up in an unfamiliar spot next to the fence, and looked like she was going to die. Wifey took her in to Dr. Langdon, our wonderful vet, who really, really loves our Bassett. Of course, part of the reason for that is the dog is a damn annuity for her.
The X rays confirmed it: another huge rock, but farther down the bowel than the last one. Dr. L suggested laxatives, IVs to keep the stupid Hound hydrated, and some intestinal meds designed to "shake things up."
We got twice daily calles, Friday and Saturday. We followed the rick's progress. It was very slow.
This morning, a very happy Vet called to say the rock had passed. I told D2 the Vet tech heard a loud "click" on the floor --that was how they knew. She's gullible, like her sister, sometimes!
Anyway --Dr. L is keeping her tonight as well, to make sure Molly's all hydrated and over her latest medical adventure. Three nights in the Vet hospital, and all kinds of IVs and drugs. I'm guessing a bill, this time, in the high 3 figures, if not the low 4 figures.
When we retrieve the idiot dog, we have to keep her inside, or get her a muzzle. Wifey says she'll look like Hannibal Lechter.
Years ago, I fell in love with the philosophy of a bumper sticker: "Life begins when the kids move away and the dog dies."
Alas -- it does not appear I'll be enjoying the second part of that message.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Hot Summer is Here
Our long, hot Miami summer is here. We've been having a lot of rain, and we seem to be getting into the standard weather pattern of clear mornings followed by major afternoon thunderstorms.
As I write this, the huge clouds are gathering from the West. I keep thinking about the lost Air France Airbus, and what it must have been like for those poor souls as the storm was breaking apart the plane. I learned years ago that aviation types always refer to passengers on a plane as "souls." I guess it's assumed that so many will become that over time...
When I used to fly in my boss Ed's planes, his pilots always talked about avoiding thunderstorms and their fierce inner winds. I guess the facts will come out as to why the Air France pilot flew right into the teeth of one. Or maybe it won't. Still, as I look skyward, I think about these poor souls.
Back on the ground: D2 finished an EXTREMELY hard academic year, and did wonderfully. I'm extremely proud of her. She got excellent grades, and is getting invites to apply from elite colleges. The best is Princeton: "We think you might be Princeton material..." D2 says she won't get in, and that the Ivies just want a bunch of students to keep applying to keep their ridiculously selective admission rates.
Still --when I was a rising senior, no schools like that wrote to me. I heard from the Hofstras and Haverfords of the academic world. Go D2!
D1 is busy, as always. She's taking Chemistry at FIU and interning for a nutrition research company in the afternoons. She'll take some time off at the end of the summer before moving into an apartment for her SENIOR (CARAMBA!!!!) year.
This morning we discussed graduate school. Weren't we just discussing Middle School?
Wifey is off to the vet with the Bassett Hound, again suffering from some type of stomach ailment. We're hoping it isn't another rock lodged in her gut. The last one cost us several thousand dollars...but we did get to keep the rock.
I've been putting in normal hours at work, so decided to play hookey today. I'm not a Protestant, and don't want to be accused of having their work ethic.
It's sunny out, and I just heard a clap of thunder. Harry Nielson sang about Miami weather the best, when he wrote about going where the sun keeps shining through the pouring rain.
A glass of iced tea and a rolling storm call me to my front porch. Hopefully the sick Bassett will be joining me soon.
As I write this, the huge clouds are gathering from the West. I keep thinking about the lost Air France Airbus, and what it must have been like for those poor souls as the storm was breaking apart the plane. I learned years ago that aviation types always refer to passengers on a plane as "souls." I guess it's assumed that so many will become that over time...
When I used to fly in my boss Ed's planes, his pilots always talked about avoiding thunderstorms and their fierce inner winds. I guess the facts will come out as to why the Air France pilot flew right into the teeth of one. Or maybe it won't. Still, as I look skyward, I think about these poor souls.
Back on the ground: D2 finished an EXTREMELY hard academic year, and did wonderfully. I'm extremely proud of her. She got excellent grades, and is getting invites to apply from elite colleges. The best is Princeton: "We think you might be Princeton material..." D2 says she won't get in, and that the Ivies just want a bunch of students to keep applying to keep their ridiculously selective admission rates.
Still --when I was a rising senior, no schools like that wrote to me. I heard from the Hofstras and Haverfords of the academic world. Go D2!
D1 is busy, as always. She's taking Chemistry at FIU and interning for a nutrition research company in the afternoons. She'll take some time off at the end of the summer before moving into an apartment for her SENIOR (CARAMBA!!!!) year.
This morning we discussed graduate school. Weren't we just discussing Middle School?
Wifey is off to the vet with the Bassett Hound, again suffering from some type of stomach ailment. We're hoping it isn't another rock lodged in her gut. The last one cost us several thousand dollars...but we did get to keep the rock.
I've been putting in normal hours at work, so decided to play hookey today. I'm not a Protestant, and don't want to be accused of having their work ethic.
It's sunny out, and I just heard a clap of thunder. Harry Nielson sang about Miami weather the best, when he wrote about going where the sun keeps shining through the pouring rain.
A glass of iced tea and a rolling storm call me to my front porch. Hopefully the sick Bassett will be joining me soon.
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