Seasons Change

So D1 is continuing to recover from her crash. I took her to a neurologist yesterday, a terrific guy who's her friend's father. He examined her and her CAT scan, and concluded her back fracture is minor, and will heal on its own. Whew!

She's wearing a splint that Dr. Lew's OT made for her, and will begin therapy tomorrow, in Gainesville!

Yes --she and her butler will be leaving later today for the trip back to college. Her butler, the person charged with driving her around, carrying her books, and helping her dress, is Wifey. She plans to stay with D1 as long as she needs, to get her life going again.

Wifey is terrific with this. We know plenty of mothers who would have said, essentially, "you're an adult, do this on your own," but not Wifey. She and I share such a deep devotion to our girls, and this is just another example of Wifey's continuing role of mother of the last (almost) 21 years.

So D2 and I will be going it alone for awhile. She's still engrossed in school and her college essays and applications. Last night I saw her reading "Tuesdays With Morrie," one of my great all time reading cries. I'm sure it will affect her the same way.

Meanwhile, Fall's here, but we don't feel it. It's still too damn hot. Although, yesterday I met Dr. Barry for lunch, and we were actually able to eat on an outside terrace, with fans spinning. I guess that's a positive sign.

At the office we're dealing with a betrayal. We referred a case to a lawyer friend and his paralegal, a disbarred lawyer. We had agreed on a co counsel fee split, and now that the fee is turning out to be higher than expected, the other guys claim they owe us much less than they do.

My first thought: shame on my partner and me, for doing business with people we know to be of bad reputation. We'll see how it turns out, but it's just another example of the dirtiness of what I do for a living.

My partner is livid. I told him that after my awful adventure with D1, issues of money just can't make me livid. The most I'm summoning is deep annoyance.

So, I'll wish Wifey and D1 a safe trip, and essentially hold my breath until I get the call that they're back in Gainesville.

Another day in the life of a worrying husband and Dad.

Multiple Accidents

Thankfully D1 is home recovering from her brush with tragedy. She realizes that, well, never mind. She's in pain, but dealing with it using Tylenol and the many flowers, candies, and fresh fruit baskets her friends sent to her. D2 is helping her consume the chocolate covered fruit and fresh baked Loni cookies...

Meanwhile, while we were in the hospital, we ran into an old friend whose even older mother in law had fallen. Then, yesterday, Wifey learned that her friend Cara's husband JAck had fallen, fracturing his knee.

Closer to home, my very old Mom sort of slid/fell in her bedroom yesterday, and needed help getting up. Uncle Dennis raced over and righted her. I thought of an old turtle that ends up on its shell --it needs a flip and off it goes...

So there has been more than our fair share of accidents and injuries. I'm hoping we've seen the end of it.

Meanwhile, I was IMing with a friend today about how blessed my family is to have friends who have been so wonderful with this ordeal. She realizes that, although D1 was in the crash, Wifey and I have suffered, as my recurrent nightmare , getting the phone call from Hell (I don't believe in Hell, so a phone call from an accident scene is far worse) has taken its toll on me.

Anyway --my dear, dear friends have called multiple times to check on D1, and to check on me. My IM friend noted that "Good people do good things in times of good, but especially in times of bad."

That's true and simple, of course. Her husband checked in, too!

Anyway, the day is quiet. I spoke to Very Old Mom, and she's taking it easy (no Jai Alai today) as she recovers from her scare. I'll get up to see her later this week, if my full plate lightens a bit.

The Jets are winning, and although I'm a Dolphins guy, that makes me happy because I'm invisioning Dr. Barry and his boys at home in Pembroke Pines, yelling happily at their TV. Dr. Eric would say this makes me a wuss...

I'll take my last bottles of water, and head over to shul for Kol Nidre. I'm not sure why, but it's a service I always find meaningful. MAybe it's because it recognizes the futility of man's actions, his vows. In a nutshell, as the sages say: " Man plans; God laughs."

I plan to spend the time fasting, and taking stock, as I always do. My family's life as we know and savor it nearly ended a tad over 48 hours ago, and I'm still dealing with that. It's easy to say "Yes I'm thankful, yes it could have been far, far worse," but the demonic scenes that play in my head of what might have happened on that Southern Palm Beach stretch of Turnpike still haunt me, and will, I suspect, for awhile.

My dear friends get it. I love them for helping me through it.

Perspective Before the Fast

Before D1 left for her senior year at UF, her little puppy peed on our floors a lot. I found myself getting very angry, especially when our Bassett Hound (with an Olympic sized bladder) decided to compete with her in this regard. I'd mostly yell at Wifey: "Does it make me such a crochtety old man that I want to live in a house free from the smell of dog piss???!!!"

Yesterday, I was in my office, deciding what to have for lunch. I got a call from D1, and we chatted happily. I told her how much I missed her, since I hadn't seen each other since mid August, and we were never without contact for more than a month. She told me she'd be coming home in October. We said goodbye.

About 30 minutes later, my cell phone showed another call from her, but the voice was unfamiliar. "Hi David, this is Lindsay. D1 was going to surprise you by coming home this weekend. We just had a bad accident. She can't talk. Someone called 911..."

I started moving towards my car as she spoke. It turned out that they'd made it all the way to the exit south of Delray Beach, when the crash happened. Apparently, D1 was distracted, lost control, and struck the median concrete barrier. She was in shock, but not bleeding, and she was conscious. The paramedics were taking her to Delray Hospital.

I called Dr. Eric. With his typical calm and competence, he called his head nurse there, and told him about D1's impending arrival. I made it from my Brickell office to the hospital in about 40 minutes. As I passed the crash site, they were loading the white Volvo onto a flat bed truck. There was a lot of damage, but it wasn't one of those wrecks where you say "Oh Lord --no one could have survived that!"

I saw D1. She was in pain in her back and right hand. Dr. Eric arrived, and took control. He called an orthopedic surgeon he knew who had the day off. He spoke with the ER doc, a nice young fellow recently moved from New Jersey.

It turned out that D1 had 2 broken fingers, and a compression fracture in her L1 (lowest) lumbar vertebra. The back fracture should heal on its own in about 2 months (with pain), but shouldn't cause a problem. The hand, according to the pulled off the golf course surgeon, needed surgery when the swelling went down.

About 6 pm, we left the hospital. Wifey had met Lindsey, D1's friend, and fetched the puppy. We headed for Eric and Dana's house for some Gatorade and pasta, to replenish the starving 20 year old accident victim.

Bette Midler sang it right when she said you gotta have friends. Eric was there for us big time. He turned a frightening ordeal into an almost happy occasion. He was there for me when my father died, in 1982. Yesterday was a much, much better day...

I called Dr. Lew, who is a hand surgeon. He said he was coming to our house!!! to see D1 and her X rays. He arrived at 830 this am, and popped the X ray DVD into the computer, then looked at the hand. His opinion: no surgery needed, just 6 weeks of therapy. As he said, D1 WAS a surgical candidate, but he felt the operation would just "produce a prettier X ray." In other words, her function would be the same (he expects a full return) and the surgery would leave her with a scar.

So, Wifey and D1 are headed up to Dr. Lew's office Monday to see his OT and get s splint. Hopefully we'll be able to take D1 back to UF, and Wifey can stay with her there for a bit, helping her get around until she recovers some more.

About an hour ago, two of D1s friends came by, with sweets and flowers. Hillary came home from Gainesville for Yom Kippur, and Kerry flew down, also for the holiday, from U Maryland. As I type, they're in D1's room, laughing and catching up on gossip. I said hello, and walked down the hall, not showing them my tears of happiness, my tears of gratitude.

Madeleine the puppy peed on our dining room rug, as well as on our bedroom carpet. I stepped in it, and felt the cold, wetness on my toes. I giggled like a young girl.

IT's All About the Connections

OUr receptionist Jackie and I were talking at lunch yesterday, and someohow the subject of disappearing from society came up. I told her about a writer who started a contest in which he assumed a new identity, and challenged computer sleuths to find him. One did, in about 10 days.

We realized the only way to truly hide is to move away and sever all ties to everyone you know. In my opinion, that would mean I might as well kill myself.

What is a person without his family and friends? I mean, I think it's wise to eliminate or reduce contact with toxic people in one's life, but the ones who truly matter, who elevate you? Is it worthwhile to sit on a beach somewhere in Costa Rica if you're surrounded only by 30 year old gorgeous Ticas in string bikinis? Well, maybe yes, but only for awhile...

My partner Paul started a charity called "Reading for Life," in which lawyers and their staffs read to kids in an inner city school once per week. I did it for one season, before realizing that I really don't like small children anymore. I did, when Ds were little, but now I've become almost W.C. Fields-like.

Last night there was a Fall "kickoff" for the group, and I went to the Downtown Main Library to hear it.

My friend Stuart was there --he's become a loyal reader. I met Stuart in 1987 and introduced him to PAul --they've become very close.

Mirta, my friend and secretary, organized the event, and she's brought Jackie into our firm.

Again --it's so clear that life is just about that --the connections. It's about paths crossing. It's about choosing to let people in sometimes, when they knock on your door.

After the event, we retired to the Capital Grille, where we had a terrific meal and some more great conversation. We all laughed, heartily, clebrating Paul, and his efforts, as well as Mirta. Mirta was, last year, a receptionist, and now she's running my law firm, as well as managing the several others who are our subtenants. She's also becoming, rapidly, a major force in "Reading for Life."

We toasted Mirta. I savored the connections.

A Big Change Gonna Come?

So Rabbi Yossi tells me his ilk, the bridge to the 17th century, think this is going to be a big year. They're all into numbers, and stuff, and this Hebrew year is 5770,and the home office of Chabad is located at 770 Eastern Parkway.

If the Rabbi is right, then the Messiah (Moshiach) will come, and there will be BIG CHANGES a-comin, as Sam Cooke once sang.

MAybe I'm all caught up in the contemplation of the new year, but I'm considering some changes, too.

At D2's back to school night (our last one) yesterday, I met a fellow named Rick Hamlin. He was in his 60s, and said he had been a teacher for 4 years. He joked that we might be able to tell he was a tad older than 26. I like him immediately.

It turns out he has a B.A. degree, and two Masters, and was a lifelong Episcopal Priest. He said "it became time to retire" from the ministry, and since he was too young to "do nothing," he decided to become a teacher.

I've always been attracted to folks with multiple careers, and Mr. Hamlin was a perfect example of that. D2 said the students adore him. He thanked us for "sharing our children" with him each day, and told us how their intellects and energy kept him youthful.

I'm getting very bored and tired of the law thing, as well as being the character Tevye wished he could be: "When you're rich they think you really know."

I often DON'T know, but I usually pick up the check. That's getting old, too.

Should I Be Bored?

It's Sunday afternoon, and I haven't been out of the house most of the weekend. Something tells me I ought to be bored, but I'm not.

Yesterday Wifey and I brought my nephew Henry and his wife Valerie to MIA, and then stopped off in West Kendall for a little shopping. I needed fish food; Wifey needed to take some small cabinets off of the TJ Maxx floor and put them onto ours.

I went home to clean up the guest room, but learned that Henry and Valerie are 2 of the neatest people ever. Often when people stay over, they leave like they were staying in a hotel: wet towels on the floor, beds unmade, etc... One time a family member even left me a very unpleasant unflushed object...

Not Henry and Valerie! They folded back the fold out bed, left the bathroom cleaner than they found it, and even folded their used sheets and towels. There went my afternoon activity! Kudos to my sister for raising this kid the right way!

Anyway, the rest of Saturday consisted of watching college football and napping. Notre Dame won, so that was a bummer, but the rest of the games went my way...

Today, Wifey suggested we go to a movie, but I have zero desire to leave the premises. I really AM getting old --there has to be something really appealing, like good food, or a Canes game, to pique my interest about venturing out of Devonwood.

Tomorrow I guess I'll head to the office. Wifey's having the house painted, so that gives me reason to vacate.

But then, in a week or two, there'll be another reason to stay: to watch the paint dry!

True Love in the Days of Awe

My nephew Henry and his wife Valerie have been here since Wednesday, and it's been a pleasure to have them. They're high school sweethearts who married 6 months ago, and are extremely and obviously in love.

Henry is a pretty taciturn young man, but when he speaks, Valerie hangs on each word. Likewise, he talks of her in elevated terms, and always seems to share a chari when they sit. I took Henry to a Canes game and tailgate party --my bastion of male bonding. There were a lot of "ball and chain" jokes going around. The worst Henry came up with was hoping Valerie was watching "Twilight" at home with Wifey, so he wouldn't have to see it!

It's a cliche, but young love really doesn brighten everything. Just having these two around the house has been delightful.

Last night we had our annual Rosh Hashonah dinner, and sister and brother in law brought very old Mother. My in laws came, and we also invited our friends and neighbors, the Patricks. If, in the history of next door neighbors, there have ever been a better pair --I'd be shocked to learn of them.

My friend John, also a lawyer, called to invite me, last minute, to dinner. He's a widowed father, and his daughter had gone out with friends. After I chided him for being such a goy that he didn't even realize it was a High Jewish Holiday ("would I invite you out Easter Sunday???!!!") I asked him to come over. He did, and we gave him a late arriving plate. His company added to the merriment.

Mom is priceless. She took it all in, all the talking, and laughing, and she had a great time. It really is true that age brings regression. I handle her finances, and I've cut off her gift giving --at least the purchase of gifts from her lim,ited funds. But, she just couldn't bring herself to come "empty handed," so she brought me a bottle of Kahlua liquer she's had in her house since she visited Panama during the Reagan Administration. Better --it was 3/4 empty!

It reminded me of a stunt I pulled in the 3rd grade. I knew my sister Sue's birthday was coming up, and I wanted to get her something, but I had, of course, no money or way to shop, so I removed a small gold bracelet from her jewelry box, wrapped it in tissue paper, and told her I had found it at school.

She was livid, as I recall (she wasn't the most mature 21 year old) but my parents pretended they believed me, and praised my generosity. (Actually --the whole affair was probably an early indication that I'd become a lawyer).

Still, I accepted Mom's gift, and we all chuckled at her sweetness...

So, Henry and Valerie are sleeping in, as are Wifey and D2. I watched D2 last night --carefully observing everyone. She has the soul of a writer, but wants to be a lawyer. Maybe I'l stil have time to reform her views...

D1 called from Gainesville, recovering from a likely bout of Swine flu. Fortunately an early prescription for Tamiflu called in by Dr. Eric seems to have kept her symptoms manageable. She missed us, and was headed out to a late Rosh Hash dinner with some sorority sisters.

So, I just read the paper on my front porch, as a violent thuunderstorm raged in front of me, with my dogs at my feet.

It was a fine way to meditate on the New Year, and the conclusion, of course, is that love (especially the young kind enjoyed by Henry and Valerie) makes all much brighter.

Attention Must Be Paid

Was there the slightest hint of less than oppressive heat in the air the past 2 mornings? D2 says no --it's as hot and muggy as ever these days.

We're getting (hopefully) to the end of the Miami dog days --the worst time of year to live here. If we're lucky, we'll get our first cool front in October.

4 years ago, after Hurricane Wilma knocked out our power for 10 days, it was blissfully cool at night, so much that the lack of a/c was fine. This year? I guess we'll find out soon.

All I know is, things are quite boring these days, and that's fine with me. My nephew Henry and his new wife Valerie are due for a visit starting tomorrow, and I intend to squire them around town. Henry hasn't been here in 9 years, and this is Val's first trip East of the Mississippi, as far as I know.

Once they get used to the heat, they'll have a fine time.

My Rabbi friend reminded me that the Days of Awe are approaching. I answered that they were already here --and the Canes were 1-0! No, he said, with the Jewish New Year and Day of Atonement coming, we must take stock of our lives and strive to become closer to God.

Well, we are having a dinner this Friday for Rosh Hashonah, although the religiousity of the day won't be at my house. Mostly, we'll honor and savor Wifey's parents and my very old Mom, who are happily still around.

I probably WILL go to services the night before Yom Kippur, for Kol Nidre. Kol Nidre means "all vows," and it's the service before the day of fasting where we renounce all vows of the previous year, to purify ourselves in readiness of the "rebirth" of the coming year.

I've always enjoyed Kol Nidre. The chanting melodies resonate with me deeply.

Do I'll probably go, even though I'll have to endure the sidelong glance of my rabbi friend, whose look always seems to say "Oh, so you actually took the trouble to come to ONE service???!!!"

Part of Yom Kippur also involves the symbolic casting of one's sins into the water. I did that last year, into my pond, and none of the turtles or fish died, so this year the pond will be my sin repository again.

I hope, as I leave the Kol Nidre service, and begin my yearly fast, it's nice and cool outside...

Folks I Can't Stand

About 10 years ago, when I was playing at being a more observant Jew, my rabbi friend asked me to join a committee to help raise funds for the survival of his synagogue.

We met one evening at the East Kendall home of a commercial lawyer and his wife, who was the daughter of a disgraced former judge, ensnared in the infamous "Operation Court Broom" scandal.

Anyway, the lawyer, whom I'll call Jeff, since that was his name, was very stand-offish to me. He listened intently to the others in the group, including some business owners, and other local professionals. When I spoke, Jeff would look at his watch, or yawn, as if he wondered why some schlepper was a part of the august assembly.

Well, we had the next meeting at my house, and when Jeff came over, he seemed in awe of the size of Villa Wifey. He started paying close attention to me, and had a thousand questions about my law practice, and where I trained, etc... He literally treated me as if I was formerly foul smelling, and had now showered and put on cologne.

I immediately labeled him an arriviste putz. Somehow when he found out I was more "important" than he had thought, I became worthy of his concern.

Well, the years passed, and I have mostly recovered from my flirtation with religious observance, and Jeff has gone on with his career, as far as I know. I never forgot what a putz he was.

It happened again last night! Wifey and I went out with my old friend Norman and his lovely new wife. Norman is one of those folks I've always (since 1983) felt close to, and somehow don't socialize with nearly enough. We went to a great Design District restaurant, and had terrific food and fine conversation.

I ran into a lawyer I know, and HIS ex judge wife. The lawyer knows my partner well, and I introduced him to Norman and Deb, and, as usual, the diminutive fellow went on about how well he was doing and how much money his wife earned.

I noticed he paid little attention to Norman, who stood by politely, as the big mouthed little fellow went on and on. Well, I mentioned that Norman was a name partner in a fairly well known Miami firm, and the conversation turned.

All of a sudden, the tiny barrister had interest in Norman, and started playing Jewish geography with him. It was as if Norman had transformed from some random, unimportant dinner guest to a celebrity!

Dave Barry once wrote that a person who is nice to you, but treats delivery folks and other service workers poorly, is NOT a nice person.

And so it was last night.

Norman's so cool, I don't even think he noticed, but Wifey and I did. We talked about it this morning.

Well, it didn't overshadow a fine evening, with Norman and his lovely, foreign-born wife. Oh wait --she's Canadian. Isn't that a northern state?

Professor Harry P Schultz's wisdom was alive last night: we're all students inthe study of human nature.

Why Me Lord?

Yesterday I visited VOM (Very Old Mother), and she was doing surprisingly well. After I gave her great comfort, by tossing in the trash junk mail that she thought was important, we went to lunch. She told me she's still so grateful to be alive, though she wishes her hip pain would alleviate.

I told her she was doing amazingly well for a nearly 90 year old, and she agreed.

On the way home, I listened to an obscure satellite radio station (aren't they all?) and heard a song I hadn't heard since the 70s: "Why Me, Lord?" by Kris Kristopherson. It's a spiritual, and it discusses his finding Jesus, and asking the Lord why he, a mope, was given so many blessings.

Now, to me Jesus has only one real importance in my life. He's Jesus Garcia, an excellent mechanic, now retired, who did excellent work on my car, and I still miss him.

But the song's message still resonates --humility and gratitude.

Someone very close is going through another crisis with an adult child, the latest in a string of crises. It's hard for her to feel gratitude about anything right now, and that hurts me to the core.

I hate feeling powerless, and with her, that's what I am, other than giving a financial safety net. When someone close calls with a problem, my brain goes immediately to "how do we fix this" mode. With one so bereft, that doesn't do the trick.

So, today, as always, I count my blessings. D2 is taking the ACT as I write --trying to guild her score's lily, in my view. She already has a terrific score, but her quiet competiteveness drives her even more. She'd actually make a fine pre med student. But, that's not likely --after seeing all of my doctor friends and deciding that's not for her.

D1 just wrote from Gainesville --happy with her boyfriend, classes, and puppy.

Wifey is straightening up the house in advance of Rosh Hashanah, and the coming visit of my nephew and his wife from California.

Would that I could fix more that's broken. I just have to be thankful for what's not broken.

They Call it Rainy Friday

It's near the end of the Jewish year. Nex week is Rosh Hashonah, the "head of the year," according to Heberew tradition. It's bad enough to have to take stock of one's life ONCE per year; diaspora Jews do it twice.

I'm off to see the ancient Mother today, after a meeting in Broward County with a parylized mand and his family.

The client, a Mexican construction worker, fell off of a 2nd story roof on a house he was building in Miramar, and is now an incomplete quadriplegic. His wife and kids adore him.

The Workers Comp carrier has put them up in a hotel in Plantation, in University Drive, and I've visited him there about 10 times in the past year. Each time it breaks my heart --his 4 year old son climbs into his lap, in his wheelchair, and strokes his face.

My mother, nearing 90, has far more physical function than he does, and yet he embraces each day.

My mother got some letter in the mail from her bank, and is panicked, as usual. Apparently it's just an offer to get an additional credit card, but every letter and call she gets is a huge deal to her. I've learned it's easier to just make the trip to Delray to calm her than it is to try to explain things to her.

Dr. Barry and I were talking a few weeks ago, about responsibility. We were always responsible men, even in college. But back then, we were in charge of ourselves. He wonders where, along the way, we got signed up to have to take care of extended family members in addition to our wives and kids.

Dr. Eric, the third of our college Three Stooges, is in the same boat. His wiidowed mother is on his "plate" both economically and emotionally.

I guess it goes with the territory, as Arthur Miller wrote.

When Wifey was in Maine, she found a wooden sign that she bought for me. It reads "Dad's wish: to enjoy the same lifestyle as his wife and children."

My father would have loved that sign, too.

So, it's raining, and I'm blessed. I have full use of my extremities, and the full love of my family. As I was just typing, I got a text on my phone, from D1, who has an early Friday class: "I love Daddy."

Is there a better gift to receive on a rainy Friday, or any other day? IF there is, I don't know what it is.

A chicken Dinner --Is It Worth It?

My good friend Todd in Colorado commented recently that my blog is too damn happy. Worse -- I reference stuff like taking my spoiled family to Ritz Carlton's and talk about the laughs and great meals we share.

Hey --isn't the first lesson of Creative Writing l to "write what you know?"

I AM an overfed, overpaid, over-lucky son of a bitch. What can I say?

And Todd is ALSO overpaid (sometimes by my firm) and overlucky, though NOT overfed (he weighs 140 soaking wet).

I guess I could expand and analyze on my demons. Just this very morning D2 left for school, and a few minutes later I heard a not too distant siren, and immediately my defective (inherited from my dear Dad) brain conjured an image of her body crushed in her little red car.

Each time the phone rings, my rapid fire neurons concoct a narrative from an Alachua County Deputy Sherriff, telling me that D1 was picked off by the latest campus spree killer as she sipped a pre class latte.

So there it is --the real crap I have to beat back constantly to keep my sunny (from my mother Sunny) disposition. Sometimes the demons visit at 4 am, after a truncated night's sleep. I go over every variety of disease and calamity, and unwillingly match them up with my loved ones. It really sucks, let me admit.

Instead I choose to dwell on the happy, and positive, on the manifold blessings that have come my way.

And I know Todd doesn't begrudge me this. Ah, to begrudge. I learned in Pat McCarthy's Irish Literature class about a poet named Brendan Behan, who was a Dublin pub denizen until he hit it big in the book world. One of his drinking buddies told Behan that some of the old gang begrudged him his wealth and fame. The poet, a learned man, a poet, famously remarked: "Fuck the begrudgers!"

So there will be more about the joyousness, and privilege, and especially the laughter. I just read recently the obvious: some young will die; the old MUST die.

Before then, I choose the light, the good, the true friendship.

For example, my beloved Canes won a huge game, and I watched with some fine buddies. I remarked that OUR quarterback, unlike the Gator signal caller, is no virgin. Dr. Barry thinks I should market that as a t shirt slogan.

Speaking of the Black renaissance, the Pres is on, so I'm off.

It's not just chicken --there'll be brisket at the table of life, as well. Ah, that I don't choke on it.

The Return of the Canes

I've said this before about myself: I wish I got excited about ballet, classical music, or even good dramas. I appreciate all of those, but the only thing that truly stands up the hair on my neck is Hurricanes football, and tonight is the first game.

I try to recreate, on a smaller scale, the away game day activities of one of my life's mentors, Ed Perse. Ed had grand game watching parties in a wonderfully decorated game room, complete with a model train that circled the room when UM scored, and a whole array of pinball machines and bleacher seats.

My favorite memories were meeting the freshman players, back when the NCAA allowed team boosters like Ed to host them at parties (the freshmen didn't travel with the team to away games). I met a goofy, curly haired kid named Bernie Kosar, and a huge young man named Jerome Brown.

Later, when D1 was born, she would toddle around the game room as we watched. Ed would sit in his "control chair," which was an antique barber's chair, with an electric megaphone. D1 toddled in fron of the TV screen, and a booming voice came from above firmly but sweetly asking her to move aside. D1 looked skyward, as if, at 13 months old, she was hearing the command of the Lord.

Well, I have a smaller game watching room, but I do have some actual seats from the old Orange Bowl, along with some Canes memorabilia. We open tonight at FSU, a big rival.

Wifey and D2 are on their way home from Gainesville, and should arrive before kickoff, assuming Wifey doesn't travel via Atlanta.

Ed's son Mike is coming over, along with his son Chris. That's one of the things I love about Canes football --the generations that all fall in love, watching with their parents. D1 is at UF, and isn't much of a football fan, but I know she's a Cane at heart. Same with D2.

So, I'll be eating pizza and drinking beer for the first time in my 2 month low carb attempt to regain a somewhat human form. I truly hope the Canes win, and start their new climb to excellence. But, win or lose, watching the game with my football friends, analyzing plays, and shouting at the TV --well, it takes me away, mentally, even more than a European vacation.

So, I probably will see a ballet or two, and enjoy some fine music, but for now --Go Canes!

Wifey's Not So Excellent Adventure

Wifey has lived in Florida most of her life, certainly for all of her DRIVING life. She's been everywhere in the state, and even attended FSU for one year, all the way up in Tally. As far as I know, when she was at FSU, she even drove home to Miami once or twice.

D1 is a senior at UF. Although Wifey's bad back prevented many trips to Gainesville to see her daughter, she's still made that trip at least 10 times over D1's 3 plus years away.

Wifey was just in Naples with me 2 months ago.

From Miami, one can drive essentially 3 ways: north, south, and west. If you drive east, in very little time, you hear a big splash.

Well, somehow, someway, I got a most disturbing phone call yesterday, about 2 hours after Wifey and D2 left on a road trip to Gainesville. "I think we're lost."

Unthinkable! Before Wifey left, I handed her (no --better --placed into her console) a Garmin GPS. She asked me how to get to UF. I thought she was kidding, but I still dutifully emailed her the following directions: "Turnpike North to end. I-75 North to Gainesville (first of 3 exits for D1's house)."

I thought this was fool proof. I was wrong.

She entered the Turnpike, and soon saw a sign that said "I75 North." She forgot that the Turnpike is about 265 miles long (remember "to end?"). Wifey took the exit and was on her way WEST, across the Everglades!

Now, I'm really annoyed at her passenger, too. D2 has made many trips to UF, and only half heartedly protested that seeing alligators, wading birds, and and endless horizon of the "River of Grass," didn't "look right."

D2 is far smarter than I am. She's at least as good a writer, and is getting an A in Calculus! She's being recruited by Ivy League colleges. She's amazing!

But, I guess she's never paid too much attention to directions, either. In this age of GPS, I guess that along with Calculus and numerable AP classes, one doesn't necessarily learn, in one's own state, which way is, literally, up.

Anyway -- Wifey made her SECOND major mistake --she called me from a gas station off of I-75, to tell me this. It was another in a series of living out the old joke about the Jewish telegram I no longer find funny: "Start worrying. Stop. Details to follow. Stop."

As a paranoid, personal injury lawyer (semi retired) who lives in his head with all of his worries and anxieties, who still sees his family decapitated in his sick brain each time he hears a passing ambulance, this was not a good call to get.

I immediately invisioned Wifey and D2 pulling off the highway in Tampa, into one of Dwight Gooden's old neighborhoods (to say this in a politically correct way) to ask for directions to Gainesville. I summoned the scene from "Vacation" where Chevy Chase asks directions in East St. Louis, as the locals steal parts off of his family fun wagon.

And so I yelled. Wifey, as Wifey is wont to do, started explaining herself, somehow justifying why she drove west (and continued for over 100 miles!) instead of north, and, implying, as she does, that somehow she shouldn't have even been called upon to do something as exotic and strenuous and taxing as driving to Gainesville without me there!

Well, the two peripatetic (that's a word I learned in law school!) sojourners made it back to I-75 just fine, and I called back to apoligize for blowing my top.

And, about 7 1/2 hours later, they rolled into Gainesville. LAst time I made the drive, it was just over 5 hours.

So, Wifey and the Ds are all happily together, with our grand dog. I've lost, probably, no more than 2 or 3 years of life due to the worrying.

I blew off steam by telling Mike what happened. And Dr. Barry, who absolutely refused to believe that I wasn't, like our favorite writer Dave Barry, "making this up."

Mike told his daughter Amanda, who texted D2 something about her "detour."

And so Wifey and I continue our relentless decline into senility. I guess it's my turn, now, to do something brainless. Maybe I screwed up our plane reservations for our planned NC Fall trip. I'm going to go double check. Last time I went to Asheville, on business, I booked my return for the SAME DAY as my arrival, and ended up spending a full day at the Raleigh/Durham airport.

But, in my defense, I never lost sight of one fact: Miami, my home, lay to the south.

Chapter 2

About 15 years ago, Wifey and I became friends with an older couple, Alan and Helene. We met rhough our rabbi friend, and enjoyed spending time with them. We found them to be one of the very few married couples whose marriage we admired --they were very much in love, after a long marriage, and truly respected each other.

Alan and Helene never told the tired "ball and chain jokes." Rather , they spoke about each other in elevated terms, but in a lighthearted way.

About 7 years ago, Alan and Helene moved to Atlanta, to be close to their 2 kids and grandchildren. They all lived within a few blocks of each other, and Sandy and David and their spouses revelled in having Alan and Helene close by. Again --Wifey and I thought --this is what WE want --to someday have our own grown kids feel this way about us.

Sadly, soon after the move, Helene was diagnosed with a rare type of leukemia. Alan flew her all over the country (it turns out U Washington in Seattle has a cutting edge bone marrow/stem cell treatment facility) in search of a cure. Helene lived long enough to say goodbye to her many friends, and died last year.

There were memorial services in Atlanta and Miami. Helene was a beloved social worker, and had amassed a huge group of former patients and friends. It was Helene's dear friend Arlene who taught me a simple lesson that Helene lived: it's better to be kind than right.

Alan was devastated. He reached out to folks who lost long term spouses, and counseled them as well as himself. One of these visits was fateful.

He met Doreen, a longtime Miami friend, whose husband had died 9 months before Helene. They shared their grief, but then a spark happened.

I had breakfast with Alan yesterday, and he told me all about his newfound love. He told me that words can't describe his joy and amazement that he was able to love again, and how wonderful Doreen is.

He's probably going to move back to Miami, as Doreen is younger, and still working. Her house is less than 1/2 mile from where Alan and Helene lived.

Alan is in his late 60s, and yesterday had a glint in his eye and a spring in his step that has been missing during Helene's long ilness and death.

I guess the lesson is that you have to keep doors open. Alan has done that, and has been blessed with a terrific lady a second time.

I look forward to many more breakfasts with him. As he said --life is grand, and beautiful, as long as your heart stays open.

The Shark Hunter

My friend Mark on LI still loves to fish, something we did a lot of as kids. I haven't been fishing since I left the employ of my boss Ed, a true world class fisherman. That was 15 years ago.

But, sitting around yesterday, I started remembering the coolest fisherman I ever met: Rene Dedios. Rene was a local South Beach celebrity in the 702. I met him when my family took vacations to Miami Beach in the 70s.

Rene was a few years older than I was, and I met him hanging out at a game arcade on Ocean and First Street. In those days, the arcade had "Pong," and air hockey table, and pinball machines. I was watching Rene play air hockey, and he said "kid --go get me change," as he handed me a dollar. I was 15, and did what I was told. I returned with his 4 quarters, and he handed me one as a tip. It was my first exposure to a sort of poor man's Rat PAck behavior, and I was impressed.

It turned out that Rene was a trainer at the nearby dog racing track, and lived in the tenements next to Joe's Stone Crab, but his true love was shark fishing. He told me to come by the pier one night.

Again, I did as I was told, and saw him and 4 of his Cuban buddies plop a huge hunk of meat onto an enormous hook, and row the bait out close to a mile from the First Street Pier. I hung around for a few hours, listening to their Spanglish and watching the other kids skateboard and listen to music, when I had to go back to my family's Sea Crest Hotel room. I said goodnight to Rene and he told me to come back in the morning.

I did, and there was a crowd surrounding a dead 15 foot Mako shark on the pier. Renen smiled at me, and told me the bite came about 3 am, and it took 2 hours to land the beast.

Over the following years, I'd see Rene when my family came to visit over Christmas and Easter breaks. He grew into a local celebrity.

I lost touch with him after I moved here, although about 10 years ago I saw his picture in the Herald --he was still hunting sharks! I smiled to myself.

Last night I did a web search and turned up some South Florida Fishing sites. Rene was profiled prominently as a legendary shark fisherman. He died of Diabetes in 2003. He must have been no more than 50.

On the web sites, there were photos of him on the First Street pier in the late 70s. The photos of long haired boys and skateboarders brought back more happy memories.

The pier is gone now, replaced by an overpriced beach restaurant and bar. The dog track is a really cool City park --South Pointe --where folks watch the cruise ships sail away.

Rene died 6 years ago, and I didn't know of his passing, but he lives on in my adolescent memory as the first adventurer I ever met.