See Ya, Aughts!

So today is the last day of the "aughts," as in aught one, aught two, etc... I seem to remember heating that in an old movie, when some anciet coot had a line like "I remember back in aught 9..."

Well, aught 9 is going out, and the 10s are coming in!

I spent a rather busy final week. We returned from our annual Holiday cruise Saturday, and that night there was a party at our friends Arnald and Cathay's house.

Monday I went to the office and actually did a bit of legal work --preparing a lawsuit for filing next week, against a driver who rammed my client and broke her arm. The driver is insured by Geico, and they've offered 1/2 of their policy. They'll pay more after suit is filed; I've been doing this so long, I know the calculus of settlement with car insurers. They're such predictable fools -- which is why it was so easy taking their money over the years...

The adjuster on this case sounds like she's about 6 months out of college, and on the phone was giving me the standard corporate line. I was pleasant to her, and prepared a letter for delivery next week saying, really," Best wishes for a happy and prosperous 2010. Enclosed please find a lawsuit I filed today..."

If I couldn't have fun doing the law business, I really WOULD have to immediately quit.

Tuesday Joel and I blasted up the Turnpike to Orlando to watch our Canes in the 2nd Rate Bowl. There were a ton of fans there, and we each ran into some good friends. We had a great steak at Kress Chop House, and some fine martinis at our hotel bar --The Grand Bohemian. Nice hotel --more New Orleans than Orlando.

The game was awful --the Canes played terribly, and were beaten by a bunch of slow white guys from Wisconsin. I wouldn't want to be going to any New Year's parties in NW Miami tonight, if I were any of the players.

Still --Joel and I laughed a lot, and had a blast. We're both raconteurs --plus we're good story tellers --so the 3/5 hour drive each way seemed to fly by.

I was greeted by D1's boyfriend Thomas, and I took him and D1 to Titanic Brew restaurant near the U for dinner. Afterwards I drove him around and showed him the campus --still my favorite place in the world.

Today I had D2's car waxed and de-mildewed (the price we pay for living in a damn arboretum) and then drove her to my office, where she had her hair cut by the hilarious gay French guys in my building's salon.

Afterwards we are sushi and Thai food al fresco (wow --2 Asian references and one Italian in a single sentence) and debriefed a bit about her friend's funeral. The young man's death haunts these final days of '09 for him --he was so alive and vital to me just months ago.

And tonight? D1 and Thomas are going to a party at Fox's Saloon in South Miami --one of my favorite old Miami pubs. It's across from the hospital where she was born, and the place my mentor Ed Perse taught me about martinis...

They're taking a cab home, though it's not more than two miles away.

D2 is going to a sleepover party at one of her friend's houses ALSO in the neighborhood. Ah --her last New Year's Eve before adulthood...

Wifey and I were invited to a few local get togethers, but I'm still troubled by a few I've been to where the guests were struggling to stay awake past 10 pm. If one is going to be an old fogey, and admit they're over the hill, to me there's more dignity in doing it at home than there is in front of others.

Wifey LOVES movies, so we're going to see the new George Clooney flick, and probably be in bed by 10. With luck, we'll stay awake to see the ball drop in Times Square, and maybe the red slipper with the drag queen that falls on Duval Street in Key West.

Adios, aught 9.

A Terrible Waste

On last Winter's cruise, all was great until one evening D2 turned on D1's cell phone, and had a message from D1's roommate: a sorority sister, en route to her Ohio home for the holidays, had been killed in a car crash. D1 was of course upset, and cried, and we spent the rest of the trip saddened by the unfairness of life.

This year, on the final night of the trip, D1 turned on HER cell phone as we sailed off the Florida coast, and an urgent message came on: one of D2's friends had also died, on Christmas Eve.

D2 was devastated. The young man was a close friend of hers, and he killed himself with an overdose of pain medication.

He was a FSU freshman. He was tall, handsome, and brilliant. He's been to our house many times over the years, and I was always struck by his charm and maturity.

2 years ago, he took too much Xanax, and was found unconscious in his house. He went through rehab, and seemed to be back on track. He graduated last May, and I saw him and his parents before the senior prom. All seemed fine. I guess not.

Apparently, he remained very troubled, and decided to stay in Tally for the break. After a few days of non contact, his parents asked the police to check, and they made the horrible discovery.

Well, he made an awful, irrevocable decision, and now he's gone, of course. He'll be mourned, and glamorized as are all who, James Dean or Jim Morrison-like, die young.

But his parents? I don't know them well, but can there ever be a recovery for them?

There's a memorial service set for Tuesday, at his family's synagogue. He was raised Jewish, though his father was Christian. I'm off to Orlando that day, to see my Canes play in a bowl game, and I've never felt more relieved about missing an event. The Ds will go. I have a feeling that Wifey will be elsewhere during the service -- losing an 18 year old is just too close to home, as the cliche goes.

D2 tells me that the young man's father, a succesful writer and college professor, has already spoken to some of the friends, and, as a very spiritual man, told them that some are just fated to be here fewer years than others.

I don't know him well, and I grieve for his pain.

Dr. Barry, along with his stellar accomplishments, has an odious one: he's been to several children's funerals. It goes with the territory of being a pediatric intensive care doc.

When called upon to speak, he always quotes a passage, beautifully written, by a young rabbi from the 50s named Josh Liebman, who wrote a book called "Peace of Mind." Liebman died very young, but was a wise man, and gifted writer. He compared life to a child's glorious day in a park, which sometimes ended too soon, as when a winter storm blew in, and the child was put down to sleep by the gentle nurse called Death.

The words offer comfort, and I plan to send them to the parents of the young man.

What a terrible waste.

It's Been a Lovely Cruise

So off we sailed on Monday, with a group of dear friends, and a cargo hold full of rum and vodka.

Dr. Eric set the tone as soon as we boarded by ordering a couple shots of tequila, and off we went.

Drs. Eric and Barry and their families, as well as Wifey's dear friend Edna, her husband and delightful daughters, and our neighbors and friends Charlie and Diane and their boy --we packed the ship it seemed.

Tuesday we docked in Key West, one of my favorite places, and most of us toured the newly renovated Truman White House. Eric and Mark (Edna's taciturn husband) shot some great photos, and then we split up for lunch.

There was another day at sea, and then on Thursday we called on Georgetown, Grand Cayman. The Ds swam with dolphins, and we took a public bus back to the port. The impression of Grand Cayman was very positive --Bahamas with much friendlier folks, and less poverty.

We met at the ship with the others, and compared our Caymanian (Caymaniacal)? adventures.

Friday was Wifey's birthday, as well as some other holiday folks make some sort of fuss about, with trees, and lights, and carols, and I woke her at 7:30 to show her a glorious Caribbean sunrise. It was something to behold: red streaks coming up from the East. The rest of the day Wifey was treated like a queen by her family and friends , including a serenade by the shipboard a capella group, in four part harmony.

We returned this morning, after hearing tragic news about one of D2's friends. It was almost as if the Big Guy upstairs wanted to make a point about how we'd better damn well savor the good times...

So -- if there is a better way to spend the waning days of 2009, I can't imagine what it is.

Now I'm off to bed, sans the motion of the ship, but still, maybe, to dream of sea turtles and pirates.

Anchors Aweigh

I guess I need to pack for tomorrow's trip, but the cool weather and a slight hangover from last night's party are fueling world class procrastination. Plus, the Dolphins were on TV today, and had a spectacular 4th quarter comeback, only to suffer an even more spectacular choke in overtime.

Last year we went on a cruise with Dr. Eric and his family, and had a great time. We decided to do it again this year, and added Dr. Barry and HIS family, too. Wifey then went a bit nuts, and invited her friend Edna and her family, and our neighbor/friends Diane and Charlie. Somehow our group is now up to 19. And, my friend Lauren from Atlanta, coincidentally, is ALSO on the cruise, with her husband and 4 kids. Watch out, Celebrity Cruises.

My partner Paul tried to grind me about the trip, as Paul is wont to do, saying that I'm responsible for everyone's good time. Ha! As if!

If I've learned anything in life, it's that I'm responsible for the happiness of precisely one person, and he's the fool typing this blog.

Still, I do look forward to spending some quality time with Wifey, my Ds, and some of our closest friends.

The only thing I sort of want to do is visit the newly renovated Truman White House in Key West. I've been there twice, and it's just undergone a major renovation.

Other than that, I plan my typical vacation itinerary: planning almost nothing. I've been around the world, and learned that I rarely savor or remember the museums, historic sites, etc... I remember the people I'm with , and how they enjoy the experiences we share.

Wifey just put together a Facebook album on some of our vacations. As I look at the photos, I remember the jokes, and mishaps. The St. Petersburgh Winter Palace might as well be the Biltmore Estate in North Carolina. They're both old houses where rich folks lived. But I'll always remember a family we met on the Baltic cruise, and their little girl who, after hearing the tour guide go on about Peter and Catherine, screwed up her face in disappointment at never seeing "Peter the Grape."

So --hopefully there'll be some memories like that we'll all take away from this little ship ride.

Ahoy!

Poor Loser

I was just having my year end philosophy (bullshit) session with my sister Sue in California, and she reminded me about a sad sack my dear friend Edee, the neuroscientist told me about.

Edee recalled the life story of this schlub about 6 years ago. She met him in a bar, drunk and stoned as usual, unemployed, and divorced from his third wife. The fact that he even got women to marry him was a combination of the desperation of aging ladies, and the fact that he DID have a charming personality.

Anyway, Dave, as I'll call him because that's his name, grew up middle class, and won a scholarship to college. Things were going well. He was very close to his parents, and had a great girlfriend.

In January of his junior year, the girlfriend mysteriously broke up with him, leaving him broken hearted. She never told him why she no longer wanted to be with him, or why their talk of sharing a life together were so much garbage --she just left one day and never returned. When Dave called her family, they hung up on him, like all of a sudden he had become some sort of criminal.

He limped along his junior year, and then that summer, tragedy struck. His father had a massive heart attack, and died in his arms. It was surreal to him; he never experienced death personally, let alone the person closest to him. Making matters worse, his mother was from the old school --she never even knew how to write a check or pay a bill, so now Dave was expected, at 20, to become the "man of the house."

By the time Edee got to this part of her tale, I knew who she was talking about: me!

Of course, I hadn't turned into a drunken, drug addicted loser, so she made her point: that I was blessed with the wherewithal to deal with the misery that came my way, instead of allowing it to become the excuse for loserhood.

To this day, Edee's is the supreme compliment I ever received.

As I sit on my porch sometimes, I wonder about the other Dave. Would he have had more fun than I have?

One of my minor life's goals, like seeing baseball games in all major league parks, was to spend a whole week drunk in Key West. I've never gone past 1/2 day in that department, and doubt I ever will.

Some folks get more than their share of misery --like my client who has lost 2 beloved children, and her second marriage. She keeps on keeping on...

I hope to keep Loser Dave at bay...

Well It's A Rainy Night in Florida

I picked an EXCELLENT day to keep away from the office today, as it rained like it was Summer. No lightning or thunder, but sheets and sheets of water flooded the streets. Hopefully the long awaited cool weather is on its way.

I took D2 to a pulmonologist to check on a couple month cough. He gave us the good news that it's not asthma or pneumonia, but probably just a sinus infection. I told Dr. Barry about it, and he scoffed at the non academic's prescribing of antibiotics --thinking the thing will probably go away on its own, and community doctors over prescribe antibiotics, etc... He's such a medical snob!

D1's friend Hannah came over, and regaled us with tales of her semester in Chile. Hannah's an incredibly cool Stanford junior -- brilliant, charming, and funny. She's also self deprecating --she has As in Organic Chem --and doesn't even mention her accomplishments unless D1 pulls them out of her like teeth. Hannah enjoyed her time away, but is thrilled to come back home.

So --another uneventful day in the 305 --just the way I like it!

Tomorrow night we have a Holiday party at my friend/office roommate Joel's house in the Grove. He lives in a 1920 house which was originally built by a Grove pioneer family, and then added to over the years. He and his wife Courtney know how to throw a party --last year's was the best holiday party I've ever been to. Things got a bit out of hand with the wife of one guest and Joel's "idiot cousin," as he calls him, and several people drank more than they ever had before.

I think this year will be a bit more tame, but it still ought to be a good time. D1 is going, but not D2. The teen's reason for staying home? "I don't particularly want to go watch 40 year olds snort lines of cocaine." I don't, either...

The cruise looms on the horizon. If it's 1/10 as much fun as last year's, it'll be great. The great thing about cruising with a group is that you can all choose to be together, or escape to quiet parts of the ship, as the mood strikes.

I'm thinking I'll get through 2 or 3 books, and probably gain back some of the weight I've been losing. What more could one ask for?

Slouching Towards the New Year

Each year, at this time, I find myself putting off the commencement of new projects. In the Law business, at least the accident case side of things, NOTHING gets done near the end of the year. Defense lawyers would give up their first born children rather than go to trial during the Holidays, when jurors are feeling all nostalgic and sympathetic, and therefore prone to award big damages.

So, at the office it's been mostly tying up loose ends, and delegating. Today, if I'm honest, the only reason I'm even going to work is because the cleaning lady will be here, and I HATE to be home when she comes. First, since my basic Spanish is better than Wifey's --she asks me all kinds of questions about stuff in the house. But the bigger reason is my proletarian distaste of having someone else clean up my toilet and floors, even though I pay her fairly to do it. You can take the boy out of the middle class, but...

D2 has no such break. She's had a group of AP Economics students over each night, working on some major project. She wrote an editorial for her paper comparing her senior year to her father's 30 years ago. While I was spending most of my time at the Planting Fields or Jones Beach, she's still working hard! No easy time for her --she's the one who will most savor the coming vacation time.

D1 finished her finals, but was still working on a paper on Bulgarian language! I refuse to accept that there's such a country as Bulgaria --I'm convinced it was the place the cartoonists created as the homeland of Boris and Natasha Badanov.

Wifey, world class putterer and FaceBooker, is no less busy than usual.

No --I'm the family slacker, and proud of it!

So, if all goes according to plan, we'll leave Monday for a cruise with our closest friends. There are 19 of us booked to sail to Key West and Grand Cayman. Since the destinations aren't exotic, I plan to read, drink, and stare out into the open sea.

I figure the way I'm spending this week is good preparation.

The Magical Dog

Our usual dog pack consists of 2 dogs --a sweet, elderly Labrador, and a comical Basset Hound. When D1 is home, our pack expands to 3, with the cute puppy Madeleine, the King Charles Cavalier Spaniel.

These types of spaniels were bred to be lapdogs, and companions, and Madeleine excels in both areas. She LOVES to be around people, and I haven't met the person yet she can't make happier. Wifey took her to Cara's yesterday, to help soften the grieving over Cara's husband's death, and she said it worked! Cara laughed and cuddled with the puppy. Wifey also claims that Madeleine in the house causes a quantitative decrease in D2's surliness. Now THAT'S impressive!

My morning routine consists of feeding the 3 dogs, putting the coffee on, and then walking to my front gate to fetch the morning paper. Typically the Lab follows me closely, while the Hound and the Spaniel wander around the front of the house, and meet me on the front porch. The three then frolic while I drink my coffee and read my paper.

Today, I sat down, and the Spaniel was missing. She usually follows the waddling Basset, but, alas, no Madeleine. Wifey had warned me that the puppy can fit through the bars of the front gate, so I had awful visions of a flattened dog behind a speeding garbage truck. I walked around to investigate.

Uh oh: no Madeleine. I thought of D1 sleeping sweetly in her room, dreaming the dreams of a 21 year old near college graduate, and how I would have to ruin her morning with the news of a missing puppy.

I walked back to the house, and there, behind the door, was Madeleine! It's magic, I thought. How did she manage this sleight of paw?

It turns out the back gate was left open, and she ran to the back of the house, walked in the rear family room door, and came looking for the rest of her pack.

Ah --reunited. The missing Cavalier story had a happy ending.

And as I write this, all 3 dogs are napping, awaiting the next adventure.

Wifey and I are heading to a cemetery west of MIA, to say goodbye to Jack. The planes fly very low over the cemetery --it's directly below the main landing pattern.

A sad way to spend a day...

See Ya, Jack

A terrific man, Jack Hartley, died yesterday. He had just turned 78.

Wifey and I met him through Cara, his wife of a few years and companion of over 20. Cara and Wifey were co workers in the flower business, and she met Jack around the time I met Wifey.

Jack was from old Miami Beach --Beach High, U Florida, the whole bit. He was married to ANOTHER Cara, and had 2 kids, who are now near my age. He divorced Cara #1, and lived the life of quite the bachelor in late 70s/early 80s Miami, with a cast of characters right out of a Carl Hiassen novel. I loved the tales he used to tell. Private planes to the Bahamas, stuff that looked like talcolm powder but wasn't --heady times indeed.

He met Cara, 15 years his junior, and called her "Bugs," because of how she used to bug him. Somehow their mutual bugging turned into a strong and lasting love --it was a joy to be around them.

Though Jack was old enough to be our father, he was mentally a very young man. He thought young, and acted young. I never felt like a "son" around him --he always wanted to hear my tales of the law business, even though his contemporaries were the giants of the Miami legal community.

Wifey and I would meet Jack and Cara for dinner, and the nights were precious. Cara and I would drink a few vodkas, and then the 4 of us would regale each other with tales and jokes. I never saw Jack and Cara argue --they truly adored each other --and that love spilled over to all of those around them.

When Wifey and I were first dating, I used to call her my "Reason for Living." Jack LOVED that! Whenever he'd call, to talk about life or to ask about my pond fish and turtles (he WAS the pondmeister at his condo), he'd say, in his happy way "And HOW is your reason for living?"

I'll miss most our dinners at Joe's. Jack and Cara were old friends of Roy, the famous Joe's host, and it was always a kick to go there on a Saturday night in the "season" and be rushed to our table, in front of people waiting for 3 hours. One time I remember being taken ahead of Shaquille O'Neill! They then became friends with the subsequent hosts, and enjoyed the same treatment.

Jack didn't have a good death. He ended up in the ICU at Mt. Sinai after surgical complications, and stayed for months. Wifey visited several times, but I only went once. I truly didn't want to see Jack in the state OPPOSITE his natural way: full of life.

We did go last Saturday, his 78th birthday, and I promised him I wasn't visiting him in the hospital any more. I wanted another fun and enchanting dinner together.

Well, I won't have that, but at least I know our friend is resting.

Wifey was balling yesterday before she went to go be with Cara. I wasn't. I was sad, but also happy to have known a man who so well lived his life. He was rich in friends and laughter. He deeply loved, and was deeply loved by, the woman of his dreams.

So --rest peacefully, Jack. If there's a heareafter, I hope you've already run into one Hy Auslander, and are debating whether to have corned beef sandwiches or stone crabs (my Dad HATED seafood). And --hopefully not for awhile-- but save a seat at the table for me. I'll have half a sandwich, on rye, of course, and an order of the jumbos. I know you'll get us to the front of the line.

Riding the Rails

D1 was driving home from UF, a long trip she didn't look forward to since her crash last October, and she also wanted to visit Ancient Grandma. Eureka! I hit upon an idea: I'd take TriRail to West Palm, let her pick me up at the station so I'd break up her drive, and then we'd go visit Grandma.

I handled the logistics like an engineer! D1 left Gainesville around noon, and I figured she'd make it to West Palm in a tad over 4 hours, given the Turnpike construction that's been going on near Orlando since her freshman year. I took the 2:20 out of the Miami Airport station, due to arrive at West Palm around 4:10. We both made ot to the historic train station within 15 minutes! I felt like the Seinfeld cast who appreciate a succesful "pick" at the airport!

Tri Rail is most pleasant. The trains are clean, and usually on time. You get to see parts of the 3 county area you'd typically miss, from the factories and depots of North Dade and North Broward, to the "wrong side of the tracks" yet struggling to look upscale neighborhoods of Boca Raton.

The folks in my car were an interesting mix. There were a few airline crew members who got off at the Lauderdale airport station, clearly transferring from MIA jobs to FLL ones. There was a 60 something fellow in shorts and sandals talking on his cell phone the whole trip in a comically thick Southern accent, who was a yacht mechanic just finished a job on the Miami River, and now headed to Palm Beach where he "heard Tiger Woods was headed" to go out on HIS yacht.

One middle aged woman, with spiked hair and goth clothes, got on at Delray, which I learned recently was the Florida capital for drug rehab. Poor thing was clearly schizophrenic --every so often she'd laugh out loud to a joke she must have heard in her head, and then asked everyone and no one on the train whether the next stop was Lake Worth. Several people told her it was, and when seconds later the conductor announced "Lake Worth --next stop" she held her hand to her mouth like an embarrased grade schooler.

I was starving, and a kid behind me ate a peanut butter sandwich, which smelled very tempting. I thought about grabbing it from him as I exited the train, but decided to leave him be...

I exited at the old West Palm Seaboard station, which has been beautifully refurbished. I fantasized that I was Henry Flagler, back from Key West and headed over to the Breakers for a ball in my honor.

I received a SUPERIOR greeting --D1 in her Mom's green Volvo suv!

We stopped at Three Gs to pick up some sandwiches. I was the only one in the restaurant under 75, except for the staff. It's true: old people live in Broward, and their PARENTS live in Palm Beach County!

D1 and I greeted a happy Ancient Grandma, and we talked about D1's boyfriend. Grandma seemed pretty with it, until she started confusing my old Labrador Midnight with one of her grandsons.

D1 had a tape measure, per Wifey's request, and measured Grandma for some new clothes. She's gone from a size 12 to about a 6, it seems. She protested that her clothes are FINE, but if we bought her some for her BIRTHDAY, it would be ok.

I went through her paper work, got her mail, took out her trash, and D1 and I left for home. When we got into the car, we looked at each other and said, simultaneouslyl "She's SOOOOOO Old!"

There was a warm homecoming, with D1 and D2, and her mom, and her Spaniel, who hopped around happily.

It's nice to have, as the NY Islanders announcers said after the penalty was over, "the team back at full strength."

The Most Horrible Group

So in typical Dr. Barry fashion, he emailed me an invite to an event --THE SAME DAY OF THE EVENT! He had forgotten to tell me about a kickoff party at JohnMArtin's involving his friend and partner, Dr. Patti. Patti was named Medical Director of a new non profit health care group, and Barry wanted to go to support her.

The group is called TILLIKDS, and it's a new arm of the South Florida Hospice network. TILLIKDS provides support and care to families with terminally ill or "life limiting" illnesses. That's what TILLIKIDS is an acronym for: terminally ill, life limiting illnesses.

Wow. Just the group for me, Mr. Perspective. Children with cancer isn't sad enough --how about a group for children everyone knows are going to die!

Well, it turns out, that there's a need. Most children who die do so, horribly, in hospital ICUs, instead of home, surrounded by their families. Patti has been a pediatric ICU doc for more than 20 years, and has learned a lot (far too much) about dying children. But, as the compassionate, brilliant practitioner she is, she wants to help make even that most horrible event more humane.

One of the mothers of the TILLIKID program spoke, about how her baby was supposed to live just a few weeks, and instead made it through 2.5 years of "Christmases, birthdays, and familiy memories," and how much TILLIKIDS helped her. As a result, the mom is volunteering for others facing this awful situation.

They held a raffle, and I bought some tickets. Funny thing about me and contests: whenever I enter one, I assume I'm going to win. I'm the luckiest person I know, and I just carry that over to sweepstakes. Sure enough, my ticket was called, and I won 6 free facials from a swanky salon in South Miami, whose owner is a TILLIKIDs supporter. Wifey and the Ds can enjoy them.

I also left a check, in honor of Patti, for TILLIKIDS. And then Dolores, Patti's domestic partner, hit me up, as she always does, for a donation for HER organization: a Pediatric Day Care Center at UM/Jackson for ventilator dependent and other "medically complex" children. Patti and Dolores --imagine --helping the truly most needy and deserving --the sickest and dying children.

Afterwards, Barry and I headed out for some late steaks in the Gables, and had our typical "we can solve the world's problems so why can't we figure out human nature?" discussions.

I asked him how he can be around these saddest of situations, dying children, and not lose large chunks of his soul along the way. He deflected, as usual, and talked about the saintliness of Patti.

So I plan to continue to support TILLIKIDS. Each time some minor problem or issue in my life starts to loom larger, I plan to think about them.

And I fully intend to savor and admire Wifey's and the Ds' glowing skin, after they return from their facials...

The More You "Work With People"

In his wonderful "Speech to Graduates," Dave Barry observed that most of the neophytes want to "work with people" in their careers. He noted that the more they "work with people," the more they will grow to "hate" people. How true!

A few months ago I got a call from an acquaintance, a fellow who hits me up from time to time for free legal advice. He was having a personal dispute with another family, involving one of his children. He needed a criminal lawyer, and one to sue the other family. I referred him to both.

After the hearing on the criminal matter, he called me to profusely thank me for the referral. Then he got the bill from the lawyer, and called me again to complain. I told him to take it up with the other lawyer.

I also referred him to a friend of mine for the civil part of his issue. My friend agreed to take the case, and send a claim letter to the other family.

Since it was a small matter, the letter didn't go out for 7 weeks.

The "client" called today, furious that my friend sent the claim. Apparently, all of the differences were settled, and the "victims" no longer wished to sue.

This idiot was angry that the civil lawyer sent a letter, since it was now embarrasing in light of all the touchy, feely developments. He implied that my friend had done damage to him!

I profusely apologized to my friend for bringing this bastard into his life.

MAybe I learned my lesson once again: no good deed goes unpunished. The bigger lesson: Dave Barry's wisdom endures.

A Day That Will Live In Infamy

Today is Pearl Harbor Day, and it always takes me back to a vision I have. Like most memories of events you weren't a part of, in my mind's eye the events play in sepia tones.

I see a young man, 22, pushing racks of womens' clothing, though the streets of NY's Garment District. He sings loudly as he works, and is never rushed, but is purposeful in his deliveries. Every once in awhile, a taxi cab driver slows down, listening to his singing, and says "Hey kid --you're pretty good! You ought to go on the radio!" The young man just smiles, content in the music he provides for himself, and the fact that his life is pretty good. It's still the Depression, and he has a job. He also has a home, in the Bronx, where he was born and raised, and a sort of girlfriend who lives across the street.

He wants to go to college, but there's no family money for that. He spoke to his father, a stern immigrant with a solid job inthe needle trades, about attending a school to learn how to create store displays. He had spoken to a young fellow doing that in Macy's window, during one of his deliveries, and the fellow told him it was a great union job. But, the young man's father, SImon, listened, and then slapped him on the head. "You HAVE a good job already! Don't make waves!" he shouted in his heavy Yiddish accent.

But back to the street. I'm conjuring up electronic billboards flashing the news of the evil Japanese attack. I'm seeing newsboys yelling the cliched "Extra, extra --read all about it! Japs attack us!" I'm seeing the young man's contemporaries gathered around street radios, listening to the news.

In any event, the young man, Hyman Auslander, 22, knew what this meant for him. Despite his lack of formal education past high school, he was "smarter than the average bear." He GOT stuff. He saw trends. He understood the way stuff worked. He was going to be drafted into the army, and all was going to change. There'd be no more singing while delivering dresses through the streets of 1940s New York. There'd be travels far from the familiar confines of his Bronx home.

He was right, of course, as he was about most of the events in his life. The notice came a few months later, and he reported to Ft. Dix, New Jersey, and an adventure of nearly 4 years of army life that was more boring and ironic than it was glorious and adventurous.

He learned to detest taking orders from people higher ranked but much stupider than he. One sergeant was illiterate --a hold over from the old cavalry, and Hy had to sign his name for him on orders and write "His mark." He experienced quaint anti semitism from the folks who lived near the rural bases. "We ain't NEVER met a real live JEW before. Ain't you go no horns on your head?"

He learned to NEVER volunteer, and to always sit when you were given the opportunity. He learned to detest forced exercise, a hatred his son inherited and practices nearly 70 years later.

And somehow, the sort of girlfriend from across the street in the Bronx, became, through letters (long since discarded --what I'd pay to have them!) and the occasional long distance call, his fiancee, and finally his wife.

In my mind's eye, the scene shifts to sunny Pasadena, where Sunny from the Bronx steps off a train to join Hy on their life adventure. The tones are no longer sepia, they're California technicolor, in the same way my mother woke up my father's soul, and lighted his life over nearly 40 years of marriage.

But that's a long, long, boring to outsiders tale.

From December 7, 1941 to December 7, 2009. What a lenghthy passing of time, but still squarely with my family's history. My father's been dead over 27 years. Sunny has 6 grandchildren and 4 great grandchildren. She still lives comfortably on the savings my father accumulated over the course of his working life, as a salesman who was largely his own boss because of the lessons he learned in the army.

Whenever I sing, in a voice decidedly more tinny than the one my father had, I think of him, pushing the dress carts on that December day. I think how much has changed. How temporary "evil" is --especially as I watch my Japanese tvs, drive my Japanese cars, and eat sushi a few times per week.

The Day That Will Live in Infamy was a major milestone in the life of my family.

No One Here Gets Out Alive

While D2 and her merry band of AP Economics students worked on a project in our dining room, Wifey and I left yesterday for Miami Beach.

Our friend Jack turned 76 yesterday, but it was anything BUT a happy birthday. He's been in the ICU at Mt. Sinai for several months.

I hadn't been to Mt. Sinai for quite awhile, but each time I visit it brings a chuckle. There is virtually NO bare wall space -- brass placques from all of the benefactors cover it all. My friend Jorge, whose son was born there, called it the "Wall of the Ashkkenazim," and it's true. A novelist looking for funny Jewish surnames would do well to peruse the walls of Mt. Sinai Hospital in Miami Beach.

Jack's not doing to well. I think he barely, if at all, realized we were there. Cara says there's hope he can be weaned off of his ventilator, and put into a regular room. Wifey and I hope she's right.

Jack is a wonderful fellow. He has a sharp sense of humor. He and Cara have been together about as long as Wifey and I have been, and seeing them together is always elevating. Cara has a deep, throaty laugh, and Jack brings it out often. The two of them always seem happy to be together.

Cara's had a hellish time of it lately. She's at the hospital for most of each day. She hasn't worked. Her sister has visited often, as well as her friends. Wifey tries to go each weekend. I really hope things improve.

But to me, who has always had a phenomenal grasp of the obvious, the lesson is that the end of life sucks. Either it talkes too long or it's too sudden.

So --next time I go to Miami Beach, it'll be to visit Lincoln Road, and have a great meal. I said this to Jack --that next time I visited him, it wouldn't be in the hospital --I wanted to share a meal and laughs with him. He seemed to smile...

Nice Dinner

Three years ago, Wifey and I were fortunate to make some gifts to UM and UF --so their Pediatric Departments could send young doctors to an annual conference on digestive diseases held in Hollywood. Since conference planners know their stuff, they schedule it for December, to lure top scientists and clinicians here for the grand weather.

As a fun part of the program, each year we host the young docs for dinner --the UF program director and the UM counterpart. This year my partner Paul graciously agreed to have us to his club, where we drank and ate well.

At the start of the evening, some of the older, surgically enhanced residents were at the bar. Dr. Barry and I saw a few 80 year olds going for the 40 year old look. It didn't work. Years ago, my friend Allison named the place "The Island of Dr. Moreau," and as more of the failed experiments entered the club, I kept thinking of that apt description.

As the evening went on, though, most of the chimeras left, and the younger folks came in. Wifey swore she's now avoiding Botox.

Meanwhile, the conversation was terrific. Two young UM Residents, from Miami and Puerto Rico, regaled us with tales of becoming pediatricians under the loving, strong hand of Dr. Barry. One is headed to Cincinnatti Childrens to become a Peds GI doc, and the other to U Pittsburgh Childrens, to follow the same path. A UM Peds GI fellow was there, too, who's finishing her training and joining the faculty this summer. She's a local Cuban girl made good --returning to work here after a stint at Michigan.

The UF Chief, Chris, a very charming fellow, knew many of the young docs' mentors, and it was nice to see the 2 generations sharing stories.

It's really a treat to me to be around accomplished young folks --their enthusiasm is terrific.

I also made some small workd connections, which I love. The acting UM Director, a very witty British lady, did much of her training in the English Midlands, and thinks she knows friends of friends of mine who live there. I put her in touch with English Dave, electronically. It'll be interesting to see the overlap of folks.

Today, alas, I'm going with Wifey to visit her friend Cara and her sick husband JAck. Jack's been in the hospital for quite awhile, and Wifey has dutifully gone each weekend to take Cara away for a few hours. JAck's prognosis is unknown, but Cara so much appreciates Wifey's friendship.

Wifey's a true and loyal friend.

We may try to see a movie on Lincoln Road, and then maybe walk on that street for awhile.

The young docs are back at their conference, learning and improving. Ah --the next generation...

By the Thinnest of Margins

My client Betty came to the office yesterday, having returned from South America, where she buried her 18 year old son. This is the young man who was terribly burned in 2003, in a fire that killed his sister.

Betty, Paul, Mirta, and I talked of the young man, and all cried. Betty told us that the week before he died, he asked that his mother take some of his lawsuit money to pay for a Christmas feast for the poor children in his native city.

Earler yesterday (a day of misery), another old client came by asking for my advice. I represented her son when he was 9, after he was in a car wreck. The nine year old is now 20, and was living a workaday life until last month, when he went on an excursion with some friends to collect a debt, and the debtor, apparently a drug dealer, ended up dead. The young man is now charged with murder.

This poor lady was understandably bereft. I brought Joel in to chat with her, and Joel is referring her to a friend of his, to hopefully take the case for "only" $25K. $25K will require my client saying goodbye to her life's savings, and then asking her mother to kick in hers.

As I drove home, the message was driven home --how lucky I am by the thinnest of margins. I made Gainesville hotel reservations yesterday am for D1's college graduation. 2 months ago, with a few more mph or a passing 18 wheeler, I might have, like Betty, been making funeral arrangements.

D2 checks her grades each nights, and frets over the rogue "B" that creeps in. With some bad friend choices, or maybe a few milliliters of changed neurochemicals, she might have turned out to be troubled, and Wifey and I could be dealing with the Juvenile Justice System instead of the College Application System.

I NEVER forget how blessed and lucky we are.

Of course, this living on a precipice (as we all do, unless we block out reality) causes anxiety and sleepless nights.

Ironically, Betty told us she's been sleeping well. But I'm sure the nightmares are constant companions...

Bah! Holidays!

The so called most wonderful time of the year is here. Yay. The only thing I like about it is college bowls and cooler weather.

My partner Paul is puzzled why I, a usually cheerful, non Scrooge type of guy, is so annoyed at the whole scene. I guess it's the crass materialism of it all, and the thought that, somehow, you show love to others by buying them tchockes.

My sister Sue handles estate sales, and has learned a very basic thing about things: they rarely hold their value. Of course, there's the occasional treasure, but most "collectibles" get sold after their owners die for maybe 2 cents on the dollar.

So, the stuff has nearly zero intrinsic value.

And still, the paper is filled with stories about people lined up to buy, well, crap for their friends and relatives. Most of the girls in my office are in this group --they go into debt buying electronics and clothes and what-ever for nieces and nephews and co workers.

Not me. I can't stand being told when to be generous and when it's ok not to be. I much prefer plucking a $50 bill out of my friend Barry's kids' ears when I see them --even in July!

So --as usual, no "holiday shopping " for me this year.

PAul and I will do our usual around the office: we get a stack of $50s, and hand them to the security guards, tellers, car parkers, etc... They seem to appreciate the cash more than cheap wine or ugly ties. I figure --why should THEY suffer just because I'm a closet Grinch.

This year, fortunately, we'll be on a cruise during Christmas. The most we'll have to put up with is the incessant holiday music playing in the bars. The tequila shots I intend to share with Eric and Barry ought to drown those out.

And, as my friend Jeff once pointed out, December 25th IS a very holy day: Wifey's birthday. She shares my disdain for the Holidays; she's even more militant than I am. She quicky turns the radio dial when Christmas music comes on. But, since she IS my personal and true savior, we'll honor HER birthday as we sail around.

So, I'll continue to wish everyone a Merry Whole Damn year, and try to spread good cheer the other 12 months. As for December? I get to lay back --there's enough cheesy good will in the air already.