Walking the 'Hood on a Chilly Evening

The Ds left for a sisterly shopping trip, and Wifey was out with her friend Elizabeth, so I decided to saddle up the aging Labrador and go for a walk around my neighborhood.

I've been too lazy the past months. I realized I hadn't taken the walk in too long, even though the cooler weather has been perfect for constitutionals. So I began the 1.1 mile loop.

It was glorious. I'm so blessed, and one of my blessings is to live where I do. It's truly a tropical garden, with each house different, and diversity of people. I never get bored of walking here.

I passed Steve, a 30 something neighbor, out with his little boy. They were riding scooters, and the boy wanted a "bigger hill." "Sorry, Parker," Steve said --"this one is the biggest we have!"

Honey the Lab and I continied on. We passed 3 pea hens. Honey ignored them, even though they squawked right in our path. They truly look like creatures Dr. Seuss would have drawn, and move so comically.

We turned another corner, and I heard another pleasant sound. A Dad was playing with his kids --roaring and chasing them around, as the children squealed with delight. I thought about playing "Pillow Monster" with the Ds, when they were 3 and 6. They'd sneak up to my bed, and I'd jump up out of the pillows, chasing them as they screamed with delight.

Ah, it's such a great thing to be able to control all the monsters in your child's life, and render them harmless...

The evening grew colder, and Honey and I entered our driveway. She peed in the same spot she does whenever we return home --marking her territory.

The Ds returned, and showed me what they bought. Wifey and Elizabeth followed soon after.

I'm starting my New Year's resolution now: more and faster walks though my 'hood.

I have miles to go before I sleep, and, hopefully, miles to go before I sleep.

The Big Man and His Parties

We met Arnaldo and Cathay and their family when we moved into our last house, on SW 136 Terrace, in 1990. They had 3 beautiful little girls, and the youngest, Candace, came to visit us. She was 6, and asked to play with almost 3 year old D1. It was the first time someone had acknowledged D1 as her own person! We still laugh about that.

Our families survived Hurrican Andrew together, and we grew closer. Arnaldo and Cathay built a gorgeous new house a mile to the East, and their 3 girls grew up and left for college. The oldest, Natalia, met a boy from our elementary school, Leewood (where Cathay's mom taught for many years, and taught the Ds), and married him.

The middle girl, Heather, went off to UF where she met and married Ryan. Candace, D1's first friend, went to Indiana for college, and then came back to Florida for law school.

Each year, Arnaldo and Cathay host a big post Christmas party, and we've gone each year. Arnaldo is Cuban, Cathay is gringa, and Natalia's husband is Jewish. The food is Cuban and Chinese. We eat and drink well.

Arnaldo keeps his old and new friends close. He graduated Southwest High, and each year we see the mixture of buds from the 70s. One close friend, Sam, has 3 boys who went to Harvard, and we love talking to him.

A few years ago, Sam's oldest won an Emmy as a writer on Stephen Colbert's show, and Arnaldo announced it to the party with the pride he'd have had if it was his own son.

Last night, we attended the party again, and had a lovely time. Natalia and Justin have moved back to Miami from Hong Kong, and Natalia is expecting twin girls in April. Heather, the middle daughter, is also pregnant, with another girl, so in early 2011 Arnaldo and Cathay will have 4 granddaughters!

Our Ds chatted gaily with Justin's family, and Arnaldo's aging Tias and Abuelitas chatted happily in Spanish.

We watched FIU win their first bowl game, and there was a lot of pride in the house for their coach, Mario Cristobal, a Cuban American from SW Miami who had made it big in college football.

Arnaldo gave a lovely speech, where he recognized our differences, singling out Wifey and her love of President Obama, but emphasizing how lucky we all were to be together and celebrate our families...

We left late. We left the home of a lovely lady and her husband, who is a big man in every good sense of the word.

The Apple and the Tree

We had a fine Jewish Christmas/Wifey's Birthday yesterday. D1 came over, and I made Daddy pancakes for her, D2, and Wifey. We laughed, and the Ds went off to talk about D1's attendance at the Christmas Eve "Matzoh Ball," and event for Jewish singles where, according to D1, "every Jewish kid since pre school was there."

We then headed out to Coconut Grove, for our annual movie excursion. The last 2 Wifey birthdays we were on cruises, but when we're on land, we endure Wifey's love of movies and take one in. We saw the new "True Grit" by the Coen brothers. Wifey loved it, D1 hated it, and D2 and I were lukewarm...

Afterwards, we decided to complete the classic Jewish Christmas by going for Chinese food. These days, of course, many restaurants are open on Christmas, but in the days of yore (50s through 80s), the only dining options for Jews in non Jewish neighborhoods (the kosher places were always open, except on Shabbos) were the Chinese restaurants. The tradition continues, and we headed over to Tropical Chinese, the best place in Miami.

It was a case of Deja Jew. At the next table was a judge I know well, dining with his family and the mayor of Pinecrest, whose husband, a local veterinarian, is, like Wifey, the child of Holocaust survivors. 2 tables over was a new girl rabbi from a Reform temple, and waiting in line for takeout were the Greys, whose daughter was D1's roommate, and a Greenberg girl --sister of D2's friend. I joked that the temple might as well have services there...

Anyway, Wifey made a comment, which, along with the 2 bottles of sake I consumed, got me to thinking. Wifey has a friend Edna, who is closer to her than any sister. Edna recently came to Miami from Atlanta to help Wifey recover from a top secret surgical procedure, and then, for Wifey's birthday, coordinated a collection from several more of Wifey's friends to buy Wifey a gift certificate to Wifey's favorite store.

In short, Edna is the best. No friend is truer, more devoted, more generous to Wifey. And yet, at the table, Wifey commented "Hmmm...Edna hasn't called me for my birthday yet..."

I laughed out loud into my chicken with black bean sauce. It was vintage Jewish guilt/ no matter what you do for me --it ain't enough. It was classic Rachel --my mother in law!!

Now Wifey wasn't really upset with Edna, but the fact that the thought about Edna's "slight" even entered her mind shows the power of psychological genetics. We are our parents. What a chilling thought.

Last week, when D2 was on her way from Gainesville on a bus, she called me. I was in a noisy restaurant, and missed the call. She called 7 times, and then called D1, pacnicked that I had been mugged in Little Havana, where she knew I was dining.

Poor D2. She has inherited my anxiety and worry genes. I got them from my father, a world class worry wart. I've worked hard my entire adult life to escape the bonds of these anxieties, and I'm still a prisoner. No ambulance siren passes by without my thoughts of one of my loved ones lying in the back, mangled. It's a terrible thing to have, and I think D2 has it...

So, we're all apples from various trees, and try as we might, we don't fall too far away. Or, we're the acorns from "The In Laws," and, like Dr. Sheldon Kornpett's patient, who warned Alan Arkin against allowing his daughter to marry the son of a crazy man, we're doomed to become like the pine trees who are our parents. Wow. That last sentence would get a failing grade in Freshman Comp.

So, Wifey is now 27 years older than she was when we met. D1 is the age I was when I met her mother. D2 is approaching the "Hey 19" status, with hopefully no Cuervo Gold and fine Colombian...

And we are, all of us, who we are. Feliz Wifey's Birthday.

Kosher Plagiarism

So my friend Rabbi Yossi, afraid of my idle hands becoming the Devil's workshop, AND never able to pass on getting something for nothing, asked me to start writing features about Chabad of Kendall.

I agreed to become the communucations director (or shul writer) for him, serving at the Rabbi's Pleasure, and for free. Hmmm... The Rabbi's Pleasure --maybe there IS orthodox porn out there...

Anyway, I attended a Friendship Circle meeting before Thanksgiving, and wrote an article to my usual mostly grammatical standards about that fine organization.

Rabbi Yossi submitted it to the Pinecrest Tribune, owned by his friends the Miller brothers, and it was published this week. Only problem: they credited the Rabbi with writing it!

It was funny, because the article as written quotes him, and, although all clergy have somewhat of an ego, all of his third person quotes come off as the height of it!

So much for my published debut. It serves me right. In 1983, I submitted a poem to the UM Law paper, Res Ipsa, under a pseudonym as well. My poem, such as it was, made fun of how seriously we all took law school, and I guess I didn't want to make enemies with the folks I'd have to be doing business with.

In some strange karmic coincidence, I guess I'm sentenced to toil as a hack writer in anonymity.

Well, it's erev Christmas, as my friend and soon to be breakfast companion Norman reminded me, and I'm off to meet my fellow insomniac at our local egg and coffee hole.

More importantly for me, it's erev a holiday with far greater implications. Tomorrow is a day where people the world over put up decorations and exchange gifts, in honor of Wifey's birthday.

We'll celebrate as we typically do when we're not on a cruise ship like we were the past 2 years: a movie and then lunch.

I met Wifey when she was 26, and now she's older than 26.

Happy birthday, Wifey!

The Shelter

D2 has a very close friend, Ben, who has been like a brother to her since Middle School. Ben's a big teddy bear of a young man --sweet, gentle, but with an inner strength. He's also like Radar O'Reilly in "MASH" --he's the guy who figures stuff out far ahead of everyone else. By the time D2 got to UF, Ben already knew where to go and how to get stuff done. D2 says he's the reason she survived her Fall semester.

Ben's Mom, Julie, is a Miami native. She and I were at UM at the same time, but never met. Julie and her husband Steve, a high up in the Democratic Party, have 3 sons. Ben's the oldest.

When Ben was young, Julie became fed up with the whole "gimme gimme" scene of the Holiday season. "She said we were spoiled," Ben told me sheepishly. So Julie organized a Holiday toy drive. She called a bunch of fellow Pincecrest spoiling parents, collected toys, and took them to a Homestead homeless shelter. This year, Wifey and I went along.

About 12 families met at Julie and Steve's house, and caravanned to Homestead. We entered the shelter, a big campus, which houses families and tries to get them back on their feet. The Dads like me sat in the back of a classroom, while the Moms set about organinzing and setting up the toys.

Our friend Loni, a 25 year teacher, sprang into action -- toys were displayed according to age, and books were put out. D2 and her friends laughed, since one of the books donated was "The Scarlett Letter" and Loni had assigned it, and the copy donated came from a classmate and had clearly never been cracked open.

D2 and her high school friends Amanda and Spencer and Ben laughed and caught up. I met Ben's grandmother, and we started playing S Florida Jewish Geography. It turns out she's old, close friends with Dr. Eric's mother in law Barbra. They met in the 3rd grade on Miami Beach!

The doors opened, and the kids came in, mostly with their mothers , and a few with their fathers. Julie's volunteers carried the kids around, and gave them all toys. The kids were delighted.

There was laughter. Spencer handed a doll to an adorable toddler, with corn rows. "No --he's my son" corrected the mother. "Well, it's a boy doll" said Spencer, trying for a quick recovery.

The toys disappeared quickly. The residents left for their rooms, happy children in tow.

Julie invited us all back to her house for pizza and pasta.

Wifey, D2 and I drove to Publix, and picked up a Billy Joel wine gift (bottle of red; bottle of white). We talked and reflected. Why did we live in an oversized house, with more than we ever dreamed of, and 13 miles away there were dads and moms, who clearly loved their kids like we do, with nothing.

As I've been teaching my girls their whole lives: life's not fair.

We got to Julie and Steve's, and the scene was joyous. Everyone ate, and Steve and I watched the Pats/Packers game, while lamenting the pathetic Dolphins. We were both at the earlier loss to the Bills, and still had the stink of that game on our clothes...

Ben, Josh, and Ethan each had a group of friends over, and the kids laughed loudly and clearly revelled in each other's company.

When we left, Wifey noted how Julie and Steve had such a welcoming, comfortable house. No one cared about spilled food or wine --it was all about the bonhommie of the folks gathered there.

Julie sent everyone home with leftover pizza and ziti and lasagna.

D2 and Ben and Amanda and Spencer and Rebecca continued their reunion, with tales of UF and FSU and UM and USC.

Julie and Steve made each of them feel like they had another home --always.

As I age, I'm getting less social and more curmudgeonly, as Wifey notices. But folks with hearts like Julie's can still get me out of the house on a Sunday night.

Casa Juancho

Whenever people talk about how New York is the greatest city, they say things like "Where else could you get Ethiopian food delivered to your apartment at 2 am?"

I never quite understood why anyone would want ANYTHING delivered in the middle of the night, let alone food from a starving nation, but I get the message: it's neat to have multi culturalism close by.

Well, Friday evening, I had to pick up D2 at MIA. She wasn't flying in, but was taking a bus service from Gainesville called Red Coach. She ended up loving it. They sell limited seats, and she watched movies, emailed her friends, and napped during the trip. She also overheard great conversation, between 2 college boys in Marlins caps. "Oh, where you from?" "Venezuela." "My family's from Panama --that's close!" D2 wanted to add "Hey --how about a shout out for Poland and Russia?"

My friend Vice came by the office. We were scheduled to go to Trulucks for a cocktail or two before he left for dinner with his son. Instead, we ended up with our own Happy Hour in my former office, now occupied by Stuart.

We all cracked open some 15 year old Scotch Stuart had been given, and Brian, our other roommate, joined us. We 4 men then had manly talk about fatherhood, husband-hood, hookworm on Miami Beach (Vince is a Public Health doc now), and, I'm not making this up --prostate biopsies and vascectomies.

After hearing about Vince's experience with his "12 shot" retro-anal biopsy (fortunately, he was cancer -free), Stuart sat back, thoughtfully, and announced he thinks he'd just as soon die of the disease...

After we adjourned, I had a few hours to kill, and I was hungry. I drove down Coral Way, vaguely MIA-bound, and then I hit my Hyundai's GPS for restaurant suggestions.

Up popped Casa Juancho, only 1.2 miles to the Northwest! I immediately had a yen for paella, and I remembered having a fine one there years ago.

I drove over to the venerable Little Havana restaurant. Holiday parties were in full swing --each table held at least 10 diners. I sheepishly asked the hostess if I was allowed in, alone, with only my "New Times." She laughed and found me a table in a corner with a good reading light.

I ordered a Heineken and ate the crusty bread. I ordered paella, after being warned by the waiter it would take 35 minutes. Great, I told him, I was purposely killing time!

I read and overheard the increasingly drunk conversations. Surprisingly, most were in English.

I remembered I had last been to Casa Juancho 12 years ago, at my friend Jorge's son's baptism luncheon. The place is huge and lively.

The paella came, and it was delicious! I first ate paella as a UM freshman, and I was hooked. Fresh seafood and yellow rice. Delicious.

I paid my bill and left a Christmas season tip. I made my way to a Starbucks on Red Road, just south of MIA, and had a cappacino and read some more.

Before I knew it, D2 called to say the bus driver announced "8 minutes to MIA." I drove around Perimeter Road, and actually passed the red bus while on the cell phone with D2. I swung around and followed it to the bus terminal.

D2 was thrilled to be home. She got her grades, and achieved a perfect 4.0 for her first semester. D1 has a 3.8 in HER first grad school semester. My cup runneth over...

And it occurred to me that there is no place I'd rather live than Miami. I truly love it here --always have.

I think my friend Kenny mentioned that there IS an Ethiopean restaurant --on Miami Beach.

I'll stick to the paella at Casa Juancho.

Golf

I tried golf for about a year --15 years ago. Dr. Eric had returned from Boston, where he took it up during his medical training, and he asked me to go with him.

I enjoyed hitting balls on the driving range, but ended up enjoying driving the golf cart more than anything else. Dr. Eric explained that I really needed to take lessons, but I just couldn't get past the basic fact of the game: hitting a ball as far as you could, and then chasing it, only to try to putt it into a hole.

I realize I'm in the minorty, and golf is a multi billion dollar activity. Still...

To Dr. Eric's eternal pride, his boy Josh has become quite a player --one of the top ones in his high school. Josh plays in tournaments all over the state, and entered an international youth one held next week at Doral. I told Eric I wanted to watch Josh play.

I met them at the Doral Ale House, and we then caravanned to Doral. The place was buzzing, even though it was cloudy, and rain threatened.

There were young folks from all over the world. I chatted with a mother and her son from Austria ("We don't have the kangaroos"). I told her I knew, I had been in Vienna, and they have the Sacher tortes...

Josh went to practice. I watched him on the range; he hit the balls farther than anyone. Eric told me he can drive about 300 yards.

We next went to his practice round on the White course. It began to rain. We huddled under a tent with the international group. I heard Spanish, Italian, and a language I coudn't place, which turned out to be Danish.

Finally, Josh and his 3 participants were allowed to go. The rain was falling steadily. Dr. Eric and I followed for 2 holes. Finally, Josh and Eric looked at me and thanked me for watching --they gave me permission to leave.

I walked back to the Doral Clubhouse, soaked. Josh wanted to practice as much as he could, before the tournament started Tuesday.

I'm thrilled for them. Golf is a terrific father/son activity, and Josh is even good enough to get a scholarship to college to play.

I have no doubt that his ability will help him later --doing deals in whatever field he chooses on the golf course.

Tomorrow, I'm meeting Eric and the rest of his family again, at a Dolphins game. Eric got tickets from a Palm Beach hospital, and I'm picking up MY family doc, David, and we're going to meet at the stadium.

Football. That's a sport I get!

Junior High Concert

So Josh, Dr. Barry's youngest, asked me to watch him play his trombone at his school's Winter concert. Ah, the memories it brought back...

Although Wifey thinks I was ALWAYS happy and accepted (as opposed to her well documented angst filed youth) I recall Junior High (Middle School now) as a tough time. I failed Math for the first time, and encountered boys from other elementary schools with facial hair who daily threatened to kick my ass if I kept answering questions in English and History class.

The second part was my dear old Mother's fault. The Jonas Salk guidance counselor (lord --I still remember his name --Tom Mcnamee) told Mom I ought to go into the Advanced Classes. Since my sister Sue had struggled with that when SHE was in junior high, my Mother refused.

This was a sentence to me to keep me amongst the sweat hogs --Levittown's finest. In retrospect, I guess it DID toughen me up some, but it rendered 7th, 8th, and 9th grades a miserable time...

Finally, before high school, I went to the MacArthur High counselor and got myself into the Advanced classes (except in Math). I then met the smartest kids in school, and raised my hand without fear of an ass kicking at 3 pm.

And so there I was --at Indian Something or Other, listening to Josh. He's already a budding player, and a complete individualist.

Many of his classmates wore Santa hats. Josh decided to wear a yarlmuka! I don't know too many 13 year olds in secular schools with that kind of self confidence.

The band played mostly in tune, and in breaks I chatted with Scott, and Barry, and Barry's sister Phyllis. Phyllis was the first to observe that Josh, even at 6 months, had his own agenda. She was spot on!

After the performance, Barry and I chatted with the school's Assistant Principal, whose son is a basketball player for the U. I mentioned that I'd always heard that dealing with Middle Schoolers was the toughest and most dangerous job in education. Mr. Thomas replied "You have no idea."

So, we congratulated Josh, and I even found a $50 bill that fell out of his trombone and gave it to him.

I drove home, remembering those days in Levittown, as well as the Ds time at Palmetto Middle School, amazingly happy that they're days of the past.

Mentors

Yesterday D1 was at UM Med School, meeting with a young nutritionist/gastroenterologist she hopes to study with. She had some time to kill, and strolled over to visit Dr. Barry, and they sat and talked.

It occurred to me how lucky she is, to have that sort of relationship with my friends. I liked most of my friends' parents, but I can't imagine going to their offices for career advice --with one major exception.

I met my friend Mike in law school. I sat next to him, and immediately knew we were politically opposite. It was the height of the Reagan era, and Mike answered every question along the lines of "Well, morning finally arrived in America."

Mike introduced me to his father Ed, who was a very well respected appellate lawyer in town. Ed took me under his wing, and guided my career. When my first job was ending, because my anti semitic, closet bisexual boss (I'll call him Dan, since that's his name) lost all his clients for leaving the firm in control of his coke addicted associate/lover, and this woman, who I'll call Vanessa, since that's her name, found out about another affair in LA, and threw her diploma at Dan's head, causing it to somehow slice through the double paned window on the 34th floor of the Southeast Building and crash to the sidewalk below --well, Ed promptly found me another job.

And then, a year later, when a seat opened at his close friend's firm, Ed called me again, and got me the job that would change my life.

Ed was a true mentor. I'd stop by his office in the old Concord Building, and shoot the breeze. It turned out that I wasn't his only protege. He sheparded literally hundreds of young lawyers, including one fellow who is now a Florida Supreme Court justice.

My Dad really enjoyed my friends, and we had meals together, but I couldn't have imagined any of my friends seeking his private counsel.

My Ds are far luckier. They know they can call or see several of my (and Wifey's) close friends, and get advice on life and career.

Tonight, I'm going to watch Dr. Barry's boy Josh play in his Middle School concert. He's a budding trombone player, and emails and Facebooks (tm) me all the time. He's thrilled I'm coming to watch him play, and I'm thrilled he's asked me to go.

Next week, Dr. Eric's boy Josh is playing golf at Doral, in a youth tournament, and I plan to go watch him there. Josh is his school's best golfer, and also a cracker jack student. I can't wait to see where his life takes him.

D1 is always so impressed when she visits Barry. His Peds residents love him, and D1 loves being around large groups of very smart people. She just finished her first semester of grad school, but I'm going to guess that she's going to end up working at UM/Jackson somehow.

And then I can have lunch with her and Dr. Barry. Wouldn't that be grand?

Happy Labrador

It's in the 30s here this am! I opened the door to get the paper, and the ancient Labrador (14 and 1/2) bounded outside like a puppy. She loves the cold weather. She seemed to say "Hey, I endure the heat with this yellow fur coat of mine, but these temps are what I'm designed for!"

I went to the office yesterday, and then got a call from D1 inviting me to lunch. We drove to the Gables, and went to Seasons 52, which opened on Miracle Mile. The company was excellent. The food? Eh. It's a lot like the former Houstons, now Hillstones, for reasons some corporate marketing guy knows, but I thought Houstons was better. As D1 pointed out, I AM getting more and more cranky...

After lunch, we shared a lovely walk in the cool weather over to Books and Books. I bought a Holocaust book for my mother in law as a birthday gift. (Since "The Hangover" I can't get the line "They gave rings in the Holocaust?" out of my head). Wifey's visiting her tomorrow, and I can't escape my brown nose nature, even after nearly 24 years as a son in law.

D1 bought a copy of Proust's "Remembrance of Things Past." Ah, I thought, she inherited my love of literature, even though I've never read Proust. I told her I'd borrow it and we can discuss it over a meal or two...

We then got the call from MIA --D2 landed early from Gainesville. We drove up LeJeune, and I stopped in the Latin Cafe, to buy D2 a turkey sandwich for a welcome home snack. D1 insisted she wouldn't eat it without whole wheat bread --I bet her she would.

D2 got into the car, and said she WOULD eat it, but later, so our wager was a draw...

We dropped D1 back at her apartment, to walk her dog and prepare for a night out with her UM 1L friends, who were celebrating the end of finals. Ah --I remember it well...

The second my first semester finals were over, I piled into my friend Mike's van with another 1L, Dave, and we drove non stop to Northern Wisconsin, for a week of snowmobiling and avoiding trees on dark snowmobile paths in the North Woods after drinking Old Style beer... It was the PERFECT post finals vacation, even though Wifey broke up with me for it since I "totally disregarded her feelings, and didn't respect her wanting to be with me over the break, etc, etc..." Ah --that was 27 years ago...

D1 invited D2 to come along, but D2 declined to go out with D1's "elderly friends..."

Instead, we came home and picked up Wifey, and went to Captain's Tavern. D2 and Wifey ate huge lobster tails to celebrate D2's temporary homecoming (She flies back to Gainesville on Thursday for her final Final) before coming home for the rest of Winter Break...

Ah, my girls, my aging LAbrador, and cold weather. What a sweet way to end 2010...

Class Completed

I graduated yesterday afternoon, from Florida Family Court Mediator training. The class lasted 2 weeekends (the first a 3 day job) from 8-530. Boy! I'm out of classroom shape. I found it grueling.

Most of the sessions took place at UM Law School, and the students there were in the middle of finals. I felt their anxiety. I was tempted to take some aside, and tell them to rethink their career choices.

My classmates included 6 current and retired judges, some forensic accountants, three mental health counselors, and the rest lawyers. The lectures were informative and well presented. The questions from the students --ugh.

Dr. Barry, whose professional life is riddled with meetings, is always amazed at how some people LOVE the sound of their own voices. I saw it this last weekend, too. Instead of "Can you repeat and better explain that," we were treated to "I had a case once, where this and that happened, and I heroically did the following for the cause of justice and good, and then my brother said this and that, and my question is..."

I got the sense that there was rarely a question --it was an opportunity to show off one's intellect. The major pillar of being a mediator is patience. I don't know that I still have it.

Still, I enjoyed most of the participants. One in particular --a sitting judge. My partner Paul and I spoke with her a lot. She's cool. 57 and in search of the right man, funny, wants to move to Montana at least part time. We promised to meet for lunch, and I think we'll follow up.

To get my certification, I need to observe or co-mediate a bunch of cases, and we're told that's tough to do these days with the rush of folks (like me) leaving their law careers to become mediators, in hopes that it provides a more sane and humane way of making a living. I'm not daunted. When I chose to attend law school in the early 80s, I heard from many folks that there were "too many lawyers," and I should pick something else.

Excuses are for losers. I figure there are never too many good members of any profession, and I can always find some business...

For now, though, I plan to enjoy the end of the year. D1 is finished with her finals, and has some well deserved time off. D2 flies home tonight from UF, stays 3 nights, and then flies up for another exam. She comes home for the rest of Winter Break next weekend.

Wifey is recovering from her top secret project, and we plan to celebrate her (top secret number here) birthday on the 25th. We're not alone in our plans. The whole city is putting up lights and decorations to celebrate Wifey's birthday.

As Jeff says about Wifey --she is our own personal savior...

2011 is just a few weeks away. I figure that's the time I'll give some real thought to this mediator gig.

Severe Weather

...is what the Herald says we're having this morning, as the temperatures have dropped to 50 degrees! We're such wussies in Miami.

I went out with the ancient Labrador to fetch the Herald, and it was delicious outside. The Lab, Honey, wasn't going back indoors easily. Her breed is a cold weather one, and though she was born and raised in the County of Dade (Love that hip hop song), her genetics called to her, and she sniffed around with pep in her step.

I'm now 60% done with the Family Mediator class. Yesterday we had a surprisingly interesting lecture from a CPA named Irvin Katz. He's a short, fat, Jewish guy who, despite his body type, bears a striking facial resemblance to Jack Nicholson. I say surprisingly interesting, since CPAs are not known to be the most entertaining of folks (my brother in law Dennis being the exception, of course), but Irvin was.

He talked about tax ramifications of divorce, of alimony versus child support, and he was glib, funny, and informative.

Afterwards we had more role playing, and I proudly got a huge laugh. I played a husband at the mediation, and the lady who played my lawyer, Marta, was summoning her inner Meryl Streep for the exercise. At one point, I told the fake mediator that my lawyer was going to win because she's such a tiboron, which is Spanish for shark, and Marta lost it. I guess she never expected a gringo like me to use that term. Ha! I shall not be stereotyped...even in mock mediations.

I returned home, and Wifey brought her dearest friend Edna from MIA. Edna's here fro the week on a top secret mission, one I'm not permitted to write about, or even hint that it involves Wifey...

We sat on the porch as the temperature dropped, sipping Middleton, and talking about our 4 daughters.

Today, the top secret event unfolds, and I'll take Edna for breakfast while Wifey --oh --never mind. Did I mention it was top secret????

Anyway --the temperatures are expected to go even LOWER --maybe the 40s tonight --and I think it'll be time for me to dust off my firepit, put in some of the firewood left over from last season, and warm my toes.

Honey the LAbrador will happily curl up next to me...

Back To School

The Florida Mediator certification is tougher than the Florida Bar. To keep your law license, you have to take 30 hours of continuing legal ed (CLE) every 3 years, and it can all be by videotape. I'd guess about 10% of Florida lawyers actually watch all the tapes --human nature causes a lot of fast forwarding.

The Mediator gig, though, requires 16 hours every 2 years, and HALF must be by live class! They're tough on folks who are supposed to be the warm, fuzzy part of dispute resolution.

Since my renewal is coming up, I decided to take anothr certification course, and become a Family Court Mediator. I figured the stories would be better there than the run of the mill slip and fall and auto crash and mortgage foreclosure stuff.

The class is 5 days from 8 to 530. Today is the third session, and next weekend we finish up. I'm TIRED. I'm not used to all this work without break!

Fortunately, it's been interesting. The class is run by Mel Rubin, a 67 year old lawyer and pioneer in the mediation game. He's dryly humorous, and has a wealth of stories to tell. My favorite is the mediation where the wife was a leading church lady, who spent the whole session complaining about how her husband was a lost soul who hadn't found Jesus, which was the problem with their marriage.

The husband's lawyer pulled out an envelope of photos, which he implied showed the wife in "private Jesus sessions" with her pastor, in a cheap motel. The case settled soon after.

I never get bored of hearing about the sanctimonious fall!

The class has 32 students. 5 are mental health professionals, who are doing more and more of the mediations. We also have 6 Dade judges, some retired, including one of my favorites, Art Rothenberg. Judge R is a twin of the actor Steve Landsberg, and he's a smart and compassionate man, currently in the Probate Division. We have kids who graduated Palmetto together, so our paths have crossed quite a bit. He has a courtliness about him (Ha!) and it's been terrific getting to speak with him in a relaxed session.

Mel's wife Susan lectured yesterday. She's a clinical psychologist, and handles a LOT of divorce related counseling and mediation. I was spellbound. She's so wise, and caring, and clearly brilliant.

I met her afterward, and told her I was happily married for nearly 24 years, but was so impressed with her, I wished I could get divorced just to spend some more time in her presence. She laughed heartily, and said that my referrals would do just fine...

This am we hear from a CPA who is an expert on the financial aspects of divorce, and then we have some more mock mediations. I played a mediator yesterday, and my law partner Paul, who is taking the course with me, played the aggrieved wife. That brought chuckles from all assembled.

A retired judge played the husband, and played his role with great passion --calling Paul a slut and bitch. Once we rose about the surreality, it was a great exercise...

The class is held at the UM Law School, and finals are going on. I see the poor bastards all anxious, awating their killer exams. I don't miss those days at all, of course.

So --off to school again.

Who knows? Maybe I'll end up as a full time Mediator after all.

Blow Hard

The 2010 Hurricane Season ended yesterday. The one about the storms, not the football team. I celebrated by watching my tree trimmer, Dave of Banyan Tree Service, expertly prune the ficuses and oaks and palms that make their way over my roof.

Since I feared for the Ds lives in our collapsing house during Andrew, I never belittle hurricanes. Still, the media frenzy about them, especially in South Florida, is something to behold.

I remember when Hunter S. Thompson used to call the Hurricane Center director, Neil Frank, a "hurricane junkie." All of the media is. When storms are approaching, people watch the news and ratings soar, and people buy more newspapers, helping the Herald and Sun Sentinel.

So the season ended, and today's Herald had the typical "Whew, that was close!" article. It reminded us that we have now gone 5 years without a storm hit (the last was Wilma in '05), and our luck was unlikely to continue for much longer. Ha! In other words --start worrying now, people --details to follow next July!

I dislike living in Miami most when a storm is approaching. Duh! Everyone is anxious, and scurrying around to buy water and peanut butter, and falling off ladders while installing shutters.

After Wilma, I installed accordions on most of the house. I can prepare for the Big One in about a day here (I also lost about $4K on a company that was going to put up hurricane proof screens to obviate the need for shutters. They went bankrupt, and the Final Order from the Court just came in --I get back exactly $0 from my deposit).

Still, I admire most my office roommate Mark's approach to storms. He closes the shutters on his high rise condo, and books a flight to NYC or Chicago, and waits it out until the silliness has passed. During Wilma, his wife, a Jackson Hospital nurse, couldn't leave. No problem for Mark --he took off anyhow, explaining to her how much he despised the pre hurricane vibe! She "understood," and weathered the storm alone. Dude's my hero!

So, this weekend I'll go disconnect the generator battery, and start bringing the water bottles inside for post season consumption.

In Southern California, they live on the faultline. We live in the alley for hurricanes. Great they left us alone...for now!!!!!

Banner Weekend

So it turned out that Thursday was just the beginning of a banner weekend, one D1 called a "top 5 of her life."

Friday evening we headed to some new private club called Soho Miami, just south of the Fountainbleau on the Beach. My partner Paul's son and daughter in law joined the club, which is in an old Beach hotel, with different decor on each floor. The club prides itself on limiting membership to "creative types," and supposedly has a small quota of allowable doctors, lawyers, and financial types. Whatever.

Paul hosted a birthday dinner and cocktail party for his girlfriend PAtricia and D1, and about 40 of us drank and laughed on the terrace overlooking the dark Atlantic. Our friend Elizabeth was staying with us, and came along and had a fine time, as did Mirta, my now ex emplioyee (Stuart took over her salary).

Afterwards, there was an "after party" for the young ones at some club with a Swedish DJ. D2 got to go, even though she's not 21, and by all reports, all had a great time, though D1 learned first hand about the rudeness and excessive charges they get away with on the Beach. Apparently, the group had a table, which meant their guests were to be admitted, but the boorish doorman said no. Again --whatever.

Miami Beach isn't my scene, and hasn't been since they closed Wolfies and Rascal House...Although I do enjoy driving through and recalling the many family vacations we had there in the 70s... a time when the place was crumbling and seedy and you could still get delicious Jewish soul food at many places on Washington Avenue.

Saturday am I woke D2 after just a few hours of sleep, and we were off to see the final Canes game. We had a fun time, but the team was awful, and we left before an overtime that I knew was going to lead to another loss.

I started considering not renewing my season's tickets on the long drive home, but then, Saturday night, the news came that they fired the moribund coach, and would commit to winning again. So, we'll see...Maybe I'll renew for my 32nd season after all...

Sunday D2 left for Gainesville, and made it back after a 7 hour drive! Apparently an accident on I-75 north of Ocala slowed the drive to a crawl, but D2 and her dear friend Ben chatted away and solved the world's problems in a way that only optimistic but sarcastic college freshmen can.

D1 went on the inagural cruise of the Allure of the Seas, with her friend Perry, whose dad is an exec with the cruise company. The ship sailed just offshore, far enough to allow gambling, and apparently made circles as the passengers, D1 included, marveled at the ship.

They docked yesterday am, and, alas, D1 had come down with a bad cold, following this amazing weekend. I brought her chicken soup yesterday, and she rested, as she has to rally for her first graduate school final today.

Meanwhile, D2 called me from UF to report that she was approached by an evangelical on campus, singing songs with exactly the opposite message she believes --with lyrics like "It ain't ok to be gay."

We laughed together on the phone. Exposure to morons is a huge part of one's education, and UF is large enough and diverse enough to include many of them.

Today I'm home awaiting the tree trimmer Dave, who comes every few years in a bucket truck and trims the ficus and banyans and palms away from the roof of Villa Wifey --to keep rodents away, and, more crucially, to leave a clear view for my satellite dish.

This may become important and relevant again with my Canes hiring a new coach...

Thanksgiving

The holiday is a bit redundant for me, as I feel grateful and give thanks each day. I guess I'm just wired that way. I remember being thrilled in kindergarten when my mother bought me McDonald's hamburgers.

Still, last night I sat at my kitchen table with both Ds. The three of us had returned from visiting ancient Mom, and D1 decided to spend the night here.

Wifey sat across the room at a computer. The Ds watched humorous videos on YouTube. They giggled, and occasionally guffawed. My girls' laughter is by far my favorite sound in the world.

Wifey, as usual on about a 5 second delay, kept demanding to know what was so funny. Of course, her asking on her delay was what was so funny, so we all laughed some more.

At one point, the Ds looked up from the laptop and saw me staring at them. D1 said to D2 "Look at Dad." Then they hugged me.

If there's more than that to be thankful for --I can't imagine what it is.

It's 8 am, and all of them are sleeping --both Ds in D2's bed, like when they were little girls.

To paraphrase Yeats, they shall arise and go, and go to Key Biscayne. We're headed to the Ritz Carlton for their T Day brunch, which, after last year, we've decided to make our tradition.

I'll think of my friend Todd's proper funmaking of my blog, and how I write about going on lavish trips and to fine restaurants. He's right.

But, hey --I'm a rich white guy! What can I say? The Republicans just won big in Congress and here in Florida. Rich white guys are COOL again!

The truth is, for most of my childhood, I was solidly middle class. During grad school and in the years right after, I probably dropped a bit to somewhat lower middle class. At 25, when I graduated UM Law, I had a net worth of minus $30 thousand.

I found a rich girlfriend ( her net worth when we married was a positive $7 thousand) and off we went.

At Thanksgiving 1986, I was EXTREMELY thankful. I had passed the Bar Exam, and I therefore wouldn't be fired by my first boss, despite his rabid anti semitism. He needed me to attend hearings, and "relate to the Jew Claims Manager from NY." He used to warn me to count my fingers after shaking Stu's hand, since, "You can never trust those people." Ha. Dan. I was even thankful for him --he DID pay me $28 thousand per year, though he despised my essence."

By Thanksgiving of 1989, Wifey and I had D1! And then 3 years later, although we lost our house and most of our stuff in Hurrican Andrew, we had D2 as well.

And it just got better and better. D2 turns 22 on Saturday. D1 is thriving as a UF freshman. I've given up the daily grind of lawyering.

So here, on Thanksgiving 2010, sits the most blessed, lucky, and thankful man in the world.

Holiday Week

I sat on our front porch with D1 last night, drinking "Daddy Tea" and enjoying the light of a full moon shining from behind some clouds. D1 is still dealing with some heartache from the end of a 2 year relationship. I understand. A 2 year relationship to someone who is in their early 20s is like a 20 year marriage to old farts like me and my generation.

We reflected on this week --T Day week. Her birthday is coming up on Saturday. 22 years! Caramba. I feel like Rip Van Winkle --I took a nap one afternoon in the late 80s, while my toddler slept in the Pack N Play next to me, and I woke up and she's in graduate school.

D2 is due home this afternoon. She leaves with our third daughter from another mother Andrea around 11. I'll inhale deeply, since I have to hold my breath for the entire 5.5 hour trip down the Turnpike, and hopefully I'll get to exhale with her arrival around dinner time.

Ah --to have Villa Wifey alive again, with the giggling and chatting of our Ds...

Wednesday we'll go visit ancient Grandma. I called her last night, and started to tell her I was coming, and she launched into her internal dialogue designed to cover the fact that she can't hear on the phone. "Is Wifey OK, David?" "No Mom --she's dead." "Oh, that's good..."

I think she gets that we're coming up to see her pre T Day.

Thursday we'll head over to a hotel for brunch. Last year we did that --just the 4 of us plus the now ex D1 boyfriend, and realized we truly love the holiday most when it's simple like that.

When I tell folks we're having a brunch with just the nuclear family, they all look wistful... They quickly invite me to have us join THEIR large, extende groups, and I politely decline...

Friday my partner Paul is hosting a birthday party for his girlfriend on Miami Beach. Somehow, it's now also a party for D1 as well... He's rented out a room on the ocean on South Beach. I'm sure we'll all end up having a great time, after 2 or 3 $25 martinis...

Elizabeth is due here tonight, as well. She has T Day with HER sister and parents, but opts to stay with us. I look forward to catching up with her and her tales of grad school while working while being, um, no longer 25. She's exhausted, but does it somehow --with a 4.0 GPA.

Sat am D2 will accompany me to the last Canes game. They play at noon, so our tailgate with be breakfast.

D2 really loves me. She ABHORS waking up early when she doesn't have to , and yet is agreeing to do so on her vacation Saturday to come with the old Dad to the game.

Time passages, as Al Stewart sang. Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight.

Lubavitcher Chronic

Carl Hiassen famously said that it's very tough to be a novelist in South Florida because things happen here that are so weird that they go beyond anything a fiction author could conjure up.

Yesterday I went to visit my friend Rabbi Yossi. He's asked me to write some pieces for his Center, and I've agreed. If he doesn't like my work, he doesn't have to pay me. If he DOES like what I come up with, he doesn't have to pay me. Ever the opportunist, the rabbi likes this arrangement.

Yossi owns an acre parcel just south of his Center. He bought it years ago hoping that someday he'd be expanding his congregation. In the mean time, he rents out the 3/2 house there. Two years ago, he signed up a tenant who has been paying each month like clockwork. He never asks the rabbi for anything, and Yossi has not visited the house since 2007.

Last week, a Miami Dade detective knocked on Yossi's door, and asked all kinds of questions about the house and tenant. It turned out there was a MAJOR marijuana growing operation taking place. I know it's major because the tenant was arrested and bail was set at $500K! That's a serious amount of weed!

I walked over to the property with the rabbi, and he opened a window. Sure enough, that unmistakeable smell was everywhere. PVC pipes ran through several of the rooms, and various hydroponic equipment was lying around.

Unfortunately, his Cheech and Chong left a lot of damage, and Yossi is making a claim with his insurance.

We stepped outside the gate, and stood there for awhile. A large, noisy Harley pulled up to us, with a middle aged guy in leather and an obese biker chick behind him. "Yo --Jose around here dudes?" "Nah --he got arrested."

The Harley peeled out faster than I thought possible for a motorcycle holding over 600 lbs of human cargo.

So, into the colorful cast of characters in the Rabbi's life, we add the pot growing tenants.

The prodigious amounts of alcohol poured at Chabad celebrations are what attracted me to them. If they start passing around a bong with high grade, Torah approved mother nature, I may attend a few more services...

Instability in Calm Weather

The Hurricane Season has passed. It's still too damn warm, but at least the nights we've been able to sleep a/c free. The other Hurricane season, involving my beloved football team, is ALSO essentially over. They blew a game yesterday. The only way they'll ever return to elite status is with a new coach, and that won't happen for a long time...

Strangely, the stable weather has seen a lot of marital instability among my friends. Two husbands of longtime marriages (22 and 8 years) have moved out. More, I think, are on the way. I guess it's classic: as the kids become adults, there isn't a lot to keep folks together.

I remember this happened among my childhood friends. Divorce was completely unknown to my working class corner of Long Island. I think I knew exactly one kid from a "broken home," as it used to be called.

Within 2 years of high school graduation, the wives started bailing faster than rats off a sinking ship. And, interestingly, it was always the wives who seemed to be the ones fed up with the disinterested, heavy drinking husbands.

So it'll be niteresting to see how things pan out for my 2 buddies. I have a feeling everyone will survive, some divorce lawyers will make some money, and life will go on.

Hell --Friday night, while I was at the Patti Smith lecture, I got a text from Wifey. She was at her friend Cara's on Miami Beach, and was too tired to drive home, even though at that time of night, we're talking 25 minutes. So, she stayed over there.

This was the first time in our nearly 24 year marriage either of us slept out within Miami Dade County. So maybe I'll be moving in soon with one of my 2 separated buddies --who knows?

Dylan sang that you don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows...

Back to the Canes... for the first time in 31 years, yesterday I entertained thoughts of possibly not renewing my season tickets. And it's not because of the losing record.

A big part of the joy for me is the togetherness at the games. And yet, we're all now in different places in life. Dr. Eric had a lovely tailgate, but he still has a teenager attending. Dr. Barry's boys are in Middle School.

I took my friend Joel to the game, but his boys were in a little league game, so I drove up to the stadium myself.

Last year, I had the pleasure of going with D2, but she'll be in Gainesville for 3 more years. D1 will go to, at most, one game.

Wifey stopped going years ago, and now, as I mentioned, she's looking into moving to Miami Beach.

I'm starting to think I might as well watch the games on TV...

So I'll see...

Stable weather, unstable hurricanes...

Because the Night.

So after several martinis at Trulucks, I made my way over to the Miami Book Fair just in time to see Patti Smith.

At the time the punk rock scene was going on, in NYC in the 70s, I didn't pay much attention to it. Like a fool, my musical tastes in high school were for the over produced, pretentious stuff like Yes and Emerson Lake and Palmer.

A few of my HS mates would take the LIRR to NYC, and return with tales of CBGBs, and groups like the Ramones. My group stayed at the Nassau Collisseum, and Jones Beach Theatre, and thought groups like Crosby Stills and Nash (already warmed over and sappy by the late 70s) were the coolest.

When I got to the U I started to listen to punk. I remember parties in Building 22 where we'd dance and slap the low ceilings to "Sheena is (stop) a Punk Rocker."

I had a crush on Chrissie Hynde, but I listened to Patti Smith. And I did it again last night.

The auditorium was packed. She came on stage, looking as elegant as if she came off a 3 day drunk and got dressed in the Metrorail bathroom. Her hair was gray and stringy. She started to read her book, in her NJ accent, and the audience was taken to 1975, and her room with her lover Robert Mapplethorpe at the Chelsea Hotel.

She read, and interspersed her words with some singing on her guitar. The crowd, which ranged from my age on down to kids in their teens, was transfixed. She's a fine teller of tales. She's self deprecating but strong.

During a break, when she took questions, a simpering professor type, clearly intent on showing off his intelligence (I always think of the great Marshall Mcluen scene in "Annie Hall," asked her about an essay where the writer talked about Mapplethorpe's death. "What are you trying to say? Spit it out.!" The wussy professor slinked away. It was clear Patti Smith had kicked more than a few asses in her day...

Someone asked her about her best known song "Because the Night," which she co wrote with Bruce Springsteen. She said she'd explain later --and boy did she!

She talked about waiting on the phone for a long distance call from her then boyfriend that never came. She brought us back to the 70s, when one planned a long distance call, because of the expense.

While waiting, she picked up a tape that Springsteen's producer Jimmy Iovine had given her, and she thought it was magnificent, even with the mumbling from her fellow Jersey-ite. She added to the lyrics, and a classic was born.

At the end of the night, she picked up her guitar and played it and sang it. At the beginning of her talk, audience members had each jumped up and recited lines from a Rimbaud poem, in honor of Patti's favorite poet.

Now, she sang, and the audience sang those powerful words back at her "Try to understant, how I feel when I'm in your command."

It was as if the 900 folks there all remembered the passion of young lust and love, and got it, all at the same time. (Clearly, the waning effect of my martinis didn't hurt in my case).

At the last shouted lyrics "Because the night belongs to love!" the audience erupted. IT was something to behold.

Mitch Kaplan, my local hero, took the stage --obviously moved and spent. He looked like he needed a cigarette. He said that he'd seen a lot in 27 years of the Book Fair, but never had a night quite like that one.

We filed out, hopped the People Mover, and headed for the suburbs, still in the spell of a 63 year old skinny, powerful, not the least bit pretty woman with quite a tale to share.

First Job

So yesterday Stuart and I hosted Rabbi Yossi at the office. He came to bless Stuart's new operation. Somehow I ended up paying more for the blessings...

And it might have worked! Hours later, I had a phone conference with a Guardian Ad Litem on a minor child's case, and she said she'd approve a full fee for my firm. So there you go...

The Rabbi, like everyone else who learns that I'm giving up my office, asked what I planned to do professionally. I told him I had no idea.

So...ever the opportunist, he asked if I would write some "reflections" about his Congregation's 15th anniversary. I had my first writing assignment!

I dashed off my project early this morning. I thought about having the piece translated into Spanish, in keeping with the whole "Quince" theme, but I stayed in English.

It really IS remarkable that he and his family have been here a decade and a half. TIme flies. Sunrise, sunset...

Wifey and I greeted Rabbi Yossi and NEchama and their 1 year old boy, Mendel, on the sidewalk outside the rental house we offered to let. I went to shake Nechama's hand. She pulled it back, saying "We don't take hands." I had no earthly idea what she meant.

I learned later it was a modesty thing. You don't touch no women but your own! Hand shakes can lead to hugs which lead to well... It's no surprise they'd vote for Sarah Palin if they could.

Political differences aside...we've grown very close. They now have 7 kids, and the 8th is on the way. Amazing.

So, I've put in more time at the office than I have in the last month. I've had meeting each day.

Tomorrow I'll stay home for the computer man, Carlos, to reconfigure some stuff for us.

And to keep me blogging the crappy blog!

Senseless

I went on Facebook (TM) this morning, and the Ds' friend Andrea had posted some photos of Zander. It's coming up to the one year anniversary of his suicide. This still sickens me.

Zander was a teenaged Richard Corrie. He was tall, extremely handsome, athletic, and intellectually gifted. He was also gentle and sensitive --he counted many young women, D2 included, as folks who prized their brother/sister relationship with him.

I got to know him somewhat over the years, when he visited D2. He was so articute and respectful. I really liked him. I wish I got to know him better.

Early in his senior year, he passed out from a drug overdose. His parents got him into a rehab program, and he seemed to come through fine. He started FSU last Fall.

Apparently, his depression came back with a vengeance. He called his parents and said he wasn't coming home for the Winter break. After a few days of no contact, his folks called the Tally police. They found him alone in his apartment, gone from an overdose.

D2 got the news by cell phone as we were returning from a family cruise. She wailed in the ship's lounge. It was awful.

Zander's folks are very spiritual. Mom's Jewish; Dad's Christian. Dad is an accomplished writer and college professor. The memorial services were, according to D2, poignant, moving, and beautiful.

D2 keeps a photo of Zander and her in her room, above her calendar. I see his handsome face whenever I go in to flip the month. It brings me shivers.

A young man for whom the world was truly his oyster. Obviously his inner demons were intolerable to him, and he silenced them, I guess, in the only way he knew.

Nearly a year's gone by, and our community is still bereft. A promising young person's death robs us all. We wonder what could have been and will never be.

I guess to some there's the romantic notion of "forever young." I get that. My experience with an ancient mother shows we CAN live too long. But 18 -with all that promise? What a terrible waste.

I hope Zander's family is getting along ok. The too many clients I've had who've lost a child all seem to, somehow. They never get over it, of course, but they endure.

I see that Zander's friends still keep him strong in their hearts, and heads.

What a shining star he was --gone far too soon from the sky.

Last Day of School...

Well, yesterday was effectively IT for me as a practicing lawyer. My office is cleaned out, and my only footprint (tuches-print?) is my computer and a chair moved to the conference room.

My friend Stuart moved in his operation last night, and called me at 7 to sayt he was celebrating with 2 fingers of 12 year old Macallan he found in our liquor cabinet. I told him we'll toast, all of us, on Monday evening. All of us is Stuart, Paul, and Brian, who will be taking over with Stuart.

Mirta says she feels like crying. Not me. I've planned for this day for a long while, and I'm strangely emotion free. I guess it's because I haven't really EVER wanted to be a lawyer, and 24 years of a profession that's not a calling is more than plenty...

Last night, Wifey hosted a "jewelry happy hour" as part of her new plan to avoid getting a job. She's set up a studio, and asked me to pour wine for the ladies of her circle who come by to shop.

I did, and one of the neighbors, Ellen, came back with her husband Evan, a long time County Attorney. Evan had heard the news of my career change, realized we're the same age, and said "Hey --it's not fair you get to retire this young!"

The truth is, after his nearly 25 years at the County, he could retire soon, too, with a much nicer guarenteed pension than I'll ever have. But, he's got 3 kids to put through college, and his oldest is at an expensive private one in NC, so he's looking forward to at least 10 more years riding the Metrorail to his office, and making life hell for Plaintiffs who bring claims against the County...

My partner Paul is still in denial. He insists on telling everyone that "everything is the same", so that we'll continue to get referrals and make money. I hope the cases still come in, of course, but I've planned on that NOT happening.

So, for next week, I have some bank business on Monday, and then Tuesday, our rabbi friend is coming in to have lunch and to "bless the future firm." Brian asked me how much the blessing is going to cost him! Good question.

Of course, the Rabbi, more savvy than just about anyone I know, will tell Brian and Stuart that our firm's success is directly tied to the very generous support we gave to his operation. He used to tell us that when you make God a partner, by pledging support based upon your business's success, then God will make sure you succeed.

I marvel at the stuff they get from Chabad Headquarters in Brooklyn. On the other hand, as Tevye would say, we DID in fact soar with our generous contributions.

It'll be Stuart's and Brian's call now. Maybe they could start a NEW experiment: seeing whether success correlates to more money paid to strip clubs...

All I know is, I ain't making no choices about my future, no how, not now. I figure the transition will take until late Spring or Summer, and then maybe I'll have an epiphany.

I'm keeping my mediator certification current. I told my neighbor Charley, a true foot soldier in the war on Defendants, that I may mediate full time. His response: "EVERYONE'S a mediator now." He's right, of course, as were the naysayers who told me in 1983 that there were far too many lawyers, and I'd never make a living as one, and why waste my time with 3 years of law school, and studying for the Bar exam...

So I'll see. All I know is, I have no office to go to for the first time since 1985. No --make that 1984, when UM's English Department gave me a cubicle to see students I was teaching in Freshman Composition.

Stuart and Brian are awaiting Paul's onslaught, as he oversees the new operation as a Director. Paul still has it in the lawyer department, and much of what he will "deem so" will actually benefit the 2 new players. We'll see...

I'll be available to strategize, and direct our discussions to analyses of human nature --the only thing that truly interests me. In other words, as Dr. Barry would say, towards bullshit...

So, for today, I'm heading over to Norman's, whose career is still ascending. He just picked up, at least partially thanks to some of my efforts, I must humbly say, a MAJOR new client. We're going to watch the confounding Canes, who tease us with talent, and then blow games because of bad coaching.

Norman has stone crabs and shrimp, and a wife-less house, as Deb is in her native Canada for the weekend.

As for the career thing --that can wait until later...

Veterans Day

Tomorrow is Veteran's Day, and that holiday always brings me thoughts of my father.

My new office/library, D1's former bedroom, is where I've been spending more and more time. On the wall I've hung my father's group pictures from 2 separate US Army companies he was in, as well as his induction and discharge papers. Wifey made me a lovely shadow box with some photos of him, and cufflinks, his army dog tags, etc...

It's funny, though. He was never a flag waver. He served in the army for nearly 4 years, right at the peak of his young man years, but I don't think he was particularly proud of his service. He always saw it as a duty, and obligation, but mostly a major annoyance.

I used to ask him why he never thought about avoiding the draft, as so many young men did in the Vietnam years. I remember, as a child, hearing tales of my sister's friends heading to Canada, or injuring themselves to stay out of the military.

My father just shrugged and said it never occurred to him to do that --he felt it was his duty, and so off he went.

But, his years in the US Army instilled in him a lasting revulsion of having to take orders from people you knew were dumber than you were...

This is why it was so important to him that I become a "professional" -- a man who could "hang his shingle" and not have to answer to a boss.

When I was a boy, and played soldier, and had an impressive GI Joe doll collection (do boys still play with those, or have video games replaced them?), I used to ask my father about his experiences.

He never saw combat, but even the thought of training excited me --a Bronx Jewish boy who went from pushing dress carts in the Garment Industry to crawling around in muddy fields in Texas, with live training rounds exploding over his head.

He was never excited or proud about talking about the days. I know a large part of that was generational. The WW II guys just got the job and did it, and then came home.

My uncle Jordan, a meek vending machine repairman, never talked about his time in the Pacific Theatre. One day, I was at his Queens apartment, and he had out a scrap book. There was a photo of him standing in front of a plane he worked on --the Enola Freaking Gay! Jordan was part of one of the most significant missions in US history, and never peeped about it.

So there'll be parades and rememberances about our latest crop of veterans, from Iraq and Afghanistan. I know what my father's take on them would have been: "Poor, stupid, dumb bastards."

Like John Fogarty, I ain't no military son.

But, I'm still so proud of my father. I know his years in the Army, and service to the US, helped make him the man he was --even though he couldn't wait to come home.

Company Store

So the Ds and I have been after Wifey to get a job. D2 has been independent for over 2 years now, so Wifey's daily mothering duties have dwindled to advice about matters of the heart, clothing, etc...

Wifey, who calls ME the passive aggressive, has resisted heroically. Instead, she took up a curious habit of staying up late, researching and shopping online. Each day the mail would bring some article of clothing or trinket, that was "needed" for a future gift, or one of the Ds, or something...

I grew annoyed at this, especially since my days as a high paid lawyer are ending. Plus, I've developed new symptoms of Obsessive/Compulsive Disorder, in the form of hating clutter, and Wifey's piles of tchokes and clothing aggravated my condition.

Well, it turns out she was in training for a new business.

A few weeks ago, she traveled to the Merchandise Mart, and bought a pile of really good looking costume jewelry. She set up a display, first in our dining room, and later moved to her new office/gym upstairs. She invited friends. Business has been booming.

Last night, her friends Lori, Libby, Jody, and Lori's daughter Courtney came over. I assumed the role of jewelry concierge, and poured them white wine. They went upstairs, laughed, and bought jewelry.

When they left, Wifey recorded everything on her computer database. She in bid-ness.

Additionally, she has plans for another project. Wifey finds stuff online for absurdly low prices. She's done this as a favor for friends for years.

I became a believer in her skills 2 years ago. We needed a new refrigerator, and we had one of those absurdly expensive built in models. Brands Mart sold it for nearly %5000. I told Wifey I'd find one online cheaper, and after 2 hours of searching, found a company in Wisconsin that would sell and ship the same model for $3500. I was proud of myself.

Not so fast, said WifeySaves.com! She found a much better deal --closer to $2500. And, she learned that Brandsmart would meet online prices, so we strolled into the store and got our fridge for half price. Even the salesman was impressed. He said, in a Spanish accent "Wow --I never see it thees low!"

So now, Wifey's going to start an online shopping service, in which customers come to her with the price they're going to pay for an article of clothing, jewelry, appliance, etc... and Wifey will charge a fee based on how much she saves them.

She's a prodigious researcher. She'd have been a wonderful librarian in another time. Now she plans to become the next web master!

I'm proud of her, and happy for her. Selfishly, of course, I'd much rather see a net INflow of money instead of OUTflow. Plus, it's healthy for her to be productive.

This is especially so as I am in my final week of law practice. On Monday, my friend Stuart takes over our office, and Paul and I become, as he prefers to call it, a "Board of Directors."

I plan to nurture my inner lazy bastard, at least for awhile...

I rather like the idea of my wife earning some money while I fan myself...

Go Wifey! I'll pour the wine and tote the packages.

Old is NOT for me.

What a busy long weekend in the 305 and 352! Thursday night Wifey and I hosted a reunion party at Villa Wifey. Over 30 people came, and my partner Paul was the affable bartender.

We talked of days gone by, and politics, and cabbages and kings. The best line came about halfway in to the evening. My friend Pete noticed Paul's girlfriend Patricia, who isn't, um, appearance challenged. She is a former Miss Lima, and that's Peru, not Ohio...

Patricia was standing around looking beautiful, and Pete asked if she lived in our building at UM. No, Patricia, said, she would have been in South America then. "Yeah," Pete said..."somehow I think I'd have noticed if you were my neighbor..."

After the consumption of 80 crepes and a goodly amount of wine, rum, and Stoli, everyone left, happy. The returns and notices were all positive...

The next am I drove to Boca and picked up Dr. Eric. He had been to the party, AFTER trips to watch his golfer son Josh compete in Ocala. Josh is amazing --he's one of the state's top golfers AND keeps a 4.0 GPA. I tell Eric he's essentially Eric, but more athletic and with a better personality...Eric agrees.

We drove to Gainesville for the father/daughter AEPHi weekend. Eric's girl Jen and D2 are members. We talked the whole time --of times gone past, and kings and cabbages. And, we talked about old people -- a lot.

Our widowed mothers are old, as are the majority of Eric's patients. Some are sweet, but most are not. They reach 90 and complain about aches. They insist Eric make them healthy, after 40 years of smoking cigarettes...

As if to certify these thoughts, my ancient mother last night had a toddler-like tantrum when I threw out her microwave oven, after it nearly caused a fire. "No, leave it, it's fine!" she pleaded, as the acrid smoke from its burning electric wires choked the kitchen...

I concluded that old people suck...

But back to Gainesville, the land of the young...Eric and I took our girls out to Leonardos for pizza, and then the the Top for healthy-like dinners. We went back to the sorority house for dessert, which was delicious (these are mostly Jewish girls --food is very important. I'm told the WASPy sororities serve watercress...)

On Saturday, D2 and I went to an art festival in Downtown Gainesville. We walked around, and ended up in the City Square, where we heard a folk band with excellent harmonies, and a blues band, with a fat middle aged white lady who belted out tunes.

Children did cartwheels on the grass, in front of the Bo Diddley stage (he lived many years in Gainesville). The cool breeze was delicious. The sun dappled in D2's hair. She giggled. She was gorgeous. As I told her, if there was a more heavenly place to be at that moment --I couldn't imagine where it was.

The day got even better as Norman and Mike texted me updates on the Canes game --a thriller the Canes pulled out! A perfect Saturday!

Saturday night we repaired to Mark's Prime, a Gainesville steakhouse, with Andrea and Chelsea and their dads and brothers. The dads and one brother (Danny) drank vodka. Somehow the talk turned to marijuana and condoms. Andrea, in true form with a wit drier than the Sahara, remarked "Um, I think this group is getting a little TOO comfortable here..."

Andrea has been accorded full ex officio status in our daughter group...

I hugged D2 outside of her dorm, and went off to the hotel. Eric decided we should share a room, "like old times." It was actually fun. There were no "Brokeback Mountain" moments, at least that I could share in a family blog.

Rather, we laughed, and watched ESPN --and cheered at the Canes highlights...We especially laughted that FSU, despite a new coach and the passing of a decade, still can't escape the curse of the Wide Right...

Dana and her brother Steve met us at a Panera Bread on PGA Boulevard. We chatted about the weekend, and then I left for a memorial lunch for Joyce, my friend Mike's mother, who died 2 weeks ago.

I sat at a table with Mike's high school buddies, and lovely words and poems about Joyce were spoken, as we drank Stella Artois beer. Fred Lewis, a Florida Supreme Court justice, who, like me, is a protege of Mike's father Ed, spoke beautifully about Joyce and her family.

In the car on the way home, I told Wifey I'd like to have a service like that for my mother someday...but my mother seems intent on out living me!

Ah, old people. Youth is where it's at.

Election

The mid term results are in, and I'm chuckling to myself as I expected I would. Mencken was SO dead on about the collective intelligence of the American public...

Marco Rubio's going to be our next US senator. He's too conservative for my taste, but I have to root for the guy. He's the son of Cuban immigrants (oh wait - they still call themselves "exiles" even though they've been here 50 years and their offspring are now, um, US senators) and grew up poor. He's not the brightest fellow --he had to start out at Santa Fe College before he could get into UF, and then UM Law, but he's certainly relentless.

Most importantly, he seems to be a national GOP darling, so hopefully that will be good for Florida. I wouldn't be surprised to see him run for president sooner or later, and possible win. He's good looking and charming.

Alex Sink is neither. She lost the governor's race to a guy, Rick Scott, who belongs in federal prison. But, as we all learned in junior high, popular and rich and charming always beats frumpy and smart --issues don't count.

I went to an Alex Sink fundraiser a fe months back. My friend Joel, hoping to secure a judgeship for his sister, committed to raising money for Sink. He hosted a lunch at a restaurant on the Miami River. My partner Paul and I gave money and ate fried seafood.

I sat next to the Democratic candidate. Within 5 minutes, I was so bored with her, I was involving myself in a conversation with 2 Gator lawyers about how good the team was going to be with their new QB Brantley. "Better than with Tebow" was their absurd conclusion...

Sink was frumpy and charmless. She seemed smart, of course, but on the way back to the car, Paul and I told Joel, in most subtle terms, that his investment in the political future of Florida was questionable. "That's one boring, annoying, unlikeable woman" we said...

So we knew then that Sink was sunk. Even her name was downcast and wrong for victory. Vote for the Titanic!

So, my decision to get out of the personal injury business seems well timed. Between Rick Scott and the GOP Florida legislature, the most draconian anti-plaintiffs laws are on the near horizon. Bad faith law, the hammer we use to get insurance companies to settle cases, will evaporate. That will effectively kill the PI business, in my opinion. With no financial incentive to settle, insurers will string cases along for years...bankrupting PI firms along the way.

Oh well.

Hemingway had the right philosophy. All we can do is try to secure our own lives and happiness. If we get caught up in things like idealism, and altruism, the stupidity and naivete of our fellow citizens will shoot us down.

Rick Scott as governor of Florida. Amazing...

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

For years I've wanted to join a country club, but I'm too cheap and don't play golf. I really enjoy the concept of going to a place where I'm known, and folks are happy to see me. I think there's an idea for a sitcom here...maybe I could set it in Boston, with quirky characters at a bar...

I tend to go to the same pubs over and over. My haunts are Fox's in South Miami, where Nelson the boricua has been a waiter for years. Nelson always treats my guests and me wonderfully, and a torch has even been passed: last year, D1 spent New Year's Eve there with some friends, and Nelson feted her and her boyfriend Thomas like rock stars...

Now comes Trulucks. Three years ago, our landlord SunTrust booted us out of our first floor office space, and moved us up to floor number 4. They paid for everything, and gave us a sweetheart deal on rent, so it was ok. Their plan was to put in an upscale restaurant and bar, and at first it was to be Roy's.

I visited Roy's in Orlando once, and found it pretentious and overrated, with a bunch of sugary fish dishes that were WAY overpriced. For some reason, Roy's got off the hook (HA!) and the deal never took place. Our old office space lay fallow for over 2 years...

Finally, we learned that Trulucks was moving in. This is another small, upscale chain, based in Austin, Texas. We all watched the place take shape over the past 6 months. Finally, they opened last week.

I strolled in with my buddy Joel, and immediately fell in love. I guess I love the idea that drinks are now served and a piano is played in the rooms where we used to make law, not love... The memories of that space, now covered in wood paneling, will last forever...

I met the bartenders Ian, George, and Daniel. All three are college educated, cool fellows. They served premium cocktails which cost only $7 from 430 until 7. This is half price for Brickell area places...

We chatted and became fast friends, immediately. A few more folks joined Joel and me. The bill came, and it was for $48. Nicely buzzed by my 3 Ketel Ones, I called the 3 fellows over and asked if a $10 tip was acceptable. Daniel answered "Of course --that's more than 20%!" Instead I put in a tip of $100, and told them it was not a mistake, but that I planned to come in often, and expected to be treated like Norm and Cliff in "Cheers."

Well, it worked. The next night, Ilde, the Houston raised, Cuban born manager, saw me in the building. He asked me to come back to Trulucks. I did, and he insisted on buying me a drink. We established my place at the bar (southwest corner, where my old conference room was).

I was hooked. In the 2 weeks the place has been open, I've stopped in 7 times. I introduced my partner Paul, and he fell in love, too. We've already had 2 business dinners there, one with a lawyer friend who owes us money, and the second with Stuart, who is taking over my office space on November 15th, as I fade into the legal sunset...

So last night, I took Wifey, the Ds, and their dear friend Andrea, a UF sophomore. The hostess seated us in the private room, where I plan to host a celebration or two. The singer sang Sinatra.

The food was delicious. We shared stone crabs, a ribeye steak, and some seabass. The ladies shared the signature dessert -- a chocolate sack. The name already brought many titters on a previous visit, but it is excellent.

My 3 bartender buddies and gave my party a huge play. I told him D1, now living on Brickell and about to turn 22, was allowed to order at the bar; D2 and Andrea has a few years to go yet...

We laughed and toasted and enjoyed Andrea's humor, which is dryer than my Ketel One martinis at the bar...

The manager Ilde came over. It was lovely.

The bill came, and as usual, for such an upscale place, was reasonable: about $240 for the 5 of us.

I handed my credit card to the waiter, Sam, and he came back showing my balance was $1. "Dinner tonight is on Ilde," he said.

I smiled and the ladies erupted in laughter and applause. Ilde came over, and the Ds and Andrea sang "We love Ilde..."

It was terrific. Even Wifey was impressed --she said she felt like Carmella Soprano.

Had I been there with a date, this event would have DEFINITELY led to sex...

As it was, it was lovely. I'm due back there Tuesday for lunch, with 2 bankers who used to work for SunTrust in the building, and now work for a small, private bank.

That bank has courtside Heat tickets, which I hope to score for the Ds. I couldn't care less about the Heat. Sports have died for me, with the decline of my beloved Canes...

So, here's to Ilde and the Trulucks clan. I believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship.

Enough with the heat already

It's nearly the end of October, and I'm completely over the heat. Both the weather and the team...

Every 5 years or so, it gets cool by now. In '05, Hurrricane Wilma was here, and knocked out our power for awhile, but the weather was gorgeous. I sent Wifey and the Ds to Atlanta to live with electricity, but I was comfortable at night in the cool weather.

Honey the Lab and I would wake together at sunrise, and I'd make coffee (we have a gas stovetop which can be started without electric) and then read the Herald. It was lovely...

Not this year! It's hot and muggy, and is slated to stay that way for awhile.

We're hosting a reunion party Thursday night, for folks who lived in the Honors Dorm in the 70s and 80s. I was hoping to have it indoors/outdoors, with a fire going in my 2 pits, but it looks like instead we'll be inside in the AC...

I'm also over the other Heat --the basketball team. I really don't like pro basketball, and only paid real attention when the Heat won the title a few years back.

Now, of course, they have LeBron James, Chris Bosch, and Dwayne Wade, and everyone expects them to glide to a championship. I watched them lose their first game, at Boston, and now I'm done for the season.

I'll get tickets from some banker friends, since the Ds and Wifey want to go see all the hoopla, but if I only visit the AAA for a Springsteen show, that's fine with me...

Taking the Long Way Home

I visited very old Mom alone today, since Wifey was attending the Dalai Lama appearance at the U. I had seen His Holiness years ago at FIU, and didn't understand a word he said, though I DID leave the arena with eternal consciousness...

Anyway, Wifey wanted to go, so I asked some folks at Religious Studies for tickets, and Wifey attended with some friends. She was underwhelmed, although she ALSO received eternal consciousness. When she came home, the dogs immediately looked intently at her and rolled over...

Mom was in good spirits. I took her to the Grammercy Deli, and we chatted. She came out with several non sequiters, and I just smiled and nodded. I bought her a whole smoked whitefish to take home, and that excited her. Chicks dig me.

I left Delray around 130, and thought I'd go to the beach there, to maybe talk with my father's spirit. As I neared A1A at Linton Boulevard, it started to rain, so I turned south and decided to reprise a time wasting trick I first employed in college: returning from Delray to Miami via A1A.

I hadn't been through that part of Boca in probably 30 years. I had forgotten how monotonous it was. And, the two public beach parks were closed, according to the sign, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. So, if someone wants to go to a public beach in Boca Raton mid week, they're out of luck!

As soon as I crossed into Broward, there were fewer high rises, and more public access. I thought about stopping, but kept going south, at 35 miles per hour. The number of beachside motels and hotels in North Broward is astounding. And, as my father would have noted, somehow they all stay in business...

After a barely changing landscape, I turned West on Atlantic Boulevard in Pompano, and headed to I-95. I no longer had the patience to go the whole way back to Miami Dade.

It became clear again why Miami Beach still draws so many folks. You can actually go to the beach there, even if you're not staying in a hotel! What a concept.

I remember once, after my father died, and I had returned to college for my senior year, pulling the A1A stunt. I was in no rush to see my recently widowed mother, and took the 3 hour trip instead of the 1 hour one.

I stopped at Boston's in Delray, and had a beer or two before heading to Mom's condo. That was 28 years ago, and I'm still visiting the widow there.

I arrived home and fed my fish. I wonder how much longer I'll be visiting Delray Beach.

Gainesville

Since 2004, when I made the first trip under my evil and manipulative plan for my Ds, I have visited Gainesville more than 50 times.

I should explain my evil and manipulative plan. It's not really evil --just manipulative. I very much want my Ds to live permanently in Miami, as I really dig them. I noticed that many of my friends sent kids to college in way cool cities like Boston, NY, Atlanta, and even LA and the SF Bay Area. Often these kids fell in love with their college cities and settled there. I wasn't having that.

So, I hatched a plan back when D1 was a high school sophomore that both girls would go to UF. It's the most pretigious college in Florida (outside of my beloved UM, which I knew my girls wouldn't consider, since they'd want to go away for school), and, I knew that there was NO WAY they'd settle in North Florida permanently.

The plan has worked to perfection with D1, who is now happily living back in the 305 in graduate school, and the early returns for D2 look promising, too.

I can't wait --before I know it, the Ds can push my wheelchair down Miracle Mile, as I hug and tickle my grandchildren. Ah , for a happy future...

So, anyway, I had been missing D2 and hopped a flight to spend some time with her.

I rented a car at the comically quaint Gainesville Airport, and drove to my hotel. By now, I've stayed in every hotel that's habitable for humans in the Gville area. This time, HotWire.com told me the best deal was at the 2 year old Spring Hill Suites. I checked in and found out that the HotWire price was $15 more than the AAA price. I'm now done with HotWire.

I drove to Broward Hall and jumped out of the car to a waiting D2. I think I can be completely objective about my girls, putting asided all paternal prejudices, so I can fairly say that she looked absolutely gorgeous --by far the most beautiful undergraduate at UF. Her eyes sparkled. She giggled that laugh that's one of my favorite sounds in the world. As I said --purely objective...

We drove to Downtown, and tried to eat at The Top, one of D1's favorite restaurants. Alas, it was closed until dinner, so we walked to a place called Emiliano's, where we had some fine sandwiches.

We sat outside at a table. The sun dappled her hair. We talked happily about classes, friends, life. It was heaven.

It reinforced something I've known for a very long time: when my Ds are happy --I'm happy.

We drove back to her dorm and met with her old friend Carly, Carly's roommate Chelsea, and dear friend Andrea, now Chelsea's sorority big sister. We shared some cookies and brownies we had bought at a coffee shop.

We then went off with some other girls to visit Rachel's family. Rachel is the 18 year old who was in the awful crash last weekend.

We found her parents, Elliot and Iris, and they were thrilled to see us. Iris chatted with the girls, and I spoke with Elliot. It looks like, thankfully, Rachel is going to pull through, though she has a long, tough recovery road ahead of her. The plan is to transfer her to Jackson Memorial in Miami for neuro rehab.

I told Elliot about the many young clients I've had who recover fully from awful head injuries. It's true --the younger tha patient, the better they do. I'm told the brain's plasticity in youth does the trick.

In the elevator after leaving, my eyes were misty. Elliot is handling this like I would. You can see his anguish, but he's staying in charge. As he told me "I'm so used to doing stuff for her, for making things better, but here I'm powerless."

I look forward to seeing a recovering young lady.

Another of the crash victims was also in Shands, awaiting complex arm surgery. The other kids were all back home recovering.

In a short moment --everything can change, as Don Henley sang.

We dropped the girls at their sorority houses, and picked up D2's old, dear friend Ben. We headed back Downtown, to the Top. Now the Top had a 40 minute wait, so we walked over to Harry's, a NEw Orleans style place, and had some wings, mussels, and chicken sandwiches.

D2 and Ben are like brother and sister. D2 says Ben is the reason she's succeeding at UF. He tutors her in Statistics, and Ben is sort of like Radar O'Reilly from Mash --he's the guy who knows EVERYTHING about wherever he is.

We went back to the dorm, and saw MORE coeds. D2's roommate Devon was there --we said hello, and I heard about her tough engineering classes.

Then D2, Ben and I walked around the quiet campus. It was exquisite --talking about life, and their educations, and the comical cast of friends from Palmetto High.

Ben left for his dorm, and D2 and I said goodbye behind Broward Hall, next to the volleyball courts.

I hugged her tightly. I told her I was the most blessed man there was, and at the top of my list of blessings were D2 and D1. I'm so crazy about them. I adore them.

D2 walked to her dorm. I walked to my rental car. My shoulder was wet with her tears.

Schism

Wifey doesn't cook, and never did, but she DOES satisfy my hunger for reading by taking out a great stream of books from our local library.

Years ago, she decided she wanted to cut down on clutter, and her target was by purchase of books. She noted correctly that I'd buy them, read them, and then just keep them for years. So, she started using the library, and it worked.

Now, I only buy books when I'm on vacation, or visitng Books and Books, our favorite independent.

The latest tome to show up on my night stand is called "The Big Sort" by a Texas reporter. He wrote it along with a UT political scientist, and it's about the separation of American politics --not by red/blue state, but by community.

He talks about his liberal neighborhood in Austin, and how anyone even breathing conservative thoughts is ostracized. I'm guessing the message will be that unless we do better at listening to each other, we're doomed to separate cultures that will end our country. (I'm taking the book with me on my planned 20 hour visit to Gainesville tomorrow to see D2).

In my experience, the book is dead on. I've always prided myself on my open mindedness. I have close friends who are VERY conservative, and I consider them brilliant.

But, it's rare my liberal and conservative friends even listen to each other. Last year, one of D2's friends, the child of a Democratic Party activist, marvelled that I was friends with someone I'll call Mike (since that's his name). The friend said "Wow --my parents could NEVER be friends with someone who voted for Bush."

Years ago, during the primary season, we hosted some friends for dinner and wine. These were classic "precious" liberals. I mentioned that I preferred Hillary Clinton to Obama, and the women there (not Wifey) attacked me to the point of social uncomfortability. I think it may have been the 4 bottles of Stag's Leap Syrah I had served, but these women looked like they wanted to kill me, since I pointed out the irony of these so called feminists tossing Hillary under the bus in favor of the more liberal Obama...

Miami's a weird place politically. The classic Cuban conservatives really ought to be Democrats, but will never forgive Kennedy for the failed Bay of Pigs invasion, and continue to equate Democrats with Communists. The Jews, having achieved material success, ought to vote Republican for their own interest, but maintain their love, via their parents, for FDR and Truman, and also maintain a wariness about the Religious Right that keeps them backing the Donkeys...

"The Big Sort" talks about neighbors who no longer post political thoughts on list servers. I should learn from that --I always take flak from some conservative folks whenever I bash the evangelicals...

Major election is coming up. I guess we'll find out soon if Florida is headed back to the Right, or not.

In the meantime, I hope to keep up the discourse with my friends, even when I have to tweak the liberals...

Another Damn Tragedy

So there I am, lazily watching college football yesterday, and I hear Wifey on the phone with D2. Wifey's voice is down several octaves, so I know something is wrong.

I pick up the phone, and D2 is tearfully telling that there has been a horrific crash in Gainesville. One of her Palmetto friends was killed, another on life support, and several more have various fractures, etc...

It seems many college freshman traveled to UF for Gator Growl. Somehow, Sunday at 1 am, 9 kids piled into the car of 18 year old Andrew Parker. Andrew was apparently speeding, and tried to turn left into Campus Lodge, a place where D1 lived for a year. He hit a tree. Andrew died at the scene.

His best friend pulled him out of the car, a boy named Tommy Heffernan. Tommy's dad played for the Canes when I was there, and he's now a lawyer. Tommy plays football for UNC.

Worst for us, a girl named Rachel Grusky was taken to the ICU, on life support. She's a girl we know quite well. Wifey used to see her Dad, a chiropractor in town. I just checked the Gainesville news, and happily saw no update about deaths. We're praying she pulls through.

9 kids in a car at 1 am. Smart ones, too --the young man who was killed was attending Santa Fe College, and had been accepted to start UF in the Spring. He already joined a fraternity.

D2 said he'd been here to the house over the high school years. His parents. Ohm his parents...

Of course, this comes on the heels of the beautiful 15 year old Palmetto High girl dying of the infection. I can just imagine poor Mr. Weiner, the Palmetto principal, dealing with these multiple tragedies with the students.

Of course, there's no making sense of this. It just IS, like earthquakes, plane crashes...It's never fair when a child dies...

We met D1 and her boyfriend Thomas for dinner in the Gables. When she emailed the restaurant info, she said she hoped we would gather with gratitude that our family was not more closely involved.

Before Wifey and I left for dinner, a friend from Boston called, shaky voiced. She had heard via the instant communication of our age, only that Palmetto High grads were in a terrible crash. She cried with happiness when I assured her D2 wasn't in the car...

D1 gets it, of course. It IS about gratitude for the avoidance of tragedy --even when calamity comes perilously close.

The In Laws

So Wifey and I were sitting around talking last night. We do that a lot lately, in our quiet, empty house. It was Friday night, and we thought about going out, and then simultaneously said "Nah!"

I mentioned that I got an IM from one of our D's friend's mothers, about a mutual acquiantance. Wifey said "I bet she didn't ask at all about the Ds --right?" Wifey was right --the woman, as usual, didn't express the slightest interest, even though the Ds had spent a LOT of time with her and her son.

It caused us to reflect on the subject of in laws...

What an awful business it is. Just when you get, hopefully, some order and stability in the relationship you have with your adult kids, you are forced to accept another couple into your orbit. Ay caramba!

Of course, I easily win the award in the world's most annoyting in laws contest. Mine are Holocaust Survivors, so they are forgiven for much of their jaded views, but still...

These people have known me for over 1/4 of a century. In that time, I have treated their daughter, well, acceptably. I have treated THEM like royalty. I bought them a condo, and have paid for their vacations, meals, etc...

Recently, Wifey was with them at a bank, putting her signature on their accounts, since they're in their 80s now. My father in law made it clear that I was not to have any involvement --because, well "you never know..."

So, I have to deal with not having access to his accounts. Wifey explains that's the way he is, and I get it, but, after all I've done for this man, it still stings...

Then again, I haven't met the in law I'd choose. My friends' in laws run the gamut from absent, to annoying, to downright evil...

So far, Wifey and I earn high marks from the Ds' boyfriends. We take them on vacations, and always make them feel more than welcome in our house.

My criterion is simple: if the young man treats my daughter well --he's ok with me.

Of course, we'll see how things turn out. Maybe I'll become too controlling, or opinionated.

Will Wifey and I make good in laws some day?

I hope we're blessed to find out.