Fabulous

So Wifey got an email from the U last week. Since I'm a member of the President's Circle, they offered us some tickets to see "Rent" at the Ring Theatre. We went last night.

The place was sold out, and it was Wednesday. The lights dimmed; the show started.

I have to say, "Rent" sisn't my kind of show. It's a rock opera, and, as far as I'm concerned, after "Tommy" they should have retired the genre.

The story, based on the Puccini opera, followed the lives of starving artists in Alphabet City in New York, as they died of AIDS and fought the gentrification of their squatters colony.

There were only 2 songs I liked, and the tale grew too melodramatic for my taste --dying transvestites, and miraculous recoveries for Mimi, found near death in the park. Oy.

Still --the young cast made it an enjoyable performance. They were so passionate, and enthusiastic. A few had star quality --beautiful voices and believable acting skills.

The Ring stage was the training ground for Sly Stallone and Ray Liotta, and as I watched the young performers, I wondered whether any of them would become famous.

After the show, Wifey and I strolled through campus, under an amazing full moon. We cut through the law school, which always brings a degree of queasiness to me, as I remember all of the boring lectures, and ponderous workload of those long gone years.

I also remembered some epic laughs, though. Wifey recalled our softball team, and watching us play with some of the other then-girlfriends, who became wives, and then, even ex-wives.

She remembered how young we looked, and how we were, like the performers, full of enthusiasm, and passion.

There's certainly something to be said for hanging out with the young...

Becoming Ourselves

I read somewhere that, as we age, we become truer to our real natures. Boy, I hope that's not accurate.

To my observation, aging is awful. Folks become angrier and crabbier. They're less patient. They've more judgmental. They're less fun.

I speak to my ancient Mom every few days. Although she asks after my family, it's clear that she lives mostly in her own head. Before I even finish an answer about what the Ds are up to, she is talking about some doctor appointment, or the fact that a neighbor's construction project is "driving her insane."

A close friend tells me that, as he ages, he has pledged to become "more patient, more understanding, more, well...Buddhist-like." Of course, the opposite is true. Just the other day his secretary made a mistake, and he went off on her as if she had embezzled all of his company's money.

My friend Steve, the professor I'm going to teach with tthis Summer, is a specialist in aging. He has studied it all of his professional career, and lectures throughout the country on the topic. He tells me that caring for the elderly is so tough because of their meanness, ofter, and their unattractiveness, as well as the knowledge that they're not going to get "better." Plus, we all see our futures in the elderly, and it's not pretty!

Friends' parents have been dropping like flies recently. I was at a funeral just last week, and then yesterday my old friend Vince told me his mother in law was dying. He really likes her, contrary to typical mother in law jokes, and his wife and he are suffering this coming loss.

I guess it's all the more reason to celebrate Wifey and my relative youth. Our girls are grown, and we don't feel too old yet. Based on what we see, we may want to stay at these ages for a long time.

Hey Bungalow Bill

One of my office roommates is off to Africa tomorrow, for a 2 week hunting trip. He's so excited about it --he's going to hunt elephants.

Apparently, the government sells licenses to rich hunters to take out "problem elephants." These are critters that have caused problems to villagers. Otherwise, it seems, you can't just go blast Dumbo.

I certainly don't get it. I've never understood any type of hunting, let alone animals I've always read are social, and gather together when one of their pack? herd? gets injured.

My roommate hunts in Africa once per year. Last year, he shot a lion, and several large apes, as well as a bunch of antelope looking things (I can never keep those antelope-like animals separate in my mind). He's also shot big moose-looking animals --Cape Buffaloes I think they're called.

He tells me that this trip, he has a 20% chance of being killed. If you shoot the elephant and miss, it will stomp you to death. My money's on the human and his "PH," or professional hunter. They have enormous rifles.

The trip is going to cost him nearly $30,000. I really, really don't get it.

I mean, hunting birds doesn't bother me too much. They don't seem too close to us. But majestic cats, and primates? Elephants? Maybe I was raised on too much Disney.

To each his own, I guess. My roommate thinks my life is without adventure. I have zero desire to go hunting. I used to like to fish, a bit, but that no longer thrils me either.

So --he's off to Africa. That also happens to be a continent I have zero desire to visit, for any reason. Nothing about the place appeals to me.

But if I did go, I'm certain I'd leave the large animals to themselves...

The Day After

Well, the PPPPP turned out to be a smashing success. As expected, the prom goers were like newly bloomed flowers, and they and their dates posed for photos like models in a fashion spread.

Mike and I manned the bar, with Mike cranking out pitchers of his rum drinks, while I mixed the vodkas and poured wine. The parents, dealing with the encroachment of middle age, went through an enormous bottle of Ketel One, and 5 bottles of white wine. (OK, so I had two or 7 vodkas myself).

Many of the parents knew each other since THEY were kids, and enjoyed reliving their high school days as their children were now ready to graduate.

We all gathered in front of the house, as the kids boarded the bus. The driver let out a loud horn peal, and off they went.

I announced that the party would continue, and about 25 of the parents came back inside. My friend and neighbor Pat was there, as were friends Charlie and Diane. Pat introduced me to an Irish whiskey called Middleton years ago, and I always break it our on special occasions. I poured us all a finger or two, and we toasted our nearly grown kids.

There were some tears, and a lot of laughter, and little by little, the parents left the house.

D2 called from the hotel about midnight, and reported all were in high spirits. They intended to watch the sunrise at 6; as I predicted, none of them made it up that early. They did head over to Big Pink for breakfast, and then spent the day on Miami Beach. D2 came home exhausted and a little sunburned.

Meanwhile, in Gainesville, D1 attended a ball as well, with her reunited boyfriend Thomas.

The springtime of the Ds continues; we head to Gainesville next Saturday for our first D's college graduation. We'll gather in Gatorland, and watch D1 get her Bachelor's. Then we have plans at a restaurant in Downtown Gainesville. D2 and I will head back home, as D2 has AP exams next week, while Wifey and D1 will pack up her apartment and follow us a few days later.

Today, Wifey and I cleaned up and napped. We're done with high school events, almost.

One of the dads last night remarked that his son had a much better childhood than he did, and hoped he realized how lucky he was.

I don't know. It seems to me that we all have our demons to slay, and just because one has a bit more money, or a 2 parent childhood, it doesn't equal an easy life.

Some of the Ds friends seem under constant pressure to succeed. The American Dream is that each generation does better than the last. As the curve towards success sharpens, that becomes harder and harder for each generation.

Que sera, sera with this generation.

All I know is, the kids beamed last night, and we were privileged to reflect in their light.

Palmetto Prom Photo Party

So there's a big alliterative event planned at Villa Wifey tonight. D2 is attending her senior prom, and I offered to host her fellow guests and their parents for a photo party.

I figured she'd be going with a limo or at most Hummer limo worth of kids. It turns out they've hired a party bus, and there'll be 38 of them!

Oh well, the weather is gorgeous, and I bought all the ingredients for my friend Mike's drink idea, the "Blue Panther." The 24 cans of pineapple juice, 8 cans of Coco Lopez, and huge bottles of various rums are lined up on my kitchen counter like soldiers awaiting battle. I just called Mike; he's ready for service.

I've been to several of these pre prom parties over the past several years. If there's a lovlier site than a bunch of high school seniors all dressed up for this milestone, I don't know what it is.

And sure --many of the girls are beautiful, but to me, they're all like my daughters. Young girls never did it for me --I leave that to the creepy old guys. I'm proud to say I can admire them from a higher plane.

Now, if they were 30 year olds all dressed up and hanging around my house...Or better yet -- 50 year old Cougars. Now we're talking!

Wifey's leaving soon to pick up the sandwich platters and other goodies. We've had lots of folks over before, but tonight may be the largest gathering.

We've warned the neighbors about the coming traffic clog. This morning, I told several in person. They all laughed, and started telling tales of their OWN proms, in Maryland, and Pittsburgh, and one tale from Bogota! Who knew?

The party bus will wait for D2 and her posse (she hates it when I try to use Rapper lingo) and take them to a hotel on Miami Beach. Their goal is to be seaside at 6 am tomorrow, to watch the sunrise over the ocean.

Next weekend, we're heading to Gainesville for D1's graduation. The Ds are 18 and 21. I'm old and irrelevant as a father. They've been my true life's work for the past two decades.

What comes next for me?

Time Passages

I've always loved the Al Stewart song, with it's concluding line "Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight." It evokes images of him at a darkened British Rail station, at the end of a long day (symbolizing his life) awaiting a return to the familiar.

Yesterday D1 called me, to report she was about to enter her final college class. She knows how much I love to mark the milestones in life, and I appreciated her call so much.

Where have those four years gone? I dropped her off at Beatty Towers just yesterday, it seems, as she laughed with her new roommates, and looked forward with so much anticipation, to the coming experience. She's stayed close friends with one of those girls, Chelsea, and the two of them will graduate in 2 weekends.

Chelsea's headed off to NYU for graduate school, while D1 is, thankfully, coming home to FIU graduate studies. I know Chelsea's folks will be in Gainesville next week, beaming with pride (she's the first in her immigrant family to get a university degree) and wondering how the years have flown so fast.

D2 has her senior prom this weekend, another milestone in the passage of time. I volunteered to host the "pre prom party," an event that's sprung up over the last few years. This is D2's THIRD prom, as she was asked to go by friends the past two years, and each of the times Wifey and I were impressed at how lovely these pre prom get togethers were.

D2 informed me that, instead of a limo, her group had hired a 38 passenger party bus! So, somehow the pre prom party has turned into quite the event. We're expecting 50-60 folks, for sandwiches and wings, and drinks for the parents.

My friend Mike has even concocted a special blended cocktail, called the "Blue Panther" (the high school mascot), and I have to go buy the ingredients before Saturday. His daighter Amanda, who is D2's lifelong friend, is headed to USC Film School, in hopes of becoming a movie director.

I know Mike and I will drink our share of his Blue Panthers Saturday evening, and choke back some wistful tears as the party bus drives away into the evening.

Succesful Visit

As I write this, my sister Sue is at MIA (assuming Tri Rail was on time) awaiting her flight back to California.

Sue wrote a guide book to hosting a succesful estate sale, and I'm really proud of her. Right now, it's desk top published, but she's hoping to get it sold on a larger scale.

It occurred to me that there's another book my whole family could write: "How to plan and carry our a succesful family visit."

In the 31 years since my parents and I have lived in Florida, Sue has come each year. My sister Trudy moved here 20 years ago, so she hasn't been part of the Florida visit thing for some time.

In the 31 years, some visits have been terrific, others, not so much. This past one was wonderful.

I think I've figured it out. It's completely a matter of duration. Churchill's famous quote about guests, fish, and 3 days is true.

The best family visits are short and sweet.

We caught up, laughed, and shared memories, and it was all over before we annoyed each other.

I think this is particularly true as we age, and become more cranky. My mother is so old, she's reached the point where she wants family visits to last only a few HOURS!

So --this past one was delightful. D2 spent some quality time with her aunt, and we caught up,and celebrated an auspicious occasion --Mom's 90th. There were no arguments, tears, or moroseness.

A lovely family visit...

One of the Best Days in 90 Years

So ancient Mom turned 90 last week, and my sister and I wondered how to celebrate that milestone. Mom LOVES lobster. No --that's too weak a word. She SAVORS lobster. When we take her out for lobster, she sets about eating it in a way that's well, sexual.

She picks through each morsel, and slurps, and tastes. She really, really, enjoys lobster. So we figured we'd take her to a lobster restaurant, since she had told us she didn't want a big party.

My sister had a different idea. She'd host us at her place, and get the seafood herself. Boy, did she!

Yesterday, she, my brother in law, my California sister, Wifey, and D2 arrived for a true feast. Our hosts outdid themselves, with an afternoon of drinks, shrimp, clams, scallops, MORE shrimp, and then succulent lobster tails.

Each of Mom's 6 grandkids and 4 great grandkids either visited or called her this week to wish her a happy 90th. 2 of the families appeared on Skype yesterday. Mom couldn't grasp that they were appearing in real time. When my nephew Henry froze on the screen, Mom said "Oh, I guess it's a commercial."

D2 remarked to her sister "Grandma Sunny is nuts." She is, but in a very happy way --humorous malaprops, and a sense of her surroundings that's charmingly on about a 15 second delay.

Still, she has flashes of lucidity. She remembered one of her favorite jokes, from the long gone Borscht Belt comedian Totie Fields, who met a childless woman, and asked her "Well, what do you do for a nervous breakdown?"

So yesterday, we lounged, and ate, and laughed, and ate some more. We even broke out into spontaneous song, several times, and my brother in law and I were the only two drinking!

It was a truly auspicious day --a classy, fitting honor for our matriarch.

One the way home, Mom again said how delicious the chocolate cake was (in truth, it was a gourmet carrot cake). Then she said "Oh David --today was one of the best days of my life!"

I thought: wow --for a 90 year old, that's really saying something.

Sitting Next To Jeff

My friend Jim's mother died this week, and the funeral was yesterday. She was 89, and lived a very full life.

I went to the funeral, and realized again how much I prefer funerals to weddings. I'm not happy about the person dying so as to have occasion for a funeral, but as lessons in humanity, they're far more significant.

Weddings are all platitudes, and flowers, and sappy romance. The funeral is a chance to truly look back over someone's life, before the wood hits the earth.

Wifey was running late, so I sat next to Jeff. He's a friend from law school, now long retired from practicing, and as I glanced his way, I realized we first met when we sat next to each other, in several classes at UM Law.

I imagined we just sat together at a movie, and the scenes changed, from 1986. Then, we were 22, and all full of ourselves, and concerns about our coming careers. Now, we were husbands and fathers, and adult children of dying, aging parents.

Jim spoke about his mother with great emotion. He admitted he was a mama's boy, and shared how she "always made things right" for him, his brother, and late father. Frances was the smoother-outer, in contrast to his gruff, no nonsense Dad.

Jim's brother, an Atlanta dentist, spoke as well. He is much less a feeling guy than Jim is, but thanked Jim for bearing the brunt of his aging parents' care, as Jim was in South Florida with them, and Hugh in Atlanta, merely popping in a few times per year.

They held a Shiva, and it was a nice opportunity to catch up with some old law school friends. Hugh asked whether I was coming back later in the weekend, and I told him a white lie about why I can't. The truth is, MY mother is turning 90, and we get to celebrate another birthday with her.

I hugged Jim, and he thanked me for attending. How could I miss it? How can one call himself a friend, and not be there to honor one's deep loss?

I only met Frances four or five times, but I felt I knew her better yesterday, after hearing the words about her meaning to children and grandchildren.

I'm happy to attend a birthday party tomorrow, instead of a funeral.

Playing Hooky

I truly planned to go to the office today. I really did. I woke up at a reasonable hour, had my coffee, read the Herald, and then joined Wifey for a walk. But then, during the circuit around the 'hood, one thing led to another, and before I knew it, the circumstances cascaded into a conspiracy designed to keep me home.

First, we ran into 2 separate neighbors, and had news about our kids that needed catching up. We learned all about one's college trips, and about the academic trials presented by private school to the others.

Then, Wifey told me she needed to get her cell phone fixed, and the Comcast guy was due to visit. A sign from above, I thought! There would be no trip Downtown for me.

The cable guy turned out to be a Jamaican named Mike. He was tall and charming, and we chatted about Montego Bay, and Ocho Rios. I decided that Jamaican accents are my favorite. Just listening to this fellow, I had a strong urge to smoke some nature, and think only thoughts of peace and love.

Mike replaced the defective converter box, and we both agreed that we ought to meet someday in Negril. I told Mike that, when Wifey and I flew to Montego Bay for our honeymoon, over 23 years ago, a man in the seat on Air Jamaica next to me was headed to Negril. He was newly divorced, and wore a straw hat. I asked him how long he was saying. His reply "I have no damn idea." I made a mental note to someday visit Negril. Mike, who went often when he lived and worked In Jamaica, told me I had the right idea --Negril was the Key West of Jamaica, and that's saying something!

So, now the house was quiet, and I had to take the new Comcast box for a test drive. I went to "On Demand," and ordered up the "Sopranos," episode 82, the one where Cristopher whacks Tim Daly. There was a poignant line from Tony while he was visiting Dr. Melfi for help in dealing with his heartbroken son A.J., whose Puerto Rican girlfriend had broken up with him. "My putrid, rotting genes. This is my gift for my son."

Then, D2 came home, and I poured us a couple of Diet Orange Crush sodas, and got her to join me on the front porch for some senior year catch up talk. I pointed out to her the absurdly gorgeous yellow tabebuia trees, in explosive bloom. Their sun-yellow flowers, in afternoon light, almost make you cry.

We went inside, and Wifey's friend Elizabeth tapped on the door. She's here for a visit, but has to take the smaller room, since my sister Sue's due in tomorrow from California. Wifey brought home some Greek salads and humus, and we ate outside, in the unseasonably beautiful weather. Happily, no Miami summer is here yet.

We then took our SECOND walk around the 'hood, this time with Elizabeth.

Yes, if one got grades for hooky, today I earned a solid A.

Surprise Again

D1 knows me so well, and knows one of my recurring fears is that she or her sister will be hurt in a car wreck, especially during that damned long trip between Miami and Gainesville.

This fear stems from my line of work --the thousands of car crashes I've seen and reviewed over the years, as well as D1's serious crash of last Fall. So, when possible, she simply surprises us by showing up, as she did Friday evening.

We spent Saturday travelling to Aventura, where my partner's son Alex was hosting a "trunk show" at his jewelry business, along with his wife, mother in law, and brother in law. Wifey, the Ds, and I caught up with our old friends, and did some seriously interesting people watching among the wealthy Aventurans (Aventurers?).

Afterwards, the Ds drove back south, and had some Mexican food followed by an evening of sisterly bonding, while Wifey and I headed to Miami Beach for dinner with her recently widowed friend, Cara.

Cara cooked pasta, and had us as well as her old friends for dinner. Roy, now in his mid 80s, was the longtime host at Joe's Stone Crabs, and regaled us with tales of Miami celebrities, both the nice and obnoxious. Roy is still quite spry, and it turned out he went to the same high school (James Monroe) in the Bronx my parents attended.

He moved to Miami in the late 40s, and owned and worked at restaurants, until he ended up at Joe's. Joe's had a "no reservations" policy, so if one wanted to be seated in under the typical 5 hour wait on a weekend night, they had to appeal to Roy. Apparently many people got on his good side, as he and his wife Joyce bought a unit in a gorgeous high rise condo, and travel the world on high class cruises.

Yesterday D1 got picked up by her friends Andrea and Danny, and had, thankfully, a safe and quick return drive. D2 and Wifey went to visit my in laws, and I spent the day reading the entire Sunday Herald and NY Times, pausing only for a 1 hour nap that ended abruptly with a prolonged face lick courtesy of my bored Basset Hound.

2 surprises in 1 weekend; how lucky can 1 guy get?

A Lovely Surprise

Life has to have balance, and I did my best to restore that on Friday. I typically lead a humdrum existence, surrounded by mainstream folks, most of whom are college educated and "classy."

So when it came time to celebrate a recent settlement of a case with my office roommate Brian, my partner asked that we celebrate his way, which we did. We headed to the race track for an afternoon of drinking and gambling. Classic, legalized vice.

Alas, I've been lucky in love, so yesterday I was unlucky in parimutuals. I gambled and lost a grand total of $40. Brian did the same, but Paul, always the type to hedge and play the favorites, won, slightly. Lou, Paul's long time PHilly friend, and race fanatic, won an offtrack race in Kentucky, but lost in person, at Gulfstream.

My partner and Lou LOVE the track. My partner sees it philosophically: the horses run around in circles, while people come and go. He also likes the seediness of it --grizzled old men in walkers, chewing stubby cigars.

I like to visit from time to time, but I figure life itself is enough of a gamble --why wager money on animals and their human drivers? And, I never got the whole "horses are so beautiful and graceful" thing. To me, they're skinnier mules --beasts of burden that run fast. I'm more of a dog guy.

So after I called Wifey and feigned drunkenness, and told her I went nuts and gambled and lost $20,000 "just to experience first hand what it's like to be a degenerate gambler," she told me there was a surprise, involving D2, and I ought to come home, because D2 refused to tell me on the phone.

I cut short a post race dinner with Brian, and drove back to Pinecrest. What would it be? D2 had already committed to UF, and has also secured a full tuition Bright Futures scholarship?

Was she pregnant? Nah --Wifey sounded too happy for that. Had she won another award?

Well, I came in, and, there it was: D1 had come home, for her final "still in college" visit! And, speaking of dogs, she had Mads, the world's cutest puppy, my grand-dog, with her.

We had a delightful reunion --talking happily about her return to the 305, and her graduate studies, and move to the bursting with life Brickell neighborhood.

Mads hopped around, and D2 cuddled with her, before heading out for one of her last "still in high school" parties.

So, as I type, both of my D2 are here, sleeping. The puppy is provoking the comical Basset Hound, while the aging Lab naps.

I prefer dogs, daughters, and Wifey, to ponies.

A Special Purpose

Dr. Barry said it yesterday: I sound more excited about something professional than I have in 10 years. He's right: I'm gearing up for the third presentation of a college class.

In 1997 my friend and mentor Steve Sapp, Chair of the U's Religious Studies Department, asked me to co teach a class with him, called "Religion and Law." We did it, and it was terrific. Steve, an ethics expert, taught his subject, and I'd add the legal background.

We asked experts from various fields to guest lecture, and we'd show movies like "To Kill a Mockingbird," and host rousing discussions. It was a blast. The 20 or so undergraduates loved the class, and it was worth the work of grading tests and papers.

We repeated the class during the Summer of 2000, and it was another hit. I donated my salary back to the Department.

And then, somehow, 10 years went by. I got busier with the Ds, and my law practice, with a bunch of large level fire tragedies, took a lot of time.

Steve became Chair of the Faculty Senate, and took a sabbatical, and served on several ethics committees, and travelled the world speaking about ethics, aging, and sex (his 3 areas of expertise --I often jokingly point out, the only areas he's missing are food and college sports).

Well, he visited my office for a deposition a few months ago, and we decided to give it another go.

I've been busy inviting the various speakers, and I have our roster set. It's like I'm planning a party where all of the guests are intellectuals or experts of one type or another. My dream job!

We're going to have a Circuit judge who used to wear a yarmulke in court, and no longer does. Dr. Barry is going to speak about end of life issues, along with a Baptist minister from another children's hospital, and an orthodox Jewish lawyer who nearly sued Barry and his hospital over a near drowning victim (the lawyer, in an only in Miami moment, went on to marry the child's extremely attractive aunt, leading Barry to conclude that the lawyer always wins).

My friends Norman and Charley, med mal lawyers, will go at it about the sides they take in court. Charley, a lapsed Catholic, has replaced plaintiff's work as his religion, and Norman rarely loses a case. I can't wait.

We just added the final puzzle piece: my partner's son Alex is going to finish out the opening lecture. Alex, on the magic carpet ride of young lawyer success (law review at Northwestern, clerkship with a federal judge, and nearly $200k/year job with Miami's top firm) quit after being a lawyer for 5 years. I can't wait to hear him share his insights with the mostly pre law undergrads.

Dr. Barry's right: I'm, to use a term from 80s California surfers, STOKED.

Dr. Barry and I already started talking about another class --thi one involving his medical students, and encompassing law and ethics for budding doctors, along with undergraduates.

This third time teaching, for me, could be the start of something big.

VFO

So on Thursday, ancient Mom called me. Although I had just seen her 3 nights before, and had plans to see her in a couple of weeks, she asked whether Wifey and I might come to visit her Sunday. It was Easter, which meant her Jai Alai fronton was closed, and she wanted company.

Wifey and I were concerned. Mom almost NEVER asks for a visit. Visits are always on our suggestion, and we've tried to get up to see her every 2 weeks. And, it got more suspect: she wanted to go to the beach, to see the ocean. Again --out of character --she never wants to go anywhere other than a local restaurant, or maybe to pick up groceries or dry cleaning.

I had thoughts that this might be the end --Mom wanted to say goodbye, or something.

Well, like most worrying --it was for naught. Wifey drove up to Delray, and she was in great spirits. I drove to Delray Beach, and dropped her and Wifey off at an oceanside bench. I then looked for parking.

I've concluded that Delray has the meanest, most nasty folks in the state --and that's saying something. Drivers seemed so inpatient, and angry --and it was Easter Sunday! Most weren't that old, and I got yelled at in NY and Boston accents, as I waited for cars to leave spots. Why do people have such anger, on a glorious Sunday afternoon, at a beautiful beach?

I found a spot, and walked back to the bench. Mom stared out at the ocean, and talked about her childhood. Wifey reminded her my father's remains were in the ocean, and asked what message she had for him. "You're a schmuck!, she said, for leaving me alone!"

We got her back into the car, and drove to a Philly cheese steak stand we had visited once before. We bought her a sandwich, and then some delicious butter pecan ice cream, at a shop next door. She acted like a 5 year old who was taken out for the day.

I read a few years ago that Delray Beach was home to more drug rehab centers that just about any other place in the US. Since I learned that, I've noticed the denizens of the Atlantic Avenue area. In addition to the typical tourists, sure enough, there are a bunch of folks who look just a bit off. A man sat eating ice cream who had a handle bar mustache. He was squirrely. I was pretty sure he was one of the many patients.

Delray is a weird place.

We drove Mom home, and she asked a ton of questions about what the doctors are telling us about her. Finally I told her the last she saw, a South African, said she had "VFO." She asked what that was. I told her "Very Fucking Old." She laughed.

Wifey had made plans to meet up with 2 girlfriends, who now live in Boynton and West Palm, Alyssa and Lori. We met them at a Starbucks on Jog Road, and the 3 ladies chatted about their lives. I played waiter --bringing them their coffees and iced teas.

All four of us have parents in the 80s and 90s, and we compared notes on the challenges of caring for them, while still dealing with college or near college kids of our own.

In the meantime, ancient Mom, despite our concerns, appears intent on sticking around on this planet for some time to come.

April's Not So Cruel

After the coldest Miami winter in the 31 years I've lived here, we're being treated to a most gorgeous Spring. Today is the 4th of April, and we spent yet another night without A/C --a rarity in these parts.

I just finished my morning coffee and Herald, and the air felt perfect. Very little humidity, and it's in the high 60s. The outdoors beckon --Wifey will be up soon, and we'll saddle up the 2 dogs for our mile long neighborhood walk.

A very slow Saturday is planned. It's so languid, I use the passive voice! At noon, Wifey's best friend Edna's girl Erica is due for a visit. We adore Erica --she graduated U GA, and is beginning her post college life in Atlanta --working, living in a grown up apartment, etc.. Erica's life long friend is a second year UM Law student, and she's here visiting, so the 2 will make a stop over here to catch up.

This evening, our friends (and my probate lawyer) Malcolm and his wife Edith are due to pick us up, and take us on their regular pilgrimmage to the Palm, in Bay Harbor.

Malcolm and Edith are regulars there, and enjoy the 40 minute drive for terrific martinis and steaks. Even when the Palm opened a Gables restaurant (now closed), they continued their trips to the original. Their characatures are painted on the wall.

We're meeting my partner Paul, to celebrate whatever needs celebrating. Actually, Malcolm and Edith's boy, an old classmate of D1's in high school, is due to graduate Wash U a few weeks after D1 finishes up at UF. He's then heading to Chapel Hill for a Master's. I'm guessing the drive to the restaurant will feature discussions about empty nests, and graduate school kids.

Well -- back to the early morning April light. It's streaming in to the room, and bouncing off the dozing Basset Hound. What could be more lovely?

Hell --make it a GREAT Friday...

April Fool's Day passed, and I only had 2 successes. I posted a FaceBook status about moving to Oklahoma to teach, and brilliant (and ever gullible D1) called me in the morning to ask me why I hadn't told her my life altering plans, even as we spoke the night before.

The second bout of foolishness involved my roommate Mark, one of the town's top criminal defense lawyers. I asked him in to my office, and solemnly told him that I was served with a paternity action that morning, involving a black lady I had met a few years ago, and that the lawsuit containted, as an exhibit, a photo of my presumptive bastard, and that, to my horror, "the toddler looked exactly like me, although with a much darker complexion..."

Mark went immediately into lawyer mode. I could see the wheels turning about how he'd defend me --never even considering about asking me whether the allegations were true.

After a few minutes, I reminded him of the date, and he howled, and gave me both a great complement, and a reminder about the scary nature of my soul: "I've had a career as a cop and defense lawyer, and you are one of the best straight faced liars I've ever known!"

I get that from my mother!

D2 spent April Fool's Day on a one day journey to Universal and Islands of Adventure, in a 2 car caravan. 8 Palmetto seniors enjoyed the classic Florida Spring Break activity, and she came home exhausted by the nearly 500 mile round trip drive.

D2 has made her college choice: she's heading to Gainesville, as I expected, and, like all major life decisions, she's noticeably more at peace now that she's picked a trail.

So, D1 will be returning from Gatorland, as D2 heads there. I think of one of my life's mentors, Ed Perse, who always called the UF team "THE Gator," instead of GatorS, to give them a more personal and menacing sense.

I remember clearly his excited statements, usually in August: "Dave --THE GATOR is coming down in a few weeks. Cancel all plans. There must be full and complete focus if we're to send his slimy ass back to the swamp defeated!"

Well, the teams don't play again (other than a possible Bowl Game) until D2's senior year. Whose colors will she wear? I fear I know...

Metro Dad

Monday afternoon we had a perfectly lovely and barely religious seder. D2 read the 4 questions, and we answered them. I discussed the meaning of Passover --emancipation from slavery, both actual and metaphorical, and then we toasted the fact that Wifey's parents and my Mom were still with us.

The ceremonial part lasted about 5 minutes. Ah --I sometimes wish I had more patience for the ritual, and the hocus pocus part of religion. I don't.

The family left in time to drive home in daylight, and Wifey went upstairs to rest. I noticed D2 on line, looking for dresses. I invited her to the local mall. She accepted.

Dadeland was pretty empty. I guess the combination of it being a Monday night, and the first night of Passover, combined to give us free run of the place.

I typically don't enjoy shopping, but when I take my girls, it's a different story. If there's something better than spoiling them, I don't know what it is. I just hope they find their own schlemiel husbands someday, to continue the tradition...

We started out at Neiman Marcus, and D2 tried a few gowns. She liked one, but didn't like the color.

She announced that since she had decided to go to UF, and had one a full tuition scholarship, she didn't feel she was taking advantage of me if she paid $400 for her dress. I agreed wholeheartedly.

Next we walked to Saks, and I sat in the shoe department while she investigated. Sure enough, she came out and modeled a gorgeous and unusual dress --colorful like D2's personality. It was on sale --$150. I told her she DID have some of her mom's frugality in her, after all.

The dress needed alterations, and the nice older Cuban seamstress came and pinned the gown. The sales girl (herself a Palmetto High grad) said the alterations would be $100. We decided to get them done with Wifey's seamstress, probably for less than half the cost.

D2 was very happy. I guess that finding the perfect prom dress is a big deal for a high school senior girl.

For my prom, I went to the local tux rental store, and that was that. My prom was in 1979, and the tux was BEIGE! I think some of my classmates wore "formal" style leisure suits. Ah, the 70s...

We drove home, and D2 awaited approval from D1. She had sent a photo of the gown via her cell phone. D1 was at a UF seder. D1, the fashionista, approved.

Like all milestones, this one was bittersweet. Next year at this time, D2 will be up in Gainesville, while D1 will be back home.

Dare I hope there'll be a time when our precious girls are BOTH back in the 305?

Maybe I should have left the door open for Elijah after all, and asked him!