I will arise and go now...

It's too hot to ponder Yeats, but his great poem came into my head this am nonetheless. It's more Hemingway weather these days...

So yesterday Miss Molly arose, and limped outside and began her circle around the yard. I left her to read the paper, and checked about 30 minutes later. She had returned to the glass door, crawled into a gap between the concrete step and garden bed fence, and died. Her mouth was open and flies were already buzzing.

I removed her collar, and went upstairs. Wifey was in the shower. It's tough to communicate to Wifey sometimes --she peppers with questions --so I just showed her the empty collar. She got it. She came down and said goodbye to Molly, and I took her carcass and made private funeral arrangements.

When I returned, Wifey was in the D2's room, had awakened D1, and all 3 were crying. And that was it for Miss Molly. The bell tolled for her.

I actually have law work today --a deposition of a defendant. He's a UCF student who crashed into my client's car, causing her to break her arm. His insurer, Geico, is offering 1/2 what the case is worth, so we filed a lawsuit.

He'll either tell the truth, and admit to his youthful carelessness (he turned left into my client, who was stopped at a light) of he'll make my case better by being an jerk.

After the crash, he and his father went to my client's house, to apoligize, but also to aske that my client not make a claim, lest the young man's insurance rates climb. My poor client was just told she needed surgery, with metal screws and rods into her arm, because of this crash. She wasn't too receptive to the idea of just "letting this go away."

I've probably taken 200 of these depos. Yawn...

I really DO need to make my way to Innisfree...

Into Each Life Some Dying Dogs Must Fall

Miami Cubans love a joke about their hated Fidel Castro: Fidel greets the president of Ecuador, who brings him as a gift a rare Galapagos tortoise, telling the dictator that they can live to nearly 200 years. Fidel accepts the pet, and then turns to his aide, and says: "Ah, the problem with pets. You get attached to them, and they die on you."

That's the problem with dogs --they don't live too long. But in the case of our comical Basset Hound, Miss Molly, fate gave her an extremely truncated span...

In late 2005, Wifey was already sad by the prospect of D1 leaving for college, and insisted we get another dog. I resisted, as I always wanted to live out the reality of the bumper sticker that reads "Life begins when the kids move away and the dog dies," but, as typical, I realized Wifey must get her way.

She always told me she loved Basset Hounds, as they made her laugh just by looking at them. Her friend Elizabeth had 2, and although the first one, Odie, was sort of nasty, Wifey was attracted to them.

So, as I'm the most goddamned romantic husband there is, I set out to surprise her, and found a Basset breeder in the Redland, in South Dade. I enlisted D2 and her friend Erica (after the breeder vetted me telephonically) and we traveled to the farm lands to Basset shop.

Like most dog fanciers, the breeder was a weirdo. She looked like Kathy Bates, and lived with a much younger fellow named Kirk. Her house and property (several acres) were CRAWLING with dogs --both Bassets and even stranger looking things called Griffon terriers, that looked like Spielberg creations.

She had 2 purchase ready pups, and Erica ended up choosing a brown bitch. We took her home, and she immediately fell asleep. Wifey came home, saw her, and asked "Is it real????"

I wanted to name the new dog after D1, to explicitly soften the blow of her absence, but she concinved me that would be the height of creepiness, and we settled on the homophone Miss Molly.

What an adventure had begun. We learned soon that, in contrast to the retrievers and spaniels we had owned, Hounds don't really ever obey. Sometimes, they acquiesce.

And, Molly had a dangerous habit --she swallowed rocks. Not mere pebbles, but golf ball sized mini boulders. The first time, we took her to the vet, and with laxatives, the rock passed. The second time required a rock-ectomy.

Thereafter, Wifey had our landscape guy Oscar put metal fences around the beds where Molly did most of her rock picking. She also strongly considered finding another home for Miss Molly, but the Ds protested strongly, and I surprisingly found myself lobbying to keep the Hound as well.

She made us laugh, often, indeed. There's nothing like the soulful eyes of a Basset Hound, and her clumsy, ungainly body are a sight to behold. Molly would somehow climb up to places like tables, and our front wall, and sit there like a dignified gargoyle. The Ds posted many a picture of these antics on the web.

When she'd pee in the house, which mercifully wasn't often, it'd be an impressive amount, which we named "Lake Molly." It was really hard to get angry at her. It always seemd like any criticism just sort of drew a dog shrug, like "Hey --this is who I am!"

Well, last Friday, while we were in the Bahamas, Mirta called. She was house/dog sitting. Molly was sick. When we returned, and took her to the vet, the news was confirmed --a very fast growing tumor in her pancreas. Molly was dying.

She's only 4 1/2, and the last days around Villa Wifey have been very sad. A Hound hospice, I call it.

The Ds' friends have come over to say goodbye, as has Wifey's friend Jeannette. Everyone hugs poor Molly.

D1's friend Hannah, a Stanford senior who lost her own Basset, drew a lovely picture of our "Beloved Basset," which we're going to get framed.

Last night, D2 spent hours lying on the floor stroking Molly, and crying. D1 has been moping around, too, as has Wifey.

As I write, Miss Molly's out front, sort of limping along through the foliage. She's stopped eating and drinking --Wifey has been forcing chicken and water down her throat.

This am, I walked through the family room and stepped in probably the last "Lake Molly." I got misty eyed myself, even though I'm the most stoic one around here.

So, the journey given to this goofy dog is a short one, it appears.

But, like all great pets, she'll be in out hearts long after her long ears, sad eyes, and awkward frame are gone.

Sad to Say, I'm on My Way

So off we went last Friday, the six of us, Wifey, the Ds, and the 2 boyfriends (The Ds', not Wifey's).

First muster point: The Admiral's Club at MIA. My AMEX card is only good for 4 admits, but D1's good friend's Mom works there. Although it wasn't her shift, her name was enough to get us in, and Michael, Thomas and I began the drinking. Though Michael's just 18, I figured the Bahamas' laws of 18 for alcohol extended to MIA, sort of the way US Customs operates an office at Lyndon Pindling Airport in Nassau. We toasted to a safe and fun trip.

Ah, Atlantis. Gorgeous, but a ripoff in the way of a Disney Resort. And I hate Disney resorts. The rooms they gave us (at more than $400 per night) looked out on an asphalt roof, complete with broken bottles and discarded boxes. I called and politely told the manager this wouldn't do.

She replied the hotel was "oversold" but she would see what she could do. 30 minutes and 2 calming vodkas later (we stocked up at the MIA duty free shop --Absolut only $14/bottle!), we were moved to gorgeous ocean front rooms. As Thomas said, the hotel went from 2 stars to 4.

We met in the lobby and took a cab across the bridge to the Poop Deck, a great local seafood place where I had eaten with my Baha-man lawyer friend. It was terrific --we had our fill of conch, and became reacquainted with Kalik Gold --the 15 proof local beer. It DOES pack a Ka-LIK.

Saturday the younguns slept in, after a succesful casino night. I gave each young couple $100 to gamble, with the agreement that I get back 1/2 of the winnings. Somehow I got nothing back, but I think they bought a lot of their own lunches and drinks.

That night, we got into a cab, and asked the driver for a good Italian place. He took us to Luciano's of Chicago, on Bay Street. It was superb! Our waiter became our friend, and we talked all about the NBA (he loves D Wade but is a Bulls fan). There was a wedding party going on, and the couple were tall and handsome.

Inside, a group of nattily dressed Bahamian guys looked like a very tan version of a scene from "The Sopranos." We wished we could have overheard their conversation. Somehow, getting "whacked" wouldn't sound as menacing in a West Indian accent...

More casino and clubbing for the younguns, and Sunday they swam with the Dolphins. That "activity" came with the package --it would have cost $600 for the four of them! The prices at Atlantis are truly obscene, but the place was packed. Just like Disney...

Sunday night, we headed over to Graycliff, the 1700s era building, now Nassau's signature restaurant. It was, for all of us, one of the best dinners of our lives.

We sat on the sofas, and a charming pianist with an Etta James-like voice played our requests. We drank fruity martinis. Thomas smoked a hand rolled cigar. We laughed . We sang.

The singer asked how I was as a father, as it was Father's Day. The Ds told her, in detail, why I was the best Dad in the world. Wifey agreed, and said I was her life's best decision. The young men agreed.

She turned to me, I guess expecting a humble disclaimer, but I told her everything she just heard was true. I'm certainly no stellar lawyer. I'm an above average husband. I'm smart, but no genius. I'm not an athlete. But, I told her, I will accept FULL credit and praise for my father job. I give it my all. It's my measure of myself. There are no better...

Puffed up with this ego boost, I floated with everyone to the dining room. The singer kept singing. The sweet drinks kept flowing. Lobster, steak, seabass, and conch chowder were served and devoured.

I basked in my family, and the terrific young men my Ds chose to date. They're so young, and probably unlikely to end up together, but that's not the point to me. The girls, brimming with high self esteem, won't settle for anything other than winner men. My martini glass ranneth over...

Then the host took us on a tour of the Graycliff wine cellar. Michael survived a head bang against a low ceiling, and Thomas asked for the most expensive bottle. The host handed him a was covered 1800 something from France, which the restaurant bought at auction, and would serve now for $200,000!!!!! Thomas nervously handed the bottle back, and Michael remarked that the one bottle would pay his 4 year tuition at Amherst.

Back to the lounge. By now the singer was our old friend, and she played Wifey and my wedding song "You Send Me," and then Beatles, and Gershwin, and Sinatra hits.

We sure were sent by that night.

Monday, Wifey and I read in the library, and Wifey recovered from the one water slide I convinced her to try, the day before. It was fast, and in the dark, and as we hurtled down in a double inner tube, Wifey belied her claim of agnosticism, as she called God's name many times. I may have peed in the rushing water...

The younguns got more sun, and cheeseburgers, and then we left for the airport, as I recited my usual goodbye, from the old Disney travellogues" "As we reluctantly say goodbye to Atlantis and Paradise Island, we reflect on the wonderful memories we'll forever cherish of the time we spent there..."

At MIA, Thomas headed for another plane to D.C., and a student government lobbying trip for UF. He comes back to Miami for the weekend, and then back to UF for Summer B. We dropped Michael off at home, and I thanked his Dad Dan for lending him to us for Father's Day.

If anyone had a better Father's Day, I don't know who he is...

Bahamania

I first visited the Bahamas when I was 10, with my parents on a cruise. My Dad had booked a 3 week trip to Japan, but my mother got sick and nearly died of a perforated stomach ulcer, so he switched to a more relaxing vacation.

I was impressed with Nassau, with the tropical vegetation and music. And, black people were in charge! What a concept!

My folks took me again 4 years later, as part of my Dad's company trip. My father and I went fishing, and he got violently seasick in not roiling seas. We knew then that our wonderful relationship was going to revolve around more sedentary pursuits...

SinceI moved to Miami, I've been to the Bahamas more than 20 times --probably closer to 50. My old boss was a major fisherman, and we'd fly his King Air over to Chubb Quay to hunt dolphin and marlin.

I had several cases involving Bahamians, and this caused several trips to Nassau and Freeport, as well as an ill fated visit to Marsh Harbor to meet some potential clients --surviving family members of a NC airplane crash.

Our local Nassau contact, Dawkins, called my partner and me all excited, that we needed to come to the Bahamas right away, to sign up the case. Commercial aircrash cases are legal cans of corn --can't miss. There's always fault, and the airlines have huge insurance policies.

So, my partner and I showed up early the next am and boarded a BahamasAir flight out of MIA. We were wearing dark suits --every other passenger was either a Bahamian wearing simple clothes, or a vacationer in shorts and Hawaiian shirts.

Security agents escorted us off the plane and questioned us!!!!! I guess they figured we were either some dapper terrorists, or the Blues (Jews) Brothers illegally making another movie.

They let us back on, and off we went. We met Dawkins in Nassau, and then transferred to a puddle jumper to MArsh Island. We went to the family's store, which turned out to be the size of a small Home Depot. Dawkins acted like we were expected; we weren't.

He assumed the family were poor blacks, like all of his clients, and he would talk our way nito getting the case. Instead, these folks were wealthy whites! And, they politely told us, they had already consulted with their corporate attorneys on Brickell Avenue, and were referred to other representation!

It was my very own opening scene of "The Verdict" moment, where Paul Newman shows up at a funeral trying to get a wrongful death case by pretending he was a friend of the decedent, and he's kicked out angrily by a son who shouts "You don't KNOW my father!!!"""

Well, after admonishing Dawkins about his stunt, we drank rum and ate delicious conch, before catching a propjet back to Miami.

I remember this because tomorrow we're off to Paradise Island for a family trip. We've taken the Ds around the world, and they tell us their favorite place of all was the Atlantis resort. They were there when they were 8 and 11. D2 says at the time we went, she thought we were going to the REAL Lost City, and figured they had found it and put in cool aquariums and water slides.

We're taking the Ds AND their boyfriends, Thomas and Michael. The trip is a celebration of both their graduations.

They're VERY excited. Wifey isn't, and I'm just looking forward to seeing my girls have a great time, while I read and stroll around.

We have reservations Sunday for a Father's Day dinner at Greycliff, a terrific old restaurant in Nassau. We've been there before, and the girls remember it. I was there 2 times --the second when my partner and I treated Dawkins after a succesful case --one where he actually represented real clients.

No Dawkins this time --just daquiris and beach.

Hot Town Summer in the City

Man is it hot here! Africa hot, like the Neil Simon character remarked in "Biloxi Blues."

I guess another of the joys of aging is being more affected by the weather. I never before minded Miami summers. In fact, the almost daily afternoon thunderstorms, with violent lightning and thunder, sort of appealed to me. And, I always admired the enormous cumulus clouds --sort of our mountains.

But the heat had been getting to me. And, once again showing I have less common sense than a dog, which at least knows to go into the shade, I'm going to the Bahamas Friday, where it's even hotter!

The next trip after that is NYC in July, where there's a good chance it'll be nearly as hot as Miami. But there's a difference with NY summer weather: it usually gets cooler at night. Not alsways, but usually. We'll see...

Last night D2 and I went out for a bike ride. It was actually tolerable, as a slight bay breeze was blowing through our neighborhood. Plus, I enjoy her company so much, I was able to ignore the heat.

We came home and jumped into the pool. When we came out, it was actually refreshing. I slept the best I have in weeks...

So, I guess I'll just keep inside the A/C for now, and quit whining.

I know it's hot, because Wifey's been complaining, too. She's usually too cold when it's 80 degrees, but she's noticed the heat more the last year or so. She's planning an August escape to Maine, though.

In the mean time --off to the office today. We have a client seeking justice (through money) and I just can't wait...

Mr. Smart Guy

Wifey and I went to a lecture last night, over at Temple Judea in the Gables. We saw Cristopher Hitchens, famous atheist and public intellectual, in a talk sponsored by our favorite bookstore, Books and Books.

The event was sold out, and owner Mitch Kaplan had a surprise: Hitchens talk would actually be a "conversation" with their friend Dave Barry. It was terrific --sort of the nerdy literary equivalent of going to a concert and another rock star shows up.

That happened to us once at a Springsteen show at the AAA. As Wifey and I were waiting pre show, she said the only other act she'd want to see live would be U2. An hour later, Bono came out on stage, followed by the great Dion!

OK, so maybe that was more exciting than last night. Still...Hitchens was wonderful. He knew his audience, and started his talk by saying that while he was an atheist, he learned late in life that his mother was a Russian Jew, and purposely hid the fact from him so he wouldn't experience England's subtle anti-semitism ("like in Chariots of Fire"). Also, he said, his wife and daughter were Jews, and some said although he isn't a Jew, he's sort of Jew-ish. The crowd loved it.

He told tales of nearly being killed in Beirut, and of his Methodist childhood, and how he came to reject belief in the invisible man in the sky.

He also advocated fighting stupidity at least a bit each day. He writes a daily email to the Washington Post excoriating them for publishing horoscopes.

Dave Barry talked about being on Bill Maher's show with him, and learning never to debate him. The man recalls everything he's ever read, which is everything. And, his lilting British accent make him a killer debater.

Some audience members asked questions. I recognized a man waiting in line --the Irish born monsignor of Miami's richest church --Epiphany. He wanted to stump Hitchens, and actually asked a good question about how there can be love and beauty without God --quoting Malcolm Muggeridge.

But then, the monsignor, trying to show how cool and hip he was, said how he visited Temple Judea often, and was a good friend of Rabbi "Goldstein." Many in the crowd shouted a correction: Rabbi GoldBERG!" The wise ass priest had been reduced to the barfly from the great "Iceberg-Ginsberg!" joke about Jews causing the Titanic sinking. It was precious.

Nonetheless, Hitchens explained how he can admire, and even worship the beauty of the Parthenon, without following the pagan rituals (including human sacrifice) that caused it to be built.

We attended with our friends Dr. Dave and Maureen, and we went outo for coffee afterwards (in honor of Hitchens, I had tea). We chatted with our fellow empty nesters, and 2 of D2's friends came by --both fellow Gators. They talked excitedly about heading up to UF and beginning college.

We were all elevated. It's terrific to be in the presence of someone smarter than you, and Hitchens, last night, was that guy.

Where the Sun Keeps Shining Through the Pouring Rain

I always loved that Nilsson song line, from "Midnight Cowboy," as it so accurately described Miami summer weather. As I type this, returned from my morning walk, that's exactly what's going on outside.

So I continue in my quest of seeking wisdom from others, as I slouch towards the end of my legal career...

Yesterday am I had breakfast with Eric, an old LI friend's older brother. Eric, an architect, was in Miami for a national meeting. I hadn't seen him in 31 years.

We met at Bagel Emporium, and caught up. He's 54, and left LI to attend Carnegie Mellon. He's had a "series of 5 year jobs," in West Va, Vegas, New Mexico, and now back on the Island of Long. He teaches architecture at Farmingdale College. He currently works for the Catholic Church, as their LI architect, overseeing projects.

He's uplifting and happy. We had a great meeting. He plans to retire in a few years, but continue teaching and traveling. He said his secret to avoiding boredom is the constant change --he never kept a job too long for the staleness to set in.

Voila! I knew this, of course, and need to adopt it. My firm is 16, and my law gig is 24. Enough already!

Last night we had dinner with friends, and the husband, who I'll call Charley, since that's his name, has the opposite view of the law thing. He LOVES it! He told me if he died in a courtroom, that would be fine with him.

He's 62, and closing his struggling practice (aren't most of them these days?) to go work, full time, for another firm, to handle their litigation and trials. He'll be taking orders from a younger lawyer (and someone I know and happen to think is one of our profession's biggest assholes, and that's saying something!), and doesn't really care.

Charley will be doing what he loves, and getting paid for it. There's beauty in that, of course.

But not for me...

As I walked this am, I ran into a neighbor I'll call Dr. Bob --again his real name. He was walking Sam the bulldog. Dr. Bob is an 80 something Dermatologist. He goes to his practice each day, to his wife's relief ("I married him for breakfast and dinner, but not lunch!").

I asked him about it, and he says he'll keep going to worki "as long as I like it," which seems to be forever. Again --good for him.

So I just have to find the next job. I joked that I'm going to go work for Pat, our broker who is re-jiggering our finances to keep us out of the homeless shelter until Wifey goes back to work.

In the meantime, today I intend to follow my California sister's lead. She called yesterday from Pacifica, where she's visiting my nephew Henry, and his not appearance challenged new bride, Valerie. I asked what they planned to do, and she said they were "waiting for the iced tea" to chill.

My kind of weekend day!

Thursday Night Parties

Big, big Thursday around here --one of the best days for me since the god Thor named it!

First, I met my bud Norman for breakfast, and as usual we cracked each other up with the tales of our life's foibles. Norman is a guy I've known since Law School (though we went through college together, too) and always found to be a kindred spirit. Wifey always sees his FB posts and remarks how our senses of humor are identical.

They are, and as we enter middle age together, it's terrific to spend more time together. He has 3 boys and 2 stepkids, and his youngest son graduated HS this week, too, so we're also sharing that empty nester thing, though his stepkids will keep him relevant as a parent for a few more years...

Tonight we plan to meet and watch our Canes baseball team hopefully skin The Gator, as my mentor Ed Perse used to ferer to the UF teams...

After breakfast, it was over to the U to watch D2 graduate! Since she was summa cum laude, and her name ends with A, she was the first non student government nerd (Ha!) to get her diploma. She was beaming! We were beaming!

And, her principal, Mr. Weiner, told the packed arena (her class has nearly 800) that, in the 50 year history of Palmetto High, hers was the highest acheiving class, with 95 percent of them headed off to college, with scholarship offers of close to $20 million! Amazing for a public school, we thought, and just made D2's rank of 25 out of this august group even more meaningful. She's not just the tallest of midgets!

As the long, long, long list of names was being called, I stepped out into the arena rest area, along with D1, and we ran into old friends and acquaintances. D1 reunited with a friend from HER PAlmetto class, now a Maryland grad, and the two made plans to get together on Brickell.

I saw my long lost friend Mark the neorosurgeon's folks, who I hadn'd seen in probably 15 years. Their granddaughter (Mark's neice) was graduating, and Norman and Rita and I caught up. They said that, sadly, they only see Mark and his family twice per year, and were saddened he didn't keep up with our old group of Dr. Barry, Dr. Eric, and me. Mark's loss -- we all sort of think his profession went a bit to his head, or maybe he's too busy, or whatever it is.

When I told Norman and Rita that Eric, Barry, and I would be sitting together this Canes football season, for the first time since we were all in college, they were wistful. Maybe Mark will join us for a game or two...

Then on to Christy's for dinner! We ate steaks (except for Wifey, determined to outlive us --she always gets "saaaaaalmon"), and toasted, and laughed. The Ds, as per usual, poked much fun at their mother, and I reminded them that Wifey was the one who read to them probably 90% of the time, and that all studies show that reading to kids is what makes them great students, so they truly owed most of their academic success to Wifey.

And it's true. She gave her heart, and soul, and, as her mother would say, kishkes to those girls, and as we basked in the end of their HS days, she deserves the kudos.

D2's boyfriend Michael was at Christy's, too, with his parents and 3 surviving grandparents. We all met, and glowed in our kids' light together.

And then...my partner Paul, his girlfriend Patricia, and other dear friends Stuart and Tracy came in. They were on their way to yet ANOTHER party, and stopped by to celebrate the Ds graduations. Christy's was crowded, plus it lacks a bar, so we left and reconvened a few blocks away, at a French restaurant up the road.

There were more toasts, and laughter, and greetings well met fellow, hails!, with other Palmetto grads who had decided on the French place for their party.

We dropped off the Ds, and headed a few blocks away for a surprise 40th party for our rabbi friend Yossi.

It was hosted my a child neurologist and his wife, and the house was packed.

Although I've left the religious fold, it was great to celebrate with Yossi. He moved here 15 years ago, and Wifey and I were the first folks he met, and we helped him launch his Jewish outreach center here.

They now boast a thriving center where they pair disabled kids with other teens, called Friendship Circle, as well as other valuable programs.

Once one gets past, as my friend Jeff remarked, the "creepy dead Rabbi," sort of their late Pope, they're pretty cool folks. And, they've truly done much good for our community, even if much of their philosophies and politics are so opposed to mine...

So, as the oppressive summer heat has moved in with a vengeance (the dog days of Miami are truly here), we've been sweating sweetly with some wonderful times.

Congrats to D2! She heard all the cliches yesterday, but I'm confident they apply to her: the best is yet to come...

Got A Call from an Old Friend We Used to Be Real Close...

Through the wonder of FaceBook (tm) I made a connection recently: an old friend from Long Island. I hadn't spoken to this fellow in quite a long time, and, he had lost touch with the mutual friends whom I do speak to .

The reunion wasn't a happy one. He asked how I was, and I happily told him all about my wonderful girls, and about Wifey, and how I was at a crossroads in my life, professionally, but that I welcomed the new challenges and changes.

I tend to downplay my own accomplishments, except in a forum like this, where I crow away... When I was 8, I was the first kid on my block to take an airplane trip, and I returned and gushed to everyone all about it. The neighborhood kids, each and every one, started to shun me. (The term "hater" hadn't yet eveolved to its current meaning).

My mother, in one of the few bits of life wisdom she gave me that I remember, said "David --never boast. People can't stand when you do that."

I heeded her advice, won the friends back, and never spoke of the vacation again. As I spoke to my old friend, I was careful to observe that axiom.

The news from the other side was all bad. He claimed to be one of the most miserable beings on the East Coast. He had lost his family, due mostly to his drinking, and hadn't seen them in awhile. He was barely making ends meet due to a union job his father installed him in years before.

He lived in an efficiency, he said, and surfed the internet or went to bars and drank. His love life, he said, consisted of a series of casual encounters with bar flies.

I was so sorry to hear, of course. This was a guy who had tremendous potential. He wasn't a great student, but was smart, and witty, and talented. He was both athletic and musical. He was charming.

I asked him why he thought his life turned out this way, and he listed many factors, from a teacher who had belittled him early in life (I remmber the teacher, and liked her a lot), to his "emasculating" wife, who turned his kids against him, and, mostly, to his "evil" parents, now long dead.

I remembered his parents pretty well, though I only knew them through the prism of childhood. They were always more bookish than the typical LI types. His father was a school administrator, as I recall, and his mother a nurse. They always invited us into the house, and I even remember a meal or two I shared there.

Apparently they had a side darker than midnight, according to my friend. He went on about their mental abuse, and belittling of him, and all manner of awfulness...

But, I countered, your father got you a job you still have, even though you admit you're a screw up there. "Just one more example of how he controls me, even from the grave."

10 years ago, I might have tried to reach out more to him. I travel to NYC, and I might have looked him up, and tried to coach him on.

No more. After we hung up, I decided to write him off. I can't stand the loser attitude he has. How every reason for his failure is someone else's doing. He coulda been a contenda...

I ended our call with my typical optimism. It probably enraged him, I don't know. I reminded him about all of his qualities, how he was still young, and could start all over again. He had his health (I'm guessing a liver transplant is not too far off), and his sharp sense of humor, etc...

He wasn't having any of it. He wanted me to understand his utter despair, how there was no way out, and the next I'd hear about him would be a call from his younger brother (a NYPD officer) telling me of the end.

Years ago, one of my mentors, a UM Engineering Professor from an awful background, told me he thought it all boiled down to attitude. Winners, he said, always seem to find a way to win, or at least learn and improve after their losses. Losers can be given all advantage, and still find a way to lose.

He was speaking from sad experience. One of his sons was an example of the latter.

I wish my old LI buddy well. Maybe lightning will strike. Maybe he'll meet a lady who'll lift him out of his despair.

From my standpoint, though, as hard as it sounds, I don't want to be involved...

Might As Well Throw in the Towel

Today I went to my friend Dr. Dave for my annual physical, for the first time in 3 years. Dave belongs to a company called MDVIP, which is a concierge medical practice. He gives Wifey and me free membership, to thank me for all of the free legal work I do for him.

I don't like to freeload, so I haven't taken part in the company's "health assesment." Dave called and said that the company audited his patient rolls, and it was "bad" for him if his patinents forego the exam. I think he was BS ing me, but I agreed to go.

My highest trained doctor friends, cardiologist Dr. Eric, and Peds Intensivist Barry, never go to doctors themselves. When I press them for why, they tell me that there's little a doctor would tell them that they want to hear. To them, all this prevention crap is, well, crap.

I see why now. Dave had my blood test results, and told me my cholesterol was high. He had this fancy computer program based on the Framingham protocol, and told me I had a 6% chance of having a heart attack in the next 10 years if I did nothing, and I could reduce that significantly if I lowered my cholesterol and weight.

Also, my PSA numbers were high, which is a marker for prostate cancer.

In other words, I'm well on my way to aging decrepitude.

Wasn't I in college just last week? Weren't my friend Vince and I planning an all time July 4th blowout at his North Miami house, since his parents were away in the Keys? That was the summer of 1981, now a distant memory, as I look back through my cholesterol clogged, enlarged prostate eyes...

So tonight I start on Crestor and a baby aspirin. Dave thinks this will have no side effects, and will give me a much longer life than my father's 63 years.

No side effects???? What if I divorce Wifey, and take up with some 25 year old new babe? How will I explain the Crestor in my overnight bag? Enlarged prostate glands and young, hot wives don't seem to mix...

I turn 49 next month. I knew this was all coming. My friends, in their 60s, or near to it, ignore these signs of aging.

So this is my lot. Go to school for 20 years, become a lawyer, bust my butt to build a practice, give my all to my kids and wife, and then be left an aging, cholesterol clogged, enlarged prostate shadow of my former self...well on the road to decline, senility, and who knows what other degradations?

I don't know --I still feel pretty good. No pain. Chicks still seem to dig me.

I'm looking to change careers, and feel energized about it. Wifey and I are nearly empty nesters. My old Labrador, now 14, still makes it on mile walks.

I'm going to take my Crestor and 81 mg aspirin, and quit whining. And suck out as much marrow from the bones of life as I can.

What are the hot clubs on South Beach these days?

Old Days

Nearly a week has gone by since I've written, and there's no good reason. Work has been slow, and there are no new developments, except that I've decided to retire as a lawyer by the end of the year. More on that later...

OK, more now. I've been bored for so long, and I finally decided to do something about it. I met with my financial friend Pat, and asked him to put together an investment program where I move my assets out of old man-like CDs, currently paying about 1.5%, to something more lucrative. If it works, and it will, we ought to be able to swing it without my dwindling lawyer salary. Or, Wifey could go back to work!

I haven't figured out what else I want to do, but I know what I no longer want to do. I guess that's a first step.

Anyway...yesterday the Ds, Wifey and I visited the grandparents. First stop, Wifey's folks in Pembroke Pines. We picked them up and left for lunch.

Wifey has noted, correctly, that they're like toddlers. You never know when you're going to have a succesful outing with them, or if there's going to be some type of diaper accident, or tantrum.

I decided to try a Cooper City Beverly Hills Cafe, since the Ds and Wifey love the place, and I knew it would be loud enough that my in law's barking speech wouldn't bother fellow diners.

There were a few mishaps nonetheless. The waitress didn't keep the necessary supply of hot water coming, for one. If my in laws don't get hot tea immediately with food, it will, apparently be fatal. Like toddlers, they start banging and lifting the tea-less mugs at the waitress to get her attention.

Second, we ordered barbecued chicken for my mother in law. When I have the too seldom barbecue at my house, she always goes on and on about how much she loves barbecue chicken. I guess that's only sometimes, as she spent a good part of the meal wiping the sauce off her chicken, leaving a pile of sauce soaked napkins in front of her.

It reminded me of my California nephews when they were toddlers, playing with the sweeteners and sugar packets at a restaurant. In both instances, it kept them busy...

There was some comic relief, when my mother in law asked the Ds if they saw the movie "The Fog." She kept pronouncing it, loudly, as "The Fuck," much to our hilarity.

On the way back to the condo, my mother in law kept asking for the BHC's address, since she loved it so much. To get there from Century Village, one must make exactly 2 turns (Right onto Pines; left onto Flamingo). MY father in law announced such a place was "too hard to find," and they would never go.

On to the even older grandparent... We visited my mother, and sat in her living room talking. The Ds asked her about her childhood, and relatives. She told us a tale that will stay with all of us for years to come, and be the ready source for nightmares.

After my mother was born, she reported, her mother, Anna, had either a miscarriage or stillborn, and the family kept the fetus and placed it into water "not formaldehyde" in a glass jar, and displayed it on a shelf!!!!

Relatives came by to see this thing, apparently, and to assure my grandmother that she'd have more children (she did --2 more were born after my mother).

"You know," said my mother, "I've never told anyone this before." One of my Ds remarked that she wished Grandma kept that secret even longer.

I'm not sure if this really happened, or it my mother's dementia co mingled a trip to a circus freakshow with her actual childhood. My grandparents were sort of practicing Jews, and keeping a dead fetus without proper burial would violate some pretty serious Talmud and Torah laws, but who knows.

What I do know is, we have now welcomed the ultimately creepy "Uncle Jar" into our family lore, and plan to tell the tale to the young children at Passover and Halloween...

The day grew more pleasant. We took Mom to the shore, and she and Wifey sat on a bench looking at the sea. She wanted to visit, to see my father, whose ashes were spread there 28 years ago this July.

The Ds and I walked to the water, and waded in. It was gorgeous, and we savored the pre oil spill scenery. I told them about how, well into my teens, my father would watch me swim in the ocean, petrified I would drown. My over protective parenting is a proud legacy...

We drove towards Kings Point, and stopped at the venerable Doc's Soft Serve, where Wifey, my mother and I, enjoyed some ice cream.

We dropped Mom off, and drove home through some fierce T storms. The lightning and thunder were ominous.

Maybe Uncle Jar was trying to speak to us...