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!!!!!