Hadn't Been There in Awhile

My old friend Kenny's wife and boys decamped up the coast to spend some time with Joelle's mother, and Kenny suggested a boys' night out. As always, I was game.

Kenny suggested Indian food, which happens to be my LEAST favorite, but since I eat anything that doesn't move (in the case of fresh sushi, sometimes it moves a little) I agreed. But then fate in the form of a flat tire struck, and Ken needed a ride from the Mobil Station at 104th and US 1, and a ride home to South Miami afterward.

I picked him up, and realized it'd be some extra driving, and as an old freakin' guy, I hesitated. Then I looked up at the enormous billboard over the Shell Station on the South side of 104 Street, and told Kenny it was fated that I introduce him to Keg South. He was game.

I drove into the almost hidden road one needs to get there, and parked. The place hasn't changed at all since I started going in 1979, although I seem to remember there was more space around it then. Now, it's truly packed in, with a small parking lot.

My college buds and I used to go there to watch games, eat burgers, and drink beer. They also shot pool, which I was never really good at, so I practiced more beer drinking.

Sure enough, there were folks playing pool, drinking beer, eating wings, and watching football. FSU was playing Notre Dame. I like the Noles when they don't play the Canes, and LOVE whoever is playing Notre Dame, so I had some interest in the game.

D2 used to go to Keg South sometimes after high school. Many Palmetto teachers gathered there after class, to try to cleanse themselves with beer all of their students' pathology.

Sure enough, last night at a long table there were some late 20s folks, most of whom were FSU grads, and looked like young teachers. They drank beer and asked who thought Notre Dame's new glittery gold helmets looked stupid. Knowing, or assuming they were teachers, I raised my hand. They laughed.

Kenny and I shared a pitcher of Sam Adams. He remarked that he rarely gets to drink pitchers of beer -- going to more upscale and exotic places with his wife, the pitchers tend to be of mojitos, or sangria... We thoroughly enjoyed our pitcher of Sam Adams, and the frosted mugs that came with it.

The wings were fine, and the burgers delicious. We chatted about places we've lived (a short discussion for me --just LI and Miami) and a long one for Kenny, given his long career in the Navy. We talked about our kids, and college choices, and how times have changed since we met in about 1972...

Ken's a retired full Navy Captain, which is a big deal, but has kept his lefty politics. This gives him gravitas when a chicken hawk questions his patriotism...he asked what battles the neocon fought in. Ken was a flight surgeon on a carrier during the Gulf War.

The game was a good one, with a great ending when Notre Dame's turnovers cost them the game. Ah, it always makes me feel all warm inside when those sanctimonious phonies lose...imagining

A very nice night, inded. I will visit the Keg more often.

It's The Most Wonderful Traffic of the Year

Ah, Miami. Great weather, never ending interesting people and things going on, and awful traffic.

When I moved here, in 1979, the worst thing about the place was the crime. It was truly out of control. The drug dealers were killing each other off so rapidly that the medical examiner couldn't keep all the corpses -- they had to rent refrigerator cars. And then, in 1980, the Mariel boatlift brought even MORE criminals...

My friends from NY used to call and ask if I wasn't afraid. I wasn't, since crime wasn't too much of an issue on the UM campus or the other places I hung out.

Well, the drug dealers are in Mexico now, and the Marielitos who were bad have been caught and imprisoned (and the good ones have largely assimilated --Dr. Barry has had several sterling residents who were part of that wave), and crime here is down to 1960s levels. There are the occasional incidents, of course, but few of us are affected like we were in the 80s and 90s...

No, the current scourge is traffic. I'm used to thinking you can get to, say, Hollywood from South Dade in 30 minutes. Ha. As if. Now I have to leave more than an hour.

D1 hates it as well. Her commute from Brickell to FIU (solamente 30 minutos de Sweet Home Hialeah) can take well over an hour, even though it's fewer than 10 miles away.

But not this week! School is out, and many offices close this week. I drove D1 to MIA this am, and it took less than 20 minutes, on a blissfully fast moving Palmetto and Dolphin.

We sighed. Cars SHOULD be able to move. It was lovely.

D1 is off to Atlanta, where the traffic is even worse than here. She's spending the night with her boyfriend's family in Buckhead, and then they're all driving to Evansville, Indiana. I'm told there's not much traffic in Evansville.

I'm at the office, looking over a few papers.

And then home, with mercifully NO rush hour. Ah, the holidays...

A Very Wifey Christmas

And so it came to pass, on December 25th, 1956, in Haifa, Israel, a baby girl was born to a VERY loving mother who had lost much of her family to the Nazis. Her father was on the road to Tel Aviv, called in, and learned that his first and only child had been born. He made a U turn and returned to Haifa to meet his little girl...

Yesterday we celebrated this anniversary, and Wifey hit the jackpot. First, D1's roommate Alyssa's family invited us to their traditional orphan Jews X mas brunch. Barbara and Alyssa baked delicious foods, and we feasted on bagels, lox, egg salad, tuna, etc...

We saw old friends who we didn't know were even older friends with Alyssa's family. The guests watched the Knicks-Celtics game, and greatly anticipated the Heat opener later.

We then drove to the Grove, and watched a movie that all 4 of us (Wifey, the Ds and me) agreed was one of the worst all time: "The Descendants." We typically enjoy Alexander Payne movies, like "Election" and "Sideways," but this one was a depressing clunker that somehow made Hawaii look like a place you'd never want to visit, like the sleaziest parts of the Keys...

We laughed at how bad it was, and may have prevailed upon Wifey to take a break next year from her annual birthday movie trip...I suggested a picnic instead...we'll see next year.

No one was too hungry after the enormous brunch, but I knew a few moments smelling the enticing aromas at Tropical Chinese would fix that fast. It did. We arrived at 6, and D1 ran into an sorority sister sitting with her parents. I knew who her Dad was -- my client had hernia surgery with him, and we all chatted while they waited for their food.

We sat outside, and as each steaming plate of food passed, we all got VERY hungry. We also saw another few families we knew -- Tropical is truly the South Dade traditional Jewish Christmas spot.

We were seated, and ate spring rolls, chicken and shrimp dim sum, wonton soup, orange beef, and black bean chicken. We savored the food and each other's company.

A dentist and his wife and daughter sat at the next table. We knew them from the 'hood. He was there with his friend, a UM transplant surgeon who knows Dr. Barry well. The dentist, David, said we clearly had a minyan at the restuarant...He was correct.

We came home and lit the 6th night's Chanukah candles. I just realized -- no one sang Happy Birthday to Wifey.

Somehow, I don't think she minds...

December 25th!

So tomorrow is a day celebrated the world over, with lights, and trees, and the giving of exhorbitant gifts, with the gathering of families for meals together, and good cheer and fellowship: it's Wifey's birthday.

December 25th is a big day in our families. My parents got engaged on 12/25, during the big one, WW II. I know this because it's the date on the wedding ring that my mother gave me to give Wifey. It's also Wifey's parents' wedding anniversary. They were married in Israel, and December 25th was no big date there, unless you were a tour operator taking Christians to see the holy sites.

Wifey doesn't like me telling everyone her age all the time, so I can't mention that she's turning 55. But she wants to celebrate as she always does: family trip to a movie, and then the tradition of most Jews on Christmas Day: Chinese food.

She loves movies very much. In fact, today three of her friends are taking her out for her birthday, to see some French silent movie.

The Ds and I see movies far less frequently, although D1 wanted to see the new Muppets movie on HER birthday, and we complied. As for me, I can always wait until something comes out on DVD, or plays on U Verse...

I think we may add a different wrinkle to Wifey's Day tomorrow. D1's roommate Alyssa's family has a long running Christmas brunch for Jews at their home, and they've invited us. So we may stop by there, and then hit the George Clooney flick, and then head to Tropical Chinese, for the best dim sum in Florida.

My friend Vince, who's Catholic, takes his family out for Chinese on Christmas, too. 2 years ago, we ran into him and his lovely wife Maryam, and their combined 4 kids, at New Chinatown, in South Miami. We had a great time together, and this year we'll see if we can't all meet at Tropical. Vince's late father, one of my life's mentors, went to the same high school as my parents in the Bronx, and spent his life as a clothing manufacturer, or the schmata trade. I'm guessing that Vince, Sr, picked up the Chinese food thing from those experiences...

So bells will be ringing, and the Ds and 3 dogs will greet Wifey tomorrow, to celebrate the big day.

If there's something better than all being together, in one house, I don't know what it is.

Hebraic Diversity

Two Falls ago, Wifey and I went with Dr. Eric and Dana to North Carolina for our leaf peeping trip. We stayed a few nights at the Old Edwards Inn in Highlands, which is a gorgeous place, but not heavy on the Jewish thing...

Dana and I were in the living room, waiting for our spouses by the lovely fireplace. On the other side of the overstuffed sofa, there was another couple who had just met another fellow. The fellow was apparently waiting for his wife, too. The three had just discussed religion, and learned that one was Presbyterian, one Methodist, and one Baptist. One of the men announced: "You know --that's what's so great about America. Here we are, the three of us, enjoying this place, and we're all so diverse!"

Dana and I looked at each other and had one of those exquisite moments usually confined to Junior High School, where you feel an urge to laugh hysterically, but have to stifle it. We walked outside and let it out. Diversity! Ha! The three of you, we laughed, are all Southern WASPS! Real diverse...

Well, last night I was in a similar situation, but this time with my own peeps. Wifey and I attended a Chanukah party, hosted by our new neighborhood young millionaires, the owners of a wildy succesful internet retail company. These folks, who I'll call Ben and Rachel, since those are their names, are truly remarkable. The bought a huge mansion, and told Rabbi Yossi that the place was available for many community events, and indeed they have come through. They host weekly, catered Torah classes, and last night had a lovely party for about 50 of us, with delicious food, and a guitar player/singer who could have passed for a South American Leonard Cohen...

Anyway, we chatted, and played games, and it occurred to me how diverse the crowd was. All Jews, of course, but we heard Spanish, and Yiddish, and Hebrew, and various accents of English.

When I was among Jews on Long Island, it was VERY homogeneous. Everyone's grandparents were born in Russia, or Poland, and we all sounded the same, with Long Island accents.

In Miami, at our table last night, there was David, a dentist who was born in Miami, tall and blonde, and his wife Lisa, born in Queens but moved to Miami Beach as a young girl. There was Peter, very tall and very dark, the son of a Jewish mother from Venezuela and a non Jewish black, Caribbean father. Peter has a wonderful West Indian accent. You'd expect him to burst out singing reggae, but he knew all the traditional Hebrew songs better than I did...

Wifey and I heard Hebrew coming from behind us, from a tall, Israeli fellow, and his Yeminite Israeli wife, a lady with a dark, exotic beauty. At their table was Ralph, a Jewban born in Havana, with his wife Barbara, from Northeast Philly.

I even joked about it with one couple, Molly and Joseph. Molly was born and raised in Medellin, Colombia, of Ashkenazi backround, and Joseph, Sephardic, was born in North Africa. I told them their kids were one half Hispanic, and one half African American --they could get into ANY college in the US they wanted!

OUr hosts, Ben and Rachel, were born and raised in Milwaukee and Montreal. Ben has the classic midwestern accent, and LOVES the Packers and Brewers. Rachel speaks with the slightest hint of an accent --she speaks French, English, Hebrew, and Yiddish. I hear and "Eh" every once in awhile...

And so it went last night. Rabbi Yossi is ALL Crown Heights, Brooklyn. He speaks as if his speech coach was Jackie Mason, and his humor is classically sharp and sarcastic. He had the Mike last night, and was in his glory --leading us in song, and prayer, and comedy.

We played a game where we each told 2 truths and one lie about ourselves, and the rest of the crowd had to guess. I said I was born and raised in Philly, and one fellow, Shaya, hugged me and said he never knew I was a landsman --he's a Conshohocken guy! I admitted that was my lie, and Molly and another Jewish Latina, Irene, said "Mentira!" (Lie, in Spanish).

We fulfilled the required mitzvah of eating oil based food (potato latkes and donuts) and drank a few L'Chaims.

On the short drive home, I thought of the diverse Protestants in North Carolina, and realized I had nothing to make fun of.

Snapshots in Time

Well, my renewed sense of gratitude continues, even after a brand new article in the Herald tells me I'm not alone. It tracks essentially my story: a high PSA test that led to a biopsy and anxiety and "even depression" according to the head prostate guy at the U, Bruce Kava, who Dr. Barry is friends with and would likely have been given stewardship of my prostate had things gotten dicey...

No matter. I went through a rough time, for me, and coming through it has left me looking skyward several times a day and saying "thank you."

Yesterday, after a phone conference with some lawyers on the west coast wanting Paul and me to get involved in a get rich quick scheme (Paul listened patiently for an hour; I was mentally out of it after 15 minutes), Wifey, the Ds, and I fired up the Hyundai and headed North.

After a stop at a Boca bagel place, where we all chuckled at the gathering of our peeps (overheard: "Juuuudy --did we get enough Chanukah cookies???!!!!"), we ordered sandwiches to take to ancient Mom's condo. Ah, West Boca. Long Island's Five Towns moved south, with the less than melodic nasal accents, and jewelry, and little dogs. We smiled, and new that as we drove the few miles to West Delray, the population would get older. It did...

Anyway, Mom was in good spirits. She seems on an upward trend these past few weeks. Dr. Eric said she had the kidney function and cholesterol levels of a healthy 12 year old, so it doesn't appear she'll be joining my Dad in the afterlife any time soon.

We ate, and caught up, and had some laughs. D1 told her she'd be going to Indiana with her boyfriend for New Year's, and Mom asked why she was going to "Havana." Close enough, I told her, though the mojitos weren't as good when made by Hoosiers...

Anyway, I went to my former bedroom, which many years ago became a sitting room, and retrieved some old photo albums. They're falling apart and crumbling, but we still enjoyed one in particular: a scrap book from my parents' early marriage years, in Pasadena.

My mother had typed a letter to her in laws, apparently never sent, talking about how she had learned to cook, and how happy and surprised "her darling Hy" was about that. She recounted my dad inviting his seargeant (she misspelled it "sargent") and "another boy from the camo" to their apartment for dinner, and how proud my father was of her for the dinner she prepared.

The letter was filled with the great 40s expressions, like how "swell" things were, etc...

There were also menus from restaurants they visited in Hollywood, with steaks for 70 cents, and sandwiches offered for thirty cents.

And then the snapshots in time, showing my father graduating from a US Army college program at a junior college, and young marrieds in Southern California.

My mother was D1's age, 23, D1 noted. WW II to the Ds is truly ancient history. To me, growing up with the stories, it's not. And Wifey, a child of Holocaust Survivors, grew up essentially overshadowed by those days...

And so we laughed, and Mom told some disjointed stories, and peppered her words with some choice profanities, which the Ds love, of course...

We left her, about 5 pm, and drove D1 back to Brickell. D2, Wifey, and I came home, and lit our menorah. It's the start of the 8 crazy nights, as Adam Sandler sings...

Wifey actually fired up the fryer, and heated up a few latkes...Truly, this is the time for miracles.

In the Shelter

So the orgy of retail excess is in its final week, and I, miserly scrooge, sit back and SMH, as the young texters text. But wait, D2's friend Ben's Mom again came to the rescue, to bring warmth into the Season.

As far as I'm concerned, and now this is our second year of participation, Julie is the reason for the season. Julie started organizing a toy drive to a Homestead homeless shelter when her boys were very young, after she became a bit fed up with the excesses of Pinecrest Chanukah's and Christmases, and wanted to teach her family about giving.

Yesterday evening, D1 and Joel gave up vacation time from their exams, and came over, and they, and D2, and Wifey, and I fired up the aging Volvo SUV and headed over to Julie's house. We congratulated Julie's S2 Josh on his college acceptances, and the Ds caught up with old friends. Julie's S3, Ethan, a 12 year old with one of the sweetest personalities ever (I'd be not at all surprised if the kid wins American Idol someday, he loves to act and sing, and it comes from genuineness), told D2 that he never realized D1 was so short...we laughed as we loaded up the toys and toiletries and headed to far south Dade.

The shelter caters only to homeless families. Steve, Julie's husband and a macher in the national Democratic party, told me that the shelter is PACKED these days, on account of the economy. Inside the room, the Pinecrest Moms and future Moms used their fine organizational skills, displaying the toys according to age and sex and whatever other categories were deemed appropriate. The Dads and future Dads sat around, after we did the heavy lifting, and talked football and basketball, and premium TV (I think I converted 2 guys to at least try our "Breaking Bad.").

Then came the rush of kids, and their parents. They were like, well, kids in a toy store, where everything was free! Ethan and some of the other kids acted as personal shoppers, matching the shelter kids up with age appropriate toys. On the way out, the kids got cookies and candy packages. It was a truly joyful scene.

Of course, as I looked upon some of the little girls, I started wondering why they were born into such tough lives. One family in particular got my attention, The Dad was young, probably mid 20s, and handsome in the way some are with tatoos and shaved head, and the Mom had a very pretty face but dyed red hair and strange clothes. If I had to guess, both had been in prison, probably for drug related things, but who knows. Anyway, they had 3 adorable, blonde girls, probably about 4, 6, and 8, and they looked like any other family in a toy store.

Except this was a homeless shelter, and not West Kendall, or Plantation, or Cooper City. I kept optimistic, deciding it was just a rough patch for all these folks, and with love, and hard work and some changed luck, all would climb out and away from the shelter. But at least for last night, there was joy and happiness.

Afterwards, we retreated to Shiver's Barbecue, a place in Homestead since the 40s, apparently. Somehow, this place escaped my attention. We ate delicious ribs and chicked and corn and pulled pork. The walls were covered with jet fighter and helicopter photos from the nearby Air Force Base...

We then drove home, up US 1, and the Ds and Joel and Wifey joked about Wifey's open cheating at online Scrabble. I was so proud of my Ds and Joel, spending a night this way, helping those who need it.

Earlier, I wrote to Julie that she was my hero, and she is. Her charity caused other charity, now 10 years worth. She adores her 3 sons, who are some of the finest young men around. And she is funny, and sweet, and knows good barbecue. What a lady!

So Christmas isn't ALL bad, nor Chanukah. This year, the holidays coincide. I'm headed into the garage later to do my family's preparation: pull the electric menorah from the shelf, and make sure all the bulbs work. We'll light a regular one, too, and surely admire all the neighborhood lights and displays.

When folks give to their fellows, like Julie did and does, well, that's as good as it gets.

Oh What a Night

When I met my dear friend Eric as a UM freshman, in 1979, he invited me to his family's house in Kendall for the Jewish holidays. We ate, and read, and had a wonderful time. I clumsily broke a dish on the holiday table, one that I think Eric's Mom Norma had inherited from her grandma. I felt awful, the family shouted Mazel Tov, the classic Jewish phrase of "good luck," shouted at weddings and celebrations, and, in the Ashkenazi tradition, when something breaks, to both acknowledge the brokenness of the world, and to hope for fewer klutzes like me in the future.

Well, it has been MY great mazel being adopted by Eric and his family, nearly 33 years ago. Eric and I have grown close like brothers, literally grown from teens to men together. We shared college, lived together during grad school, stood as best men for each other at our weddings, and kvelled over our 4 kids, who have brought us more joy than we would have ever dreamed...

At my life's lowest point, in July of '82, when my father was in the hospital with the heart attack that would eventually claim him, Eric came to my mother's condo in Delray, and slept on my floor, giving me the comfort of a kid whose brother promises to drive away the boogie man. I still wonder whether those days affected Eric's decision to become a cardiologist...

More significantly, as the Torah teaches us that true friendship is revelling in one's friend's successes, he was there at those, as well. And we have been blessed to have many of those lately, from great Canes games to family vacations together, filled with laughter and the creation of memories that are for me, sacred...

Well, last night Eric and Dana hosted a combination party at their house -- to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary, and Eric's impending 50th birthday. The theme was sprts tailgate, and everyone wore their favorite team jerseys... I wore and was several times complemented on my Canes HOCKEY jersey, which my bud Norman gave me this summer. No one had seen one, and no fewer than 5 folks asked if the U had an ice hockey team. I told them they did, but the season was short -- games were only played when the campus lake, Osceola, was frozen...

Dr. Barry, the third stooge and brother, made sure to wear his NY Jets jersey, to annoy Eric and me. Although Barry moved to South Florida in the 9th grade, he still loves the team that used to play next to his Flushing childhood...Somehow he found a Revis shirt, to honor the latest Jets star, in a size probably 5 larger than the actual Revis jersey. Revis will probably fall down and cause the Jets to lose at some critical junction, as per normal for that team...

Anyway, back to the party. All of our spirits soared. I'm still high on the news that I don't have a tumor the size of a basketball growing inside my prostate, and Eric's boy Josh, who is essentially Eric with a far friendlier personality, thanks to his mother's genes, was accepted into Georgia Tech and Michigan. Jen, his daughter, is soaring at UF, and leaves soon for a Birthright Israel trip.

We ate, and drank a few (ok, more than a few) shots of vodka, and toasted these wonderful milestones. Eric put together a video slide show, and we were amazed, truly, at how young we all looked back in college. There was a shot of Eric in his first medical office, in Boston, and he truly looked like Doogie Howser, M.D. People trusted that kid with their hearts?

And at the wedding, we all looked like an episode of "The Little Rascals" putting on a wedding. At the time, we were in our mid 20s, but to these 50 year old eyes, it was a children's party.

Ah, sunrise, sunset...

I hugged Dana, and Eric, and Barry a little tighter than usual. I planted man kisses on their cheeks, in the way I used to kiss my father.

I guess one can go through this life without friends who are closer than brothers. I'm sure I don't know how.

If I Had a Rear View Mirror

Yikes. What a tough 2 weeks it's been for me, the typically annoyingly happy and optimistic guy.

Dr. Dave called with my yearly blood test results: my cholesterol was "perfect," but my PSA, a marker for prostate cancer, had more than tripled in a year, from 2.5, already high for a guy my age, to 6.8. Dr. Dave said I had to see a urologist for follow up.

My bud Dr. Vince had the same PSA rise earlier this year. I asked him for advice, and he told me to go see Dr. Rob Puig, a urologist Vince had observed in the OR, and had great technique. Plus, Vince said, he's a nice guy. I called and they had an opening for Friday, which is now 2 weeks past.

I went home and hit the internet. I learned that PSA tests are notoriously innacurate, and that most men die WITH prostate ca than OF it. But my Dad had it at 60, and family history was a major determinant. Plus, a PSA rise like I had could signal a rare form of aggressive and deadly cancer, especially for a relatively young guy like me. I read about Frank Zappa (dead at 52) and Dan Fogelberg (dead at 57).

I'm always a big shot about death. Since my Dad died in my arms at 63, and his father died at 55, I always figured I wouldn't live too long. I hoped and figured that statins would keep my cholesterol down, and maybe get me to 70 or 75, hopefully old enough to become the best grandpa of all time...

But I found myself SCARED. Not so much of dying, but of putting the Ds through the hell of losing their father, something I endured when I was between them in age, just short of 21. It was hell, and I kept seeing them grieving and mourning.

I knew Wifey would take it hard, but she has such a full life with her friends, and the Ds, that I knew she'd be fine, assuming she didn't fall prey to a gigolo who'd swoop in and steal all my hard earned savings...

I slept badly. I was down. I leaned on my brothers, big time: they were great, as usual. I whistled past the grave yard in a more piercing tone than ever.

I didn't tell the Ds, but then Monday night, D1 was in the car when the surgical center called to pre register me. I explained what was going on, and asked that she not tell D2, who had finals and a long drive from UF.

Wednesday am, Wifey frove me to the surgical center. I got undressed and they started an IV. They wheeled me into the room, and started some valium. I felt calm. Then they started the propophol, and I went to another universe.

Next I knew, I woke up, and was completely at ease. I felt a mental acuity and freedom from anxiety unknown to me since I was a teenager. It was amazing.

I see why Michael Jackson became addicted. The stuff is magical, truly other worldly.

I got up to pee, and out came some blood, just as Dr. Puig told me. He said it'd last a day or so.

I called the office, and was told to come in next Thursday. Great. 8 days to learn my fate. My friend Maureen, Dr. Dave's wife and office manager, said she'd call and see if they could let me know sooner. She tried yesterday, but no results were in.

D2 and I had a big cry together. I tried to be strong, but admitted I was afraid. She was, too.

Last night, Rabbi Yossi hosted a meeting at our neighbor's house, a holiday to the Chasidim honoring the Alter Rebbe's release from prison, and his authorship of the Tanya, a book of spiritual thought. Essentially, the message is that we need to love each other's souls, and that our bodies and stations in life are the illusions.

As we drank, Rabbi Yossi said that tradition held that God listened carefully when blessingw were sought during these get togethers. I told him I needed a blessing, and he said a L'Chaim in my honor...

Well, all I know is that it must not have hurt.

Wifey, the Ds and I went to my in laws to take my mother in law out for her birthday. When we returned to the condo, I checked my voicemail and there was a call from Dr. Puig's PA, Jessica (the woman who gave me a DRE (digital rectal exam) with blessedly small fingers). She said the biopsy was normal.

I shouted out loud, waking Wifey, who was napping. I literally danced, and cried with the Ds. I was ecstatic. This may have been as good as the Canes win over Nebraska in '84. Nah, it was better.

So I was given a new dose of happiness and perspective, literally via a poke in the ass. Actually, the biopsy was 12 needles that penetrated my rectum, and stuck my prostate, so 12 pokes in the ass...

Life can be very, very sweet. I hugged Wifey and the Ds, long, hard, and often.

I plan to celebrate BIG. Tomorrow night, Dr. Eric and Dana are hosting a big party at their house, Eric's 50th birthday, and their 25th anniversary. Barry will be there. I think we may have a drink, or two...

I thanked the Big Man. My favorite Atheist, Chris Hitchens, died yesterday, at 62. I'm having doubts about atheism. The joy I felt today, when I learned I'd be around awhile, well, it came from a deeper place, I believe, than simply positive neurochemistry.

I got stuff to do, still, and now it appears I'll have time to do it.

HELL YEAH!!!!!!!

My Dad's Job

A knit ski cap from the early 70s turned up in my office the other day, emblazoned with the corportate name "Toscany." I smiled --that was my Dad's employer from 1960 to 1999.

My father was a salesman, and Toscany, a start up from a few years before, recruited him. The founder, Morris Katz, was a powerful, big presence of a man, and with 3 partners willed the company into existence and growth. They imported glassware and dinnerware from overseas, mostly Europe, and he needed hard working "outside" salesmen to sell the stuff. My father, a Jewish WWII vet like many of the other partners (one was Italian), fit right in.

The company was the best thing to happen to my Dad, professionally. He developed customers who were booming in the 60s and 70s, like Alexanders Stores, and Al's Pottery. He was also lucky, in many ways. Toscany decided to import flower pots at exactly the time there was a new attention paid to ecology, and EVERYONE wanted house plants in their homes. My Dad sold many of them.

By the early 70s, he had so many "standing orders" from his customers that he made money without having to find new ones. I remember him smiling in his home office, which was just an alcove off of the laundry room in our small, split level house, as he explained to me that he made money for years after developing a client.

His desk was the house's original formica counter top from the kitchen, held up with some wooden dowels installed at the front. It was never very stable, and I was always aware, as I rumbled by with my friends on our way outside to play sports, not to let it topple over.

In the early 70s, the company offered my father a sales/buying manager's position, which paid a LOT. I seem to remember a salary of something like $150 k per year being discussed, but the job required him to travel at least one week per month. I thought he should take it (I had visions of becoming a much richer kid, like some of my classmates who lived in South Wantagh and Seaford (whose fathers had bigger jobs), but he turned it down. He simply loved being home with my Mom and me too much to sacrifice the time.

When I was a teenager, Toscany hired me and a friend to come to the NY Collisseum to help set up the yearly trade show. My friend Kenny, now a retired US Navy Captain and Pediatric Radiologist, still remembers it as the best gig ever. We rode the train to the City with my father, had to wait for union guys to do stuff like roll open carpets, unwrapped some merchandise and put it on tables, and got paid like $50 each. Back then, a new record album was $4.99 and a concert ticket about $7.00, so we were some flush teens...

Mr. Katz loaned my father, I think $2000, for a down payment for my family's first house. My father paid him back promptly, but that one financial gesture propelled us from apartment living in Queens to the true American Dream, with a lawn on our less than 1/4 acre property.

My father feared Mr. Katz' wrath in later years. When a call came in on Dad's business number (PE 1-1679) (I wish I could remember relevant things today like I can remember 50 year old phone numbers), I was instructed to say Dad "wasn't home" even if he was stadning right next to me. In fact, this business of "having a boss" was what inspired my father's one dream for me, professionally: to have a profession where I wouldn't have to answer to a boss... I followed his advice.

Still, Mr. Katz was a legend in our house. He died in, I think, 1977, and I remember my father showing me that his obit warranted several columns in the NY Times, because of his business and philanthropic positions.

My father, coerced by my mother, retired in 1979, as I was graduating high school. My mother had grown to despise the cold weather, and essentially made the family decision to move to Florida. My father, in the best thing he ever did, pressured me into coming, too, by going to the U (before it was the U).

32 years later, and nearly 30 years after my father died only 3 years into retirement, my nearly 92 year old mother is still living on the last of the savings and retirement money my Dad earned at Toscany. Again, there was luck --back then you could get over 15% return on bank CDs, so the principal remained untouched for years... Oh, now that I have savings, how I wish those days would return...

But the point is, Mr. Katz and his partners Sid Glazer, Sonny Pasquale, and Harold Potchtar started a company, and my Dad and my family had a life changing experience.

I went online and did some checking, yesterday. Toscany apparently went out of business over 20 years ago, and its assets were bought by the Anchor Hocking Company of Ohio. Sid Glazer died just last August, at 93. He and my Dad were the same age --since Sid was the boss, I always assumed he was older.

Harold Potchtar died in Boca 10 years ago, at 77. I couldn't find any news about the lone Italian partner, Sonny Pasquale.

My partner Paul and I had similar experiences. At the height of our firm, we changed the lives of some of our employees. Norma and Andrea, our long time secretaries, retired from law with savings more than they ever hoped for. Mirta, our last "tenured" staff member, thanks me constantly for how we changed her life, financially.

So, over 50 years after a new company in NYC hired an honest, hardworking salesman named Hy, who took the anglicized name Henry to better appeal to his non Jewish customers, I thank this Toscany Company.

Although they're long gone, the acts of their owners continue to have good effect.

New Job

So I started my new part time job yesterday. My official title is "Family Liason for the Friendship Circle of Miami."

FC is an organization started by Chabad, my friend Rabbi Yossi's homeboys. It pairs teen volunteers with special needs kids, for home visits and events at the local Chabad shul. As I think about it, it's sort of like Andrew Shriver's Best Buddies, but more geared to kids...

Rabbi Yossi and his wife Nechama run the South Dade operation. They started it years ago, and I've visited and known about it, but never got very involved. The Ds just missed it when they went through Chabad's Hebrew School, and I've sort of admired it from afar.

But lately, as I told Yossi I have some free time and lack of productive things going on, he invoked the age old religious adage: idle hands are the Devil's workshop. Not really, but he was thinking that...

So we came up with a job for me. I'm going to reach out to the families of the special needs kids, and get their thoughts about the program, and see what suggestions they have. I'm also going to get involved in designing programs for the parents. Finally, I'll start meeting with pediatricians and other health care providers in the community, to recruit more kids.

Yossi and Nechama want to increase the size of the program. It currently serves about 60 families, and they want to double that number.

The program, though sponsored by an orthodox Jewish group, is not religious. About 90 % of the special needs kids are not from Jewish families. Most of the counselors are, as they get recruited from Chabad and local synagogue youth programs, though that may be changing. Yesterday, Nechama had a training meeting for some new volunteers, and they included beautiful West Indian twin 9th graders, who are volunteering as their younger sister, who has a disability, is part of the program.

So I spent 3 hours at the center yesterday, mostly observing. What I saw was so beautiful, I was forced to stifle some tears. There's no crying in volunteer work, right?

A tall, handsome, teen volunteer in a basketball jersey spent the entire time with his buddy. The younger man had pretty involved autism, and didn't react much, even to the loud music and other activities. But when he looked up at his friend, he smiled so broadly, and the two of them kneaded dough together while making cookies, as the young child beamed.

Scenes like these were common yesterday, and Nechama told me there's even closer connection when the volunteers visit the houses. The sad truth is that the kids with special needs, most of whom have autism, rarely have friends visit. So, while they get great medical care, and of course the love of their families, they miss out on the socialization that comes from friendship. Hence, the very essence of this program.

I stood outside after the baking demonstration (led by a lovely young grad student who was sharing her favorite hobby) and music therapy, and play therapy, and met several of the parents. I introduced myself, and told them I'd be contacting them soon.

Of all the pride I have for my friend and partner Paul, for his legal prowess, I'm proudest of his current gig. He volunteers many hours per week as a guardian ad litem, meeting with kids in foster care and advising Juvenile Court judges on whether the kids should be sent to parents or remain in state care. It's an awesome responsibility, and he treats it as such.

It's funny --when we'd handle an auto crash case, we were sometimes paid very handsomely to get a money recovery for someone who, say, broke an arm. Now, Paul uses his same skills and training to do something far more significant, and the pay is, at least in dollars, zero.

And he'd tell you he's privileged to do the work. I get it, too.

For me, this may be the start of something big.

Paul Simon, Pearl Harbor Day, Thoughts of Mortality

Wifey and I saw Paul Simon last night, at the Seminole Hard Rock theatre. It was our first show there.

We arrived early (surprise!) after a decent visit to ancient Mom, and a coffee re charge in Boca, and walked around the casino for a bit. I'm not a casino guy, but something about the Hard Rock struck me as even more sad and pathetic than my visits to Vegas casinos...

I guess that in Vegas, most of the patrons are visitors, and they look happy and excited. The lights seem brighter. At the Hard Rock, more locals seem there, and are decidedly more downscale. The light was dim. I noticed 2 Latin guys, dressed in work uniforms playing the slots, and could only think that they were blowing meager paychecks their immigrant families needed.

Plus, Wifey got a slice of pizza from a surly server, and reported that it was one of the worst she's ever eaten. The accompanying stench of cigarette smoke as she chewed couldn't have helped...

Things brightened up in the theatre, which was sold out. A 5 piece band called the Wildfires opened, and they were pretty good --reminded me of the Outlaws or Marshall Tucker bands of my youth.

The crowd was, Wifey and I estimated, about 50 or 55 in average age. Duh! Paul Simon is 70, just barely pre Baby Boomer, and most of his audience grew up in college in the 60s and 70s (and I guess 80s, when he released "Graceland") and so that's who was the audience...

The show was terrific. He had one of the best backing bands I've ever heard, including some of the African guys from the Graceland period. He sang wonderful new songs from his latest (So Beautiful or So What) musing about love, and mortality (One song was great --with lyrics about having to fill out a form and wait in line) and his earliest periods, and the wonderful 70s albums.

He sang "Mother and Child Reuinion" in true reggae form, and brought down the house with "Late in the Evening." What a career he's had! He could have sung all night and just scratched the surface of his songbook...

So today is Pearl Harbor Day, and as always, I think about my Dad. December 7, 1941 was a true "marker day," as the historians call them, for him. He knew his life would change, and it did, with a draft notice soon after and over 4 years in the Army...

I think about him, at 22, and what he was like. And then my memories turn to the man I knew, and how he died at 63. Although that was so young, to me, he was already an old, retired guy...

And worse -- 63 is just a Bar Mitzvah Boy's age away for me! Caramba!

Aging folks always say that age "doesn't matter," it's just a number. Bullshit, I say! Years are all we have, in the way dollars are the only measure of material wealth. And 13 isn't that many, at all...

So I'm hoping to be lucky, like my fellow Queens Ashkenazi Simon. He's 70 and still at the top of his game --creating, contributing, the whole ball of wax.

But as my father learned 70 years ago today, sometimes change and events hit like a sneak attack...

Anti Liberal

Wifey continues to feed my reading habit in a most economical way: she has books sent fromour local library. A few years ago, when her back was so bad that it was tough for her to leave the house, she signed up for a program that lets you order books online, which are then mailed to your house. Our library in Miami Dade is actually quite good and efficient, and the books are very current.

Wifey prides herself on knowing my taste (she really could be a librarian) and is usually very on point. Her latest is David Mamet's confession of moving from being a liberal to conservative. I've been reading it and it resonates with me.

One of his points, which is well known, is that liberals tend to give far less in charity, individually, than conservatives. This is of course because libs think government ought to help the less fortunate, by taxing us all more, while conservatives believe more in self determination and less government. Plus, conservatives tend to believe more in quaint concepts like religion and God, and feel compelled, largely, to help because of those commandments...

Anyway, I do admit to enjoying some liberal friend tweaking...and a small event Saturday was a prime example of this.

D1 was at a local liquor store, doing her part time job of selling a brandy for an importer. We figured that several friends and acquaintances would see her, and they did.

2 folks stopped by, and they happen to be some of our more conservative friends, politically. They said hello, and bought a bottle of the brandy, having no intention, I'm sure, of drinking it. The husband, who I'll call Mike, since that's his name, is a gin and tequila man, and his wife, who I'll call Loni, prefers white wine.

Still, doing what most of us would do, helping out a friend's kid, they happily bought a bottle, and will tuck it away for possible use if, oh, say, the most interesting man in the world comes over, and wants cognac instead of Dos Equis.

Later, another old acauaintance came by. Wifey says I have to stop identifying local folks when they act like assholes or jerks, so I'll just say she is someone we've known for a long, long time. We don't socialize, but keep in touch through other people.

She greeted D1, saw what she was doing, and blithely said "Oh, we don't drink brandy" and trotted off to buy some vodka.

I don't know. I've ALWAYS bought crap from friends and neighbors' kids --even reams of Christmas wrapping paper, much of which sits getting moldy in my garage. To me, it's the decent thing to do -- to help whatever the child is doing, whether fundraising or getting ahead.

Not so the uber liberal...she probably rushed home to drink martinis and read "The New Republic" and catch NPR...

Of course I know I paint with an absurdly broad brush, and the friends who bought the brandy are simply good folks, while the one who ignored D1 is not, at least in my book...

Plus, as a protective papa bear, ANY slight to my Ds, no matter how insignificant (D1 really couldn't have cared less about this --literally shrugged and said "no big deal, or any deal" when I pointed this out to her) is magnified.

All I know is...sending away a friend or neighbor's kid, no matter what, well, that makes you the kind of person I want nothing to do with, to twist grammar.

Back to Mamet's book tonight...he's just getting to the part about apologists for Obama's abysmal performance ('he inherited a mess!") by pointing out that he campaigned preciscly on the principal of fixing the mess...

Interesting times, as the Chinese curse goes, and interesting people...

Metro Man

Wifey and the Ds (well, D1 at least) decry the fact that, when it comes to fashion, I am a world class schlump. There were a few periods in my life when I shopped for decent clothes, and actually looked presentable (I recently saw some photos of a holiday party circa 1997 where I wore a smashing gray sweater with a finely tailored blue blazer and khakis), but those periods are past.

These days, I wear a pair of black jeans when we go out for dinner, or a pair of blue jeans when we don't, and several pairs of shorts with varying degrees of bleach stains on them...

On occasion, I still wear a suit, but I consider those days a sartorial failure (either a client meeting or a funeral or bar mitzvah).

Although I am one of the least homophobic guys I know (I DIG fags, really) I dress the least like the stereotype of the gay man. Proudly.

Well, Wifey had finally had it with a pair of topsiders I favor for daily use when I wear shorts. They were worn visibly. So, after dinner at Tony Roma's last night (we pondered why Outback in our 'hood is always packed, while Tony Roma's, with similar food quality, isn't), Wifey demanded I head to Dadeland for some new shoes.

She had several unused Nordstrom gift cards, and I dutifully complied. I actually like that store. The service is terrific, and there are plenty of plush chairs for husbands to sit on while wives and daughters shop. Of course, they USED to have a pianist, too, but those were removed last year, apparently at the demand of some young snot nosed marketer who figured out that the post menopausal target customers wanted "hip" music piped in, instead of the Sinatra standards...

In any event, I quickly found a pair of Sperry Topsiders, on sale for $109, down from $159, and took them. The zaftig young Cubana salesgirl then showed me a pair of Cole Haans (my other favorite shoe) also on sale, and I went crazy and all metro and effiminate, and bought them, too, even though my existing Cole Haans have another solid 6 months before they wear out.

We were done. No, not so fast. Wifey wanted to see what was on sale upstairs as well, for her. I found a great seat near the escalators, and watched the ladies shop, while Wifey found some things she liked. She then fetched me, along with an old acquaintance who now works at Nordstorms. I'll call her Flippy, since that's her nickname -- her girls grew up with the Ds -- and one is now in law school in D.C. while the other is at art college in Boston.

Flippy popped me into a chair in the dressing room, and I watched Wifey emerge with some sweaters and a nice red dress. I felt like Richard Gere in "Pretty Woman," although we were in Kendall instead of Beverly Hillls, and Wifey is not a whore...

Flippy and I chatted about our daughters, and Wifey found some things she liked. We then retreated outside, where Flippy told Wifey to open a Nordstom account, so that my already discounted shoes could be discounted another $20...

We stood at the counter, and it turned into a retail happy hour. First, Flippy's husband came by and said hello (an empty nester like me, he was killing some time walking the mall), and then 2 of Flippy's friends, Elise (whose kids grew up with the Ds, too), and a cardiologist's wife came by, too. The cardiologist's wife, who I'll call Amy, since that's her name, is a long time UNfavorite of Wifey's and mine.

Our kids always crossed paths growing up, and the woman was, almost to a level of caricature, a bitch! Somehow she remained friends with the ladies.

She had been shopping, and was ready to leave. She handed her bag to Flippy, and said "Can you take this home for me and I'll pick it up at your house?" One would have thought she was kidding; one would have been wrong.

Wifey, off in her own world while waiting for the Nordstrom approval of her new credit card, missed this whole exchange. Flippy told her that it was a hassle for employees to bring home packages for customers, even friends, because of store security.

Amy was relentless. Finally, her friend Elise offered to carry the package (we're talking one bag here --probably about 4 pounds worth of shoes and clothes), and the ladies left.

I often say it: I find it funny when people act in ways different from their natures, and also when they act in accordance with them. Amy and her haughtiness and bitchiness made my evening.

So I did my shoe shopping that will last at least until D2 graduates college (2014). My shorts are another issue --I begged off further retail searching. Wifey will now bring a few pairs home, probably from Marshall's, and I'll wear them.

A clothes horse I'm not, to use the great, Yiddishized grammar of my ancestors. Not even a clothes mouse.

Still, as always, trips out of the house lead to human nature lessons. Thanks, Amy.

December Light in Miami

As I drove up Ludlam Road today, on the way to meet my old LI friend Kenny for lunch, I was struck by the pure, golden, beautiful light.

Years ago, I read a book about Miami by David Rieff, and he spoke about how even average buildings in our town look majestic in the amazing light, and also why more and more movies and tv shows are shot here.

It's true, I thought. Especially on a dry, cool, December day, no place is more gorgeous.

The best light on LI, where Ken and I grew up, was during a cold, clear, winter's day. I remember once in high school we had a major ice storm one evening, and walking home the next afternoon from school all of the tree branches and trunks were covered in a layer of clear ice, which slowly melted. It was as if someone had added flood lights to the day. It must have been, oh, '77 or '78, and I still recall the way it looked.

Speaking of light, and vision, last night D1 and her friend Alyssa and I went to the grand opening of Art Basel, on Miami Beach. Our neighbor is an exec on the board, and sent us passes to the VIP opening. Wifey begged off, following a day of errands, but I got to go.

What a scene! We were definitely not in suburbia anymore, as we watched the international glamour and art folks mill about, looking at the absurdly expensive pieces.

D1 noticed a painting which we have in our house. Of course, we have a mere poster of the Botero, but hanging there was the original, from 1982. We didn't ask, but I'm guessing it cost in the millions...

We saw about 1/2 the exhibits, and then admitted to ourselves that we cared more about food than art. The only thing sold at the fair was overpriced sandwiches, so we left and headed to Lincoln Road. On the way, we saw one of the most colorful, literally, puppies. We stopped to talk with its owner, who told us it was some rare mixed breed from Louisiana.

I was skeptical --I thought it was a blue tick hound, like the U Tennessee mascot, but later in the evening D1 sent me a web site about this unusual cur --named Amadeus.

Alyssa took us to a great salad and pizza place, where she and D1 shared a salad and pizza, and I had an antipasto.

They were lovely company -- talking about grad school, and careers, and siblings, and life --all with the vitality of 23 year olds.

I dropped them off a happy man. I mean, I was the happy man --I didn't deliver any to them.

So Kenny and I met at Shorty's, and I bought him lunch in honor of his joining the 50 club. Ken still has high school and middle school aged boys, so he has another 1/2 decade before he's an empty nester.

I drove home with the sun roof open, and that amazing December light streaming in. This time of year, there's no finer place to be.

It's Like the Fun Never Ends

We hosted D1's boyfriend Joel and his family for a brunch, and with bright sunshine and lovely breezes in the dining room, it was a magical afternoon.

They left, and D1 and Joel stopped by D1's friend Hannah's house for a post T Day get together the girls have been enjoying since they were in high school. Next up on their agenda was a spa day at the Joel family hotel on Brickell.

D2, Wifey, and I took delicious afternoon naps. I slept soundly as Michigan beat OSU, and Va Tech beat Virginia. Ah --college football on T Day weekend as I napped with an overstuffed belly -- it's great to be an American.

Around 630, the fun would continue. Norman's wife Deb surprised him with a limo trip to the Palm, and Wifey and I were the first pickup. We'd been in limos before, but this one was something: an enormous, stretch HUmmer, with lights and sound --the thing parked in front of our house and took up, it seemed, 1/2 the block.

It had room for 18. The four of us chatted, and congratulated Deb on pulling off the surprise. Like me, Norman is suspicious and a keen observer --it's very tough to get something by him, but Deb did.

Next stop, Miami Shores, and Norman's partner Scott's fiance Liz's house. Liz and her FSU daughter serenaded, with a beautifully harmonized rendition of happy birthday, accompanied by acoustic guitar. Norman was moved. We then took the short drive to the Palm, where we met another Norman partner and friend, Glenn, and his son in law, a last minute fill in for Glenn's wife. Also at the bar were the couple who introduced Norman to Deb, but as Gary is one of my competitors in the legal business, I'm contractually prohibited from discussing him further. Plus, he lives on Palm Island, which tells me he does much better than I do...

Ha! They are lovely folks.

Deb reserved a private room, which I didn't even know the Palm had, and we drank some healthy sized martinis, and ate delicious steaks. We also laughed, a lot, as we told tales of trips, and old cases, and the delightful humor that is living each day.

Glen is a retired cop, and teller of salty tales, and somehow the conversation turned to an aging man's "veiny" testicles...that became a recurring subject among we classy and educated parrtiers...

The 6 of us then re-boarded the enormous Hummer, and we headed to one of Liz's friends, who was hosting a house party for HER 50th. She lives in a funky, 50s era building on North Biscayne Bay --right next to where they film "Dexter."

The party was in full swing, with great 70s tunes playing, and Norman, Scott, and I soon realized that, with the exception of one other fellow, we were the only men there.

I kept my inner "Beavis and Butthead" in check, and didn't say, our loud: "Heh, heh. Cool! Lesbians!"

But Wifey insisted on lounging on a sofa, continuously petting a little kitten, which lead to more laughter when we got back into the limo.

Next stop --the bay walk near Liz's house in the Shores, where we got out of the limo to admire the view of the night, as the Bay waters crashed onto the sidewalk. It was truly magical.

We dropped off Liz and Scott, and somehow stayed awake for the ride back to Pinecrest.

I told Deb that the answer is "Pretty gross at first, but as time passes, you sort of get used to it, as long as you don't focus too clearly on matters at hand." She asked what the question was. I told her it was "What's it like to sleep with a 50 year old man?"

And so Norman has joined the club, and his initiation was sterling and spectacular, and Wifey and I were privileged to be a part of it.

Coll-ige

Well, as expected, Thanksgiving turned out to be all we hoped and more. D2, Josh, Wifey and I fired up the Hyundai and headed to Key Biscayne, where we parked the Korean piece of auto in valet, surrounded by Bentleys, Benzes, BMWs, etc...

If I let my ego be affected by the car I drive, well, I would have been in serious need of Prozac. At least the valet didn't laugh out loud when he took my key fob.

The hotel, as always, was magical, with attendants rushing to offer hot cider, as guests walked to and fro. We made our way to the restuarant, and found that D1's reservations had landed us in a private room, still in ear shot of the guitarist, who strummed mellow tunes...

D1, her boyfriend, and his family arrived, and we greeted like old friends. They were lovely folks, of course. We drank more than our share of mimosas, and selected from the 7!! different stations, with the most delicious food around.

Round one, I stuck to the traditional turkey, stuffing, prime rib, and cranberries. Round two, I went for the seafood thing: shrimp, oysters, king crab claws, and some delicious sushi thrown in for good measure.

We chatted, and drank, and laughed, and then we strolled to the water for some photos. On the way back, we stopped in the bar and pulled chairs up to the leather sofas. Wifey, Joel's folks, and I talked about how blessed we were with our kids and their boyfriends/girlfriends.

At home, my old high school friend Marcy and I exchanged messages on FaceBook (tm), about colleges. Her daughters go to very expensive private schools in the Northeast (Emily Dickenson College?). Actually, I think one goes to Smith.

Marcy is justly proud of her girls, but I keep thinking how silly the whole obsession is about where the kids go to school.

The public intellectual David Brooks always preaches that life partner choice is so much more significant --the essence of one's happiness or misery -- and yet our generation of helicopter parents spends little time coaching that, and a huge amount worrying where to send the kids for 4 years of parties and inter personal dramas...

It occurred to me, as I reflected on my many blessings related to the Ds, that I'm most thankful for the choices they make in the young men in their lives. They do great academically, and I'm happy for that, but on a much deeper level it's who they choose to be around.

D2 spent the night at her boyfriend Josh's parents' house, and Josh is due to drop her off later at Barry's place, for the drive to the final Canes game of the season. D1 will stay here, and help Wifey prepare for tomorrow's brunch with a house full of Hoosiers...

The Ds are young, and I have no idea if they'll end up with these fine young men forever...but they're picking well, in my view, and that's all that counts.

Dia De Gracias

Ah, bliss. It's Thanksgiving Day, I'm up early, and it's cool out. The paper isn't here yet, but the dogs have been fed, the coffee is hot. D2 is home, asleep, as is Wifey upstairs. D1 went out last night with her boyfriend's Indiana family, and I assume she's still asleep, too.

If there's a luckier man than me, I don't know who he is.

I got sick of all the "I'm thankful for" messages on FaceBook (tm) and so posted that I thought we should reflect on all we DON'T have. I mean --look at Jay Z. Billionaire, married to Beyonce, flies around in a private jet, gives away millions in charity. Compared to him, my life is that of a lowly schlepper!

Ha. I feel just the opposite, of course, but then again, I always did. Back in the early days of Wifey, when times were tight (and our buttocks were, too) I was also happy and thankful.

Our runneth over cup REALLY filled up in 1988. D1 came along, a few days after T Day that year, and taught us both the true meaning of love. Wifey and I both knew love, of course, but never the unconditional kind. I mean, she loved me lots, I'm sure, but had I, say, schtupped her best friend Edna (sorry about that, Edna) I think her love for me would have waned pretty quickly.

But not so with our children: we love them always, above all, no matter what. And D1 was the first, and now she's about to turn 23!

Last night, Wifey woke up from a long afternoon nap, occasioned by having to take her mother for outpatient hand surgery at 6 am, and came downstairs. It was nearly 9. D2 and I had eaten lunch with D1 in South Miami, and were hungry. So the three of us headed to our local IHOP, which is now open 24 hours, 365 days per year. This may be the best thing to happen in Pinecrest, ever.

Anyway, the running joke is that D1 loves IHOP, and somehow never gets to go with us. So, we sat there and D2 and Wifey texted her pictures of the blueberry pancakes she was missing out on. She texted back some spicy language about it being HER birthday, and yet she was excluded. It was exquisite. The pancakes were good, too, and an appropriate way to start the coming days of mass consumption...

Last night, this already thankful guy was even more absurdly thankful.

On the way to the car, we spotted a line forming at Best Buy. The IHOP manager told us the folks were there, and would stay there through Thanksgiving, to be in the store when they opened on midnight of Black Friday. Apparently, you can buy $300 flat screen tvs for $149 or so by doing that.

I guess that for those who are thankful for STUFF (crap, to me) that's the ultimate. Bereft of love, they have to fill the cavity with the material...Wifey, D2, and I shook our heads and laughed as we drove away.

Today, we have plans for a noon lunch on Key Biscayne. This is the 4th year in a row we will so gather, letting the chefs of a hotel prepare our feast.

D1's boyfriend Joel is coming, with his sister, her boyfriend, and his parents. D2's fine young man Josh is coming down as well, so there'll be 10 of us there.

Joel's mother emailed Wifey, saying how much she looked forward to meeting us, as she really dug D1, and was sure the apple didn't fall far from the tree.

So, of course, I already like this lady hours before meeting her. Class. Pure class.

Her email reminded me of the party we threw when we first moved into the 'hood --our annual homeowners' meeting. One of the neighbors had a gorgeous flower arrangement sent over that day, with a note that she was sure the evening was going to be special. Wifey and I were floored, and knew then we had found the right place to live.

Probably not coincidentally, the neighbor, like Joel's mother, was raised in the Midwest...

After brunch, D2 and Josh are headed to Josh's place in Weston for T Day DINNER. So D2 gets 2 feasts. I have a spot reserved on my couch to watch the Fins play the Cowboys.

Tomorrow, D2 will get a ride to Barry's, and he will drive her to the Canes game, where we will all convene. My friend Norman turns 50 this weekend, and his tailgate party will also be his birthday celebration. I'd bring his gift with me, but it'd get drunk, so I'll drop it off later...

Saturday, we're having Joel's family over for bagels and lox and mimosas. I was at the liquor store last night, and got a great recommendation of sparkling wine for these drinks. We'll find out if Hebrew Hoosiers dig our local bagels, baked with care by Palestinians at House of Bagels...

And so my favorite time of the year is here in full swing. I have less than 3 months to go for D2's 20th birthday, whereupon I will have succesfully raised 2 daughters without teen pregnancies... After that, all is, like the fine accompaniment to today's turkey, gravy.

Bah, Early!

So the awful economy has caused yet another calamity: even earlier than usual holiday crap. I noticed some X mas and Chanukah decorations going up in the Sunniland parking lot right around Halloween. Now, as Thanksgiving approaches, the annoyance is in full swing.

A great debate is taking place in the retail world. Is it ok to open stores on T Day? This takes away a sacred day of celebration for the American family, all so that stores can make more money in advance of Black Friday. The answer is, of course, yes --some are opening T Day.

Some of my liberal, anti corporate, rich FaceBook (tm) friends are posting about boycotting Black Friday, to show support for the schleppers who have to work the Wal Marts and Targets instead of being home with their children. I posted that I WOULD boycott (I'd never be caught dead in a mall that day at any rate) but wished to preserve my right to listen to the Steely Dan song.

I guess my distaste with all things holiday goes back a long while. My parents never quite bought into the whole gifts at the holiday thing. My mother liked to proclaim that I got stuff I wanted all year -- it was silly to hide telescopes and bicycles for a special day. She was right, of course.

But then, we'd be invited to my brother in law's Irish family Christmas celebrations. I remember being about 9, and his brother Michael and sister Kathy sat around the tree, and were each given a PILE of toys. There was usually some pathetic thing, like a slinky, for me...

We'd leave the cigarette smoke filled split level house, into the chill LI December air, and get into our car. My parents would laugh at the whole scene, and I was expected to be in on the joke. I am now, of course, but at 9 or so, I was PISSED! I think then I understood what became one of my favorite expressions: "treated like the red headed stepchild..."

At home, there'd be an electric menorah, and maybe some latkes...In high school, my friend Debbie's wonderful Italian grandparents had a feast on Christmas Eve, and I was invited. We'd gorge ourselves on fresh seafood, and sausage and pasta. One year I went to midnight mass with them...waiting the whole time for the priest to call me to the front and ask me why my people had killed the man all of this hooplah was for. It never happened, luckily...

When the Ds were little, my sister the Queens Jewess made a bigger deal out of Christmas than any minister in Alabama dreamed of. The whole house was decorated with multiple trees, and entire minituare villages with twinkling lights and Christmas music (all the good songs were written by Jews, I'd tell my girls).

She and my brother in law would buy the Ds many gifts, and Wifey and I would spend the entire car ride home debriefing them about the holiday. Yes, they could keep the doll houses and stuffed animals, and thank their aunt and uncle for them, but, no, we didn't worship Jesus Christ...and somehow, in my sister's mind, the trees and lights and Christmas hams weren't about Jesus -- they were just "warm family expressions" that happened to coincide with the rest of the world celebrating...

One year, after my rabbi friend brainwashed me that attending these events was tantamount to sending our little Jewish girls to Lourdes Academy --we fled to the Bahamas over Xmas week. The Ds had a blast, and I paid high season rates for our room at Atlantis, and we visited Graycliff with my partner Paul and his kids and some of their friends...

Looking back, this move was an insult to my sister and brother in law that marked the beginning of some hurt feelings that took many years to get over.

I asked Rabbi Yossi if missing a meal around a Christmas tree was worth all the hurt and schism it caused in my family. He responded: "Absolutely!"

And so I don't go much for the Jewish stuff, either...

And so, here comes another season to endure. I rarely go shopping, so I don't have to get annoyed at the malls, and, as usual, December 25th we WILL honor the birthday of the Ds and my own, personal savior: Wifey.

D1 won't be here. She's planning to go to Indiana with her boyfriend and his family. I'm sure D2 will be busy with her boyfriend and other friend, too.

So I'll take Wifey to a movie, and then, probably, to Tropical Chinese, where several generations of Miami Jews can be found on December 25th...

And soon enough, it will be 2012, and the music will fade...

Sabado Gigante

What a banner Saturday I had! I read the paper and drank my coffee, and then got a call from D1, up uncharacteristically early, on her way to a Yoga class outside in the Grove. Did I want to go to the Book Fair with her? Of course I did!

My blessings with the Ds truly fill a cup that runneth over. They like me, and want to hang with me!

I picked up D1, and we drove to my office, and then boarded the People Mover for the Book Fair.

We love the People Mover. It's a driverless transit system that has several loops around Miami. It's free, and used to be a joke, since few folks rode it, except people like me --young lawyers who used to kill some time after court and before returning to my office --in the late 80s --it had amazing views.

Still does. D1 and I enjoyed the ride, and I bored her with some of my deep history of Miami talks...

We got to the Fair, and immediately did the most important activity --got some fair food. We bought delicious Greek salads with lamb, and shared a table with 2 lovely lesbians and their clearly adopted children. (The Lesbians looked to be from Minnesota or Oklahoma --the kids from a far more Southern latitude).

We then walked, and bought some books (D1 a history of the Brickell family --I bought a history of Burdines to give to my mother in law, who worked at the store for nearly 20 years). Wifey saw my purchase this am, and I asked if she thought Rachel would like it. "Probably not --she only likes stories about the Holocaust!" Ha! Serves me right for trying to be a stellar son in law -- I keep wasting my time in that regard...

Anyway --back to the happy day: D1 and I ran into Dr. Dave, and chatted with him about his recent trip to the sub continent. D1 and I agreed, after hearing about it, that India was not on our list of must see places...

I dropped off D1, who sent me a lovely text, and then headed home in time to watch my beloved Canes on TV. Yawn!

Norman picked me up, and then we fetched his S 3 --Benjamin --a UM sophomore. Norman, like me, is blessed with wonderful kids. Benjy is a musical prodigy and, like his brother Michael, equipped with a fine sense of humor.

We drove, the three of us, to Sunrise --boring Benjy with tales of the U from back in the day, when Norman and I were undergrads...

We arrived at the Sawgrass Cheesecake Factory, and met Jim. Now our foursome ate, drank, and watched the end of the Canes game, which our boys won on a last second field goal. Double yawn...the best thing about this football season is that it's nearly over...

We then walked to the hockey arena (I think it's the BankAtlantic Center, but I never keep up on the corporate names). We laughed. A lot.

Even Benjy, not yet 20, gets the Borscht Belt humor his father Norman, Jim, and I treasure. We're politically INcorrect. Jim regaled us with a tale about his boy playing hockey with a kid from a race not generally known for producing hockey players. We concluded the child has an Uncle DaQuan with a vicious sense of humor...

The Panthers won a close game. The arena was wonderfully chilly.

We said goodbye to Jim, and then enjoyed our ride back to Coral Gables --more tales of the U and the ZBT fraternity.

Norman dropped me off, and Wifey was fast asleep. She had a banner day, too --spending it with her dear friend Cara and, I later learned, analyzing and discussing all that is wrong with men... The Wifey equivalent to a great Canes game!

Today, the TV beckons. The Dolphins are on -- and this season they are a perfect backdrop for a Sunday nap...

It's truly the most wonderful time of the year.

Talkin' Torah

MY friend Rabbi Yossi is nothing if not relentless. Although I'm not religious, and reject most of the invites for events at his shul, he keeps on and on...

He got me to agree to come to a weekly Torah discussion at our new neighbors' house. I call these folks the young billionaires, since they're on their way their. Ben and Rachel are in their late 20s and founded an internet sales company that just moved to Miami, and they have 300 employees and are growing.

Ben, and his brother Eli, are sort of modern, religious hippies --various and sundry young geniuses are always milling about their house, either staying while looking for housing in town, or passing through. Some of them are retired Israeli military types -- they smile, but I can tell they know how to kill me with the tip of their pinkies...

Anyway, Ben and Rachel generously provide food and drink every Thursday night (the first night of the month is for couples --the other three are for men) and Yossi calls me no less then 3 times to remind me (and my friend Jeff) to go.

Last night, the Torah section, or portion, was about Abraham and his sons and the meanig of marriage and daily prayer.

We discussed how Abraham, in addition to being the first monotheist (and father of the Jews) was also, in many ways, the father of all of Western Civilization. He was the first to leave his land, to go forth, to become a stranger in a strange land == and this concept of seeking and discovering opened the world to all its modern ideas.

We also talked about the tripartite nature of marriage --the feminine, the masculine, and the Godly part --the Torah talks a LOT about marriage, as it's the basis of our society.

I reflected on marriage, of course --what a serious business it is, and how so few of us take it seriously.

Rabbi Yossi likened the three daily prayers (morning, afternoon, and evening) the the stages of a marriage. Morning is easy --a new day has dawned, optimism reigns -- a marriage is all honeymoon. Evening is ok, too --the work day is done, the soul cries out for rest and reflection --marriage is going out for a Saturday night dinner and socializing.

But the afternoon, when the day drags --that's the toughest time of the day to take time to thank God, and, in a marriage, it's the long, boring, time --when it's easy to get untracked.

I thought about how many friends of mine have trouble with that part -- when the physical desire wanes -- and they realize they have to be friends with their spouses if the marriage is going to last...

Jeff, always one with humor drier than a martini, got into the car and remarked that all this talk about marriage (he's nearing the 25 year mark, like I am) makes him truly savor nights like we had --with only guys...

Abraham's heroism is remarkable. I relate to where he was in his life --happy, prosperous, things all comfortable and good --and yet he struck out, based on God's instruction --to an uncertain future.

I wonder whether I'd answer the call. Rabbi Yossi says the call comes each day --to do more for one's fellow man, to learn more, to give more.

Thoughtful stuff, for a Thursday night...

Happy Anniversary to Us

November 15, 1994 was a big date for me. That's the day my partner Paul and I founded our law firm: Paul & Dave, P.A. I wrote to Paul, reminding him of our 17th anniversary. Did I get a box of candy, or flowers? Not at all, though a bottle of Ketel One would have been the more appropriate gift.

The years truly have a way of flying by. All the good times and riches and son of a bitches (to steal from Jimmy Buffet) we've encountered are starting to mesh in my memory.

And yet, I clearly recall the beginning. We left our old firm after the Big Man told Paul he would no longer pay him the same percentage of the fees he generated. I think the Big Man and his partner figured that I, 11 years younger than Paul, and already on a lower shared fee scale, would bring in enough business, and could handle the associate duties. They didn't know Paul and I had already planned to leave...

The plan, such as it was, was that Paul would find us space, get situated, while I stayed behind to watch over our interests. I couldn't do it. A few hours after Paul resigned, I went in to the Big Man and told him I was leaving, too.

I met Paul at our satellite office, Tobacco Road. He was expecting to hear the buzz about his departure --instead I told him I was now unemployed like he was. He laughed --he already knew that, despite my calm, agreeable demeanor, no one gets to tell me what to do!

I passed a bum on the way to my car, and he asked for money. I gave him a dollar, but told him that our salaries were the same --actually, he was earning more than I was.

Paul and I started searching for space --North Miami, Coral Gables, Lincoln Road (in retrospect, Lincoln Road would have been the most fun choice, and probably would have put us out of business fastest, although Wifey might have been replaced by a struggling young model from the Midwest...)

We ended up moving into an office suite in the former Centrust Building --Miami's signature tower, which was lit at night with multicolor floods... It still is.

We assembled our staff, with the ensuing dramas there, and worked day and night. Failure was not, to use the cliche, an option.

We gave charity. We were absurdly blessed with good luck. I did a freebie case for a woman, who cried in gratitude when I told her I wasn't going to charge her the $1000 fee she owed, and that woman ended up referring us close a HUGE amount of business...

We were totally on the make. Everyone we met got our pitch, and a firm brochure, and, probably, a gourmet dinner.

We played, royally. We traveled the world. We sported our friends and families on the greatest trips thay would ever take in their lives --always top of the line.

And, fortunately, we saved and saved, and, lived below our means...

It was a heady time...

Election

I think the whole sorority thing is pretty silly, but the Ds have enjoyed their time there. And, I have to admit, I AM impressed by some of the charity work they do: UF has a Dance Marathon each Spring, and last year that event raised nearly 3/4 of a million dollars for UF Children's Hospital.

Still, much of the sorority thing is an extension of middle school social mores, with cliques forming, power plays, etc...

D2 decided to run for some office, and drew an opponent. According to D1, who analyzes these things like George Stephanopolous analyzes American politics, D2 was the superior candidate...and had the clear vote of the "cooler" girls, whatever that means. The election was last night.

I got an IM from D1, learning that, surprisingly, D2 lost to the "dorky" opponent. D1 was VERY upset for her sister, and theorized that D2 lost because of a "revenge of the nerds" factor. D1 feared this rare loss in life would greatly hurt D2.

Wifey and I sprang into action! I emailed D2 a tale of one of my life's biggest disappointments, when I was denied a job offer from the prestigious law firm where I clerked. I was shocked, that summer of 1985 -- I had worked my tail off, charmed everyone, and, most important, just KNEW the job was mine...

Like D2, I was sort of spoiled by getting most of what I wanted in life, based on charm and a deep aggressiveness disguised by that charm. D2 is a LOT like I am in that way.

Well, the firm ended up offering the job to 2 of the 4 clerks. One, who I'll call Chris, since that's his name, ended up rejecting THEM, in favor of another firm where he is now senior partner, and provides my friend Barry and I with countless hours of making fun of him because of what an impressive looking, yet underlying twit, he is. The other candidate, Susan, stayed at the firm a few years, and then left to clerk for a Federal Magistrate, where she remains today.

My fellow loser, Charlie, ended up VERY succesful in Atlanta, as a Labor lawyer.

So there, I empathized with D2...

Wifey made an emergency call to the Midnight Cookie store in Gainesville --to deliver a batch of fresh baked goods to D2 with the message that, of course, she was ALWAYS our winner, in everything.

D2 texted, and called, and told us how much she appreciates and loves all of us.

I was teary eyed, too. I couldn't care less about the stupid election, of course, but cared immensely that D1 was so fiercely protective of and caring about, her sister.

The Ds are quite different, in many ways, but they ARE each other's best friends, and will be for life. That happened to be one of my main parental goals, and Wifey and I have been blessed with success in that department.

So the family system worked. One of our number had a disappointment, and the other 3 scrambled into action.

I am humbled and proud.

And D2, calling late last night with a mouthful of cookie, reported that said cookies were scrumptious...

The Weekend at the College ...

So on Friday I fired up the 2 year old Hyundai, and Wifey and I hit the open road. First stop: the Denny's in Hallandale, to fetch my partner Paul and his son Alex.

I hustled Wifey out of the house, telling her repeatedly that Paul and I have always shared a military-like punctuality, in which early is on time and on time is late! Wifey reminded me that this behavior bordered on, or actually crossed into, the obnoxious, but she complied. We arrived at 1145, and, sure enough...no Paul!

Ah, old age. Paul's girlfriend Patricia dropped him off over 20 minutes late. I knew an era had passed...

Armed with Denny's turkey club sandwiches, we headed North, chatting happily and listening to Alex's I Phone App on Howard Stern, interviewing the virginal Gloria Estefan about her husband's penis size. I'm at least as adolescent as any guy, but I just never found Howard Stern that funny. Funny like the obnoxious kid in Hebrew School, of course, but no funnier...

We cruised into Gainesville, and headed for the AEPhi house. Handsome Alex, who looks ten years younger than he is, set some sorority hearts aflame, and we greeted D2 and her roommate Ali.

We also got a hearty welcome from bubbly Carly, with her happy demeanor and gorgeous blonde hair. She and D2 have been friends since Middle School, and now take the college journey together.

We went back to the hotel, and met Mike, his boy Chris, and Chris's friend Jason, a certified sports trivia genius. The kid is 16 or 17, and was quoting scenes from Canes games that happened well before he was born. I was way impressed.

The group, now including D2's terrific boyfriend Josh, mustered at Dragonfly, Gainesville's best sushi restaurant. The grown ups (or at least those with real IDs) drank adult beverages, and we waited for our table, We then feasted on sushi and each other's company. Paul's nephew Grant was there, too, and it turned out that he knew Josh from their Broward Jewish teen years --March of the Living -- and enjoyed their reunion.

Paul pointed out, correctly, that these are truly the good old days --with our families' kids all happy and soaring, including, I reminded him, his beautiful granddaughter!

Saturday, Mike, Chris, Jason and I headed to the Flying Biscuit for a hearty new Southern (their style) breakfast, and then met Paul, Alex, and Grant to caravan to Tally. Wifey left for the sorority mother/daughter day, which included Zumba, dueling pianos, and dinner. D2 reported later that it was "Moms Gone Wild" - a veritable menopausal nonstop party of singing and dancing, including, apparently, one mom who seductively squirmed atop a piano like she was in the "Fabulous Baker Brothers" movie...

Our day was, conversely, one of testosterone (except, it turned out, for our Canes).

Ah, my friend Mike --always the adventurer. Instead of the boring interstate, he took us on a route of a country road. It turns out that Newberry Road in Gainesville heads west and then North all the way to Tally.

We passed the small towns, and counties I didn't even knew were in Florida. Gilchrist? There were several prisons, Hardees instead of McDonalds and Burger Kings, gun shops, and CHURCHES. And then more churches! We marvelled at the fact that they all stayed in business, with seemingly small town populations.

If I ever move to NW Florida, clearly I have to become a minister --that's where the money is. Oy vey.

We rolled into town, and Paul and Alex jumped into Mike's Expedition --Grant went off to a friend's apartment --and we found a tailgate lot. We were amazed that it was free parking --next to the FSU basketball arena --and realized later why: it was a good mile away frm the stadium.

Still, Mike grilled, we drank beer, and admired the comely young FSU co eds. I remembered my visits to the campus in the early 80s, and nothing has changed: FSU, for some reason, seems to attract gorgeous women.

Several were dressed as sexy Seminoles. We started to question our affiliation with the Canes...

And then came the game. It turned out to be a contest between 2 crappy teams. The Canes proved crappier. We lost. It was actually pretty boring, especially for a game that ended 24-19. The most passion was raised by spectacularly bad calls by the refs --most against UM.

Mike waited on line 45 minutes to hit the bathroom. Any thoughts about buying a soda were fantasy. Miami has no on campus stadium, and therefore no real college game day atmosphere, but we DO have the better tailgate parties (Norman has stone crabs!) and the plusher stadium. As I become an old codger, things like being able to pee when required take on greater importance.

The Canes may be mediocre, but the Club Section at Joe Robbie rocks, in an AARP sort of way...

Sunday, the rest of our crew had either flown or early drove home. Wifey and I picked up D2, and we headed to Ivy for some gourmet omelettes, and a recount of the weekend's activities. We learned that maybe some of the Moms weren't quite ready to give up their 20s --trying to party harder than their daughters...

Wifey and I, as usual, marvelled at our darling D2. She's within shouting distance of 20, getting a 4.0 GPA, gorgeous, strong, and funny. Our cops runneth over.

And even though she was 350 miles away, D1 was not to be excluded. She texted me that while walking in her Brickell neighborhood, she saw a Dad on a bike with a toddler in a helmet behind him, and though of the two of us, 20 years ago...

Her sister warned me she's probably angling for something...

Wifey and I left for Miami. She suggested we stop in on ancient Mom, which we did. We found her fully dressed and made up, even though on Sunday she usually has no visitors. She thought it was Monday, and her caregiver Louise was to come take her to an appointent. Just as well...we enoyed our visit, and brought her some smiles...

So it was a fine weekend at the college, which turned out like we planned.

Good friends and family --as good as it gets.

Tallahasee Lassie

We're off, in a few hours, to the great North of Florida. Wifey has to be at UF for D2's mother/daughter sorority weekend, and the Canes happen to be playing FSU, so I hit upon the idea of combining the two events.

My friend Mike is driving up later with his boy Chris, and Chris's friend, and Wifey and I plan to fetch my partner Paul and his boy, Alex. Paul and Alex want to visit their nephew and cousin Grant, who is a UF freshman (or will be in January --he'll be transfering in from the community college), and so a bunch of us all have reasons to visit Gainesville en route to FSU...

Tonight is men's night out on University Avenue. The Gators are off at South Carolina. I actually feel bad for them about that team, lead by Steve Spurrier, their prodigal son, who has made SC a better team than the Gators...

Saturday we'll make the 2 hour drive North, to, essentially South Georgia, and tailgate before our underdog Canes give it a go against the Noles...

I haven't been to Tally in 20 years. In 1991, my old boss Ed's pilot Tom owed me a favor for handling some traffic court cases for him, and he agreed to fly me, my brother in law Dennis, and friend Mike up to Tally to watch the Canes. We flew up on his Cessna 400, and watched what became a historic game, now known as "Wide Right I."

20 years gone by...D2 was still in utero, and D1 was an adorable toddler. My hair was brown, and my belly a bit less, um , prominent.

Wifey looks forward to some major bonding time with D2. She missed most of D1's sorority weekends because of a long time bad back, but Wifey's now back, and ready for travel!

Sunday, Paul and Alex are flying back, and so the rest of us will hopefully convene at the Flying Biscuit for a farewell breakfast. The whole wheat peach pancakes ought to be plenty to sustain us for the long drive home...

So, Go Canes! I already received a great email --D1 sent a photo of my granddog Mads wearing a UM cap.

And go, D2 --loving UF, but keeping her Canes fan cred. Just as well --the Gators are in for a long, dry spell with their Gomer Pyle-sounding new coach.

The road beckons...

Speedy Delivery, Speedy Delivery...

I used to love that Alka Seltzer cartoon --the little delivery boy zipping around, to show how fast Alka Seltzer works on your heartburn. Or, as my friend Jim used to say when the Canes were losing: "Christ --I need a bicarb!"

So last night, Wifey shared a small anecdote. She had a visit from an old college friend, whose sister lives not too far away. The sister doesn't work, and is an empty nester like we are.

The sister dropped off the friend, and Wifey invited her in. The sister is an old friend, too, who we've socialized with. She begged off the invite -seeming frazzled and in the middle of things, although it was around 6 pm.

I get a big kick out of folks who truly have little to do, and act as if they're working in a MASH unit. What causes this? Self importance? Denial of their sedentary natures?

Wifey and I met at Shula's. I got a ride from my office roommate Brian, as I was car-less yesterday. Wifey was a bit annoyed at the disrespect.

I guess the alternative is the sister really doesn's like Wifey or me. 3 years ago, we had her and her husband over, with other friends, and the talk turned to politics. I made the mistake of saying I didn't like Obama too much, and the talk got ugly...maybe she has lasting anger...

Whatever. Wifey and I both find more and more annoyance with people as we age. She's actually better at keeping up with friends from the past than I am. I just let folks go, unless I truly enjoy their company.

Tomorrow we're heading up North. D2's sorority is hosting mother'daughter weekend, and I'm using Gainesville as a base for a trip to Tally to watch the Canes play the Noles.

I'm driving up with Paul, Alex, and Wifey, and my friend Mike is taking his boy Chris and Chris's friend. We'll drop Wifey at the sorority house, and then have a men's night at a few UF area sports bars. Saturday we'll drive to Tally and tailgate.

I haven't been there since the amazing Wide Right I game. It doesn't seem that long ago, but it was...

It's nice to have time to spend with friends. And I may even need some Alka Seltzer on Saturday...

Sleepless in Miami

My California sister was here for 4 nights, and I decided to send her off in a decidely local way --a stone crab dinner.

So D1, her boyfriend, Wifey, my sister, and I headed over to Trulucks, where Monday night is all you can eat claws...and this year, they've switched to large ones (with a healthy price increase, of course).

We had a few cocktails, and then feasted. My sister Sue had a blast --she doesn't drink much, so the 2 Scotch and sodas sent her into the no worries land. We laughed and told stories --a magical evening.

Wifey, my sister, and I then headed home, knowing we had a 5 am alarm to leave the house in time to get Sue to Lauderdale airport for her FLL-DWF-FAT connection. I LOVE Fresno Air Terminal's abbreviation --who wouldn't?

I was deep in REM by 11, and then, 3 hours later, heard a distant ringing. At first, I thought there had been a power surge, which causes some rapid phone rings, which I've learned to ignore after nearly 11 years living in Villa Wifey.

But no --it was a regular phone ring.

I hate late night calls so much that I pay $5 per month for a service that only lets identifiable numbers to call my house. It has completely eliminated the occasional hang ups we used to get...

I answered. It was my ancient mother. She thought it was 2 pm, and was wondering why I hadn't arrived yet (she had been told I would stop by after dropping Sue at FLL).

Sue, sleeping downstairs in D2's room, heard the ring, too, and took over --trying to explain to Mom that it was the wee small hour of the morning...

Well, it did it for me. I was up most of the rest of the night.

I drove Sue to FLL, and we said our goodbyes. It had been a nice visit. Each time she comes to South Florida, we wonder if it's her goodbye to Mom, but Mom keeps on going and going --losing more of herself each week.

As I was driving out of the airport, Mom called --telling me she was now very tired, and not to come over. Ha. As if.

I drove to Delray, and learned that the delis don't open until 8 --I guess few people in the area work, and the oldsters aren't very early breakfast goers...

I waited at the Grammercy, and bought a few bagels and nova and took them to Mom's. Sure enough, she was fast asleep, so I checked her mail and made sure a brewing tragedy in her life (her care giver thought her parking spot was being "stolen" since the bumper painting project left Mom's space blank). No, assured President Irving Hershkowitz (his real name, of course), your mother's space is hers "forever."

Mom finally woke, and hungrily ate her bagel. I gently asked why she called me at 2 am, and she brushed it off. I then pointed to the outside, and tried to explain that she could call me when it was light out, and not when it was dark.

This was a reprise of Wifey's stern lessons to our Ds. Wifey, to whom sleep is more important than anything else, maybe even chocolate, trained the girls as toddlers that they were to stay in their own beds until it was "light out."

To this day, when I say goodnight to my Ds, it's "See you in the morning" and they respond "When it's YIGHT out!" in memory of their toddler speak.

Somehow, when explaining this to a nearly 92 year old, it's not nearly as cute.

So, Sue is back in the San Joaquin Valley, my oldest sister Trudy is home in Hypoluxc, and Mom is fading, fading, like the final scene in an old movie.

Reunited and it Feels So ...

I stopped going to school reunions after my high school's 20th. After having my ear bent by a classless guy who has won the NY State lottery, and boasted about he was as smart as I was since he was richer than I without putting in 7 years of higher education and countless hours of honing my professional craft, it hit me that there's a reason I don't keep in touch with many old classmates. Plus, it probably bothered me that the fellow, who I'll call Stu, since that's his name, was right to make me feel like a schmuck.

My 10 year high school reunion was fun. First, I had moved to Miami, and hadn't made it back much to NY (not at all to LI), and I was caught up with my classmates that we were truly, at 28 grown ups, with an actual 10 years under our belts to give us justification for true nostalgia. Plus, the next door neighbor girl, got drunk and literally humped my leg, telling that she had always wanted me and maybe tonight was the night, so that was great for some laughs and my newly married ego...

Anyway, so my law school's 25th reunion was coming up, and I had no plans to go, but my friend Norman convinced me to. I figured, what the hell -- it'll be a few drinks, it's close by, and at the very least will provide some great battle of the sexes schadenfreude. As men age, though they get bald, gray, and fat, if their wallets bulge more than they did as young guys, they're desirable to a growing pool of ladies. Ladies as they age, well, not so much...

I parked over at the law school, at Norman's wise suggestion, as the Homecoming Parade was blocking the streets in front of the Lowe Museum, and strolled through campus. There was a great buzz there, with Homecoming in full swing --the temporary Rathskellar was packed with students and alums, and decorations festooned (love that word) the trees...

I arrived early, as usual, and got in line at the bar. The bartender recognized me from other UM events, and poured me an extra tall Absolut. Mike arrived, and I got him a drink, too. Soon Norman made it in as well.

Out of our class of about 450, the total reunion attendance was about 15. 4 of them were women, and 2 of those, Stacy and Marcia, looked terrific. Marcia has become good Facebook (tm) friends with Wifey, and we talked about getting together with her cool, Uganda born, ethnic Arab husband, who I really liked. When we talked about his native country, and the fact that Wifey was born in Israel, he said the only good thing to happen in his native land was Operation Thunderbolt, when the Israeli commandos rescued hostages at Entebbe Airport. I really want to get to know this fellow better...

Stacy, who I took out on a few dates in college, was there with her new husband, a very handsome rich guy's son. Although I have little memory of this, apparently I wrote Stacy some bad poems in an attempt to woo her, since I was poor and Stacy was, even in 1981, going out with older guys with Porsches who lived on Grove Isle, and she still has them. She talked about this, as she did once before at another party 10 years ago attended by Wifey (still one of Wifey's least favorite evenings), and she did it again!

This led to a text message the next day from Norman, who said he thought he'd avoid the Canes game in favor of staying home to read poems about unrequited love...Among my manifold blessings, having friends with strong senses of humor is near the top of the list.

But back to the reunion...after my SECOND over filled Absolut, Norman, Mike and I headed over to Shula's in South Miami for the most delicious burgers in Florida --3 types of ground beef, with bleu cheese and carmelized onions --ah life was grand.

So it turned out to be a fine evening, after all. I learned nothing, except that the friends I see are terrific.

The reunion football game was yesterday, and I skipped it to host my California sister at the South Miami Art Festival...the Canes squeaked out a win over Duke, 49-14. They were able to do it without my Club Seat cheering.

Days of future passed...