Lord. What's a Cubit?

The above is the punchline from a classic Bill Cosby routine, in which he is Noah, and God is giving him instructions about building an ark...

I thought last night that we'd have to build one, too. It rained and rained and rained...

Wifey and I settled in for a marathon watch session of our newest favorite show, "Breaking Bad." Around 630, it started coming down pretty hard. At 930, we realized that the rain had never let up. It was like a tropical storm, except the latest cyclone was no longer in existence.

It turns out that a storm cell, which would typically have blown through, got trapped by a stalled cold front right over Southeast Miami Dade. In other words, right above our heads.

We walked into our garage, and there was a fast moving stream from the pool area, through the foundation, and out the front. There were also, hopping around, 2 bullfrogs the size of ham sandwiches...

Luckily, the garage is the only part of our house at ground level. The builder and prior owner was an architect, and he over built the place, so that the lowest living area is probably 8 feet above grade. If there has to be a flood, the garage is the place to have it.

I next went around to my pond, and saw it had breached its banks. The water was actually higher than it was during Hurrican Katrina, which is the highest since we've lived here. Wifey yelled to the fish and turtles to stay where they were...

Fortunately, the rains stopped about 10, and by 11 the water had all receded. You couldn't even tell, in our garage, that there had been a flood. The water all found its way to the drainage system that sits to the South of the house. All we had was a cleaner concrete floor...

I called my friend Jeff, whose house is cut out of the oolite, and sits pretty low. Sure ennough, he had about 2 inches covering his whole first floor, but all the floors are stone, so he wasn't too concerned.

We were more anxious about our friends across the street, Pat and Susan, who have a rarity in Miami --a basement. They have a sump pump that keeps it dry, but sure enough Pat texted this am to tell me the basement was flooded, and a crew was coming out to pump out and dry the area.

Wifey thinks we should call a contractor, and see about waterproofing the foundation and wall of the garage. I don't think so. If we get a wet 1/4 garage every 10 years or so, I figure its simply our sacrificial offering to the rain gods...

Jeff's take is his usual funny one: time to move to a condo at, at minimum, the 3rd floor...

So into each garage some floodwaters must occasionally come. The bullfrogs are gone --I guess they figured it wiser to leave than be tortured by our 2 permanent and one visiting dog.

The pond is now barely lower -- and so far, no fish are flopping at the sides.

It's too cloudy for a rainbow, but that will come, I'm sure.

When Something is Wrong With My Baby...

My longtime law parter and dear friend Paul and I have a lot in common. Our law firm, in its current state (Florida) turns 17 in 2 weeks. But both of us identify first as fathers...

Paul's daughter went through a rough time, and for years, whenever her name appeared on his cell phone, he'd stiffen, expecting to have to deal with some situation. Thankfully, his daughter is now doing great --married to a central casting husband, excelling at her teaching job, and now, the new mother of a delightful baby daughter.

When his daughter calls or texts these days, Paul brightens --knowing the news is likely about some milestone in his granddaughter's life...

D1 went off to college newly diagnosed with a chronic illness, and I likewise had a longtime cell phobia. She did very well, but I was always concerned when I'd see HER name --was she sick, or anxious, or sad?

And then, 3 years ago, I got the worst of the dreaded calls...this time from her passenger, on the Turnpike, to tell me there had been a serious car wreck. Thankfully, it was only a ruined Volvo, a chipped vertebra, and broken hand...

I realize that my mood improves instantly when I get good news about my Ds. I just got a text message about D1's new job -- she's the pretty young girl in the slinky black dress who greets customers at stores with "Would you care to try this new brandy?"

She had her first "gig" last night, and her response to my text quiery about how it went was "excellent" with 3 exclamation points...It warmed me.

D2 is much more like me. She keeps the negative and suffering inside, usually...An exception was last Fall, when she was homesick (probably more boyfriend-sick) her freshman year at UF. She sounded SO sad and low, that I flew up to visit her, to make sure we weren't headed for, God forbid, any more Tom Petty -like "American Girl" tragedies. (Although, according to my research, the claim that the song was about a coed who jumped off of Beatty Towers on the UF campus is just a myth).

Well, thankfully, D2 is doing great, too --enjoying her college years, as she said, more than anyone she knows.

In fact, she called from Jacksonville yesterday, to share some hilarious tales of walking through the World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party and encountering some less than gallant Georgia sorority boys.

So, as usual, the lyrics of classic rhythm and blues songs ring true: "When something is wrong with my baby...something is wrong with me."

Fortunately, the converse is axiomatic for me, as well: when my Ds soar, my heart is light, and I'm happy.

Jackson Down

So Wifey and I and friends Rob and Monica had a fine dinner at Titanic, near the UM campus, and then headed over to the Gusman Theatre to see Jackson Browne.

Jackson is a friend of UM alum Bruce Hornsby, who hosts a music festival each Fall, and he did the show as a benefit to Hornsby's endowed music writing program. At the threatre, folks held signs begging for tickets -- the 600 person venue was small for even a fading star like Browne, and there was a nice buzz outside.

I ran into at least 20 folks I knew, all of whom are now empty nesters. One group included D1's former roommate's parents, who thanked me for finding out about the show by my FaceBook (tm) post. Amy and Marty were standing with 2 other couples. Wifey was in the bathroom, and they asked after her.

"Oh, you didn't hear about me and Wifey?" I asked, serious faced. Just then Wifey came over. The middle aged women scowled at me -- I guess that jokes about mid life crisis husbands bolting aren't too funny to them. Oh well...

We took our seats, which were in the front row, only by chance. Several of our acquaintances passed by, on their way to higher rows, and I told them that being a Cane alum was what did it...I think they believed me.

Anyway, on came Jackson...I've read that the reason kids don't like spicy foods is that their taste buds are too sensitive and active. Only as we age, and lose this, do we enjoy spiciness.

It occurred to me that the same is true of musical tastes, at least for me. I was BORED. Jackson is a great lyricist, but has, to me a whiny voice, and plays everything down tempo...YAWN.

I guess I need an entertainer, these days, like Springsteen, or Bono, or even rappers who dance around and show passion for what they do.

Jackson NEVER smiled --he just looked VERY serious, as he commented on the songs, and his guitars, and the fact that he wasn't as good of a musician as Bruce Hornsby. He was right about that. The one not so boring part of the show, for me, was when Hornsby played his mandolin, and sang along...

Wifey has exactly the opposite opinion. She was, in her own words, "mesmerized." Of course she was! She, like every other suburban, middle class, thoughtful girl, spent countless hours in her room in the 70s, listening to Jackson Browne songs, and even weeping over his lyrics, which spoke so honestly about losing love, and how lovers change, and missing out on love leaves one "late for the sky..."

Rob's girlfriend Monica felt the same. She joined Wifey in standing ovations for several of the songs, especially when he played "The Pretender."

For me, as I left the theatre, felt like Butthead, who is returning to MTV apparently, with his sidekick Beavis. "Chick music!" is all I could think of...

But, it was worth it, for how much Wifey enjoyed the evening. And, as the Cane I am, I was happy to see the Music School raise probably $300k by Jackson Browne's charitable act.

But, alas, yet another form of music I enjoyed is now past me. I knew I was getting old about 10 years ago, when I came to the realization that over produced groups I really enjoyed, like Yes and Emerson, Lake, and Palmer, was a bunch of crap...

Is this the time for me to stick to singers and standards, and jazz, and maybe just classic, rock a billy?

On my way home from Delray the other day, I was listening to Judy Garland sing "You'll Never Walk Alone," and the power and sadness in her voice brought me some tears...

Sorry, Mr. Jackson Down, as we used to call him even in the 70s, to make fun of my friend Debbie's devotion to him -- you don't blow my skirt up.

Sinking, Sinking...

Yesterday was my bi weekly visit to ancient Mom. I got to her condo, and, despite our frequent entreaties to her to leave her door unlocked, found it tight. I had my key, and let myself in.

We have a running sick joke in our family. Whenever several of us arrive at the condo, we shout "Not it!" so that someone else has to be the first to enter, and possibly find a deceased occupant...

That wasn't the case yesterday. I went in, and her tiny, frail frame was sitting at her dining room table, reading. I walked right up to her, and placed a book Wifey had sent in front of her. She startled a bit, and then laughed...

I sat before her to put on her shoes. She said "Very nice --a son has to put shoes on a mother." I reminded her that she shoed me at the beginning of my life, and now it was my turn.

She attempted to get out of the chair, and really couldn't. I gave her a gentle tug on the back of her pants, and she made it. I asked her how she got up in the absence of an aide, and she said she did just fine...

We went to the local deli, a true God's Waiting Room. Walkers, canes, and wheelchairs clogged the aisles. One Boca mom came in pushing a stroller, with a sleeping baby. She was clearly an older, new mom, probably in her 40s, with plastic surgery and dripping jewelry. She sat at the table next to us, and carried on a loud cell phone conversation in a nasal, New York accent.

The food is great at the Gramercy Deli, but the atmosphere sucks...

Mom and I spoke, sort of. She told tales of my California sister, until I realized she was talking about her OWN sister Florence, the only other survivor of 5 siblings...

I told her about my cruise, and my friend Eric, who is her cardiologist, and like a second son to her, and she asked me if he was still getting disability payments after leaving law. She thought I was talking about my friend Jeff...

We drove back to her condo, and sat for awhile in her Florida room. She was happy. I again broached the subject of getting her more help. She dismissed the idea outright.

I left for home, sad as always.

At dinner with Wifey, she again brought up the usual discussion about how we need to get my mother a cap-tel phone, or maybe ask Eric to order some more physical therapy for her. Wifey's right, of course, but it's not going to happen. The continual downward spiral will happen, is all.

The Best Season

Finally, some of the oppressive heat has gone, and we are in the first of the 2 best seasons in Miami. The second is winter to early Spring.

Assuming we get past this final hurricane, Rina, causing mischief in the Yucatan area, we'll be all clear, weatherwise.

D1 came by my office yesterday, to tell me she got a new part time job, offering samples of some new high end brandy at stores and hotels and restaurants. It pays $25 per hour, and gets her away from the extremely high end restaurant where she was a hostess --a job that, due to dictatorial managers and absurdly spoiled clientele, had grown stale for her.

D2 is in her sophomore year's high season. She's headed to Jacksonville this weekend with some friends for the annual Florida-Georgia game. They're not going to the actual game, but want to be part of what's called the world's biggest cocktail party. I'll be a happy Dad when I know she's safely back at UF Sunday night...

D1 then heads up to visit her sister for the UF homecoming called Gator Growl, which has become the best event of its kind in the US. The following weekend, Wifey and I and some friends head to Gainesville. We'll drop off Wifey for D2's mother/daughter sorority weekend, and then drive to FSU to watch the Canes play our old rivals.

Ah, Fall...

Thanksgiving is right around the corner...For the 4th straight year, we're heading to brunch at a local hotel. My sister hosted the family for many years, but these days visits her daughter and grandkids in Tampa, so we've become hotel brunch fans.

D1's boyfriend's family is coming in from Indiana, so we'll have a large group feasting and celebrating --should be 9 or 10 of us, I think...

My friend Steve the crazy cop was officially divorced yesterday. He came by my office for some moral support, and lunch. We chatted at a table with my friend Joel the crazy lawyer --the two of them get a huge kick out of each other.

We made plans to all attend this Thursday's Canes game together --and we're going in style --Steve is chauffering us in his patrol car. Talk about a magical, mystery tour --ah, when grown men have the toys they wished they had when they were teens...

So I'm about to go wake Wifey, and take a walk through the 'hood, before I leave for Ancient Mom's house and my bi-weekly visit. She's been confusing the days of the week lately. Ah, the lovliness of human decay...

Still, the cooler weather perks us all up. Maybe I'll take Mom to the shore, and push her in a wheelchair so we can talk to our long gone Dad/ husband.

Seasons change.

Back On Land

So Wifey and I drove to Lauderdale, and got there too early to board the Allure of the Seas...so I pulled into Lester's Diner, for a pre cruise stomach stretching...We ate huge sandwiches and shared blueberry pie...NOW we were ready!

We met Eric and Dana and Marc and Edna. Our travel agent Marge had sent us some fine champagne, to thank us for our business, and we made short work of the bottle. The eating and drinking orgy began, in earnest.

The ship is a true wonder. It's ENORMOUS. It has an entire "central park" on a deck, mall, theatres, skating rinks, zip lines, diamond mine, and 5 olympic sized pools. Not really, but it just might have.

One way they fit so much on the ship is by taking room from the staterooms, at least ours. Wifey and I literally bumped into each other constantly, and the shower was the size of a tube out of the Star Trek transporter room. When I dropped the soap (ha!), I had to get out of the tube to pick it up...

Still, the 6 of us laughed, and ate, and drank. The shows were top quality, especially this water show with divers and gymnasts --like Circ de Soleil, only less homoerotic.

In Nassau, Eric and Dana and I went to Graycliff, an amazing colonial building where Wifey and the Ds and I have enjoyed 2 of our most memorable dinners. A nice young fellow named McCartney (his real first name, I guess his folks were Beatles fans) gave us a tour, and there's a cigar factory right on premises, which I never knew about! We walked back to the ship in the Bahamian heat.

Tuesday night, after some steaks in one of the "specialty restaurants", which mean you have to pay extra to eat there, Eric said that we had some free martinis waiting in the Schooner Bar, since the ship messed up our first night dinner reservations.

The 6 of us went up, and there was a wedding chapel next door. We walked in to see it, and I was ambushed by marital love! Wifey had planned a 25th anniversary renewal ceremony.

The lovely English director read vows Wifey had written, and she smuggled her wedding veil aboard. A nice, large black lady wandered in, to check out the chapel, and started to leave...I told her to stay, and she did, and ended up crying in the aisle, just like at a real wedding!

Afterwards we toasted with more champagne, and took photos. Then we made it to the Schooner Bar, where the reggae band played our song: "You Send Me." It was most romantic.

And, best for Wifey, her dear friend Edna got to attend. When we married 25 years ago this coming January, Edna was 8 months pregnant, and couldn't travel from Atlanta. This time she took her rightful place as matron of honor...

The excursions were nice: sailing in St. Thomas to a reef, where Eric, Marc, Dana, and I snorkeled with turtles, and fish that were of impossible colors. I'd seen plenty of reef fish before, but some of these looked like a preschooler was given a crayon and told to come up with the most outrageous schemes they could...

The next day we went to St. Maarten, and rode segways on the boardwalk. One of the couples who took the trip was a woman who complained to her nebbish husband the whole time...it was wonderful comic relief...

After St. Maarten, we sailed for 2 days, and there was more eating and drinking and laughter...and we got to watch the Canes beat Ga Tech in the ship's sports bar. A fitting final night!


I made it home in time to watch the Dolphins lose again, and the winning QB Tim Tebow thank Jesus. Oy.

This week, we have Jackson Brown at UM, Canes game Thursday night, and my 25th law school reunion Friday...

Good to be back on land, and in a house where I can freely bend over in the shower...

Ahoy!

The duffels are packed, and in a few hours Wifey will awaken, and we will drive to Port Everglades for a sea cruise. Finally, I'm starting to look forward to it.

Have I become that jaded? Up until now, I hadn't given this trip too much thought. I only packed last night, while I watched the Gators lose ANOTHER SEC game. They'll probably lose all of them this year...

I thought the reason for my malaise is that I'm not working too hard, and don't really "need" a vacation, as in years past. But Eric, who DOES need one, from dealing with the single most obnoxious patient population known to medical science (angry, bitter, old Boca Jews, with money) feels the same way. I spoke to him the other day, and he hadn't given the trip too much thought, either.

I'm sure this is nothing a few martinis deckside, as the horizon stretches out for miles before us, won't change...

Melville's Ishmael said that when he got depressed, and bored, it was time to go to sea. I guess I have the opposite problem; I'm fully content here in Miami.

I live in a tropical garden, with interesting and quirky neighbors. They run the gamut from rich to REALLY rich.

The Ds are on terrific tracks, and we all savor each other's company. D1 just booked Thanksgiving dinner at our favorite hotel, and this year we'll share that with her boyfriend and his family, coming in from Indiana.

D2 is loving college at UF.

Wifey and I approach our 25th anniversary, and incidences of my picking up a machete and threatening to use it are on the decline.

She has never cooked, which means there is little opportunity for her to poison my food --though I have no doubt my incresing crankiness, and OCD behavior, gives her those fantasies from time to time...

So there's little need to get away, I guess...

Still, the sea beckons. I have finally fired up the Kindle the Ds bought me for Dad's Day, and plan to give it a thorough sea trial over the next week...

Snorkeling and Segways await in the Virgin Islands, as well as a tour of the oldest synagogue in the Western Hemisphere, assuming our new friend's brother, who is a rabbi there, is in town.

Eric and Marc will have their telephoto lenses polished and ready to extend off the balconies. Last cruise we took, each of their "lens envy" was a running joke that never grew stale, at least to my junior high level sensibilities...

So ahoy, Allure of the Seas! Swab the decks, hoist the main engines, grill the steaks, and chill the vodka. We'll be coming aboard in a short fathom or two...

Lawyers in Love

So last night, for the second time in as many weeks, I attended a lawyer function. Last week it was a fundraiser for a judge I know, and last night it was a silent auction at the Dade Courthouse, to raise funds for the law library.

With everything online these days, law libraries are dinosaurs, but judges and lawyers have a soft spot for them. And, for litigants without lawyers (and, I guess, computer illiterate) they're a resource. Whatever. The Cuban Lawyers group hosted, and so many of the local power lawyers who aren't cuban decided to show up. My friend Mike had some extra tickets (they were $75, and would otherwise go to waste) so I agreed to tag along.

Every time I'm in a gathering of lawyers, I'm reminded of why non lawyers despise them. So many are self important and arrogant, particularly the partners with the big firms...

One fellow in particular was there. I'll call him Alan, since that's his name. He is a former big shot with the Florida Bar, and current big shot with a big firm. He rose to prominence because he married into money, and his wife's family sent a TON of business to him. He's not particularly bright, but speaks in a falsely clipped manner, as if he taught at Oxford. He is a horse's ass...

I ran into a divorce lawyer I know, who was buying raffle tickets. I told her that first prize was dinner with Alan, and second prize was TWO dinners with Alan. She didn't laugh --her husband works with him, and the divorce lawyer is precisely the type of social climber who gravitates to a guy like Alan..."I like him," she said..."Don't make fun of him."

So, I walked around with my friend Mike, and we ran into a classmate of ours from UM, who is on the 25th reunion committee. He told me he'd heard I wasn't practicing full time, and asked if my health was ok. "Look at me!" I said, pointing to my belly. "What do you think?" He laughed, and told me he wished he figured out to handle plaintiff instead of defense, about 15 years earlier. We all agreed that we'd have a fun time at the reunion, and we'd go without wives. Wait a minute. Dave is married to one of our classmates. We decided to make an exception...

I bid on some items, but was easily outbid. One thing was a dog gift basket, for our grand dog Madeleine. 3 young women lawyers were eyeing me suspiciously, and I think they placed higher bids after I left...

Mike and I drank our second glass of wine, and left. We decided to walk back to his office, 1/2 mile down Flagler Street. It was still about 85 degrees, and we sweat profusely.

I told him that, for the reunion, we should each hire stunning prostitutes and take them as our dates. We'd say nothing about who the escorts were --just wait for the fallout over the ensuing days. Mike said he'd think about it, but I know he'll chicken out, as I would, too...Somehow I think Wifey's sense of humor might stop short of the idea for that practical joke...

So, for the time being, I'll keep my socializing to the relatively few lawyers who care close friends. It's funny --all of them treat being lawyers as merely jobs --not identities like some of the big shots who attended the event last night.

I guess that as I age, I just have less patience for arrogance and self importance...especially from those who have major personality defects...

A Clean Well Lighted Place

This was Hemingway's name for a bar in Latin America, and also his metaphor for the need to find one's oasis from the tumult of the world. I was at one of mine last night --Trulucks.

They're going to celebrate their one year anniversary soon. The manager, Ilde, came over and joked about putting up my name on a plaque by the side of the bar. I told him one should only get such an honor after ordering his 10,000th martini, and I had quite a way to go. But, I reminded Ilde --I never shy away from a challenge.

I took Mirta in for a spell, and we caught up on all the chisme (Spanish for gossip). I told her a tale about a friend's divorce, with developments right out of "The Sopranos." We caught up about her sons and grandkids, and the Ds and Wifey.

The bartenders Ian and George greeted her like a sister. George handed her a recipe card someone had left behind, for Ropa Vieja --literally old rope --a Cuban dish that is delicious when cooked well...

I had one drink, and Mirta her usual --a pomegranate martini, and we shared some cheeseburger sliders.

It really is nice to go where everybody knows your name...and with $7 per cocktail prices, I can be Mr. Big Shot each visit without dipping too deep into the old 401K...

We left after about an hour, and I saw my old friend the piano player. I gave Mirta a tip to put in his jar, and he thanked us.

Folks ask me all the time why I don't travel more. The answer is I love it here. Give me a drink, good conversation, and some good music, and I'm as happy as I can be...

Still, we leave Sunday for a one week trip. For the last 3 years, we've taken a Fall trip with Eric and Dana. The first was North Carolina, and last year we toured Maine. This year we decided to go lazy, and booked a cruise on one of the new mega ships, the Something or Other of the Seas...I never remember.

Anyway, Wifey invited her best friend Edna, and her husband Marc, and we 6 will be off this SUnday...

More drinking, more good conversation, and a lot more food. We're going to Nassau, St. Thomas, and another St...We'll show our friends Graycliff in Nassau, one of the restaurants of my family lore... In St. Thomas we plan to visit with our new friend's brother, who is a rabbi there, and maybe see the very old synagogue, built in Columbus's time...

I look forward to laughter, of course. Ahoy.

And then I'll return to Trulucks, of course, and tell my tales to George and Ian. It's nice to have a clean, well lighted place...

R.I.P. Uncle Alter

Wifey's Uncle Alter Juskeviecz died last night, at 88, in Borough Park, Brooklyn. He was my mother in law's only surviving sibling.

I knew about Uncle Alter before I met him. When my wedding was being planned (I use the passive voice on purpose, as I was merely a guest), my mother in law insisted the food be kosher. None of our family and friends are religious, but Alter and HIS family were, so the whole focus of the 170 person party was limited to those halls that had kosher catering in Miami in 1987. Basically, our choices were hotels on Miami Beach or the Hyatt Downtown. We chose the Hyatt.

I was sort of annoyed at this, but then I met Uncle Alter and his wife Tzipi. They were such warm, sweet, and humble people, that I soon gave up my reluctance...Alter made the blessings over the bread, and the wedding was just fine...

Alter and my mother in law made in through the most awful of human cruelty --the Shoah. They lost the rest of their siblings, parents, grandparents, etc... Alter stayed in Israel after the war, and met his Hungarian born wife, who was a very talented artist. Alter was a skilled carpenter. When they decided to emigrate to the US, he paid an Arab shipping agent at Lod Airport (now Ben Gurion) to pack his tools for him. When he arrived at Idlewild (now JFK), he opened a box of rocks. It taught Alter a lesson about being too trusting...

He and his wife and 3 sons started a new life in Brooklyn. They were religious. The eldest son became a mashgiach, a rabbi who supervises in the slaughter of chickens for kosher use. Their middle boy worked (and still works, 30 years later) at Maimonides Hospital, and the youngest owns a kosher candy store and catering business...

Aunt Tzipi died young, and Uncle Alter stayed in his building in Brooklyn. He owns a full city block. He and his son live in 2 of the units, and their are 6 more. The ground floor has several bustling businesses. I'm no real estate maven (expert), but the building must be worth millions.

You wouldn't know it to look at Alter. I think the man owned 3 pairs of slacks, and maybe 5 shirts. Each day, he'd walk to the market, and to shul to pray. That, and visiting his sons and grandkids and great grandkids was his life.

Several years ago, my mother in law called her brother and told him to give gifts to the Ds. A few weeks later, each D got a check for $5000. Wifey and I called Alter, and said that while we appreciated his generosity, we couldn't accept such a gift. The Ds had never met him, for one thing. He wouldn't hear of returning the money. The Ds were his beloved sister's only grandchildren, and it was his pleasure.

I took the $10K and went to Vegas and blew it on prostitutes and cocaine. Ha. Of course not. We deposited the money into the Ds' accounts, and they wrote lovely notes.

Years later, one of Alter's grandsons called us. He was out of work, had 2 girls to support, and didn't wish to burden his wealthy grandfather any more...We sent him some money, to pay his rent for a few months...He was extremely grateful. I told him we were merely extending his grandfather's generosity. Sometimes mitzvot really do get paid forward...Happily, the grandson found a new job, and is again doing fine. I spoke with him about Alter today...

I only met Alter 2 times, and yet was moved by him. He was gentle, sweet, humble, and generous. He leaves behind children and grandchildren and great grandchildren who truly mourn his loss.

I "spoke" to my mother in law earlier, on her captioned phone. She cried, of course. She's now the sole survivor of the Nazi horrors visited on the Polish -Jewish family. Although Alter was her senior, my mother in law always treated him as a baby brother.

Rest in peace, Alter. Yours was a life well lived. You will be missed. You will be remembered.

Kol Nidre

Tonight is the start of the holiest day of the year for the Red Sea Pedestrians, and I'm finally going to services...

I was raised with zero religion, simply a "bagel Jew" as my sister calls it. In college, I came under the spell of Eric and Barry, and I would attend services with them. I always found myself looking at the coeds at Hillel, or, when I went to the very wealthy Beth Am with Eric's family, wondering how folks had so much money that they dripped with jewelry attending a synagogue.

During the early years with Wifey, neither of us attended services --I even went to work on Rosh Hashohah and Yom Kippur. That stopped after I spoke to Ronnie, an Ecuadorean Jewish friend, who pointed out to me that doing so was downright disrespectful to my own peeps. He was right. Anti semites do enough disrespecting of Jews without my helping them along by putting a finger in the eye of those who celebrate the holidays...

Then we became friends with Rabbi Yossi, and Nechama, and had a rebirth of our religion, sort of. We put the Ds into Hebrew School, and attended services. Still, try as I might, I sat there, listening to the chants and prayers, and not feeling anything.

Rabbi Yossi said it was ok, to go thorough the motions, and my heart would follow, like learning to walk again. Never happened.

Except for Kol Nidre. There's something about the service that grabs me. Lewis Black says the music is the creepiest ever written --the basis for every Hitchcock movie. The chant starts out softly, "like a subject meekly seeking an audience with the King," and then builds.

The service itself is a renunciation of all vows one makes to himself, for the coming year. In other words, it recognizes out own failures --knowing they're going to come despite our best and most noble efforts. By coming clean with ourselves, we can try to then go about repenting, to the Big Guy upstairs, and to our fellow men.

Tradition holds that we should bless our children today. I just did that to the Ds, via email. We should also apologize to all those we have hurt and offended. I'll do that in a minute on FaceBook (tm).

D1 emailed last night that she worked at the restaurant, in order to take tonight off. She won't go to services either, but shares my sense that this highest of holidays must in some way be observed. I imagine D2 will do the same, though she told me her boyfriend and his traditionally Jewish fraternity is taking a bus trip to LSU to watch the Gator game. Ha. The Lord shall punish them by having the more gentile LSU smite the apostatic Gators...and all will be right with the world...

So I'll head to Kol Nidre tonight, and then fast tomorrow. My friend Steve the crazy cop just got divorced, and he invited me over tomorrow to watch the Canes game. He's Jewish, too, but completely forgot about Yom Kippur. I told him to order pizza in the 3rd quarter, so it would get there just after sunset. Ah, what a way to break a fast --pizza and beer and college football...

So another Jewish year is upon us. May it be healthy and sweet to all...

Still Sittin' On the Dock of the Bay

Today is Wednesday, and I have a pro bono case to attend to. I'm heading over to the U to prepare a witness for a deposition --she's the long time assistant to my old, dear friend Professor Steve.

The case involves a set of facts that could be an episode of "House." The parents of a young boy with an absolutely horrendous form of epilepsy, in which the child essentially had non stop seizures, came to a local children's hospital to consult one of the nation's top experts on epilepsy. He told them there was nothing to be done. The family met with a Bioethics Committee (where my friend and his assistant were members) and they all agreed to "AND." This stands for "Allow Natural Death," which I guess sounds better than the usual "DNR" or "Do Not Recussitate."

Anyway, a series of darkly comedic and tragic moments later, the hospital reversed their decision, and told the parents they couldn't allow their son to pass, and if they tried to do what was previously agreed to before, the hospital would call the police.

The parents left, checked into a nearby hotel, and let the suffering child pass. Now --this being America --they just went quietly home to grieve and get on with their lives. Ha! As if! They sued the hospital and doctor for inflicting stress on them.

As I just emailed my friend Dr. Barry, I really despise the very system that has allowed me to semi retire at 50...

Which brings me back to the purpose of this post. I need a new job.

I started thinking about a perfect job for me. It hit me. I want to win Lotto, set up a charitable foundation, and spend my time giving money to worthy causes.

I'd vet the programs, which would lean heavily towards children's health issues, and education, and decide who got what. Of course, I'd enjoy meeting the program directors, and coordinators, but I'd avoid the formal balls. Rather, I'd enjoy breakfast and lunch meetings with the recipients, and also meetings with the financial advisors, whose job it would be to grow the endowment.

My friend and broker Pat used to manage the endowment for a large, Catholic hospital foundation. The church sold the hospital to a private company. I'd love to get Pat involved again in managing a charitable foundation's money. He and I enjoy a cocktail or two or three together, and we'd have a grand time doing this while attending to the business of charity...

So, I'm taking the first steps towards my goal. I'm buying Lotto tickets each week...

Until then, I'll keep playing around in the law business, I guess. Tomorrow my partner and I have a meeting with a west coast (of Florida) attorney and his son, to discuss some new cases we might bring into our operation.

"Our operation" just got a new wrongful death case last week. A commercial truck collided with a car a mother was driving, and her teenaged son, a passenger, was killed.

More misery. More profit. I really need a new gig, and soon...

Young Peoples' Game

As the Ds' favorite "Avenue Q" song goes: "Everyone's a little bit racist - sometimes." I try not to be, like all thoughtful adults, and try ro avoid all of the "ists."

I'm probably less homophobic than most people. I've always taken a realistic approach to gays, especially men --less competition for me! And I truly always root for the underdog. Hey --I even have friends who are Republicans, to show my tolerance for the distasteful among us...

But lately I've had a major problem with ageism. I really, really, have a problem with the old.

If I do some pop psychological self analysis, I realize of course, it stems from my mother and in laws. As I watch them decline and be a burden to themselves and others, I fear ending up that way. I ADORE my Ds, and the thought of needing them to care for me, instead of my caring for them, is simply unacceptable, or "not KEPtable," as D2 used to say.

When I drive to my ancient mother's condo, and surrounding town of West Delray, all I see is a bunch of grumpy, demanding ancients, who consume so much of our resources, and produce little if anything of value.

Some see sweet, old grandparents. I see adult children, somewhere, worried and concerned about caring for these people.

And then Thursday night, at Rosh Hashanah dinner, I had another epiphany: even I am of decreasing value to the world! We sat with a group of wildy succesful 20 something enterpreneurs. I listened carefully.

Their skill sets and thinking amazed me. They were making fun of guys like Bill Gates and Jeff Bezos!

I though about my quaint little law practice, with our red scheduling book, and paper files...I invisioned cavemen chipping away at rock...

I've always been an old soul, I guess. Although I'm 50, I grew up with much older parents and siblings. Both of my sisters get Social Security, and my mother is nearing 92!

While the young masters of the universe were talking about their business, they were rocking and coddling 2 babies -- 2 and 6 months. Having children is ALSO a young person's game, in my opinion.

I have friends who started late in the game, and I truly don't see how they do it. My friend Stuart is going to teacher meetings for his 6 and 8 year olds now. A divorce lawyer I know who is in her mid 50s has a pair of first graders! They have nannies, of course, but still --the thought of running after kids now is daunting to me.

I've been blessed to do more than what I had hoped in my 50 years. In many ways, I've been there, done that, and bought the T shirt. In fact, my Ds and Wifey love to point out that my average T shirt is more than 10 years old...

I will gladly accept the blessing of many more years, of course. But thoughts of changing the world?

I think that's best for the young...