The End of '12

So, back from NYC, and I spent yesterday going to the King Mango Strut in the Grove. It's a fun event -- started 30 years ago when the stuffy, corporate Orange Bowl parade wouldn't let the hippies from the Grove have a float down Biscayne Boulevard. So they started their own parade, making fun of everyone and everything from the past year. And, to show poetic justice sometimes IS handed down -- the stuffy Orange Bowl Parade is no more -- while the Mango struts on. I went with my dear old friend Vince. We had a few drinks, and laughed at the floats. He and I used to hang out quite often in the Grove -- over 30 years ago! We both still love it there, and talked about maybe one day living in one of the buildings, and meeting for coffee on Main Highway. I told him I had, just the night before, watched a public tv documentary about Miami music, and there was a large part about the Grove in the 60s, when John Sebastian, Jerry Jeff Walker, and Fred Neil lived bike rides from each other. There's a lot of commercialization since then, but I still get a great feeling in the Grove -- especially on sunsplashed, cool winter days like yesterday. We capped off our drinking with a stop at Whip N Dip, and then Vince left for dinner with his daughter, and I met Dr. Barry and his family at Tropical Chinese. It was Scott's 16th birthday, and we celebrated with szechuan... From there I went to MIA to fetch Wifey, returning from Atlanta. We got home and hung with D2, in the midst of cramming in winter break partying. Then our houseguests Sheryl and Mark came over, around 9:30, and shared tales of their Keys and Miami Beach stays --including an awkward meeting on the Beach with the actor Hank Azaria, who apparently fancies himself a bigger star than he is... Today I had the final workout of '12. I weighed myself, and announced the modest goal of a 50 pound weight loss by Spring. Ah, to be a svelte 200 again... I completely relate to Homer Simpson -- oh food -- why must you be so delicious? But I will follow my budding dietician daughter D1's advice -- just eat human sized portions -- not gorilla sized... Speaking of which -- tonight we will join Sheryl and Mark and 15 others at Captain's Tavern -- the restaurant with the same decor as when it opened --in the late 50s. From there the group is retiring to someone's house, but Wifey and I may head to Dr. Dave and Maureen's to try to stay awake until midnight... D2 will be at a local 21st birthday party/New Year's bash, and D1 is in freezing Indiana with her boyfriend's family. She's due to arrive January 3rd -- Wifey and my 26th anniversary. Our anniversary always ends the holiday season for us --starting with Thanksgiving, D1's birthday, Chanukah, Wifey's birthday (which she shares with a carpenter from Bethleham), and New Year's Eve. So adios, 2012. Like all years you brought ups and downs -- as if one worked in the elevator business. Here's to change, adventure, and hopefully, mostly, tons of laughter in the coming year.

Different Strokes

So as D2 and I returned last night, we met a sorority sister, and later, as a local sushi place, some old friends dining with another couple. The sister and couple vehemently disagreed when we said we didn't see how folks wanted to live in NYC climes -- it was the best place on earth, they said. The couple, who I thought was named Cohen but had another classic Jewish name (D2 and I laughed at my confusion of what one friend once dubbed "Deja Jew") said they were from there and missed the "seasons." Good for them: I wish them many happy steps off curbs into slushy, filthy water. I guess there truly are 2 weather camps: those who like it tropical and those who don't. D2 and I and Wifey and D1 are firmly in the tropical camp...though as Wifey has passed a certain age (she hates it when I say "post menopausal" or "barren") she has less tolerance for Miami summers, and craves cooler weather. All I know is, early this am I let the dogs out, and fetched the paper in warm, humid air, and it felt great. My ears didn't hurt, as they did walking down 5th Avenue yesterday. Also this am, I ran into my neighbor Doc Goddard -- the oldest practicing dermatologist in Florida. He's such a fine, courtly man --with mutton chop sideburns and a way about him that suggests a turn of the century gentleman. He's a native New Yorker like I am -- we compared notes about closed delis and Katz's -- still open and his favorite -- and then he winced when talking about the weather. Like me -- he thinks it's for the birds. Plus, I figure, all the sun in Miami has been good for his business... So I reaffirmed I truly have sand in my shoes -- and I'm staying put. Hopefully the Ds will, too, and we can, if we're so lucky, share in grandkids living very close. And next trip to NY will, I've decided, be in the Fall or Spring. Those are the liveable times there...

Greetings from NYC

Ah -- a remote post -- from the Admiral's Club at LGA. I'm looking out over the runway and beyond, across the river to the NYC skyline, on a gorgeous late December afternoon. It's cold outside, but with the blue skies and bright sunshine -- it's lovely to be here. For a few days. D2 and I flew up Christmas Day and learned something: one should ALWAYS travel on Christmas Day. MIA was great -- no massive crowds -- and though our flight was filled, there was a laid back aspect to the trip. We checked in to our Midtown Hotel, and started walking around. We probably logged 50 miles over 3 days -- layered up againt the cold. Christmas night we met Becky, the Ds good friend from Gainesville, who now lives here working event planning. We went to a delicious Szechuan restaurant for the traditional Jewish Christmas meal. The food was terrific. Afterwards, we walked Becky to her apartment on 34th street, and she showed us the converted one bedroom. She las a lovely view of the Chrysler Building -- and pays 3 times what the place would cost in Miami. Fortunately, neither of my Ds gets the living in NYC thing... The following day we had a lovely reunion with my old friends Mark and Rita and their boy Joe. They took the train in from LI, and we saw the Rockefeller Center tree, and had a great lunch while boring the kids with tales of our Long Island childhoods. D2 and Joe were good sports, and actually enjoyed the stories. That night, D2 and I saw "Book of Mormon" -- for me the second time. D2 thoroughly enjoyed it -- and we topped off the experience with a late dinner at Sardis. And then, despite the weather -- we walked home. Big mistake. The freezing rain fell , and soaked and froze us. It took D2 a full hour to regain feeling in her legs. But it confirmed that we really are warm weather folks. The heat in the Miami summer is uncomfortable; NYC winters are painful. Yesterday we walked north, towards the Natural History museum, but stopped a block short and entered the NYC History museum. They had a great exhibition about the City during WW II -- my parents' heyday. We enjoyed and learned. In the evening we went to the Lincoln Center multiplex and saw, appropriately, Lincoln. The tickets were $14 each, and we had to sit in front. Again --NYC is just too, well, too much in many ways. We skipped dinner, as our earlier breakfast at Norma's - $90 for the two of us -- was a day filling affair. Today we went to a diner and had the real Greek experience, and then walked to meet Dr. Eric, Dana, and Jenn and Josh. We took photos at THE Tree, and said goodbye. Now it's back to the warmth, and the end of 2012. D1 is en route to Indiana for New Years with Joel and his fine, literally, family. Wifey is decamped to Atlanta, where she and her best friend Edna are solving the issues for many... NYC is the greatest city in the world, and I love my visits. But I think I'll be staying in the 305...

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I've always loved December and January the best --living in Miami. I first fell in love with the place in December -- when my parents took me out of the cold of Long Island and showed me around a bunch of old hotels containing ancient Jews retired from the northeast. Among these was my grandmother -- who lived at 10th and Collins -- in the "EdVARD" or Edward, to non Yiddish speakers. The area is now the center of hipness -- South Beach. My father would say "Ahhhh" as soon as we stepped off the Eastern or National Airlines plane, and remark how he could smell the ocean as soon as we passed the old Orange Bowl on the 836. I know I fell in love because he did -- and as he sat in his bathing trunks in the beachside SeaCrest Hotel --looking out at the gorgeous ocean, he'd read about the sleet and freezing rain in NY and say "Ah --poor schmucks." Since Wifey and I moved in together in 1985, our apartment, then tiny house, then normal sized house, and now oversized house has been open to visitors this time of year. My sisters and their families would come, as well as old friends from Long Island, and then ex-pat Miamians as well. This year we've already hosted my friend Lauren -- an Atlanta lawyer who I met over 20 years ago when her firm defended a wrongful death case against Coca Cola. She and I were the two young associates doing the depo work on the case -- venued in Jacksonville -- and we hit it off. She's a true Southern Jewess -- born and raised in Virginia -- and she married an Italian guy from Long Island. She came Thursday, and Wifey took her to dinner while I attended a men's night at a great Italian spot in Lauderdale. Lauren arrived ahead of her family -- they're on a Carribbean cruise now. The Ds friend have also been visiting -- and our house is best when it's filled with the laughter and reunion chatting of the Ds and their friends. The other day is was D2's friend Catherine, Carley, and Ashley, all UF juniors and sorority sisters -- and last night it was D1's friends Alyssa, Perry, and Hannah. I mostly listened to their catching up -- Perry's a journalist with "New Republic" now --Hannah's getting a graduate degree from Stanford, and Alyssa's an up and coming international insurance executive. They talked and fawned over the spoiled grand dog Madeleine. It was exquisite for me. Atypically --we're all leaving town over this Winter break. Wifey and D1 are flying to Atlanta Tuesday --and then D1 heads to Indiana with her boyfriend's family. D2 and I are decamping to NYC for 3 nights. But our friends Sheryl and Mark will be here --escaping the Boston winter -- and D2's buddy Catherine will be house and dog sitting. And so it occurred to me again that the best thing about a house isn't its stuff. nearly 3 decades ago Wifey and I hosted in a one bedroom place that cost us $430 per month -- on a comfortable couch of unknown fiber we bought at Jefferson's. Last night was the same -- all we needed was the couch, some chairs, some cookies Wifey picked up at Epicure -- and some Daddy tea. It was cold outside and warm under our roof. That's as good as it gets for me.

Like Finding A $20 Bill In My Pocket

Ah, life's little pleasures. Finding a $20 bill you didn't know you had is one of them. I just had a modern day equivalent, thanks to the Hyundai Motor Corporation. I had a mostly negative experience with my Hyundai Genesis, which I lease three Novembers passed. The car tried to compete with the Lexus, and fell short in quality and service. I had a dustup with the company when the windshield washer fluid resevoir broke, and the dealer told me it was my fault. I wrote to the company, and their investigation consisted of talking to the dealer -- who repeated what they said to me! They then nicely told me to pound sand. My seat kept breaking, each time after Wifey had driven the car and moved it all the way forward -- leaving me driving comically with my knees against my chin. The mechanic told me Hyundai tried to make the car look like a Lexus "but they use cheap parts -- and they keep breaking." Anyway, I turned the car in early and went back to a Lexus -- albeit a little girlie hybrid model. But the quality is there -- after 7 months, there have been zero problems, and the free service is top notch. They truly figured out this car thing. I continue to get mail and email from Hyundai -- asking me how happy I am. I toss it, but noticed a thicker than usual envelope the other day. Sure enough, it had a prepaid Master Card with a $100 balance -- to thank me for my "loyal ownership." At first I figured it was one of these scams that are only valid if you go test drive at a dealer -- but it was legitimate. I gave the card to D2, who called to activate it, and just needed the VIN for the crappy car. I had it -- kept in my envelope of old car lease agreements, and the card was turned on. Yesterday D2 used it to buy lunch in the Grove, so we know it works. So Hyundai sucked, but their incompetence paid off, in a small way. There IS such a thing as a free Korean lunch...

Sociality

Monday night I had drinks with my old banker friend Carole, over at Fox's. We were joined by Vince, who had an hour to kill before a movie date. Carole and Vince enjoyed meeting -- they were both at FSU in the late 70s -- the infamous time of Ted Bundy -- and shared tales of close encounters with his (Ted's, not Vince's) victims. Vince left, and Carole and I stayed and talked, and she shared with me her experiences of her trip to Israel. She's a devoted member of a Catholic church, and went with a church group, and it was interesting to hear that take on Wifey's ancestral home versus my usual news from the Birthright (tm) crew. I've known Carole since 1988, ever since I joined my first PI firm, and Carole was there banker at SunBank. I savor Carole's laugh and good humor. She's never married, and is a devoted aunt, sister, and daughter to aging parents. Her father is a retired lawyer, and in dementia now believes he owns virtually every major property and business in Miami. Carole and her mother deal with these delusions lovingly. I told Carole she was in a select group -- people I still enjoy socializing with. She was surprised --she always thinks of me as a very social person -- at every party, no matter who's throwing it. No, I said, I had become far more discerning about my time. Carole loved that word --taught to her by nuns at Lourdes -- her Catholic high school. So a Long Island public school raised Jew and Miami Catholic school girl agreed on a major issue... I have a friend who used to be out and about town more, and now is far more lazy and domesticated. I joke he has low testosterone. Sure enough, he recently saw his family doctor and that was the diagnosis! But, as he's been married 11 years, and is the father of 2 small kids -- his low T is probably a good thing. Carole asked what I wanted from life -- since she knows how lucky I've been so far. I told her another 25 years would be great -- get me to the mid 70s -- let me have the joy of grandkids and maybe some more epic laughs with friends -- and then a quick exit. As I see the alternative, of "extreme aging," I know it's not my desire. In the mean time, not much to do but keep on keeping on. Tomorrow night my low T friend is hosting a men's night out -- at a Lauderdale Italian place I've long wanted to visit. I'm told the guests wear track suits, and many have broken noses, and the food is authentic Brooklyn'South Philly Sicilian. The plan is for about 8 of us -- some Jews, a couple of Italians, and even a token Irish guy. We range in age from the mid 40s to the late 70s. There will be a few martinis, diet killing food, and I'm sure, laughter and the sharing of wisdom and bullshit. Verities and balderdash, as Harry Chapin called it. Now that's my idea of a social night.

Lazy Sunday

I had plans to finish the Sunday Herald, take a walk with Wifey, and then go visit Ancient Mom, but the plans, like many of men, were changed. First, my partner and friend Paul called, saying he was visiting our local Rabbi friend with his sister and brother in law -- to see about a charitable gift in memory of their late mother Lillian. Paul stopped by, and the minutes flew as we talked and talked. D2 joined us, awake at the crack of 2pm, and Wifey brought out some of her mother's cake and tea. Ah -- tea and cake on a Sunday afternoon. What really changes from our peoples' days on the Lower East Side? Paul left for dinner with his girlfriend in Aventura, and D2 was hungry, so we fired up the girlie Lexus and headed to South Miami, for one of our go to spots: Deli Lane. We ate wtaps and salads, and then decamped across the street for some high tech yogurt. They place a block of frozen yogurt into a machine, and mix it, and out comes creamy deliciousness. The Ds were veterans at the place; I enjoyed my rookie experience. And then D2 and Wifey indulged me, and agreed to go take an early evening stroll around my beloved U. Much of the campus is under construction, but we still enjoyed vistas of Lake Osceola, and laughed at the mullet jumping out of the water, pursued by tarpon and diving birds. We made our way to the Green, and took photos at the new, controversial steel "U" sculpture. I had read the thing cost $25K, and many students opposed it, but it's a neat focal point. Hell -- it attracted us. There were 2 other young ladies at the sculpture as well, and we offered to take photos for them. Sure enough, one of them was a visiting Gator junior, and D2 and she realized they had met and shared several friends in common. The Gator lady was visiting her Cane friend a D.C. area blonde, and we compared notes over our 30 year different experiences at UM. Back when I attended, the U was rising above the Sun Tan U image, and my friends and I were recruited to expand an Honors Program which became the model for the entire school. The grades and SAT scores I needed to get a 1/2 tuition scholarship probably aren't enough for admission any more -- and I was proud of that. I just hope the increased competitiveness leaves room for the prodigious amounts of fun we had. Looking back, among my high school friends, I had by far the best college experience of any one. I hope this continues for current and future Canes. All work and no play... We returned home, and D2 took off for her dear friend Ben's house, for a "Homeland" watch party. Wifey was glued to the set as well. I took a book about comedy writers and polished it off on our upstairs terrace. The night breeze was cool, and lovely. I'll visit ancient Mom today, on the way to the office. Sunday turned out to be a day for the young, or at least younger.

Sadness Across LI Sound

There's been a sad pall above all of us this week. We've become sadly immune to mass shootings, but last week's in Connecticut stood out. The loser with the guns murdered 20 very young children. It's like kicking puppies to a much more evil degree, and it's affected all of us. Our minds seek reasons and we try to separate ourselves from tragedy. It's to give us the illusion that we have control of our fates. Even when we hear of someone struck by lightning, we think "Well, I would NEVER have stayed outside during a storm." But the terrible truth of human existence is that shit DOES happen --whether we care to admit it or not. All we can do is try to bring light to the world, and ease the suffering of the victims. Instead, the naive among us seize the oppportunity to affix blame -- the violent video games, or lack of gun control. Please! The loser across the Sound from where I grew up on Long Island wasn't going to be deterred by gun laws -- there are 300 million guns in the US, and a deranged POS like him would have found a way to make himself into the monster he became... But I guess it comforts us to think we need to do SOMETHING when we hear of tragedies like last week's -- even if there's truly nothing to do except hope we're not the ones on the ill fated airplane, or in the wrong movie theatre, or school campus. On a happier note, Friday the Ds and D1's boyfriend Joel and I had a fun evening. We met Chris -- D1's doctor from Gainesville who has become a friend. He was in town for the yearly digestive disease meeting in Hollywood, and Dr. Barry and we met him at a great Mexican place in the Gulfstream Track shopping center. We drank some fine frozen margeritas, and caught up with doings in the world of academic medicine in Gainesville. Chris and Barry have trainees in common, and compared notes. Chris has 2 little girls, and enjoyed meeting D2 for the first time. As Barry noted -- girls are easier to raise at the beginning, and then present challenges as they age, while boys tend to become simpler creatures. Or, sometimes, the boys become supreme losers, like the one in Connecticut. We pray those types stay away from us.

Surprise Party

Wifey, the Ds and I drove a few miles to our friends the budding billionaires to attend the surprise 40th party of our friend Nechama. Her husband Rabbi Yossi pulled it off -- probably 75 people were there, and his wife had no idea it was coming. Nechama is truly a treasure. She has 8! kids, and loves and guides them amazingly, and runs 5 major programs at the shul, most of which benefit special needs kids. She does all this while smiling unfailingly, and cheerleading everyone she meets. As Wifey said, while Nechama's brother was talking about how she excels at EVERYTHING --"What, if anything, is wrong with her?" I reconnected with my old friend Alan -- a retired insurance man who was one of our local Chabad's founders. Alan was married to Helene -- an older and less religious version of Nechama -- but with merely 2 kids. Alan and Helene moved to Atlanta several years ago to be close to their grandkids -- and then Helene took ill with an awful blood cancer. Alan and she fought it -- even flying to Seattle for a stem cell transplant -- but Helene died. She was Alan's life, and we all worried about him terribly. His therapist recommended he meet with an old acquaintance -- Doreen, whose beloved husband had died 8 months before Helene did. He met, and coffee turned into cocktails into an exquisite act 2 for them. Doreen is South African, and subtle in ways Queens born Helene wasn't -- but the two are wildy in love, and Alan moved back to Miami to live with her. And now they spend their lives adoring their combined grandkids -- Helene would be happy, I know. The Ds chatted happily with Nechama's sister, and played with an adorable baby. Nechama taught them in Hebrew School, and was delighted 2 of her former students were there to celebrate. I spoke with Heather -- the new director of Friendship Circle -- the group that pairs local Hebrew School kids with autistic kids in the community. Heather is the first major non Jewish hire at the Center -- she's Catholic -- and is loving learning about Chasidic life and culture. Many events related to the program take place on Saturday -- and Heather is able to do things a religious Jew can't -- so it's a great fit. We drank wine and ate great food as the weather grew more mild. It was a delightful night. Nechama's family flew down from Brooklyn -- at least some of them. Her parents were born in France, and D1 ended the night chatting with Nechama's mother in French. To the Ds, Nechama is a mentor, and they were shocked to learn that when they first met her, she was 23. The Ds are realizing more and more that childhood is in the past. They're thrilled -- I'm old. Jewish tradition speaks of finding a true woman of valor -- and Nechama is one of the finest examples. Last night was a fitting tribute to her.

And So This is Chanukah...

Tonight's the second night, and it occurs to me you really do need kids to celebrate these holidays. So far, the total I did was to drive yesterday to Lightbulbs Unlimited and buy new bulbs for the electric menorah. The blue ones there are peeling and date back to the year Wifey and I married --so I figured it was time for a change. I bought orange blinking ones, that simulate candles burning. They're pretty cool. Wifey said she'd go buy frozen latkes, but didn't get around to it. Instead, she went for Thai food with her friend Maureen. Last night we attended my friend Norman's law firm's holiday party. It was a great time -- but no menorah lighting. Tomorrow D2 is driving home from Gainesville, and D1 will be coming over, so there will be some proper Chanukah-ing. When the Ds were small, we enjoyed it -- latkes and filled donuts every night, to fulfill the commandment of eating oily foods. We used to go to some Chanukah parties, and typically some public menorah lightings with our friends Rabbi Yossi and Nechama. This year, so far, there has just been an exchange of FaceBook (tm) greetings, and a few YouTube playings of Adam Sandler and the great SNL song Hanukkah Harry... When I was a kid, we didn't make too big a deal of the holiday. We did have a menorah, but I got one gift -- not 8 like modern kids seem to require. My favorite part was falling asleep with the light of the electric menorah, which we put in my bedroom window. I dug the shadows it cast on my room... On Wednesday, we plan to go to Miami Jewish, Ds in tow. It's my mother in law's 87th birthday, and we'll bring food and light a menorah under the gazebo roof. My mother will smile, and thank "Mother Nature." Strange times for her, these are. But it's true -- the holidays are for kids. And tomorrow, we should have our back under our roof.

A Date That Will Live In Infamy

That's today --December 7th. My father told me he knew, in 1941, he'd be drafted in the ohe US Army, and so he was. And the past 2 days, some of the fruits of his life, whom he sadly never met, brought light and joy to my father's only son. So I fired up the girlie Lexus, and headed to Brickell to fetch D1. I already had the spoiled Spaniel, and the 3 of us headed up the Turnpike towards Gainesville. At the worst part of the route, just South of Orlando, we came to a dead stop -- a fatal wreck shut down the Pike. I made an illegal U Turn, and drove 5 miles to a St. Cloud exit, and we made our way though one of the boring Central Florida suburbs, which has, as D1 noted, every chain store you'd ever want. And then we made our way back to the Pike, and entered, and came to ANOTHER halt! I'm such a dummy sometimes --I failed to go far enough North, and just detoured to the same place. After an hour delay, we continued the journey. We arrived at D2's Yellow House (so named because it's painted Yellow -I love accurate nicknames) and had a lovely reunion. Wifey had sent a congradulatory pair of cookie pizzas, and D2, roommated Ashley and Catherine, and friends Carly and Hannah were sampling them. Everyone was delighted to see...MADELEINE -- the Spaniel who lived in Gainesville during D1's senior year. The dog has quite a following -- and the girls all enjoyed walking and snuggling with her. I went to the hotel, checked in, and returned to fetch the Ds. We went to a cafe at the Student Union for D2's induction into Phi Beta Kappa. Only about 12 other students were there, and some professors, and families. And then, as proud as I was of my Ds, something happened that made me absolutely burst: A young lady came in, nicely dressed, and clearly one of the inductees, but D1 noticed she was the only one without her family. So she went over to the girl and asked us to sit with us. She smiled the smile of an outsider asked in. It turned out Ds and she had mutual friends, and she was deligtful. She's from Melbourne, and her father is a pilot for Southwest. Ah, my Ds...while one was being inducted into the hightest honor society in America, the other was showing such heart and grace. They didn't see it, as I listened to the speakers, but I got misty eyed. And the "Charge" speaker was wonderful! He's a social psychologist, and truly inspired all of us, with advice about the importance of failing, and failing often, and the need to seek out random encounters with people. D2 was so imporessed, she asked after his talk what classes he taught, and will try to take one next year. From there we went to dinner at Dragonfly, the sushi place, and sat next to one of D2's acquaintances and her mother. The Mom, who turned out to be a lawyer one year behind me from UM Law, was in town to lecture to med students about the legalities of Public Health -- she's staff counsel for Palm Beach County's Health Department. The local Olympian Ryan Lochte was dining at Dragonfly, and the Mom, in a cool, cougar move, followed him outside for a picture, while her daughter rolled her eyes and I toasted her. She returned with the picture in her phone, and sad to me, while the girls were talking "I just may find him out later on..." Ah, Cougar-ness in Gainesville. I dropped the Ds off at Yellow House and went to sleep at the hotel, still smiling from the night's events. The next am we headed to the Flying Biscuit for breakfast, Spaniel in tow. The Ds were beaming. I was kvelling. The two of them, my gems, are best friends and will always be. Mission accomplished for me as a Dad. D1 slept from Orlando to Gainesville. She was working at her cognac booth last night during Art Basel -- some VIP gig in the Design District. Folks come from all over the world to buy precious art, and be seen among the high level of celebrities. I have the most precious works of art ever created, in this happy, proud Daddy's not so humble opinion: my beautiful, delightful, and wonderful Ds...

Back From the Edge

Years ago, I learned he term "porpoising" which means a person near the end of life swimming up and down and up again. And so it was with my mother -- I saw her yesterday, and she had rallied from what I thought might be the end. I visited her and she was back to her happy, secular humanist self, exclaiming "Oh thank you, Mother Nature!" when I wheeled her into the sun. I took her to the restaurant on the Jewish Home campus, and bought her a slice of pizza and a coke, and she savored that pizza with such gusto. Afterwards, we sat by the aviary, and she cooed and sang to the love birds and finches. She was joyous. It was lovely to see, of course. Then I headed to the office for some paperwork pushing, and left around 4 to drive to meet my friend and broker Pat at the Riviera Country Club. We sat outside and watched the golfers, while discussing upcoming tax changes and how they affect my investments. But we mostly talked about our great kids, and colorful friends, and college football. Dr. Barry called, and needed some consligiere services, in dealing with the circus like atmosphere of his hospital and staff, and so we met at 94th Aero Squadron by MIA. He has the Chinese curse at his job -- he lives in interesting times, but we parsed the issues and then turned to the more important matters of kids, colorful friends, and college football. In a few hours I pick up D1, spoiled Spaniel in tow, and head to Gainesville, to watch D2 get inducted into Phi Beta Kappa. We'll take some of the sorority girls to dinner, and then head back the next day, early. D1 has a gig with her cognac company -- Art Basel is here, and the high rollers are in town. So life unfolds, in this best time of year in Miami. Ancient Mom has rallied, and enjoys her days, partly in reality, and partly in super reality. Things just roll along.

Sadness at the Edge of Town

I didn't get to make my usual mid week visit to Ancient Mom, and decided to go yesterday. Wifey jumped in, and said she might as well go along, to see her father. It was a sad and bad day all around. When we got to the Miami Jewish Home, Wifey left for her father's building, and I found Mom in bed -- it was 11 am. She looked very week, and awoke still in ghost land. Isaac Singer, the great Yiddish writer, said that as he aged, he began to believe in ghosts, as he saw them all the time. And so it is with my mother -- she was asking why she couldn't find her Aunt Martha -- a lady gone over 25 years... Mom didn't feel up to getting out of bed, and the nurse told me she had a bad bout of the runs in the am. Plus, the maintainance crew was waxing the floors, and the fellow kept asking when I was leaving, so he could do his job. I stayed about half an hour and left -- saddened by her state, saddened by how little she is visited by much of her family -- saddened by the whole ordeal. Meanwhile, Wifey was with her Dad, who is happy and cheerful in his new surroundings. She invited me to meet them at a gorgeous old ficus tree, but I begged off. My father in law is a handful -- he always made me extremely nervous and unsettled, with his rapid fire questioning and manner. He shoots questions at a person and asks the next one well before an answer can be given. I've grown used to him over the years, but yesterday I just couldn't bear the thought of being around him. So Wifey came back, and I was in a sour mood with her all day. I realized later I was angry about my mother, not her. But even sweet guys are allowed to be assholes once in a while, right? My old friend Professor Steve is so wise. He writes often about aging, and one of the saddest things is how damned unattractive the elderly are. They look bad, they don't tend to smell too great, and their moods are frequently less than giddy. So family and friends find it easy to simply ignore them, especially if they're lucky enough to know the olds are in secure places. And so it is with my mother. She has 6 grandchildren and 4 great grandchildren, all but two of whom live in Florida. Four of her grandkids and their children, her great grandkids, have visited her exactly ONCE in the past year. Not surprisingly, I have no relationship with these people, and I'm sure they'd say how busy and harried and issue filled their lives are. But still -- a lady who is so sweet and did nothing but shower these people with love and gifts and caring goes unvisited, in this last part of her life. I'm angry, and I'm ashamed. But a therapist would tell me to let it out, and not harbor the feelings inside, where they find a way out in the form of anger towards the innocent, like Wifey. I just don't get it. My old friend Mirta visits Mom each Friday, and tells me it's a highlight of her week. She misses her own beloved mother so. I run after Mirta to send a bill for her time. She's busier than anyone I know -- full time babysitter for her grandkids, and full time nursing student as well. I thank her and thank her -- telling her she's much more family than my mother's own family -- and she laughs it off. To her, the time with my mother is a privilege. So I'm proud of Mirta, and I love her for what she does for ancient Mom. I just wish my mother's blood relatives would somehow feel at least a fraction of the same.

A Business With Ups and Downs

Our house, Villa Wifey,is nearing 16 years old. Like our ancient Labrador Honey, who is past 16, stuff is more and more breaking down. It happens, especially in the tropical heat of Miami, and is an annoyance. So our garage door, that essential portal to the bosom of home, is on the fritz. I diagnosed the problem as faulty electric eyes, and sure enough the tech from Action Doors came by and put in new eyes and new wiring. The bill was only $105 -- I was pleasantly surprised, since I figured we needed a new opener motor. But alas, Wifey came home, and the door failed to close. I must admit -- I blamed Wifey. It's uncanny -- electric and electronic devices seem to fail her at a greater than normal rate. I read once that certain folks have something in their biochemistry that causes this. Also, Wifey inherited her mother's touch with things. She tends to deal with objects with, well, less than the gentlest of touches. But, as usual, as Wifey likes to point out --she was blameless. The door wouldn't close. So 2 days later, yesterday, the more trained tech came out, and simply reconnected the electric eyes, and, voila! He left, Wifey came home, and this time the door only opened halfway. And, when I tried, it seemed completely broken -- making just an angry grinding noise. I was right -- time for a new system. Home Depot has sales, so I'm off later for a new opener -- they're much cheaper than the contractor on new stuff. Wifey's take is that stuff SHOULD last longer, but the opposite is true. When our fridge broke down after just 7 years (2 months post extended warranty), the mechanic told me stuff is crap these days. He used to service 20 year old large appliances -- now stuff rusts at half a decade. And time is relative. As I look back on the house where I grew up, in my mind we lived there FOREVER. I mean, to me it was forever -- moved in when I was a year old, and moved out when I was 17. In other words -- 16 years -- the same age as this "new" house I own now. Ancient Mom no longer has any accurate sense of time. She moved into her condo 33 years ago, but thinkgs she lived on Long Island longer. More stuff happened in that stage of her life. She married off 2 daughters, and saw one break up a marriage and move to California. She raised a baby to an adolescent. She partnered with a husband who was a young salesman and helped him along to success, to where he could retire at 60. In her Delray condo, she just adapted to widowhood, volunteered at the hospital, and took some really cool international trips. Time passed more slowly for her, I guess. And now, she's been in the nursing home for 6 months, and said the other day it was 3 years. And so it goes. I'll mark the time today, by buying a new garage door opener, and then maybe go visit ancient Mom. Stuff breaks down -- there are ups and downs.

Brazilian Girls

So my friend Joel likes Brazilian Girls. Not THE, just the name. They're not Brazilian, and it's just one girl, but he was turned on to them by Dan, who used to work for our roomie Mark, but wanted to be a musician, but his Jewish Boca Mom said no way, and so Dan is a very unhappy lawyer... So anyway, Joel got tickets, and the show was last night. I picked him up at 9pm, the time I'm often ready for bed, and we drove to Midtown. We found the place, parked, and learned the show started at 11, so we went to a way cool place called Gigi and drank Stella beers. They also had some good grilled food there, and we shared small plates like 2 badly dressed gay guys. Around 11, we went to the venue, named Bardot. As in Bar DOT, as in a punny homage to the French actress. As in I was clearly the only clubgoer old enough to have any idea who Bridget Bardot is, or was, except, I guess, for some of the hipster film students. The place was packed, and they allow smoking. I thought of my sister Trudy, who is a militant ex smoker. She would have walked out. Joel ran into a buddy of his, and they talked criminal law. I wandered over to the pool table, where some very attractive lesbians were playing some pool. I reported this to Wifey this am, who asked how I knew they were lesbians. As I told her, it was something subtle -- they were passionately making out! Around 1115, the three member group bellied their way to the stage. I happened to be standing about 5 feet away, and it was pretty cool the be so close. They were great -- they play a very pleasant mix of reggae beats and dance hall beats, with snappy lyrics. The lead singer, half ITalian and half German, isn't hard on the eyes, and she's like a prettier and less weird version of Lady Gaga, with a better voice and fewer stage quirks. The drummer was terrific, and the keyboardist, who is the lead singer Sabina's boyfriend, was great, too. He looked like Art Garfunkel's son. As Joel remarked, they look like recent Juliard grads... I was really getting into the music, and swaying among the packed young crown, but then I was pulled away urgently. The 4 beers I drank at Giga and Bardot played havoc with my aging prostate, and I squeezed my way to the men's room. Ahhhh -- it was one of the best pees in awhile -- I guess beer does that to older guys. I tipped the nice attendant $5, which made his face light up, and returned to the show. I found a worn leather sofa in a corner, and plopped down. The acoustics were fine, and I listened and swayed along with my relieved prostate. A young arty looking girl, with thick black glasses and raven hair, plopped down next to me. She began texting and emailing. I wondered again about this generation -- rarely living in the moment. They're never really in ONE place -- and it's a shame. The music was delightful, and this young girl was checking Facebook photos of some other time and place. Oh well...I really AM old. The show ended about 1:30 am, and Joel and I met up outside. He, of a younger prostate, shot phone photos of the whole show, and renewed his crush on Sabina. He's leaving this am to meet a former president of some Banana Republic jailed on drug charges, and they called him in to the case! I'm so proud of him -- he takes his work seriously, but himself much less so. My kind of guy. I made it home around 2, stripped off my cigarette smoked clothes, and went to bed. It's nice to walk on the young side every once in awhile.

Full House Leaving

It's been a lovely Thanksgiving weekend in the 305. Long time friend Elizabeth arrived, and took the room near the pool. D1 and D2 shared a room, and caught up on sisterhood intimacies... Friday Wifey, Elizabeth, and I went to Joanna's, and sat outside in the brilliant sunshine eating tuna sandwiches. From there I drove to the Gables ticket office to use some American Airlines credit from the aborted Paris trip to get some tickets for D2 and I to fly to NYC on Christmas Day. We've decided to go into the cold, and enjoy the NYC Christmas vibe -- while I take her to see "Book of Mormon." I saw it last year, and will gladly see it again. Though the tickets are expensive, as my friend and fellow BOM alum Norman remarked, when I'm laughing hysterically at "Spooky Mormon Sex Dream," it'll be well worth it. Yesterday I gave my TV a good workout --watching the Canes annoyingly beat Duke for their season finale, and then watching the Gators beat FSU and Notre Dame beat USC. The Ds, Wifey, Elizabeth, and I then sat around a raging fire in my favorite possession -- my cheap, Target firepit, and made s'mores in the coolness of the evening. It was delightful. Today Wifey, Elizabeth, and I had some coffee, and then took our third mile walk around the 'hood, strange rescue dog and spoiled spaniel in tow. It was another glorious morning -- crisp and bright. Elizabeth just left for Orlando via Lauderdale, and her busy job as a nurse practitioner at Orlando Regional. The Ds are puttering on the computer doing school work --D1 polishing her Master's Thesis, and D2 prepping for an exam. D1 will take D2 to MIA this evening for her flight back to Gainesville, and then, conveniently, fetch her boyfriend returning from Indiana. There's usually sadness when D2 leaves, but this time D1 and I know we'll see her soon -- we're heading to Gainesville in a mere 10 days, to celebrate D2's induction into Phi Beta Kappa, and then D2 comes back home for Winter Break just days after that. So my favorite time of the year is upon us -- weather wise, and football wise, and most of all, friend and family wise. So tonight Wifey and I will have the house mostly empty again, except for an ancient Lab and strange rescue dog. That's the way things started -- just the two of us. Maybe I'll build another fire and sit outside alone -- pondering the cosmos, my place in it, and thinking about my wonderful ladies...

T Day

The Ds slept until about 1030, sharing a bed like they did for many years. When D1 was in kindergarter, they handed her a paper that said "draw your favorite thing to sleep with." She drew herself and a smaller version of a little girl -- her sister. We have the drawing up in our kitchen. We headed to Key Biscayne, and the fairy land of the Ritz Carlton. There was a last minute addition to our group -- my old, dear friend Vince and his kids Ashley and Tyler. They were going to spend the day by themselves, and came along. We all sat a table, toasted our blessings with Prosecco and OJ, and then headed to the 14! tables of buffet. We ate like kings of several different countries -- turkey, of course, and roast beef, but also shrimp, lobster, sushi, oysters, eggs -- just about any delicious food you could name. And for dessert there were mouses, if that's the plural, and pumkin pies and pecan pies, and apple pies. If the symbol of Thanksgiving is the horn of plenty -- we shared in the Tuba of plenty. We walked outside, and took photos, and then Tyler and Ashley left for their maternal grandmother's house. Vince joined us for a short walk along the beach, and then some lounging on patio furniture by the pool. The Ds and Wifey lapsed into food comas, but awoke for some lovely conversation about days past and still to come. Vince had a rough year, but is emerging very happy and well --thankfully. We met as kids -- I was 18 and he was 20 -- and we're savoring this time of our lives, as our children grow and grow nearer, hopefully, to finally leaving the payroll... We walked through the hotel, and I showed Vince the bar. It may be the prettiest small drinking space in Miami -- deep wood panels, but with tropical fans. It's like an updated British Colonial Carribbean dream. Vince fetched his new white Porsche, and motored off. We got into the embarrasing 7 year old SUV and putted away... Next stop -- the Olds. My father in law heartily rejected the flat screen tv Wifey had thought he should have. Wifey means well, but is still on the learning curve about treating our aged parents differently -- they CRAVE little change in their lives. I schlepped the tv back to the car, and D1 and I went to fetch my Mom -- the plan was to meet at the gazebo and enjoy the cool, Thanksgiving sunset together. Nope -- Mom had had a "very busy day," and so wanted to stay in bed. Wifey, her Dad, and D2 wheeled over to Mom's room instead. Mom was having a mostly out of it afternoon, but she did make us all nearly pee in our pants with her commentary. She loves the food at Miami Jewish , saying "They feed you here like you're going to die!" And then, "I've never seen so many fat nurses --with big asses and huge tits!" Then she asked us where she left her cigarette, lest it cause a fire. She last smoked 21 years ago... We left, and drove through the mostly quiet streets of Little Haiti and the Design District, full with food and smiling from Grandma Sunny -isms... We arrived at home, and Elizabeth joined us. She had T Day dinner with her sister and her sister's friends. She came in desperately needing a few glasses of wine. We all sat and enjoyed each other's company, as D2 and I searched online for "Book of Mormon" tickets. D1 and Wifey are flying to Atlanta for Christmas Day -- D1 to spend some time with her boyfriend's family, and Wifey to spend a few days with her best friend Edna. So D2 and I decided we weren't chopped liver, and we'd decamp to NYC for a few days away, too. Although I saw BOM, I'll happily see it again -- assuming we can find tickets that cost less than a European cruise. So far, we can't. So, Thanksgiving turned out to be like the Go Gos "Vacation" song -- all we could have asked for, and even more.

Giving Thanks

Wifey, the Ds and I are known to be nauseatingly grateful, on a daily basis. Even when things go badly for the Ds, Wifey preaches the wisdom she's learned from parents who suffered the greatest humanitarian evil in history: the Holocaust: be thankful for what is going WELL. So as I write this morning, it's almost absurd. Talk about one's cup runneth-ing over... The sunshine is brilliant -- the light streaming through the trees is so pure and clear. Filmakers shoot more and more in South Florida because of it -- Southern California's smog causes problems, while Miami light makes it easy for them, or so I've read. All I know is the day is perfect -- cool weather, and the smell of tropical foliage -- tropical crispness. It's amazing. My old, dear friend Vince just texted that he's planning to join us at the Key Biscayne hotel restaurant that has become our now half decade Thanksgiving tradition. Hw's had more than his share of tsuris lately, but is clearly on the upswing. His health is good, and he's returned to the profession of anesthesiology he loves. He and I go back over 30 years, and we've shared so many crazy and hilarious times. His father was one of my mentors -- giving me wisdom for years after my beloved Dad died. Today we will add to the trove of laughter, I'm sure. Misery finds us, and often blindsinds us. I once read that the things we most fear don't come at us in a planned, understandable way, but rather "on some random Tuesday afternoon, when all seemd normal." That makes me think of a phone I got three years ago, from a girl named Lindsey I didn't even know -- telling me she was with D1 roadside on the Florida Turpike following a bad wreck -- and D1 was too hurt to call me herself. I calmly walked out of my office (my friend Mirta said later I looked like I was headed to a meeting I had forgotten about) and dealt with it. Thankfully, there was just some broken bones and a wrecked car and a shaken up Spaniel -- no catastrophe. But misery has been there, and will come, of course. But not today!!!!! After brunch, and the consumption of mass quantities, like the Coneheads used to advocate, Wifey, the Ds, and I will head to Miami Jewish -- to spend some time with Mom, nearing 93, and Wifey's Dad, nearing 87. Both of them have been wildly burdensome on us over the past several years, but blessings as well. My mother will look skyward as the sun hits her skin, and exclaim "Thank you, Mother Nature!" We're not sure why this 2nd generation Jew from the Bronx has, in her twilight years, taken on the language of a Secular Humanist, but she has, and it just adds to the delightful absurdity of extreme old age. I guess the message IS gratitude -- whether to God, Mother Nature, Vishna, or whomever one chooses. And today it's overflowing here in the 305, and this cool, lucky Daddy feels coolest and luckiest.

Back Home Again

It's been a lovely glide towards Thanksgiving. Saturday was the final Canes game of the year, against the South Florida Bulls. Dr. Barry's sister Phyllis and husband Marty attended -- Phyllis is a USF alumna -- and we had a great time catching up. Phyllis and Marty got married in Vegas seemingly last summer, but somehow the years have flown. I met Phyllis when she was in high school, and now she is a teacher's teacher with a long and lauded career in Broward County. She adores her nephews Scott and Josh, and loves to poke fun at them. Next year the Canes/Bulls play in Tampa. We might just turn it into a Bern's Steakhouse game trip... And last night, D2 rolled into town, with her fellow Phi Beta Kappa inductee and roomie Catherine. The two beauties sang their way down the Turnpike, and happily re entered the love of their families. D1 was working for her cognac company at a major corporate event in the Design District, and I made some Daddy Tea (regular tea, but made with Big Daddy Love), and lit a fire in the pit outside. Wifey, D2 and I sat in the cool evening air, chatting about D2's college adventure and plans for the summer. Our friend Julie posted on Facebook how great it is to have her 2 oldest boys Ben and Josh back home from college, and I asked her if she heard the strains of the Jophn Denver song in her head. I do, even though we don't live on a farm, and I'm not a long haul trucker. Something about Denver's simple and sweet melody captures the feeling of what makes "a house a home." It's not tchokes, of course -- it's having your loved ones with you. And so it is, here in the 305. D1 dropped her boyfriend Joel at MIA this am, so he could visit his family in Indiana for T Day. She and her best friend and sister are napping together, as they did when they were toddlers. Tomorrow we'll head to Key Biscayne and a true cornucopia brunch. It's our 5th year of doing it, and we love the tradition we started. Afterwards, we'll head to see the Olds -- my mother and Wifey's Dad -- and spend some time with them under the Miami Jewish Home gazebo. It's great to have them under our roof. It really is.

Red Letter Day

If there's something better than the success of young folks, I don't know what it is. Wednesday night I was driving home late, following a lecture at the Miami Book Fair, and had a great catch up conversation with my nephew Henry. He started his own company, and it's going gangbusters. He's already, in less than one year, to the point that he has to hire subcontractors to help him with overflow work. And his not appearance challenged lovely young wife, Valerie, is chugging along nicely in her education pursuit -- Bachelor's expected next Spring, and then a Master's after that. It heartened me -- I just hope he makes good on his intention to come visit us soon. Maybe the bleak San Francisco Bay area winter weather will send him here for some sun and family... And then, yesterday morning, I got a call from an excited and chirpy D1. She was accepted into FIU's Dietetics Internship program. This was no small feat -- 30 in her class were vying for only 9 local spots. The rest now have to move out of state to complete their educations to become Registered Dieticians. She felt confident, but wary -- she is a favorite of her grad school faculty, and very involved in the program. But still -- you can never truly predict the actions of a huge state university -- so the fact that she can finish her program here in town is banner news. I decided to call D2, to tell her the good word. She was thrilled for her best friend and sister, and then sheepishly asked me if I'd ever heard of an organization named Phi Beta Kappa. I thought she was kidding -- who hasn't heard of the top national college honor society? She hadn't, but now she knows -- she was tapped into membership, based on her standing as a junior in the top 1% of her class! We joked about it, and made plans to go to Gainesville in early December for the induction ceremony -- I plan to carry her famous Phi Beta Kappa key around with me. And I started to cry -- a rarity for me -- the tears of an overwhelmingly thankful father. The Ds have brought us so many blessings -- but I don't recall a single day like yesterday -- with triumphs so significant coming at the same time. And then later on, as Wifey pointed out -- came the inevitable Facebook (tm) postings. Each D posted about the other's great news -- in loving and funny tones. D1 called D2 "nerdypants." So it was the best day in quite awhile. I met my friend Kenny for lunch, and gave him a check for the Wounded Warrior Project, which his boy Adam is raising funds for. Kenny is my smartest high school friend -- and neither he nor his law professor wife are Phi Beta Kappa. I thought the only one of my friends who is is Dr. Eric -- but then a "me too" email came from Dr. Barry -- complete with a photo of his diploma, which hangs in his office. "How quickly they forget" was the caption... So all is well and good with things here. It's great to be a cool, thankful Daddy in the USA...

Veterans

So today is Veteran's Day, and the courts and offices are closed, and folks are out mostly shopping to honor those who served in the military. My father was drafted 5 months after Pearl Harbor, and served nearly 4 years. After WW II ended, the Army wanted him to go to Japan to continue withthe occupation forces. He was jonesing to get home, to see my Mom and sister, who was a toddler and never met her father. So Dad employed Corporal Klinger tactics, feigning psychosis to get out, and it worked! He was honorably discharged with "mental fatigue" and returned to the Bronx to work 3 jobs to support his family. Meanwhile, he learned that the US soldiers in Japan were treated like kings -- a Hershey bar got a GI unlimited companionship. He wondered later if he should have gone... My brother in law Dennis is our family's other vet. He knew he'd probably get drafted during the Vietnam War, and instead joined the Air Force, where he served as a mechanic, mosly in Thailand. He returned with tales of exotic lands, and with a kick ass stereo he bought in Japan, which later became my proudest teenaged possession. I was just 6 when Dennis came home -- to a party at the local VFW Hall and a pretty Jewish girl who took one look at him and decided he would become her husband. She got her wish, and now they've been married over 45 years. But it's funny -- almost none of my generation served. We registered for the draft in 1979, if we wanted to be allowed to go to college, but the military had gone all volunteer. The only exception among my friends was Kenny, who joined the US Navy to pay for medical school, fell in love with the military life, and ended up as a flight surgeon. He saw action on the USS Saratoga during the Gulf War, and retired years later as a full Navy Captain. Other than Ken, the only guys I even knew who joined the military were those with no other prospects. It was either military or jail, or unemployment. Among Wifey and my friends, none of the kids join. The one person I can even think of is my friend Brian's secretary Janet's husband, who joined the Army, served in Iraq, and is now, thankfully, home and serving in Texas. It's kind of sad. It would be, probably, too big an undertaking, but the idea of some type of national service would be terrific. I'd have welcomed it as a young man -- maybe having to commit to a WPA-like program for a year or so, if not necessarily military. This country gives us so much, it seems the young ought to give back -- and mandatorily. As proud I am of my Ds, I'm proudest of how they volunteer. D1 spends a lot of time with her spaniel at hospitals and schools -- cheering patients and helping kids to learn to read. D2, through her sorority, does a lot of community service as well. The thought of either of them in the military conjures up memories of the great movie "Private Benjamin." Neither would do well in tents and on forced marches, but they serve nonetheless... So I read today's Facebook posts with a somewhat jaundiced eye. It's so easy for my generation to give words of thanks. It's a far more serious thing when we have skin in the game -- in the form of our sons and daughters actually serving.

The Cool Breeze of Miami Fall

The best time of year is upon us. I fired up the girlie Lexus hybrid and headed south early yesterday, in search of fish. No, not to hook them, but to net them at one of my koi suppliers. Raccoons or hawks or other varmint (I always think of Bill Murray in "Caddyshack" when I type or say that word) has been taking some of my koi, and I needed to replenish. So I drove south, but the koi were too dear. The place in Horse Country was better, and I bought a few little fish there. I arrived home to watch my Canes choke at Virginia. It was just as well -- NCAA sanctions loom like a toxic cloud, and they're not going anywhere for the next few years. Besides, schadenfreude was keen in college sports yesterday -- hated Alabama lost, and probably blew a chance for a national championship. So there was happiness in the Tide's misery... Then Wifey and I fired up the aging Volvo SUV and drove to west of Wynwood, to visit D1 at a cutting edge gallery on NW 7th Avenue. She was doing her part time job as a product front girl for cognac. The building was all black and white inside, with stark photos based on great banned books. We met the gallery owner, the curator from France, and a lovely young gallery manager. I told them all a little bit about the books and writers. The artist, a nice young fellow who was born in Spain and grew up in Hialeah, chose the books because he knew they were convroversial and banned, but hadn't read them. So we spoke about "To Kill a Mockingbird" and how William Carlos William's pre poet career as a pediatrician taught him first hand the awful misery of a child's death. It was really something to see -- these young, creative types happily at home in the city just 30 years ago labeled a "cultural desert." Miraculously, Miami has emerged as the third most important art city in the US -- after New York and LA. Much of it is Art Basel coming here, but the immigration and un melted melting pot nature have done their work, too. From NW 7th Avenue, Wifey and I drove to Wynwood, and parked on a lady's lawn for $10. She was an older black lady, and laughed at my reference to Orange Bowl parking on lawns back in the day. She promised "no blocking," but without the comical Spanish accent. Wynwood was buzzing. The streets were packed, with mostly young, way cool folks. It was Tri Beca with better weather. We visited my friend Rob's son Matt -- a gallery called the Hangar was showcasing his surreal work. Matt's on his way -- he's earning money for his art, and has a showing at Basel -- remarkable for such a young man. We remember Matt as a sweet, chubby 6 year old -- the only boy D2 invited to her birthday parties. Matt is now an impressive young fellow -- passionate about his painting, and working hard as a waiter to support himself as well. He wants to move to Wynwood, he said, so he can live among all of this burst of creativity. We look forward to being able to say we knew him when... Wifey and I made our way East, to North Miami Avenue, where a former client and friend of mine, also named Matt, hosted a party at his rum distillery. Yes -- he has started the first and only distillery in Miami Dade County -- and makes a rum called Miami Club. Matt's Irish American, not the traditional makers of rum, but his wife Joann is Puerto Rican, and comes from a long line of rum makers. Her family gave her their recipe, and Matt took off with the idea. The party was lovely. There was a 7 piece "Miami Club Rum Orchestra" playing salsa. They had a guest drummer from Nigeria, and they jammed wonderfully. After 3 drinks, I was swaying along, as the lovely breeze and spirit of the evening accompanied us. Wifey and I walked around some more, and marvelled at how Miami is the anti Disney. There are some mighy worn down buildings, and the folks were a true glorious mosaic. We loved it. We drove back to see D1 as she closed up shop. Several of her friends came by. Ah, youth. They all looked so beautiful, and vital. As one of my sister's said --EVERYONE looks great at 25. On the way back to the suburb, we called D2 at UF. She's thankfully doing great as well -- her amazing giggle lifted Wifey and me as we sat in the late night traffic on South Dixie. So last night I was a cool, artistic Daddy in the USA... I know nothing about art, but it sure brings out some fine and fascinating folks.

Fun with Extremists

So the election turned out better I could have hoped. Obama won big, all the sneaky Republican constitutional amandments failed, we voted to give a big bond issue to the schools (our Schools Chief Carvalho is the best in all of Miami history -- dude can win whatever office he chooses, or get paid to appear as a young Al Pacino lookalike), and even the issue approving money for the puppies passed! Wifey went to bed feeling like I did when the Canes bear Nebraska in January of '84 -- ecstatic. As my neighbor Mark mentioned as we met this am, the demographics have just changed. We're no longer a natin of old white men, and the GOP panders so much to the extremists, they got nailed. So they're sad up in "fetus land," as Wifey calls it (when we drive to Gainesville to see D2, north of Orlando on the Turnpike there are all these creepy anti abortion billboards showing happy and angelic WHITE fetuses begging not to be terminated). For the rest of us NOT in fetusland, it's a banner day. So I got a call in my office yesterday, from some far right group. I gave money to our GOP Congresswoman, Ileana Ros Lehtinen, who I really dig. She's smart, open minded, and, bucking her party, very pro gay. She's also close friends with the very liberal, curly haired, map of Israel on her face Debbie Schultz from Broward. Since I gave money to Ileana, I'm apparently on the Conservative list, and the nice lady, Carole Waspiness (not her real name) asked me to contribute to a fund started by Mike Huckabee that wants to take out full page ads criticizing Obama for limiting, somehow, absentee voting among the military. When the second lady came on the phone after Huckabee's message (Bonnie Allwhite -- also not her real name), she asked how much I would be giving. I went into a tirade -- asking how a TRUE conservative could disobey our Commander in Chief. She countered that the Tea Party was for this, and I lambasted her more -- Teddy Roosevelt was a true conservative -- the Tea Party were frauds -- wanting to government to interfere in reproductive rights! She was chastened, as I guess this sort of reaction from a supposedly good Republican wasn't in her play book. I said "God bless America" and hung up. So I had my fun. My guy won. Great -- my taxes will surely rise now on my investments, and I have to worry about estate taxes eating away at the Ds' inheritance. Hopefully that won't be a concern in the too near future... We Jews voted, apparently, 68 % for the black guy, so all the crap about his being Israel bad never got traction. We acted, as the great observation noted, as follows: Jews earn like Episcopalians and vote like Puerto Ricans. And that makes me proud.

Hurricane Sandy

Ah, the end of Daylight Saving's Time. An "extra hour of sleep?" For early risers like me, it just means that the clock says "5:00" instead of 6 when I awaken. So I spent some time this early am looking at news photos of the damage from Hurricane Sandy. The poor bastards! I empathize, having lived through one major storm and 2 annoying ones. Andrew was 20 years ago, and was life changing. Wifey and I were in our 30s, and had the energy for 3 major moves within 15 months, along with raising the Ds in an apartment on Brickell, Wifey's parents' house as D1 began kindergarten, and then a move back to our rebuilt house thereafter. Wifey and I were never that much enamored of things. We both remember my sister and brother in law insisting that we HAD to collect stuff. I mentioned that I sort of liked miniature carosels, and they generously bought us several. I haven't seen any in years -- I think they're packed away somewhere, or maybe lost in Andrew. The point is, as we saw all form of tchotchke wind broken or waterlogged, we ultimately laughed. Even now, we retain these thoughts. Yesterday we walked through the lovely South Miami Art Festival. A man selling hand painted corkscrews stopped us, and explained the craftsmanship involved. We walked away, both saying "Just more crap to end up in a drawer." So when I look at the photos of Queens, Brooklyn, and Jersy Shore, with the piles of stuff waiting to be carted away as trash, it brings back memories and lessons. The other two storms, Katrina and Wilma, were more annoying than anything. No major damage, but loss of power for a few weeks each time. Katrina went on to destroy New Orleans, and we decamped to Mayfair House in the Grove for a week. Fir Wilma, Wifey and the Ds left for Atlanta while school was closed, and I roughed it at home in blissfully cool October temperatures -- cooking eggs on our fortunately gas powered cooktop (no pilot -- I used matches to start her up). Wifey's cousin emailed her over the weekend. She lives in Brooklyn, next to the area, Breezy Point, that was destroyed in a huge fire. But she and her family are all fine -- cleaning up flooded basements, but ready to rebuild. The problem is the cold weather, and winter's coming on. The only folks close to us and the Ds live in Manhattan, where things returned to normal pretty quickly. Some old high school friends are out on Long Island, but judging from Facebook posts, are doing just fine. So I wish them well, and will redouble my efforts to de clutter, and get rid of stuff. My mother teaches the same lesson -- in a nursing home with virtually no possessions. Her condo still has some stuff -- and it will be a minor pain to get rid of when the time comes. So good luck to the Sandy victims. Friday night, Wifey, our houseguest Diane and I watched the telethon with Springsten and Billy Joel and made a donation. They'll recover and rebuild, as we did.

Annual Physical

My family is truly blessed to be surrounded by wonderful friends who are doctors, including our family physician, Dr. Dave. We met Dave and his family when D2 and his daughter Shira were in kindergarten, and we've been friends ever since. Several years ago, Dave had had it with the usual state of family practice -- he had to see nearly 4000 patients yearly, just to make a decent living. He joined a group called MDVIP, which provides so called concierge medicine. His practice is limited to 600 patients, and you get the sort of service we remember from the 60s and 70s -- before managed care and the corportization of medicine. I've done pro bono legal work for Dave, and in return he treats my family without the required tuition payments. Wifey and the Ds take full advantate -- calling him and seeing him for every malady -- real and imagined. As a result, I tend to try not to bother him much. But his office insists I get an annual physical -- major blood work and full discussion about preventative medicine. I get my annual physical about every 4 years. This year was the first following my prostate cancer scare. My PSA score had dropped, and I joked that I was cured by having the biopsy. Nurse Nancy, Dave's long time medical assistant and the best I've ever known, gave me a shingles shot. I protested that shingles was a disease of old people -- wasn't I more at risk to get chicken pox again? No, she said, 50 and above get the vaccine -- and I was 51. Caramba! Dr. Dave looked over my EKG, blood flow tests, breathing tests (as expected, the lawyer in me assured I was full of hot air, and scored high on that one), and pronounced me a "fat pig." He didn't actually use those words, but that's what the ugly and obese truth was. I thought I weighed in the 230 range -- easily 40 pounds higher than anything resembling normal. Nope, the awful scale said -- I was 248! In other words, I'm NFL linebacker size --with none of the muscle or conditioning. So I gave myself the rest of the week and this weekend to eat like the hog I am. At Norman's tailgate, I piled on the Shorty's and ate several enormous chocolate chip cookies and brownies. Our houseguest Diane brought in Big Cheese Italian Friday night -- and I ate all the stuffed shells (sort of an accurate description of me) and pasta. This am, Norman and I met at LOL, and I had an omelette, oatmeal, and half an enormous bagel. Tomorrow I start a new regimen. Low carb, low fat, and more exercise. I may even call Dave's trainer -- a fellow he swears by, at the local YMCA. He assures me there is no surplus of hot ladies at the Kendall Y, so that may be the gym for me. Of course, my life has been replete lately with stories of guys in great shape who drop like flies. My father, overweight almost all of his adult life, retired to Florida and got a Diabetes II scare. He lost about 40 pounds, and vigorously walked every night. He was in the best shape of my memory --thin and energetic. And then he dropped of a massive MI. So on second thought, maybe I should just stay fat...more of me to love. Nah -- I'll at least give the thought of 36 inch waist size another shot. Time will tell...

Thursday Night at the Stadium

So after a week that started with a funeral, last night was a breath of fresh, cool air. I offered my friend Rob my extra Canes ticket, and he took the train to my office, 2 bottles of liquor in tow. We drove up to the stadium, and Norman and his good friend and client Maria were already putting out the Shorty's barbecue. His law partners were there, and soon Dr. Barry, Scott, Dr. Eric and Dana joined us. At the last tailgate, I did an awful thing to Dr. Barry. I introduced him to a lawyer I know whose son has a rare medical condition -- turning Barry's sacred tailgate time into an hour long medical consult. Last night, Rob and my friend Bruce happened by. Bruce's beautiful girl is a patient of one of Barry's former proteges, but this time there was no medical consult --just some teary eyed thanks by Bruce to Barry about the great care they get at UM Peds...Thankfully, the young lady is doing great! So we ate, and drank, and laughed in the gorgeous weather. Shorty's forgot the side dishes, and everyone gave Norman crap about that -- good naturedly, of course. The Canes won, big, in the end, though it was a competitive game until very late. We had a tremendous time, of course. I drove Rob home, and we talked about life. His oldest son is an accomplished artist, and his young one is finishing high school, and headed to a career in the arts as well. Rob and his wife divorced 4 years ago, and he's now with a lovely lady. He told me how happy he is with her. She called as we made our way home -- she clearly ached to have him back with her. He told me that NEVER happened with his wife -- she might have noticed if he went missing after a week or so. But such is romance, and marriage, and men and women. Last night was about friends and fun and laughter, and it was a banner Thursday in the glorious cool air of Miami autumn.

Royal Send Off

So Wifey and I left the house early and headed to Brickell to fetch D1, and then the three of us headed to West Boynton for the funeral of Paul's Mom, Lillian. Rabbi Yossi spoke, as did Paul and his lovely 18 year old niece, Giorgi. Poor Giorgi and her brother Grant also lost their paternal grandfather a week before -- talk about a rough time in a close family. We sat with Dr. Eric and my brother in law Dennis, who over the years became close to Paul and his family. My old dear friends Norma and Albert, from the salad days of my law firm, also made the long drive from Miami, to pay their respects. The Rabbi spoke poignantly, and offered a story he knew Lillian would endorse: An old lady on her death bed kept a bundle of twigs in her room. She asked her kids and grandkids to perform a strength test -- who among them could break the twigs in the bundle. They all tried and failed, and then the lady pulled each twig individually from the bundle, easily snapping it. She thus showed her family the sacred truth of life: alone, we're all weak and breakable. Together, as a family, nothing can tear us apart. From the chapel we flew through red lights, with police escort, to the cemetery. I recalled the comedian's take on that: when you're alive and rushing to any appointment, you get pulled over for running a red light. When you die, you HAVE to make good time... At the cemetery, the Rabbi said the brief prayers, and announced it would be a full burial. We each took turns putting soil onto the coffin. To many observers, who had never seen an orthodox funeral, it seemed weird, and even crass -- like we were saying "good riddance" to the deceased. I explained to some of them that, in contrast, it was one of the greatest blessings, or mitzvahs, to help with this solemn task. From there we went to Paul's sister and brother in law Geoff's house. They live in a gorgeous place on the intracoastal in East Ft. Lauderdale. The plan was for D1 and Wifey to sty for lunch, and then leave me for the evening service. I figured I'd find a ride back to Hialeah, and then hop Metrorail back to Kendall. Not so fast. The three of us ended up staying nearly 10 hours. The family was so warm and welcoming, and we played with Paul's adorable granddaughter, and spoke with Lillian's 4 grandkids, Ales, Tracy, Grand, and Giorgi. My friend Joel stopped by, and we shared a vodka or two and looked at the water. He and D1 spoke of their different eras at Palmetto High. Stuart and his dad Bill came by later, as did Dr. Barry. The scene was truly a royal sendoff, for both Lillian and Geoff's father Gilbert. As Paul said, both of them so loved to be at a party at the house, and their spirits still were. So brava, Lillian. What a life well lived. She was adored by her family and friends, and last night that became strikingly clear. And my family was privileged to be a part of it.

Death Vigil and Memory Lane

It was a rather hectic week here in paradise. First, my partner and brother Paul's mother Lillian perched close to the edge of death, last Monday. Paul asked our rabbi friend to visit her in the Broward hospice, to give the Jewish version of last rites. Rabbi Yossi called me, and we took the trip together. He did his Talmudic duties, and we sat and reflected with Paul, his girlfriend, sister, brother in law, and niece. It was great to see the family so together, at their matriarch's side. I compared Paul's family to my own, and we fell far short. My mother gets visits only from 2/6 of her grandkids. When her time comes, little of her family will be there for her. I told Paul he is the adult son I strive to be. Everyone talks about "love," but talk is easy and cheap. Love is changing the diapers. Love, as I told the rabbi, is leaving one's family on a weeknight, as the rabbi did, and taking a 3 hour soujourn to a bleak hospice to give comfort. The rabbi calls it religion -- I called it love. It took Paul's mom Lillian 5 days to die. She did, finally, last Friday night, and her funeral will be tomorrow. Paul says he's incredibly blessed to have been with her so long in her final moments. He essentially put aside his whole daily life for this task. About others who would NEVER do this -- with commitments like work and hobbies, he says, just, God help them. Coincidentally, D2 came home for a short weekend visit. Her Gators were going to Jacksonville, to lose to the Georgia Bulldogs, as it turned out, and many undergrads flee campus. She came in late Friday, and D1 and the spoiled grand dog came over to spend the time as well. I asked the ladies what they wanted to do on the glorious weather weekend (Hurricane Sandy skirted us, and left amazingly blue skies and cool temps in her wake). D2 said, without hesitation, that she wanted to visit my mother and Wifey's Dad at the nursing home. D1 agreed. Where did Wifey and I go right?, I wondered, stealing from the "Producers" song. So we fired up the aging Volvo SUV, took the spaniel and the strange looking rescue dog, and headed to Miami Jewish. I fetched my mother, and the ladies and dogs fetched my father in law. We sat among the majestic old trees, in streaming sunlight, and spend some precious time together. My father in law asked the same questions to my mother, and my mother answered according to her own inner dialogue. We laughed. We beamed. The sausage dog, apparently racist, barked whenever a dark skinned person walked by. We returned the grandparents to their respective buildings, and decamped to a great Greek place, Mandolin, in the Design District. The dogs sniffed other doggy diners, including an ancient dachshund named Wally, and a skittish Westie. We ate healthy, olive oil coated food, as the breezes invigorated the terrace. We came home, and D1 began the assignment I hired her to do: organize ALL our family photos, and prepare all the old VHS videos for transfer to DVD. Wifey, with many qualities, is, well, a clutter lady, and sort of just stuffed everything into the bottom of the wall unit I dubbed "Great Wall of Wifey." D1 is a master. Neighbors and friends hire her to help THEM organize their lives, and she's a natural. She tore through the albums, literally, and while she worked Wifey, D2, and I popped in some old videos. The first was a New Year's party, in 1986-1987, that doubled as our wedding rehearsal dinner. My dear friends, groomsmen to be, were there -- BOYS! Oh my --Drs. Barry and Eric looked like teenagers! Mike looked about the same, though his blonde hair is now silvery, and like me, he has evidence of his great financial success --a big belly. We watched videos from that time through D2's toddlerhood. We smiled at the now dead dogs that were much a part of our lives. Speaking of which, each D spent an entire babyhood and toddlerhood climbing on and being licked by an enormous black lab, Midnight, and a cute spaniel, Alfred. It's no wonder each has such a strong love for dogs. My in laws haven't changed so much in a quarter century. The Holocaust left them old, even in their 60s. But my mother -- ay caramba! She was so vital, and big, and beautiful -- in contrast to the wispy ghost she is now. There were several parties. One was an engagment affair to a fellow who bolted the family before the planned wedding. There was a toast, in which my relative said simply "Let's stick together." It was sadly ironic -- his family is more torn apart than any I know. D1 and D2 danced in the videos, and put on shows. D1 was the embodiment of Gilda Radner's little girl performing alone in her room character. She always had ideas, and they played in her head, as she told us, and she, even at 3, was choreographing ballet performances in Paris, starring herself. D2 was gorgeous, and mercurial --we filmed some of her tantrums. As she watched, she noted, wryly as she does: "This explains a lot." And it did. It showed Wifey and I we were amazingly rich, even back in 1986, when we had no money. We were blessed with love. Our friends were our extended family. We showered our Ds with the love. The videos show them always in my lap, or being chased and then hugged and kissed by me. Wifey asked them: "Do you see why we were and are so crazy about you two -- how adorable you were?" And so it was with Lillian. She, too lived a full life, full of love. She shared it with her children, grandchildren, and one great grandchild. They'll gather tomorrow, and say goodbye and farewell --to whatever awaits her sould. D2 is headed back to UF today, but Wifey and D1 and I will be at the funeral. The rabbi will speak his prayers in Hebrew, and I'm sure Paul will tearffully share his feelings, too. And it will be about love. So much of our time is spent acquiring money, and stuff, but it's about love. And Lillian was so loved. And I'm amazingly blessed to still be loved.

The Old Club on the Bay

My friend Joel, the criminal defense guy who is my office roommate, always cracks me up. He grew up upper middle class in Miami, the son of a very respected lawyer, though Joel likes to make his childhood sound tougher than it was, in the habit of many lawyers who add to their life story toughness by claiming they know the "streets." Yes, the "streets" of Pinecrest... Still, Joel has made an amazingly succesful career, representing high level white collar and not so white collar accuseds... And as he has made more and more money, he treats it the way I do -- by enjoying it, but not taking his material success too seriously. He finally traded in the aging BMW from his Public Defender days and got himself a navy blue Porsche. Whenever I see it parked in our office lot, I put a business card under the wiper blade, with the words written on it "This is the car of a typical hotshot Miami douche bag." He loves this -- and this is the type of relationship we have. So yesterday, in the pouring rain, he invited me to lunch, "at my club." Ha. Joel, even more so than I, is NOT the type of guy a country club wants. He and I get invited by our mutual broker Pat to attend cocktails at Riviera -- the venerable old place in the Gables. I enjoy going there -- Joel always finds a reason to avoid the place. So what club, I asked? He joined the Coral Reef Yacht Club, across the street from his house, to give his lovely wife and 3 beautiful sons a nice place to hang out, and maybe learn to sail. So we arrived there in the rain bands of Hurricane Sandy, and took 2 seats at the bar. "Listen," he whispered to me, "No one will probably ask, but if they do, DON'T tell them you're a Jew." I really love this guy. Sure enough, I saw one of my neighbors, Mike, a recently retired commercial real estate guy, who IS one of the WASPiest folks I know. We exchanged pleasantries -- he was a long time member. Joel and I had a few Ketel Ones and some delicious Caldo Gallego -- white bean soup -- and some delicious salads and sandwiches. I really, really admire Joel. First, like I am, he's a wonderful Dad. The basis of his entire life is his 3 sons. They adore their father, but also respect, and to a small degree, fear him. I'm convinced that a little fear is essential in being an effective parent. He's also a great and devoted husband, to a wife who reminds me in many ways of Wifey --same dry sense of humor, and love and respect for her husband, with some eye rolling, of course. So as the rain poured down, and somewhat horizontally, two very lucky and happy Miami lawyers had a great lunch yesterday. And we both share gratitude and laughter at the place we landed in life. It doesn't suck, at all.

Thursday Night Eats

So my good friend Norman called and invited me on a date: Miami New Times Iron Chef competition, at a funky bar west of the AA called Grand Central. Norman's brother had bought some VIP tickets, but couldn't go, and Norman's foreign born wife had some kind of Yoga class, so I was in. I love calling Deb foreign born. She's Canadian, which to me is sort of like being from Wisconsin or Minnesota, and it's funny to link her with a wife from, say, Uzbekistan... Anyway, Norman fetched me and, as the two of us share a very un Miami need to be early for everything --were first in line in the VIP slot. We entered and headed to the bar, where they were serving some new fangled carmel flavored vodka. We acquitted ourselves well --Norman with OJ and mine with only ice. And we sampled the food -- which was delicious. MAny top restaurants were there offering samples --and, not wanting to insult Norman's brother, who paid for the tickets, we felt it was our responsibility to eat heavily. We had cerviches, spicy tacos, pulled pork sliders, chicken sandwiches, brisket -- it was a true feast. We were full, and wondered why -- as the portions were small. Then we recalled we had like 20 of them... We ran into Norman's nephew, a lawyer, and his pregnant wife, and Norman's niece alnd her husband, who work for the family construcion business. I never envy my friends, but last night I did. Norman's family -- there are 3 brothers and a sister -- are very close -- including the many cousins. They squabble, of course, but Norman's boys and his sister and brothers' kids are a big part of each others' lives. They all live in Miami, which is a big part of it, but still...it is definitely old school. Each cousin knows the others are there for him or her, and they truly like each other, mostly. We went inside the building, and they were preparing for the IRon Chef competition. Norman and I finished the last of the heavy eating and drinking. The place grew crowded, as an hour after the VIP folks were let in, the "regular" people were admitted. Norman and I realized we each cared far more about eating than watching the chefs compete -- so we left. It was the best Thursday night I've had in awhile...and a fitting prelude to a big Saturday -- Canes host FSU. FSU will probably cream our guys, but Norman and his good friend Maria, tailgate party hosts extrairdinaire -- are planning grilled filets, the best chicken wings in Miami, and stone crabs. I'm giving the tail gate party edge to the Canes on Saturday...

The First Cousin to Go

My mother is one of 5 siblings, and she's one of 2 of them still alive. Of her brother and 3 sisters, only she and her youngest sister Florence (82) are still among us. The 5 Goldsmith kids had a combined 16 kids -- my maternal first cousins. I'm the youngest, at 51, and the oldest, Arleen, died at 73 yesterday. Ah, Arleen. What a tough life she led. She was the first of our generation to show effects of the serious mental illness that seems to be our family's birthright (along with good looks, great sense of humor, and, with some small exceptions, intelligence). Arleen married a military guy, and they moved to Arizona, in the late 60s, I think. They had 2 boys, Gavin and Brody, and then Arleen snapped. As the stories trickled down, they involved her taking a garden hose to the inside of her house, to clean away the desert dust, and supposedly wandering naked in the wilderness. I'm not sure how true they were, but they led to her return to NY for a mental hospital, and her husband taking flight, leaving Arleen's parents to care for Gavin and Brody. Arleen's mother Dottie, my mother's favorite sibling, was herself a recovering mental patient. She and my uncle Arthur reached out for help, and the other families took turns caring for the toddler Brody. I was probably 11 at the time, and found it way cool to have a little cute brother move in. And Brody was a charmer -- blonde curly hair, and laughing all the time. I think we kept him with us on LI for about a month, and I was sad when he left. Arleen got herself together, more or less, thanks to the then emerging psychotropic meds. She remarried and moved to the west coast of Florida. Her oldest Gavin went to college and became, I think, a full Colonel in the US Army. Brody moved to Mass and works, I think, for the state government. I haven't seen Arleen in years. The last time was about 12 years ago. My uncle Marty, my Mom's brother, threw a party for himself after a diagnosis of terminal liver cancer. After the diagnosis but before the party, he asked me to refer him to a UM doctor. I called Dr. Barry, and sent him to one of the top liver guy in the US. Dr. Jeffers told Marty he'd die WITH his cancer, not OF it. He was correct -- Marty died several years later of a heart attack. But he had the party, which his brother in law bankrolled, anyway. Arleen looked great. She must have been about 60. Her mother Dottie was a dark haired beauty, and Arleen inherited her Mom's looks. We chatted briefly about life and family, and how we missed getting together with the cousins. We're all scattered about the country, and, in truth, none of us want to make the effort to get together. Even now -- I could travel to Venice, Florida this week for the funeral, but I won't. Friends are the new family for many of us... And so it is. As Wifey pointed out, when things go bad, or great, the first folks I call are my dear friends. My contact with my cousins is the occasional visit, or wedding. My Ds barely know any of my cousins. And their generation is going the same way. My Ds have some contact with a few of Wifey's cousin's kids, since they're close in age and life experience (D1 even fixed up one of Wifey's second cousins with a friend of hers from UF), but that's it. My Ds have 4 first cousins, and haven't spoken to any of them in years. On the positive side, all of us Goldsmith cousins made it to adulthood, with no childhood tragedies. Arleen fought leukemia for 5 years, and apparently the past 2 were miserable. My sister Trudy, turning 68 in a few months, is now the oldest first cousin, so my family provides the age frame bracket around all of us. As I wrote to Arleen's sister Terry, a childless lady living for the past 40 years in Oregon, may Arleen's memory be as a blessing.

Retail Therapy

So D2 flew home for the weekend, to get away for a few days. She's had a rough couple of weeks, and I picked her up at MIA, and she was beautiful as always. We promptly got stuck in immovable traffic as we attempted to enter the Dolphin Expressway, as our current president had landed in Air Force One moments before, and his motorcade shut down the roads around MIA as he made his way to UM to beg for more Florida votes. After about 15 minutes things opened up, and we were on her way. As we approached our leafy suburb, I pulled into Sunniland Shopping Center -- telling D2 I had a stop to make. We walked into Maurice's jewelers, and I told her she was now becoming a member of Dad's nice watch club. I can't care less about jewelry, with one exception, that springs, like most things about me, from my father. I like watches. I don't LOVE them, like my office roommate Mark, who has a collection of fine Omegas and Rolexes worth north of $1M, but I like them. When my father retired from his long time sales job, in 1979, the company gave him a thin Seiko. Looking back, it was rather chincy of them -- the watch probably cost about $200 at the time, but he loved it. Thin watches were just coming out then, and he wore it proudly. When he died, I took it over, and wore it daily for about 15 years, until the gold plating chipped, and the watch turned greenish. I still have it, of course. When I made some bucks, I bought myself a gold Omega -- also thin. I paid, I think, about $3500 for it. With gold prices soaring, it's probably worth about double that now. But I rarely wear it -- it sits in my home safe -- eyed by D1, who wants it as a graduation gift when she finishes her MS program. We'll see... When D1 turned 20, I bought her a steel Rolex from Maurice's. It was a reconditioned one -- made in '01, 7 years old. She LOVES it -- it's a man's watch, and will last forever. I figured it was D2's turn, as her 21st birthday is coming in 3 months. We picked out 3 watches, and the owner Andy gave me a price. But D2 needed the expert advice of her sister before committing -- so we returned after D1 came over. The choice was a "Date Just" 2 tone. It was made in 1941, but perfectly restored. The on site jeweler adjusted the band, and is engraving it. D2 picks it up tomorrow. D2, like her Dad, isn't a materialist, but I can tell the watch thrilled her. It'll keep time for years, and remind her, each time she looks at it, that both D1 and she HAVE found their Prince Charming -- and his name is Dad. Wifey and the Ds and I then went to our go-to favorite local Italian place, Di Napoli's, and celebrated with pizza, scampi, and some amazing anti pasto. When we returned, D1 noticed that the oppressive Miami heat was just starting to decline -- and we might all take a walk around our 'hood. The spoiled grand dog Spaniel Mads and strange looking rescue dog Vienna the Sausage agreed --and the 6 of us left for our usual 1.1 mile circle. The night sky gathered around us, as the ladies chatted happily, and the dogs sniffed excitedly. I looked up and gave thanks to the Big Man. Before I picked up D2, I visited ancient Mom at the nursing home. I was going to see her fellow resident, my father in law, but ran out of time. Still, I got my usual reminder that the end of life sucks. So for now, with my ladies under one roof, I savor the moments...

A Confederacy of Dunces

Dr. Barry, who in addition to being closer than a brother, had my unending admiration. He stays at a job of absurdly bad politics, and lower salary than he'd make outside of academics, all to save children's lives, and to teach future pediatricians how to save children's lives. By far the worst part of his job is the never ending meetings. They're meetings with academic docs and administrators, whose egos are monumental. There's an old saying: the fights among university faculty are so vicious because the stakes are so small. Barry sees that daily. I deplore meetings as well, especially formalized kinds. Still, I sit on one: UM's Arts and Sciences Visiting Committee. Four or five deans ago, I was asked to be on it since I was such a devoted alumnus, and because I gave a lot of money. I agreed. The group was actually fun. There were true community leaders, including the retired owner of a modeling agency whose commercials dominated my tv watching in NY when I was a kid. The fellow, who I'll call Richard, since that's his name, took his bundle from the sale of the business and moved to Miami. He was raised strictly Catholic, and had a true revelation: he was an atheist, and found the Catholic church to be the most corrupt, full of crap institution of all time. And, he told me, this was BEFORE all of the scandals with the pedophile priests. So Richard started a humanistic foundation, and he gives big money to bring famous atheists like Richard Dawkins to UM. So he's a cool guy to hang with at our bi ennial meetings... After years of simply attending, and listening to the changing parade of academic bureaucrats tell us how great things were at the College, I decided to really do something. I wrote a proposal to the new Dean, a Greek American physisict, about an idea to start a College wide internship program. Modesty aside, I know a TON of people in Miami, across a broad range of professions, and I figured I could, for example, take the young pre med kid and let him intern for a doctor, to see whether he really was cut out for medicine. Since I know lawyers, artists, musicians, construction managers -- you name it -- I thought this was the sort of program that would really benefit students AND the College. I know I had ZERO idea what being a doctor entailed when I was at UM as a pre med, and only after I interned with my old friend Bob Davidoff, the neurologist, did I know medicine was NOT for me... So I wrote this up, sent it to the Dean, and...nothing. A few months later, I wrote again, and he referred me to one of his flunkies. She was nice enough, and we met in her office in the Ashed Building, but she kept thinking that since I was a lawyer, my idea was only for law students. No, I told her, most law students find their own internships... Fine. We'd meet again. She blew me off for a few months, I wrote her, and still she ignored me. I wrote her boss -- he apoligized and had her contact me, but by this time I was turned off. I did some behind the scenes checking, and learned that the current Dean was the most despised of any in the last 30 years. Surprise. I was going to resign my appointment, but figured I'd just wait until the next Dean came in. Administrators at colleges are like guests at the Grand Hotel: people come, people go -- nothing much ever really happens. Tomorrow is the Fall meeting. I was going to go, but Fate stepped in. D2 decided to come home for the weekend! Alas -- I have to write and tell them that the wheels of academic bureuacracy have to turn without me. So both Ds will be home for the first time since August. Now that's a committee I truly cherish.

My Kind of Town, Chicago Is

So for the second weekend in a row, I planned to escape the "Olds," as I have taken to calling my mother and father in law. Last time it was Dad/Daughter sorority weekend at UF; last Friday I left for Chicago to watch my Canes play Notre Dame. I arrived at MIA, and the departure lounge was crawling with Canes fans. I was going alone -- most of my crew was already there, or taking other flights. I met a lawyer I know, who was going with his wife, a middle aged Cuban lady. She had a sour look on her face, and was giving him a rash of crap about not telling her how cold it would be at the stadium -- why didn't they pack better, etc... Although Wifey would NEVER make any trip I took anything other than wonderful, I looked skyward as my fellow bar member was being tortured and hen pecked, and thanked the Big Man for traveling alone... Mike and Loni's girl Amanda and her friend Nick were coming in from LA, so we met up at O'Hare (ne easy feat) and were picked up by Mike, Loni, and Chris. A huge dinner awaited all of us in 3 hours, so Mike pulled off the highway so we could all eat Chicago hot dogs at a place called Hot Doug's. I had one small dog, and some french fries cooked in duck fat -- something they only do on Fridays... They all dropped me at the Paramore, where Eric and Dana were checking in. We sat in the lovely lobby, and they drank wine, and we met several other fans and played Cane geography... My law partner Paul joined us from an apartment where he camped out with his boy Alex, and we walked to Gene and Georgetti's, and old Chicago Italian steak house. It was PACKED. Many Canes fans were there, drinking and eating. Rob was at the bar with his old friend Scott, and Paul and Darriel and their granddaugher joined the group, along with Mike's sister Jeannine and her husband Ray. Dr. Barry and Scott arrived, and we were seated at a table. I think there were 22 of us. I had several Ketel Ones, and we had enormous steaks. The second floor was FILLED with Canes fans, and a wine charged Rob led us all in some cheers. The crowd was rowdy. At a table next to us, someone was gnawing on a T Bone, as his tablemated cheered him on. Next we knew, the hunk of steak was passed to several tables, and the drunkest or bravest (it was Rob at our table), took a bite. It was hilarious, and even more so when Dana showed her disgust. "I would NEVER eat another man's meat," she assured us... From G and G's, Eric, Dana, Paul, and I went to a new Chicago club called "Untitled." Paul's son Alex's friend Mike is a part owner, and we got VIP entry, past the crowd of 50 or so waiting to go in. Alex was there with his brother in law Derek, and Derek's childhood friend Dwight, Junior, the son of a Dolphins Hall of Famer. Dwight junior played football at Notre Dame, and invited us all to a huge tailgate party. Saturday we walked around the city, and then went to Lou Malnati's for some deep dish pizza and beer. That place was ALSO packed with Canes fans. We acquitted ourselves well consuming mass quantities, and then took a cab to Soldier Field. After walking for miles, we found the Notre Dame tailgate party, and enjoyed our rivals' company. They were truly fun and classy folks. Dwight, junior is a wildly impressive young man -- now working in real estate in Chicago. If he ever decided to run for office, he could well surpass another fellow from Chicago now battling to keep his job... The game took place. It was cold there. And the Olds managed to get me, at least partially. The heavily Creole nurses called. Mom needed a transfusion, and they wanted to move her to Mt. Sinai. I refused, but kept getting cut off in the mass of phone users. After about 30 minutes, I was able to tell them to keep Mom on campus... Dr. Barry and Scott dropped Eric, Dana, and I off at the hotel. We found a Starbucks and I had a smoothie while they had some coffees. I missed an early flight home, and so have spent the afternoon in the O'Hare Admiral's Club, watching football and drinking. I have no doubt the Olds will require my services upon my return...