The Favor

Sometimes I wish I was a better person, but then common sense tells me it's better not to be... We got a call from an out of state friend last night, a person I took a long break from being friends with because of her chutzpah. Years ago, she asked me for a referral for a lawyer, the lawyer got her a perfect result, and then she grew angry and refused to pay when he sent her a bill. I was so outraged I cut her off, for years. But, as my grudges don't last too long, we renewed our friendship, and had some fine times. She possesses a spontaneity and vivaciousness that makes life fun when she's around... So last night came the call. She "hates to ask for a favor, but..." Ha. As if. She hates asking for favors like I hate asking for martinis at Trulucks... Her son, a nice enough kid, is, well, how to say this nicely, a loser. He's nearing his mid 20s and fails at everything. His mother sends him food money, and he uses it to party and drink. He was squatting at a relative's foreclosed house, but apparently that's ending. He needs to move out of state for awhile to pay a debt to the state... So the favor is, can he store his car here for about 2 months? I mean, I have a gate, so it'll be safe, and then Mom can stop paying the insurance, and in a few months he'll either come back to Miami to fetch it, or Mom will have it shipped up north... At first, the old Dave, the guy who never says no, kicked in. I mean, what's the big deal, right? I'd start the thing up every week, and move it around each time we have a get together, and remember to put up garbage cans as barriers if I have to move the thing next to the garage, where Wifey has backed into parked vehicles over 10 times... Then I thought about it. No. I rather love my scenic property and don't want it cluttered any more. D2 will be here for the summer, and friends will come and go, and each time there's a gathering, an extra car will require me to play valet parker, or traffic cop. So I emailed a rejection to the old friend. I don't blame her for asking, poor thing is at her wits' end about this young man she still feels she has to treat like a child... What is it with these guys? My Dad dropped as I turned 21, and I HAD to become a man. By 23 I was managing law school classes, a teaching and clerking job, and a live in girlfriend. I had to teach myself and THEN my mother how to balance a check book and pay bills. I'd no sooner have asked Mommy to look for a place to store my car than I'd have asked her to wipe my butt... I really see coming tragedy with many of these man-boys. I see well meaning parents unable to cut the cord, keeping older and older men infantilized. And somehow, to me, it's worse when they're male. A lucky girl can find a guy to take care of her -- it's much harder for a boy... But back to me, and my mean ness. Once again, old door mat Dave is hardening. Years ago, my boss Ed taught me a lesson. His wife had asked me to do some research, about Florida agriculture law, for her orchid hobby. I did it, and printed out the pages. I handed them to Ed, and told him they were what his wife DeeDee requested. Ed dropped the papers, saying "I don't schlep." What? I had done this for HIS wife -- what was the big deal about carrying home the papers. "David," he said -- "give them to Wiggins to take to her." Wiggins was the family and firm, well, schlepper. "If you schlep, that makes you a schlepper, my boy, and I didn't go to law school and build a big practice to schlep." And so it will be. I won't park.

The Fuhrer was Quite the Dancer

Lately I've been staying in more and more. Wifey never feels up to leaving the house for anything other than back related trips, and I've stayed home, too. My old friends Jeannie and Dave had a fundraiser last night, for a local theatre where they're patrons. I turned down the invite, but then Paul prevailed upon me to go -- he and his lovely lady would be there, along with his boy Alex and his wife Danielle. So I fired up the old Hyundai, changed out of my weekend shorts, and headed for the Gables. Dave is an old college friend, who couldn't get into UM Law and had to settle for Harvard. Afterwards, he clerked for a Miami Federal Judge, but then returned to his native Chicago. He truly missed Canes games, and moved back here with his Thai born wife. They bought a historic Gables house, and started a life. Alas, the bloom came off the cherry tree, and Dave called me for a divorce law referral. I sent him to Jeannie, my partner Paul's short time (10 months) ex wife. They hit it off, and after trying each other's cases, tried each other. They had twins, and now live a fine life together, with a lot of charity work, and dual careers, etc. They threw a fine party last night. I ran into some old friends, and made some new ones. My biggest laugh came when a lady approached me, saying I looked familiar. She looked familiar to me, too, but then again the Ds always say EVERYONE looks like someone I know, and it turns out I truly do know them about 20% of the time. This lady was late 60s, and had the look of a wealthy widow or divorcee. She turned out to be a major patron of the theatre. She said we had met at one of my dance performances. I doubled over laughing. My dancing is as good as my drawing, and I draw like someone who has suffered a major head injury. No, I begged off, unless she saw me 5-6 times drunker than the legal limit at the Gelman Bar Mitzvah, where I danced, a LOT, I wasn't her man... Still, it was a great night. Woody Allen wrote that 80% of success in life is just showing up. I need to show up more, and I plan to. As I drove home half past midnight, I phoned Paul and left him a message, thanking him for lighting a fire under me and getting me to go out. Next party, I might even try the tango...

Tough to be down on a sunny morning

So I found myself annoyed and down yesteday. Wifey's back is mired in pain, and she's down, and as black comedians have noted, if mama ain't happy, ain't no one in the house happy. I got a call from an old friend lamenting her sick brother, who lives a 4 hour drive away. She went on and on about how bad she feels, and whether he's getting the right treatment, and is he depressed, and finally I asked why the hell she didn't just get in the car, pop in a cd, and go visit him? Well, she said, she would but she has all these committments here, and responsibilities, and kids... Whatever. I've realized over the years that talk is cheap when it comes to relatives. Change the diapers, feed them, send them to college. That's love. Talking about how bad you feel is just cheap talk. Then, Dr. Barry called, to share a tale of a patient he's followed since she was 5. She was born with an awful genetic blood disorder, and has endured a liver transplant and series of strokes. She is now 22. Her parents asked Barry to come to the unit to say goodbye. He arrived, and they grabbed him in a tearful bear hug -- thanking him over and over for all he's done for their daughter. They're taking her to hospice now. Barry nearly lost it, but kept his professionalism, and thanked THEM, for all they've taught the staff about love and strength and commitment. Once again, he reminded me of what I already know -- my problems don't amount to a hill of beans. And then, to truly rub my nose in my stinking self pity -- he told me that he recently got emails from both the Ds, and how taken aback he was by how warm and caring they are. He reminded me that despite our manifold psychopathologies, somehow Wifey and I raised to golden people...if he had daughters, he'd want them to be his. So I slept like a baby on benadryl, and awoke to an absurdly bright sun, and unseasonably cool temperature. It's late April, and a strange cold front made it sixty degrees with low humidity. The dogs and I fetched the paper, and read it together with coffee under the gumbo limbos that surround my pool. Just saying the name of that tree brings a smile...I always hear it with a Jamaican accent, by, say , Geoffrey Holder, followed by a deep three beat laugh: "Gumbo LIMBO...ha ha ha." Despite my large belly, I reached a leg around and kicked myself in my ass. The day beckons. Life beckons. I stepped over my hill of beans and am taking it on.

Socialites

I just finished reading today's Herald, and saw 2 friends in the social pages. My friend Joel's wife was pictured at a fundraiser for her kids' private school, and my old friend Allison is in another shot for HER kids' school.

Both ladies look lovely. Allison's mother grew up in the country club set in Connecticut, and Allison always wanted to be a part of that, too. Through her and her husband's success, it's happened, and I love to see it. She's also on TV many mornings as the Chair of the local Humane Society -- she LOVES dogs, and works tirelessly to get them adopted.

Courtney, Joel's wife, grew up more working class on Long Island, but after law and art degrees, also ascended to social status. She's well known in local art circles, and raised money for her kids' school, a very prestigious one in the Grove where local non Jewish sons and daughters of the city's movers and shakers attend.

I LOVE making fun of Joel about this. I adore him, and he's probably the most succesful young criminal defense lawyer in town, but prides himself, as I do, on staying grounded. Whenever he parks his navy blue Porsche 911 near my Hyundai, I always write "Douchemobile" on one of my cards and leave it tucked behind his wiper blade, so he knows I was there.

I just finished texting Joel about how he clearly married above himself...

Wifey's not one to get so involved. She finds the thought of having to dress up and attend social functions more stressful than anything else. The Ds call her the queen of the tracksuit, and so it is.

I've joined some clubs and organizations over the years, but I'm not too confortable there either. I still sit on a UM committee, since I love the place so, but I find I miss the meetings, which are only biennial, pretty often.

My father was "never a joiner" and so avoided all sorts of clubs and groups. I am more and more like him as I age...

D1 and D2 seem to enjoy the society scene more and more. Much of it comes from their sorority, I guess. D1 joined the junior league, and enjoys its events and socials. She'll make many contacts there which will help her in her career, I'm sure.

So I'm proud and happy for my friends. It's nice to see friends in the paper for good things, as opposed to criminal prosecutions, for example.

My social groups will continue to involve heavy drinking, and sports. We don't make the papers...fortunately.

Play Ball!

I finally got into the much discussed Marlins Park. On Wednesday, D1 dropped me off at UM to meet Mike, so we could buy our Canes/Notre Dame tickets together. Mike told me there was a required stop on the way home: Fox's saloon. I didn't argue.

Over my 2 martinis and Mike's 3 Mai Tais (he's been watching a lot of "Mad Men" and exploring his inner early 60s self) he invited me to play hooky on Thursday and go to the game. Again, I didn't argue.

I took Metrorail to Mike's office, where we met up with 2 of his partners: another Mike, and Richie. Mike drove, through "historic Overtown," and we made it to the Park in about 10 minutes. Mike and I have a running joke about that 'hood. Do gooder liberals put up a sign on I-95 for tourists, presumably, telling them the exit for "Historic Overtown." They are restoring an old theatre there, but any tourists getting out of their cars in "Historic Overtown" will get a "Historic Carjacking."

We parked at a house I'm sure I parked at during my many trips to the old Orange Bowl, and the Latina owner even promised "No block-ee" just like in the old days.

The stadium is truly fantastic. It's bright and colorful and well planned. We got our upper deck seats, and though they're high, the view is perfect.

We walked around, and got some newfangled orange flavored beer that Budweiser sells. I had the most delicious burger I ever ate at a stadium. The crowd was in to the game -- the Fish swept the Cubs.

There's an homage to the old Orange Bowl. Mike and I stopped there and bowed our heads. There are bars, and stores, and an overall terrific experience.

Any my MAN, Heath Bell, got the save. Heath is built like I am. He looks more like a couch potato than a pro athlete. This is the beauty of baseball.

I grew up playing baseball, football, basketball, and street hockey. Baseball was my first love. The Mets won an improbably World Series Championship when I was 8 -- the age a boy falls in love with sports. And I was a serviceable first baseman, all through high school.

Now, at 50, I can't imagine being fast or strong enough for football. I wouldn't last a half of a quarter running a basketball court. I can't ice skate. But I can watch Heath Bell pitching, and think, in my deepsed fantasy world, that I could still play baseball.

If only I could throw a 95 mph fastball...

I called both Ds, and told them they and their boyfriends were in for some fun times. I have tickets for 9 games. I have a feeling they'll dig the place, like I do.

Big Weekend in the 305

Friday my partner Paul and I found ourselves in a most unusual situation: someone was buying dinner for us. Over the course of our 18 year partnership, we always seem to be the guys picking up the tab. Our generosity has paid big dividends, professionally -- folks want to do business with the big shots, it seems. But Friday was a welcome change.

My neighbor Mark put us in touch with his old boss Dick, a man in his mid 80s still actively practicing law. Dick had a client who was burned by a gas powered saw, and Mark knew my firm had developed expertise in that area, so Dick referred us the case. It took awhile, but we secured a very healthy settlement, and Dick was thrilled with his co counsel fee. He took us all to the Capital Grille for drinks and steaks, and we had a blast talking about our strange and wonderful business of making money after folks are hurt or die.

Saturday I hung with our house guest Elizabeth, in town from Orlando to deal with the sad task of cleaning out her late mother's condo. We talked of life, and death, and cabbages and kings.

Saturday night, Wifey's back allowed her to get out, and we headed down to the Wynwood Art Walk, in, not surprisingly, Wynwood. It's a gentrifying part of town, which means that you step over homeless guys sleeping on the sidewalks to get to hip and trendy art galleries and restaurants.

The event was PACKED, with mostly 20 and 30 somethings, and D1 was busy as a bee giving out samples of cognac. We hung with her, and then went to the food trucks, where we found our favorite: Kitchen Kabob -- a Persian family who grills chicken and corn with spices that are the most delicious ever.

Bands sprang up on sidewalks, and D1 raked in over $160 in tips. Combined with the $112 her employer paid, it was stripper money. Well, for a moderately successful stripper...and without my earing the "F" as a Daddy Chris Rock correctly says a man gets if his daughter really IS a stripper...

Sunday night the culture continued! Dr. Dave and his wonderful girl Shira came over, and we traveled with Wifey and Elizabeth to WDNA -- the public radio studio on Coral Way that hosts concerts. We drank capirhinas, which are kind of like Brazilian mojitos, and listened to a lovely singer named Monica Da Silva. She's half Brazilian and half American, and with a sultry voice. She sang a song that included the line "With a single kiss we opened up a whole new door." That resonated with me, for some reason...

Next was a Brazilian master pianist named Arturo (didn't get his last name, though he's apparently a big macher in Brazilian jazz) and he was a true virtuoso. He played standards with a guitarist, turning Cole Porter songs into Bossa Novas...

We all listened, transfixed. We stopped at Canton on the way home, and shared some sushi and egg rolls while Wifey went to tend to her back.

Earlier on Sunday, we celebrated ancient Mom's 92nd birthday. D1 and I brought the spoiled spaniel, who we snuck into the pet phobic condo. When Madeleine trotted in and jumped onto Mom's lap, she really squealed in delight. It's a true blessing to be able to still bring her happiness.

We met my sister and brother in law for Chinese, only to find that those Chinamen don't serve until later, so we ended up at the go to deli, Gramercy. Afterwards, we went back to Mom/s condo for cake, with a 9 candle and 2 candle. Mom was still able to blow them out.

When we left, she smiled and said that if this was her last birthday, then it was a good one. She truly appreciated each day. We can all learn from her.

Fading, fading...

I fired up the Hyundai yesterday morning, and headed up to Delray for my bi weekly visit to ancient Mom. The positive news is that now that Easter (and mostly Passover) are largely over, the snow birds have flown, so things in retirement County are a bit less crowded.

I opened Mom's door, and there was an object blocking my way. Great, I thought, I was going to be the bad lotto winner. My sister Trudy and I have come up with that term for the one who finds Mom when she finally goes to final sleep. We figure that since her caregiver Louise goes 3 times per week, and Trudy and I only once every fortnight, Louise is the mathematical favorite...

Fortunately, it was only her walker. Mom was doing laundry in the bathroom by the front door.

I greeted her, and we sat down. Her movements have become even more labored. She made it clear she preferred I go bring in food for us rather than take the effort to go out. And her hearing and attention span for conversation has diminished as well. For the first time in awhile, there were long periods of pregnant pauses and silence.

Still, she remained pleasant, and gobbled up the breakfast I brought her. I told her we would celebrate her 92nd birthday the coming weekend, and she reacted like a sweet 5 year old -- actually saying "Hooray!"

Wifey has it worse. Her father and mother called the house 7 times yesterday, looking for her. Wifey was out doing back related things, and they had questions about their quotidian things. This am my father in law called yet again -- terrified because my mother in law was sick and sleeping. It sounds like a bad cold or the flu, but he had utter terror in his voice. Who will care for him if his wife of over 60 years is unable?

The more I consider these things, the more the only rational choice is earlier death. Maybe 80 or so, at the latest? My mother and in laws were fine then -- still enjoying life and their grandkids. They were relatively independent and healthy -- not the fearful, toddler like shadows they have become.

The problem is, of course, no sane person wants to check out even a day before they have to . Even my mother says she still loves sitting on her back porch watching the sky. Sometimes there are clouds -- sometimes there are amazingly blue skies. And there are always the world's most pathetic bottle brush trees. They've been there the entire 33 years Mom has lived there, and never allowed to grow more than about 12 feet, or too wide. Heaven forbid they become a burden on the building...

As so the fading continues...Who among our three will leave first?

D1 said the other day she knew she had largely lost her grandmother about her sophomore year in college --about 4 years ago. They used to talk, and now my mother feigns interest in her grandkids. D1 and D2 keep up with monthly letters, and D1 is going along with me this Sunday for the birthday Chinese lunch, but a lady who was truly a part of her life is now, well, a friendly ghost...

Passover Weekend

So we ended up in town for Passover, after all. D2 hopped a flight from GNV, and was picked up by D1 at MIA, with Spaniel in tow. They headed back to Brickell to get ready, and Wifey and I came by an hour later to fetch them and Joel. Destination: Stuart and TRacy's Aventura townhouse, for the most raucous Seder in memory.

Stu and Tracy are consummate hosts. Tracy cooks well, despite her visual disability, and they just keep inviting more and more people. Their living room/dining room was a domino set of tables and chairs --over 40 folks were packed in.

Stu's boy Val poured drinks, and not many had previously seen a 9 year old bartender...I had my fill of Ketel Ones, and even the Ds drank some wine.

The conversation was warm and lively. Stu's old friend and appellate lawyer Arthur was there. Arthur is 74, and eccentric with a capital E, as I told the Ds. He's brilliant -- Princeton and Harvard Law -- and it turns out he grew up in Kentucky -- just across the river from Evansville, Indiana, where Joel is from. The two shared tales of small town, Midwestern/Southern Jewish upbringings...

Stuart led the Passover tale rapidly and happily. All were reminded the reason we had gathered, and all laughed and enjoyed. It was definitely MY kind of time...

The next day, Wifey begged off to rest her back, and to host her old college friend Eileen, in town from Exurbia, Georgia, and the Ds and I headed up to Paul's.

Paul joined the a beach club in Sunny Isles, and we sat at cabanas and the ocean eating lunch. Paul's old friend Lou was there, and he and I caught up on old tales.

Paul's sister, brother in law, and nephew and niece joined in, as well as lovely Patricia and her boy Joey. Paul, like Stu, loves to host, and everyone was made happy.

We then decamped to Gulfstream, and some pony watching. Here, too, Paul is the man: he gambles and distributes the winnings to the kids. He hit twice --a total of $600 -- and was relieved he "won" for the kids early in the going. There have been days he's spent a lot to "get them winnings."

Joel finished his law school studying, and he joined us as well. Lou gave him a good natured hard time -- putting pressure on him to show horse expertise.

Paul left, to host a meal for the family at his house, and we stayed and won the last race. Great time, all around.

Paul's adorable granddaughter was supposed to be there, with her parents in tow, but Tracy got sick and had to miss the trip. Little Lilly is 1. The celebration of that will take place in the coming weeks...

So all in all, a truly magical few days. D2 is sleeping in today. It's Easter Sunday, so will be a slow day all around...

Next weekend, we'll celebrate ancient Mom's 92nd birthday. She has chosen to eschew Passover seders the pasy year or so -- too far to travel. Life moves on...

Take Me Near to the Ballgame

Mike asked me to assist in putting together a consortium of fine gentlemen to buy season's tickets to the Marlins. I agreed, and the thought was Mike and I would each take 2 of the coveted opening game -- in Marlins Park. An ESPN announcer called the place the product of a cruise ship and space ship having a baby...and it really IS the coolest stadium in sports.

Well, we divvied them up, and then I realized that I would be in Paris for the opener, which was last night. Ha. As if! Wifey's back reared its head, and no trip was to be. But, in the mean time, I had promised my tickets to Dr. Barry and his boy Scott. I was happy about that anyway, as Scott lives and breathes the Marlins.

So, I figured I'd go to the game and scalp a ticket. Truth was, I only wanted to be part of the atmosphere -- the game, especially sitting by myself, held little draw.

Yesterday afternoon Stuart, Brian, and I poured a few adult beverages in the office, and then I set out for the stadium --People Mover to Metrorail. I got off the train near Jackson Hospital, and got on the trolley. I figured I'd meet Barry, Mike, Eric, and their sons.

Eric lucked out. He hadn't planned to attend, but then a nurse asked him to see a friend as a favor, last minute. The friend turned out to be a major league umpire, who was working the game. To thank Eric, he left 2 tickets for him at Will Call, so Eric and Josh trooped down from Boca.

I sat in the back of the trolley, next to an ENORMOUS woman. Funnier, her husband weighed about 100 lbs. Why are huge women paired with skinny men so hilarious? It helped that the fellow looked like Stan Laurel in a Marlins jersey.

Barry and I texted back and forth about this, as Barry waited for Scott to arrive by bus from Miramar. We did our best "Arthur" routine: "Did I mention she was obese?"

When the trolley arrived, and I peeled myself out of the space the enormous woman left, I got off and met ERic and Josh. We joined up with Mike and Chris, and Barry and Scott.

Ah --3 of my best buds and their sons. I was truly warmed by that, and realized that's what I had come to see.

At the original Marlins opener, Mike and I went with my brother in law Dennis and Ed, Mike's father. Ed is long gone. Seeing his look alike grandson Chris with Mike made me a little misty eyed...

I made some inquiries about tickets, but no one was selling for less than $150. A Latin fellow asked me if I had extras -- he saw me holding up a finger, in the universal stadium language of either "got tix" or "need 'em." Turns out HE had given HIS tickets to his nephew, and was about to bag it and head home.

I did the same. From the MEtrorail, I watched the Air Force jets fly in formation from the Bay to the stadium, in the setting sun. It was glorious.

Wifey had picked up Shorty's barbecue for me. As D1 remarked, "a woman of valor..."

I ate and watched the game. I have seats for 10 more, so I'll get there plenty.

For last night, seeing my friends and their sons together -- well -- that made it the best for me.