Time for a Cool Down

Well, it's happened, as it does most years around this time: the heat of Miami has gotten to me. When the Ds were little, we always scheduled vacations in August, mostly for an escape from the heat. The two best were Alaska, and a Baltic Sea cruise, where I loved wearing sweaters while everyone home was sweating. This year, Wifey's bad back has reared its head, and the only traveling she could do was a week in Atlanta, to see her best friend Edna. Quadriplegia won't prevent THAT trip. But I'm feeling more and more that I need a few days away. Today's travel section has stories about visits to Alaska, Maine, and North Carolina. I'd love to hop up to those last 2, but a they aren't the best places for a single guy. Staying at a romantic bed and breakfast alone is downright creepy... The good news is that our firm's shared cases have some meetings and depositions coming up, and I may just volunteer to handle them as a pretext to get away. D1 is off to England this week, and she'll have some cooling in Manchester and London. D2 goes back to college the following week -- Gainesville is hotter than Miami in the summer, but surrounded by her great friends and the hubbub of starting her junior year, I don't think she'll notice the weather. That leaves me. As the heat is oppressive, I'm ready to fly the coop for awhile.

Reinventing Oneself

Yesterday I spent a lot of time with my old friend Mirta. We met when she became our receptionist, and, with the challenges of being a single mother, earned a Bachelor's degree, in Business. Over time, my firm and my roommate Mark's firm used her for a variety of tasks. When Mark's mother was in the final months of her life, Mirta acted as her case manager -- coordinating care for the old lady -- until she passed away. Over time, my partner Paul and I brought her to work for us exclusively, and she rose to become manager. Mirta was like Radar O'Reilly on "MASH" -- she knew all the shortcuts in our building -- who to call, and who to call upon to get stuff done. When Paul and I turned over the firm's daily operation to Stuart, we made him hire Mirta, but it didn't last too long. Stuart has a very different style of running his business, and he and Mirta clashed. Actually, Mirta clashed with Stuart's staff -- including one lady whose shortcomings, as pointed out by Mirta, turned out to be dead on... Anyway, Mirta started collecting unemployment benefits, and learned of a retraining program where the State would pay for her to attend nursing school. It was an accelerated program, where in 15 months, with intense study and practical training, you could earn your LPN. Afterwards, there was a "bridge" program for an RN. She's 4 months in to her program, and she's doing great. She's the grandma of the class, but still getting high grades. When Mirta's mother died, the family relied heavily on a hospice nurse, and that's Mirta's calling. In the meantime, at lunch last week, we came up with an idea. Mirta has Friday's off, and she LOVES caring for old folks. I hired her part time to visit my mother at the nursing home. Mirta volunteered, but I insisted she be paid for this babysitting job. Yesterday we travelled to see Mom. We fibbed to her, and told her Mirta needed to "visit a nursing home patient" as part of her training. Had I told Mom that Mirta was being paid to visit, she'd have declined. As it is, next Friday will be the start of what will hopefully become, for Mirta, "Fridays with Sunny." Afterwards, we went to dinner with Wifey and D2. Mirta's nephew is an old elementary school friend of D2's, and he was out waiter at the local Ale House (home of the best Cobb salad in Miami, in my opinion). I remember Brian as a little boy -- he's now about 6'2" and in local college -- paying his way by waitering... We enjoyed our company, and laughed about the old times at the firm, and the unique peccadilloes of our co workers. I love that D2 knows Mirta. Mirta is a true mentor to her, in the sense that Mirta's life was anything but easy, but Mirta soldiered on and on, and now has the strength and wherewithal to change careers towards her calling at nearly 50. I'm so proud of Mirta. And now she's back in our family. I asked her to visit with Mom for an hour or two, but Mirta says that's too short a time -- Sunny likes to talk, and Mirta likes to listen, so she thinks longer visits will be the way to go. How can you thank someone for making your mother's final years easier and more fulfilling? I just finished a book about a Navy SEAL. There was a line that the SEALS are the guys who clean up the crap, so that we can enjoy our lives. Many talk about helping, but some folks in life actually put in the time. Mirta is one of these. In the Yiddish tradition, we call her mentsch...

The Unwelcoming Welcomer

About 6 years ago, I was asked to become our neighborhood's welcoming committee director. I assumed the job, since it was amazingly easy (greet the one to two new neighbotrs who move in yearly), and fun for an extrovert like me. The job consists of bringing the newcomers our neighborhood's welcome packet, containing the directory as well as information about our unique flora and fauna, and a cheap yet drinkable bottle of wine. For years, I enthusiastically loped up to the doors, and heartily greeted the new folks. I even forgot to get reimbursed for the wine. But now, alas, I grow more curmudgeonly, and realize I may no longer be the right man for the job. I grew tired of making multiple visits to the new peoples' houses, and took to simply leaving the bottle and packet at the front door. But our dear friend Diane moved away from the big house next door, and so last weekend it was my turn to again act in my official capacity. A small child answered my knock, and like a creepy salesman I asked if his mommy or daddy were home. A middle aged guy came down the stairs, protesting he had a cold and was not "feeling too social." That's ok, I told him -- I was just there to drop off the welcome packet. He never invited me past the door post I had crossed thousands of times before, in visits to our friend Diane and her ex husband Charlie. We grew close to them over the years -- even inviting them on a cruise with our closest friends, but, as often happens in a divorce, the outsiders get one spouse or the other, and we inherited Diane. Anyway, I stood there trying to make pleasant conversation with the diminutive lawyer, who in short order told me he had moved from a luxury apartment in the Gables, and was starting trial on a major case Monday. Wow -- I was impressed... He was a few years older than I am, and also told me he has grown kids as well as the little boy. I sort of figured the current kid had a different mom, and sure enough I was proved correct, as a lady in her early 30s flounced down the stairs, in a filled out halter top, with tatoos on both shoulders. She wasn't appearance challenged... The tatoos told me she was under 40, as I believe federal law prevents anyone (certainly a female) born before 1970 to get a tattoo, especially one visible to the general public. So I slouched away, feeling like I was a minor and comedic nuisance to our neighborhood's new version of "Modern Family." That's the point. Instead of embracing our newcomers, I was instantly mocking and chuckling about them. That's not very neighborly. I think I may need to turn in my welcome packet and wine soon. Strangely, Wifey, who was NEVER the friendly one in our marriage, is becoming more so. She's the current crime watch person. Maybe the answer is to switch jobs with her. She can be the warm, welcoming presence, while I report on the occasional thefts of change out of the unlocked car dashboards -- the only crime we've seen in the past half decade. Nah. Last thing I need is to become an upscale George Zimmerman. I'd better just keep to myself.

He Coulda Been A Contenda...

So as I can't seem to find anything else productive to do professionally except the law business, I've been spending more and more time in the law business. Over the last few weeks I've been helping the firm find a new secretary (they did) and trolling for new cases (in progress). Yesterday I had lunch with my former secretary and still friend, Mirta, along with another old friend and former client. We caught up, and spoke of family and kids and, in their case, grandkids. All I had to bring to the discussion were tales of my grand dog... Anyway, the old client told us about her step son -- a young man who has brought nothing but misery to her and her husband. One story in particular struck me -- the boy (though he's past the age of majority, he's no man) turned down an invite to a family weekend upstate, and instead invited his druggie friends over to the house for a huge party. They trashed the house and stole my friend's jewelry. When the homeowners returned, and confronted the boy, his excuse was that he HAD to hold the party, as his Dad and stepmom had left him alone and he was lonely... It was classic. The true province of the loser is creativity with excuses. A loser is better than anyone else at coming up with reasons for failure and disappointment. I asked my friend what plans, if any, the boy had. She told me he KNOWS he could really soar in North Carolina, but he never goes! Why not, I asked. My client the step mom screwed up her face, as she repeated his reason: "He says too many things keep him here." Also classic. In 10 years he'll be telling anyone interested in his tales of misery that he COULDA been something -- he COULDA been a big success, but for some vague reason he was "compelled" to stay here in the cesspool of South Florida. That's another mark of the loser, in my observation. Whereever they live -- it sucks. We said goodbye, and I felt for my old client and friend. I truly did. She loves her husband, but seems destined to be saddled with this failure to launch forever. Meanwhile...Wifey is ready to go up to Boca later today, to sample Dr. Eric's cooking. He's now progressed past his wine hobby, and is learning about craft beers. He's promised to unveil one that is 36 proof. Wow. Powerful beer. What'll they think of next?

More Losing My Religion

I fell for it again! The guilt causing me to come back to shul. Rabbi Yossi prevailed upon me to come last Saturday, to honor the anniversary of my Dad's death -- to calm his eternal soul. I went, and fumbled through the Hebrew transliteration at the Bima, when I was called to the Torah. Afterwards, Yossi whispered that it was traditional for a Yahrzeit son like me to "sponsor" the kiddush lunch -- the small snack afterwards. I always piok up the bill with Yossi, so I said of course. The lunch, for the 30 or so assembled, was some salads and challah bread, and soda. The cost couldn't have exceeded $100. I left the shul, still not "feeling the Lord," but happy. On Monday, I sent in a check for $180 -- ten times the mystical number of 18, which signifies life in Hebrew. Yesterday I got the celestial bill. I was invoiced for $250!!!!! Apparently that's the cost of the kiddush lunch. Wifey, who knows my buttons well, remarked "Oh boy -- that's the worst thing the rabbi could have done." You hate being unappreciated and nickled and dimed." OVer the years, my partner Paul have given donations well north of $100K. We provided the interest free mortgage that allowed him to purchase the property where the center now stands. We were the MACHERS -- the big men on Hebrew campus. Now, donations have trickeled off, of course. So I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Someone's gotta pay the freight, and schleppers get tagged for the surcharges. But sorry, Dad. In the future, your soul will have depend on the prayers I say to the Big Man when I'm standing by the ocean, or Biscayne Bay. Dad taught me his revulsion to organized religion. Maybe in some metaphysical way, he was responsible for my receiving the bill for $70. Dad always taught, that above all, don't be a schmuck. I'll try not to be in the future...

Shorter of Breath, One Day Closer to Death

So yesterday I turned 51. To D2's annoyance, I keep quoting the great Dave Barry line about a man realizing at a certain age that his birthday is no big deal to anyone, and that age is 11. Still, it's a great time to figure out where I've been, and where I'm going... I spent the day wonderfully. First I had breakfast with my old friend Vince, and we spoke of empty nesterhood, aging, and career changing. We have a history of cracking each other up that dates to 1980, and we were in full and fine form yesterday. Next, I figured I ought to visit the lady who made ALL my birthdays possible, so I headed over to Miami Jewish Home to see Mom. It was remarkable -- she didn't hallucinate at all, and looked well fed and even hale. She had forgotton it was my birthday, but when I pleasantly cross examined her about the date, she remembered. We sat in the garden gazebo there and ate ice cream. Next, I stopped in the office, figured out a couple of issues on cases with Brian and Stuart, and then had lunch with Stu and his Dad Bill. Stu, whose career hasn't been quite as profitable as mine, always tells me how lucky I am. Meanwhile, as I reminded him, he's had his father by his side all this time, and even now they work together. So luck is relative, I guess... I headed home and fetched Wifey, and then we drove to Brickell to fetch D1, D2, and Joel. We headed out to the Palm, which has the best steaks in the city. I had a healthy sized martini, and shared a NY Strip with Wifey. Joel and D2 had never been there before, and were impressed. The place might as well have been in Midtown Manhattan -- top quality, no nonsense food and service. Dr. Eric, who is a pro level photographer and chef, is having us over Saturday, along with Dr. Barry, whose birthday is July 24th. Barry's wife is diabetic, and Wifey is on all kinds of retricted diets as well, so I implored Eric not to bother -- the men could just get together and share some drinks and laughs. He had none of that, and is planning a menu for the persnickety among our number... And so the days pass on, as Pink Floyd sang back when I was in junior high school. The Ds wrote me heartfelt cards, as did Wifey. My name has a Hebrew origin meaning "beloved." They sure made me feel that way yesterday...

Family Feuds

Wifey and I schlepped up to Boynton Beach to attend the wedding of my cousin Jeff's boy Scott. Jeff and his brother Michael are my favorite cousins. I see them rarely, but when we get together, it's like no time has passed. We arrived just as the non religious wedding guy was pronouncing the new couple soul mates, due to bad GPS advice. The contraption led me to SOUTH Federal Highway instead of NORTH. No matter -- the bar was open, and we mingled with other cousins --Linda and her husband Steve. My mother is one of 5 siblings, and there are a total of 16 first cousins. Aunt Dottie, who died years ago, has the oldest, Arlene, who is 70 I think, and I'm the youngest one, about to turn 51. I think Jeff and his son invited most of us, and only Linda, my sister Trudy, and I made it. And most live in or near South Florida. Worse, in talking to Linda, we learned that she's barely talking to her sister Marlene over support issues of their elderly parents, and still has anger toward her other sister Arlene (yes, my brilliant Aunt and Uncle named identical twins Arlene and Marlene) as well as her brother Eddie. Jeff and his sister Janet stopped talking over supposed thefts of estate money from my Uncle Abe, and his brother Michael, who drank the Kosher Kool Aid and became a "modern orthodox" Jew wouldn't come since his nephew married outside the religion. What a mess! Tolstoy was right about unhappy families being unique in their unhappiness. The mixture of family pathology is remarkable. Sadder, Scott, who was close to his grandpa, my late Uncle Abe, never mentioned him. The only mention of the older generation was Abe's second wife, Arden, who replaced Aunt Lorraine. When he recognized this Janey come lately as the "grandma," my sister Trudy and I screwed up our faces. I guess this is the way of the modern extended family. The truth is, at least among these cousins, we have little in common with each other. The only time most of my cousins call me is when they want free legal advice. Although I was happy to comply when I first became a lawyer, that got rather old over the years. Linda had me on the phone a few weeks ago essentially asking me where her daughter could find a quality divorce lawyer -- for free! Still, we enjoyed our time last night. Jeff's daughter Marni is a delight -- she's a practicing GI doc married to a crackerjack young cardiologist. They have 2 lovely daughters, and Jeff's wife Lynn is more a second mother than grandmother to them -- they cling to her and adore her. Wifey and I decided that Jeff and Lynn ARE our kind of folks. Jeff asked again for us to get together, now that we're all empty nesters. Maybe we will, but because we truly like each other, not out of some antiquated family connection. Those days are long, long gone.

Pascal's Yahrzeit

Today is the 30th anniversary of my Dad's death. I planned to spend it resting at home until leaving in the early evening for my cousin Jeff's son's wedding up in Boynton Beach. But Rabbi Yossi called yesterday, and reminded me to come into shul to say Kaddish -- the prayer for the Dead. He's a true believer, of course, and I'm not, but I figure I might as well apply the famous Pascal's wager. Pascal said that belief in God cost one nothing, and if it was correct, then eternal salvation awaited. On the other hand, firmly remaining atheist might be correct, but what if the atheist was wrong, and then, at the end, the Big Man shook His Head and denied the afterlife... Silly, I know, but for lack of saying some Hebrew words this am, I figure I don't want to risk uneasiness to Hy's soul. So I'll head over to the Shul, hope the walls don't crumble with my visit, and remember Dad in the religion of his childhood. If it's a waste of time, then so be it. Meanwhile, his widow keeps on slouching along. The Ds gave her a huge thrill yesterday -- they visited with BOTH the spoiled Spaniel, and the strange looking dog of indeterminate breed. She lit up at the visit. On the religion front, she reported that she had become a "Buddha," we think meaning "Buddhist," in which she cares about no earthly matters. I guess that makes a LOT of sense for someone who, as Springsteen wrote, has had so much stripped away... But, she likes it at the Miami Jewish Home. I walked her to the lovely garden gazebo the other day (i LOVE the word gazebo), and remarked how the grounds were so much lovlier than Kings Point, her concrete jungle condo home of 33 years. "Oh I know Kings Point is a dump," she said. "When I looked out the window I saw a PARKING LOT!" But she went on how she loved her little condo, and felt so safe and secure there. All I know is, on the anniversary of Dad's death, Mom is still safe, well fed, and mostly living with dignity. I don't know there's much more a son can offer... 30 years gone by. Wow. Wifey and I were out last night with some friends. We went to a Mango Festival at Fairchild Garden. Our friend Lew, the hand surgeon, was Wifey's neighbor before I met her. Lew and I met in 1983. We marvelled at THAT passage of time as well. Dad was gone one year then, and I was starting law school. Eric and I were roomies -- he was starting medical school, It truly doesn't seem nearly 3 decades have passed. I hope the Ds get how fleeting time is. I think they do. They savor each day -- laughing, creating memories with friends. And I'm blessed and thrilled to be a part of it. I still wish my father was around to share me adult life...

Oh Very Young, Oh Very Old

I got the call yesterday morning I was sort of hoping for: the nice, diminutive social worker Gordon from Miami Jewish Home informed me that they had a long term bed for ancient Mom. She's been at MJH since May, but as a Rehab patient. Nursing homes like that status, as MediCARE pays a healthy amount, but is limited to 90 days. As that 3 month period was drawing to an end, I had concerns that they'd call me and say "Come get her." If Mom paid the $8000 monthly retail price, there would of course be a guaranteed bed, but now that we put her money into a Special Needs Trust, and she's legally poor and MediCAID eligible, MediCAID only pays around $2K per month for nursing homes, and many facilities find no room at the inn for those patients. But, Gordon came through, and she has a permanent spot. He warned that the building she's going to isn't as bright an airy as the rehab wing, and phone and TV aren't provided. But the food, which Mom loves, is the same, and there will of course be staff there to assist her in and out of bed, and more significantly onto and off the toilet. And, her frequent accidents will, hopefully, be taken care of quickly and with as much dignity as possible. I'm going to visit her today, and ask D1 to quicken her efforts to have her spoiled Spaniel approved for therapy visits. Also, yesterday's mail had our mixed breed Vienna's therapy certificate, so D2 can hopefully bring the strange looking pup to MJH as well. Ah, speaking of the young...Last night, I met D1 and her boyfriend Joel and Joel's mom Cindy for a few adult beverages at my bar Trulucks. Cindy is vivacious and lovely, and looks far younger than her age (one year older than I am). She and I were comparing notes on how happy we are that we had our kids young -- we still have some great years ahead, and we can enjoy our kids as adults. I dropped them off at a Brickell restaurant, and headed home. As I write, D2 is flying home from a long Gainesville weekend, and will head right to her internship at UM/JMH. She's learning what being a clinical psychologist really does. As I told her, it'll either cement her career choice, or let her know she needs to choose a different path. When I spent a summer working with my old friend Bob Davidoff in his neurobiology lab, I knew that medical research was NOT for me, and, ultimately, clinical medicine wasn't either... So the young take on the world, and the very old just sort of slouch along. Wifey's mother called several times yesterday, crying to Wifey that my father in law announced he would no longer eat, and wished to die. Wifey threatened him with calling EMS, and having them take him to the hospital and be fed with an IV. My father in law, though addled with Alzheimer's, figured out that some of his wife's chicken soup was preferable to the hospital, and he had a meal. Still, it won't be too long until he joins my mother in some sort of home... Life truly belongs to the young. It has always been thus, and shall continue. I found and posted a great Robert Frost poem on Facebook. Nothing gold can stay...

Black Point

Happily, Wifey's bad back has been rearing its ugly head less frequently, and yesterday she travelled to Century Village to see an Israeli cousin, and came back ready to go out! We mustered at Jeff and Lili's and met Ken and Joelle. Joelle is turning 50 this Winter, and is planning a huge party for herself. She's scouting venues, and decided to check out the restaurant at Black Point, so we drove down Old Cutler to Galloway to the marina. It was a lovely scene, with the setting sun. We got a table and had terrific fried fish and chowders. My friend Mike pointed out years ago that very little that's deep fried insn't delicious. It's true, and my crunchy grouper was a testament to that fact. Kenny and Joelle took a tour, and the manager showed where they could accomodate a private group, and promised the band would be terrific, and the party goers would get their own raw bar and, more importantly, regular bar. The place gets my vote... D2 drove up to Gainesville and then Tampa. One of her sorority sisters turned 21, and her family invited them out on the family yacht, which is docked right by my favorite restuarant, Bern's. D2 called me to tell me the weekend didn't suck -- the boat dropped them off in St. Pete, where they had lunch and shopped. She's headed back to Gville later, and then will fly home early Tuesday for her internship. Tonight, the fun continues. My partner Paul's best college friend Frank is here from LA. Frank and I bonded years ago, and really dig each other's company. He and his wife Beth are going to Peru with Paul and Patricia (that's a lot of Ps), and have a night in Miami. So, we've decided to all meet for dinner on Brickell. Coincidentally, D1's boyfriend's mom Cindy is in from Indiana, spending a reunion weekend with her best college bud. So 12 of us will meet at Perricone's, for some pasta, drinks, and laughter. Afterwards, we plan to go to D1's apartment, and enjoy the view from the 36th floor. I just returned from Total Wine with 4 bottles of champagne for that part of the evening. So again, summer in Miami isn't too bad... For now, I think I hear my couch calling, for a Sunday nap. Yes, it's pretty fine here these days...

5th of July

So we fired up the new girly-sized Lexus Hybrid, packed D2, Wifey, and gear appropriate for a 1 week stay instead of a one day trip, and headed to pick up lovely Catherine, D2's friend. Second stop: the Biltmore Hotel for the 4th. Before we arrived, the texts from D1 were already heating up the cell phones. She and Joel had arrived early to secure some pool chairs, and there had been an incident. 2 hours after they sat down, a middle aged couple claimed the chairs were THEIRS -- they had staked them out at 9 am, and D1 and Joel needed to get moving. Not so fast. D1 was way impressed -- Joel had acted very UN Midwestern, and told the couple to go pound sand. Management was summoned and agreed with our team -- no "reserving" pool chairs was allowed. We arrived to find a very sour faced couple, now seated one row behind. I thought about various sarcastic comments I would share with them, but instead simply viewed the gorgeous surroundings, and lifted my own mood. The rest of the day was grand. We drank overpriced cocktails by the waterfall bar, ate delicious but also overpriced burgers and wraps, and rested inside our room and out. Joel, the Ds, and Catherine, swam and floated and drank most of the day. Later, we all gathered in the "mini suite" and watched the hot dog eating contest live from Coney Island. The ladies got nauseated; Joel and I got hungry. All showered, and we headed out to the golf course, where food trucks and some Biltmore food tents were awaiting. We bought some $8 hot dogs (they WERE delicious) and strolled the greens. Then, it was back to the waterfall bar, for some rum runners for the ladies, and Ketel One for me. We found a lovely patch of grass right by the pool exit, and watched a truly spectacular fireworks display. It occured to me that if fireworks don't awe you, you might as well pack it in. And these were truly remarkable -- exploding colors and shapes right above us, for well over 30 minutes. As soon as the grand finale had its final reports, I scrambled us all together to beat the crowd, and we retired to an old wood paneled bar inside the hotel. We ordered some more food, and watched the line for the car valet grow. One fellow ended up at the bar after waiting over 90 minutes. I recognized him as an old fellow season ticket holder at the Orange Bowl. We fist bumped to the Canes, and to America's birthday. We went back to the room to let more of the crowd thin out. Around 11, we returned to the lobby, and now the wait for the girly Lexus was only about 15 minutes. We dropped Catherine off, and Wifey cleaned up some dog pee and poop -- the bitches must have been scared by the local firecrackers and rockets. Plus, Honey, the ancient lab can't be kept in for long periods any more. Despite the dog droppings, it was a truly grand Fourth. I think next year we'll get a cabana, as we did in years past -- to avoid pool chair squabbles. The Biltmore was majestic, bathed in lights. It's truly a glorious old building, and part of our family history as well. Brava, old lady...

3rd of July

I always wax nostalgic as July 4th approaches. Maybe it's because it's too hot out to wax my car... I think of childhood, and my friends, and fireworks at Salisbury (later Eisenhower) park on LI. Later, I think of kick ass parties at my friend Vince's house when his parents were in the Keys. By 1982, it was a rough time. Dad had a heart attack, which would take him 10 days later, and I remember July 4 1983 as a sad one where I took my mother to see the fireworks at FAU in Boca, but neither of us was feeling very festive. By the next year, 1984, things were looking up. Wifey and I had gotten together, and that date we headed to Miami Beach the night before, to stay at strange friend Yvonne's South Beach condo. The city hosted the Beach Boys and Moody Blues at an ocean front concert, and we spent the whole day swimming and drinking. Wifey's old friend Jeannette was down from NY, and when Ringo Starr appeared as a guest of Justin Hayward's, she flew towards the stage. Meanwhile, I was, to put it nicely, incapable of walking anywhere once the show ended. Wifey gently led me back home. We joked last night that was the last time she needed to assist me physically... After the Ds came, we started a family tradition of getting a room at the Biltmore Hotel in the Gables. We'd swim in the enormous pool (my friend Jeff once observed it was the size of the Gulf of Mexico) and drank daquiris. Many years my friend Mike rented a cabana, so we'd relax there, and then head to the rooms to cool off before the night's fireworks. Alas, after the 2006 show, the City re sodded the golf course, and announced there would be no more parties, lest the candy ass golfers trip on divots... But this year it's coming back! There was much popular clammoring, and Bacardi Corp put up some serious money to sponsor it. I booked a junior suite, and the Ds are very excited. Joel and possibly a friend or two of D2's will come, and Wifey and I will join them. I plan to properly thank Bacardi by drinking SEVERAL rum drinks poolside... I visited ancient Mom today. She was in excellent spirits. I took her to a gorgeous gazebo in the garden of MCH, and we sat and chatted. Actually, she chatted her aged platitudes while I listened. We then went for some cokes, and then she got that look on her face that says "bathroom time." I got her back to her floor in the nick of time, and the nurse's aid took her to the bathroom without incident. These days, that counts as a succesful visit. We then left the room again, this time for the aviary. We sat and watched the love birds and cockatiels gaily chirping. She told me about how much her mother loved birds. I reminded her my mother in law does, too --hence Wifey's Hebrew name. So it's July 3rd. After the 4th, there's the All Star break in baseball, and as I'm following the Marlins closely this year, that has meaning for me. Then I turn 51 2 weeks after the 4th. The Ds and Wifey and I plan to hit the Palm for some steaks and martinis. Summer in Miami. It's not so bad.