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...

I See Old People

The title pretty much described Wifey and my life lately. Between ancient Mom, and her father Richard, the dominant news has been trips to Miami Jewish Home, reams of paper work for getting them both Medicaid approved, and for Wifey, the added attraction of dealing with her lovely mother. I mean lovely in the sense of not so much... So when I fired up the Little Girlie Lexus hybrid Friday, and headed north to fetch Dr. Eric, I sighed in relief the whole way. No more olds, for awhile...I spoke to my sister Sue, who told me excitedly about getting ready to attend a 100th birthday party for her friend in Visalia. I stopped her in her tracks: I didn't want to even HEAR about anyone old for awhile... Dana packed us water and apple slices, and Eric took the controls of the girlie car. We talked the whole 5 hours -- about our kids, our pasts, our parents, and our lives. I dropped him off at Jennifer's place, and headed to Yellow House, to see D2 and her roommates. They're so, well, YOUNG! And so they're vivacious and beautiful. My sister once said there's no such thing as an ugly 20 year old. She's right. Several of the other Dads, and one step Dad were there. We headed over to the Swamp, the famous UF bar, and we had a few, following dinner at a great wing and beer place. At the swamp there were MORE Dads, and pretty and blonde Carly. Many of the Dads were Gators themselves, and enjoyed trading Skeeter and bad UF football stories... Saturday we hung around, and I took D2 to Publix and a liquor store. I bought her some Absolut, to be drunk when she turns 21. When we got home, I told her and Catherine, Ashley, and Ali to come over to the kitchen. I would show them a cool trick -- put the vodka in the freezer. I opened the freezer and there were already 4 bottles there -- they each had their own. I am really, really uncool... Later we went to a house down the street, where a spirited game of "Flip Cup" was going on. It's a version of beer pong, where you have to chug some beer, and then flip an overturned cup right side up. D2 and I won our round. We were proud. The Dad who sponsored the get together had an IPOD with great 70s and 80s tunes. We swayed to Talking Heads, and Journey. I immediately knew I'd have hung with him 30 years ago... Next was dinner Downtown, at a hip placed called 101. It was South Beachy, but at $40 per person for dinner, including a Stella or two, about 1/3 the cost of a South Beach place. Sunday we went to the sorority house for a farewell brunch, and then Eric and I hit the road. I know I'm biased, but my D2 is a spectacular young lady. She's gorgeous, bright, and with her father's sharp wit. She has deep and meaningful friendships. I love being around her. And she's YOUNG! Yesterday Paul and I had some marketing business, and then I headed to MJH to see ancient Mom. I wheeled her a few buildings away, to see my father in law. Wifey was there, and cell phone videod the two of them having 2 separate conversations. Sample: "Sunny, they're going to cut my hair." My mother: "Yes, it's nice when you get fresh air." I leave in 3 days for Chicago, and MORE young ish folks. It's good to get away...