The Rabbit Hole

So yesterday I visited ancient Mom at the nursing home, for a quarterly case management meeting. The state requires these, and it's a gathering of nurses, nutritionists, social workers, and activity directors -- to assess the long term patient's needs and future care. As I arrived, a young man with a clipboard was waiting outside. He was a social worker intern, and needed some info for his file. Mom was having a rough morning: clearly some nightmares she had were still real to her. She asked me why Dr. Eric's boy Josh, normally such a nice young man, ignored her when she tried to get his attention about a potential fire at her house, caused by overcooked spaghetti. And then there was this mean, giant nurse, who came in and laid down in a chair, ignoring all of her patients. I couldn't bring her out of it, and the social worker intern, very soft spoken, was getting nowhere with his questions. So I comically "translated" for him -- by essentially yelling his questions. The process was long and annoying, and near the end he asked to confirm Mom's previous address. Turns out --he had the WRONG patient! He never apologized for wasting our time -- just sauntered out. Great future for this fellow -- I can tell. At the meeting, one of the nurses said Mom has been waking in the wee hours, terrified and calling for help. The plan is for her to see a geriatric psychiatist -- for some sleep aids, and possibly some anti psychotics. I left very down. I've been Mom's primary caregiver for years, and watched her gradual decline, and porpoising back, but this time it was so clear how much she's lost. And I guess I had been comforted by her happy affect -- which may be coming to a close as her senility takes a turn. I headed back to the office, and strategized a bit with Stu and Brian, and then headed to the U for a great Canes game with Dr. Eric and Barry, Dana, and Barry's boys Scott and Josh. It was a terrific night: 2 gin and tonics, and great company and game. A new Assistant AD had reached out to me, and invited me and some friends for a tour of the Hurricane 100 Club. He took Eric, Dana, and me there, and we ran into old friend Mike, his sister Jeannine, and son Chris, and old buddy Paul. The evening was a great counterpoint to a downer day with Mom.

The Past Isn't Dead

said the great Falkner, it isn't even past. That truth came back to me yesterday with striking clarity. Stuart and I were strategizing cases, efficiently and aggressively moving them along, when we decided to call our old former boss, Barry. Barry had the name of a consultant we wanted to reach, and the call gave us the opportunity to catch up with him. Stuart worked for the firm from '85-'87, and I was there from '97 to '88. Our overlapping year was the start of our friendship. We caught up about old lawyers, and then Barry brought up his long time receptionist, Linda. Linda was a lovely lady, with one of the sweetest and engaging voices ever. She was of Jamaican background, and had a hint of educated, British lilt. Midwestern male clients were charmed by her, and painted mental pictures of a lithe, elegant, James Bond-type lady. When they'd meet her they were a bit put off to see she was easily 100 pounds overweight. Still, Linda was there in the 80s, and, according Barry, still there until recently. He told us she left to join the Yahwehs -- a group of black militants who claim to be the only true Jews. She asked for over 100 vacation days -- including all regular days, as well as even the most obsure Jewish holidays. Since a law firm can't have a receptionist who's there only part time, she and the firm parted ways... But the Yahwehs! I thought they were long gone. They made big news here in the 80s -- led by the former Hulon Mitchell, a velvet tongued orator with piercing blue eyes from Oklahoma, who started a black supremacy cult in Liberty City. In true Miami fashion, they became darlings of city government for rehabbing old buildings, until it came out that they also were serial killers, who targeted white drifters who they considered devils. The firm I worked for after I left Barry's sued them -- on behalf of a woman and her kids whose husband was murdered when he refused the Yahwehs' orders to vacate an apartment building they had taken over. The Yahwehs actually settled, but during the case I got to take the most memorable deposition of my life: Robert Rozier's. Rozier was a UC Berkely grad who played in the NFL, got into drugs, and became a Yahweh elite soldier. He killed 7 people to prove his loyalry, but then was arrested and became the star witness against the group. He was sentenced to 5 years!!!! When I had to depose him for the civil case, it was my brush with true legal drama. He was in the prison protection program, and I wrote to the US Marshall, along with the Yahweh's legal team, led by Ellis Rubin -- another only in Miami guy. Ellis sent a young associate... We got a call from the Marshall's office, and told to be at the Center Street courthouse in NYC in 2 days. We went into a room (The City of Opa Locka's lawyer was also there -- they were being blamed, too) and I was expecting to encounter a Charles Manson-like guy. Instead, Rozier was led in by 5 US Marshalls, who all looked like former Nebraska offensive linemen --huge and white -- and Rozier sat across from me, smiled, and welcomed us all. He wanted to chat about the Hurricanes -- he had becmoe a fan -- and we did. He was charming, articulate, and engaging. I remember coming away thinking he was a bigger, stronger version of Bryant Gumbel. He matter of factly recounted the details of his murders -- including one that hit close to home because after they stabbed to death a "white devil" in a South Miami parking lot, he and his accomplice calmly went to Canton for dinner (a place Wifey and I frequented). A few years later, he called me, about to be released from prison, and asked if our firm needed any paralegals -- he had become certified in custody. Fortunately, we didn't have any openings for a guy who admitted killing 7 people... I read about him later. He was living in protection in California --near Sacremento, and was arrested for passing bad checks. Under Califoria's Three Strikes law, he was sentenced to life! He served 6 years for 7 murders, but got life for the accrued charges. I checked this am -- he's still in custody in LA. The Yahwehs disbanded, and I thought it was the end of them, but apparently not. I did some research --- they exist in North Miami now, with a former young member from the 80s (he's my age now) the new savior. Better -- they preach that gays and DEMOCRATS are the devils to the black people -- and ally with the Tea Party. Apparently the leader was at the U when President Obama spoke, and unfurled a Democrats caused the KKK banner. As Carl Hiassen noted -- you can't make this stuff up. I was just amazed to see the Yahwehs were still at it, and an old, old acquaintance was now among their number. Oh well -- back to the office today -- we have some justice to seek! Just like we used to...

Not the Greatest Day

So it was time to say adios to the wonderful ancient Labrador, and then Wifey had plans to visit her mother in Pembroke Pines. I figured that a grieving Wifey, already distracted by the business of aging, might end up a highway crash statistic, so I'd better go along for the trip. Just last week my friend Joel and I were having lunch. He's 10 years younger than I am, and living a charmed life. He married a loving but sufficiently eye rolling lady, who keeps him nicely in check, and is a wonderful mother to three gorgeous sons. Joel is more succesful than any young lawyer I know --handling, as he likes to call it, "international criminal and political matters." Anyway, the two of us sat having lunch at the Brickell P.F.Changs, and he asked me why we're so lucky? Of course, I had no answer, but this weekend I figured the cosmos was leveling a bit. So, fresh from a trip to Honey's last vet visit, we headed to see my mother in law. She had sent a letter, which the mailman decided lacked sufficient postage. So, she just added postage and re sent it. Ha! As if! She called Wifey multiple times, agonizing about what had happened, and demanding Wifey take her personally to the post office to see postal justice done. The nice Cuban clerk vindicated my mother in law. There WAS enough postage! The term self satisfied is not strong enough to describe my mother in law when she's proven correct -- a life long victim who, for good reason, goes around thinking folks are out to get her. Although Wifey tried to shush her, as the line grew behind, my mother in law was to have her day -- and the nice Cuban clerk, about Wifey's age and probably dealing with a similar immigrant mother, although one victimized by Castro instead of Hitler, smiled knowingly... Speaking of Cuban -- so next we visited a branch of Latin American cafe. Since Hurricane Andrew, Pembroke Pines has become as Latin as West Kendall, and it showed at the shopping center. The food was great, and, as I told Wifey, we had found a place loud enough so that none of my mother in law's comments would embarrass...Well, almost. Her omelette came without the toast, so she waved heartily at the waitress to demand her order be filled, and NOW! Then there was Publix, and then a return to the condo "on the vater." This is part of family lore, as my in laws demanded some years ago that we help them move to a more expensive Century Village unit on one of the drainage lakes. The whole affair caused a several year rift, and untold misery to Wifey, until, against my sense and sensibilities, I relented and bought the damn unit. So as Wifey and her mother argued over Medicaid paperwork, I ventured out to the balcony to see all the shades over the screens which overlook the "vater" were closed tight. My mother in law NEVER looks at the view that nearly caused the breakup of a family. Ah, life... I guess it was fitting that we grieved the loss of our beloved dog thusly. It's just not fair to get that many pleasant weekends... The day ended nicely, though. Wifey and I watched some episodes of "Sons of Anarchy." Wifey finds really good shows. And then we went to our library and played each other sad songs on our computers, in homage to Honey. Although Neil Young's "Long May You Run" was written about his car -- that one was my favorite... Dr. Eric called from Atlanta, as did Edna, and my sister wrote a moving email. Animal lovers really feel it when a cherished pet leaves the planet.

Farewell Sweet Honey

Miami Cubans love to tell a joke about the longevity of their hated Fidel: The president of Chile gave Fidel a famous Galapagos tortoise as a state gift. Fidel turned to Raul and said "Eh -- the problem with pets is you get so close to them and they die on you." Our neighbors in Kendall (now East Kendall) had a gorgeous Yellow Lab named Blondie, and they bred her with a stud from the Redlands. 10 pups were born, and we got our choice. The Ds were 7 and 4, and picked the reddest one of them, and called her "Ketchup." As soon as she was whelped, we took her across the street and she joined the pack of our aging Black Lab Midnight -- a dark version of the famous Marley, and Alfred the Cocker Spaniel. They decided that the puppy was too sweet to be called Ketchup,and instead she became Honey. She was the best dog of all time. She slept with the Ds, and, other than some chewing of patio furniture, was no problem at all. In fact, until her senescence, late in life, there was only one accident in the house, and it became the source of family yore: Poor Honey had a virus, and D2, in Middle School, awoke to a room full of steamy dog diarrheah. Wifey came down, and the two set about cleaning the various spots. D1 awoke, and asked what was going on. For comic relief, Wifey said "D2 didn't feel too good, and pooped all over." D1, brilliant and just as gullible, conforted her sister. "Oh, poor D2...what's wrong?" D2 looked up at her sister, and asked "Do you really think I hopped around the room like a frog, pooping wherever I landed?" Midnight, like most Labs, died pretty young -- at 12. Honey and Alfred moved to Pinecrest with us in '01, and Alfred became old Alfred, and died a few years later. Honey went on -- giving nothing but love and confort to all of us. Even folks who didn't like dogs loved Honey -- she was so gentle, and sweet, and lovely to be around. She was such a treasured part of our family -- especially to Wifey and the Ds. I remember when Wifey and I got married -- we worried after our dogs like we now do our kids. We went to California, and my mother house and dog sat. We called daily to check on the dogs. After we were blessed with human kids, things changed for me. I LIKE my dogs, but they went down a few steps in my heart. Wifey says it shows coldness on my part -- maybe she's right. So Honey was there as D1 graduated high school, and college, and finished classwork for her Master's degree. D2 confided in her yellow puppy all through high school, and missed her as she entered college. I truly thought Honey would die before that, but like the Energizer bunny, and my mother, she just kept on and on. The past years were tough. She had many accidents, and we confined her to one area in the house. We used to take her on mile walks, and about a year ago, at 15, she'd turn and walk away when we got the leash out. Lately, she had become like a ghost --it hurt her legs to sit down, and she'd just wander the house. We had a big party in January, and several folks told us gently it was time to put her down. ButI hoped to give D2 a chance to say goodbye -- she's due here for Spring Break Friday. It wasn't to be. Yesterday D1 called from the house -- she could barely rouse Honey from sleep. And today, her legs barely supported her. Wifey and I had a deal with our first 2 dogs: I would be the one to take Midnight when the time came, and she would take Alfred. I took Midnight to his final sleep, and then, years later, when it was time for Alfred, Wifey bravely looked at me, started crying that she simply couldn't, and left me to reprise my role of doggie Dr. Mendele... This time, Wifey did go. We waited in the exam room, and the truly caring Dr. Dugan came in -- saddened. He knew Honey well, and said she was the oldest full breed Labrador he ever saw. He praised us for the life and care we gave her. And then he gave the 2 IVs, and Honey slept -- peacefully. Andy Rooney said some of the best people he ever met were dogs. So it was with Honey -- our Yellow Puppy...

Back Workin' for the Yankee Dollar

Semi retirement was fine, but I've noticed something: just because I earn less money, my family keeps on spending it. It's my privilege as a cool rockin' Daddy in the USA to provide --and I have a lot to provide for! D2 is headed to Spain for 5 weeks this summer, and D1 has plenty more internship to go. Wifey seems to have trouble stopping at camera protected red lights: just got a bill for $277 the other day because of that! Oh well...yesterday I got pumped up at the office. We brought in a case, and gathered around to speak to an expert Dr. Barry found us to consult with, I did all the questioning, and the expert agreed we have a VERY strong case. So now I intend to shepherd it, along with Paul, and see that it gets done right, efficiently, and well. When Paul and I were at the height of our powers, no one moved cases faster than we did. We knew that cases, with very rare exception, get worse with time. Our current associates lack that alacrity -- but under our watch, it's coming back, and how. I called the lawyer who referred me the case, and he was thrilled, too. The client is a close friend of his, and truly wanted to help her. We shall. Meanwhile, the basketball Canes keep winning, which thrills me. The Heat do, too, but I truly don't care about them -- other than enjoying the positive energy a winning team brings to a city. For years I cared about the local pro teams, but that's waning. The pig billionaire owners are just that. So for me it's entertainment -- especially MArlins Park, which sits on the hallowed ground of the Orange Bowl. I enjoy going there, having a few drinks, and socializing -- especially with a true baseball maven, like Dr. Barry's boy, Scott. He's 16 and a student of the game. The Canes are another story. My mood rises and falls with their successes and failures. And lately, it's been riding high... So back to the office today. We have another case, where a cop was injured, and we're going after the criminal's wealthy family. It definitely beats selling suits at Jordan Marsh -- one of my college jobs over 30 years ago. But, as one of my mentors Ed reminded me when I worked for him - in many ways selling a case is the same thing...

More Fun With The Olds

So driving home from my visit last week to my ancient Mom and father in law, I called my California sister to report on Mom's condition. She gleefully told me how fortunate I was to be "sharing Mom's wisdom" at this end stage of her life. Yes -- it's a real barrel of monkeys... Wifey and I went yesterday. At 1 pm, I went to my Alzheimer's affected father in law, and met with him and my mother in law. I brought my notary stamp, to perform my yearly task: notarizing their forms from the German government to renew their reparations payments. I must admit I enjoy this -- 68 years after WW II ended, I get to say my continuing fuck you to the Nazis. The community of Holocaust Survivors shrinks daily, of course, but each year the German government has to pay brings some satisfaction, and my notary stamp helps it out... I told my father in law 5 times what the Ds were up to...but each time he heard the good news, it brought him happiness. Wifey arrived, and we left to go see my mother. I made an awful tactical decision as we sat outside in the gazebo. For years, my mother has made it clear she couldn't care less about her one surviving sister, Florence. Whenever I'd bring her up, my mother would frown -- still upset about her sister's blowing off a granddaughter's wedding, after my mother assiduously remembered and gifted all of Florence's children and grandkids... My cousin Eddie, Florence's son, called last week and said his mother was a goner. I told Mom this. She freaked -- how could her "baby sister" be dying? Florence is 82. Mom's whole mood and affect changed -- she became fidgety and sad. So I employed the maneuever that works with toddlers: I feigned a cell call from Eddie, saying that his mother had recovered and was happily resting in New Jersey. Mom seemed to buy it, and looked skyward and thanked and praised God and mother nature... But the fun never ends when dealing with the extremely elderly, and as Wifey and I watched TV last night, the dreaded caller ID marker came onto the U Verse screen: "Miami Jewish Health Systems." Wifey and I play electronic hot potato when we see that incoming call. "You get it." No, YOU get it." Since I had moved a sofa to change a light bulb, Wifey claimed she was trapped in her recliner, and I lost the hot potato game...it turned out it was for my mother, after all. I discerned through the heavily accented Creole-English that Mom had a dislocated shoulder, and the doctor wanted her to be taken to Mt. Sinai for care. I objected, as I have been doing, and asked that she be treated on campus, at the small hospital there. I was directed to the nurse manager, Mr. Joseph, who has a somewhat less accented English. He was a bright and nice fellow, who knew Mom pretty well, and explained to me that the on campus place has no orthopaedic service, and Mom was in pain, and while he understood the trauma being taken in an ambulance caused, it was truly the right move. I agreed. So, this am, after being placed on hold by the ER Secretary at the hospital of my people for an amount of time rivaling anything a cable tv company does, I learned that she was discharged back to Miami Jewish early this am. So I'm guessing it was a dislocation of her osteoporotic shoulder, which they hopefully popped back into place. She's so, so frail. I think she dislocated simply trying to adjust herself in the wheelchair. What a life. As we sat together earlier in the day, Wifey asked her father what he does on a typical afternoon. "I rot aVAY," he answered in his Yiddish accent. "Rot AVAY" is the cheer for extreme aging. My California sister is most welcome to share as much of this "wisdom" as she'd care to. I've had more than my fill.

Chilly Gainesville

So it was D2's sorority's family weekend, and she invited us up to UF, but not for the official event. Like most college juniors, the bloom has left the rose of the whole Greek thing, and so we just used the event as an excuse to visit the absurdly located campus. Wifey's back reared its head, and prevented a drive, so we flew up on American Eagle. We left Friday, and Wifey, as usual, fell into a deep sleep on the commuter jet. A huge cold front was moving down the state, and the 50 seat jet bounced around like a cork in the sea. Finally, past Ocala, things smoothed, and we descended into Gainesville. We swooped over the campus, close enough that I could give a virtual finger to the Swamp, and were about to land, when the pilot gunned the engines and ascended rapidly. Turns out a small plane was on the runway. Wifey missed it -- I told her later that she nearly slept through her own death! A smiling D2 fetched us, and took us to Yellow House, which Wifey hadn't yet seen. We hung around with roomie Ali, and met Estelle, an able replacement for world trotting Ashley this semester. Catherine was back in Miami for her friend's mother's too early funeral -- a lady gone in her early 50s from breast cancer... We decamped to Embers, and met D2's friend Jonathan. We shared the best dinner ever in Gville -- Embers is, in my studied opiniom, the best place to eat in town. We shared a NY Strip, stuffed organic chicken breast, and, Wifey's favorite, salmon. Jonathan's an impressive young man -- born in Caracas to a Jewish family, and raised in Miami. He's getting a Master's in accounting, and wants to do international tax consulting -- with a great internship already waiting for him this summer... Wifey and I returned to the hotel so the younguns could go out, and Saturday D2 fetched us again and we headed to Haille Plantation -- an upscale town just West of Gainesville. They have a nice town center, and were hosting a farmer's market and antique car show. I chatted with the owner of a '56 Chrysler New Yorker -- always owned by his family, originally from New York. We sampled the market goods and then met Carly and her family and Ali and her family, as well as Hannah and her mother. We had a lovely brunch at Sisters -- a place that reminded me of the diner from "Gilmore Girls." From there Wifey, D2 and I saw a matinee of "Side Effects," which was ok, and then headed back to Yellow House where Wifey and D2 napped -- cuddled up like they used to on a couch, while I watched college sports. We shared a late pizza at Big Lou's. I asked the nose pierced waitress if there WAS a big Lou. She told me there was, but he was normal sized. We all agreed that "Average Lou's" wasn't at all a good name for a pizza place... We hugged goodbye, and Wifey and I fell asleep watching "Hawai" on tv. We had to rise at 4:15 am for our early flight back. The flight home was smooth, and we flew across the Everglades and turned back to the West, descending over Miami Beach, and Biscayne Bay, and then passing Downtown. Each time I see home, I feel privileged to live here -- especially on such a gorgeous, bright, and crisp Winter morning. We drove home and met D1, who happily house and dog sat, and then I took an epic nap. Wifey and I then drove to Hallandale for a shiva call -- her friend Jeannette's uncle Al died after a fall, and then headed back to Brickell. D1 hosted a surprise 25th birthday party for her boyfriend, and some of his law school friends gathered at Blue Martini. Joel had a great time, and the Canes gave him a terrific gift --beating Clemson at the last second. Wifey and I walked the 3 blocks back to my car in my building -- wondering how time had warped so. Wifey threw a surprise 24th birthday party for me when I was in law school. How was I 24 less than 10 years ago, according to my inner clock, when my driver's license says I'm closing in on 52? I wish Einstein was around to consult...

Feeling It Again

So after a few years in the career doldrums, waiting for some new opportunity to fall out of the sky and into my lap, I've realized my best play is to return to the law business. It's what I know well, and enjoy -- at least some parts of it. This am I had breakfast with an old client -- a fellow who has been kind enough to refer other folks to the firm. He told me he had held off sending folks our way -- he was only confident in Paul and my abilities -- no one else's. It's funny -- when one recommits to something, at least in my case -- the energy level rises. I worked out at the gym, and came away feeling great. This afternoon some other clients from Central America are coming to visit --and I look forward to the meeting. It's nice to have a mojo back. I still want to run a charitable foundation someday. I think that job would suit me best -- vetting various charities, and meeting with their leaders, and making decisions about who gets what funding. If serious money comes in from this new incarnation of my firm -- maybe that's what I'll do. I sure don't want a nicer house, or better cars. I enjoy driving my little girlie Lexus, and passing gas stations with a the proud smirk of a hybrid owner on my face. Travel is nice, but I've visited everywhere I wanted to go. Now there will be repeat trips -- maybe to Spain to visit D2 if she studies there this summer, followed by a stop in the English Midlands for a big summer blow out hosted by our friends Dave and Sandra. I've seen all the historic buildings, churches, and synagogues I've wanted. I don't need any more t shirts, or tchokes from abroad. The Ds, thankfully, are doing great in their lives, and Wifey seems to have her back in hand. So I might as well work some more...Justice is still to be done, and fees are still to be earned...

A Fine Saturday in the 305

So after watching the Canes dispatch North Carolina, I returned home and fetched Wifey. We drove to the Grove for a fundraising happy hour for UM's New Crohn's and Colitis Center, directed by our friend Dr. Maria Abreu. D1 is interning there, which is why we scored the invite. Dr. Maria is amazing. She's a local Cuban girl who finished college and med school in 6 years -- top of her class. She then went to Boston where her medicine chief resident boss was none other than Dr. Eric. The 2 UM med grads showed the Ivy Leaguers a thing or two -- Eric went on to become a cardiologist, and Maria went to LA to get trained in GI. She married a fellow from Dublin who is a liver specialist, and a few years ago returned to Miami with him. Her husband took over as head of liver diseases, and Maria became the young GI leader. She's way cool. She decided to have an "anti banguet" at Moe's in the Grove. There was an open bar and wings and pasta. The centerpieces at the tables were rolls of toilet paper -- an acknoledgment to the runs that Crohn's typically causes. D1 and her boyfriend Joel and I had a few, and listened to the DJ. The theme was "Rolling Stones and Crohns." As I said -- Maria is pretty cool... The event raised nearly $100K for the new Center. D1 is hoping to be offered a job there as a dietician when she completes her program -- and it looks like that will happen. We met several of the young GI attending docs, and they all love D1 and her upbeat, happy attitude... Moe's, or at least half of it, used to be the Village Inn, back when I was a college student. The VI had great local music -- jazz and singer songwriter types, and it brought me warm memories of the late 70s and early 80s to be there. I reminded Dr. Maria of the former incarnation. She said she was a good Catholic high school girl, and devoted college student, so she never went to bars or clubs. Then she winked... On the way home, as Wifey drove (thanks to my 3 gin and tonics -- my latest drink in a nod to an aging stomach that has trouble with pure vodka), we drove down Old Cutler Road towards our 'hood. I fell in love with this place 33 years ago, and the love is still enduring. I don't ever want to live anywhere else...

A Boy and His Dad

So my 2 kids are now adults -- at least in the eyes of Florida bartenders. D1 is 24 and D2 21. Some of my friends started much later in life in the kids' department. My friend Stuart is 52 and has a 10 year old and a 7 year old. Today I spent a delightful day with my friend Jim -- formerly a lawyer, and for the past 10 years a Workers Compensation mediator. Jim married when the rest of us did -- in the late 80s, but his marriage to -- we always called her "What's her name" -- because she had little use for Jim's friends, and we little for her -- lasted only a year. Jim enjoyed many years of bachelerhood, and then met beautiful Sandra -- from Colombia. Sandra had a daughter -- D2's age, and Jim became her beloved step dad. And then, 8 years ago, Jacob came along. Jim was 44. Jacob is a wonderful boy. He's ALL boy -- lives for sports -- but is sweet and smart, too. He's in second grade. We met for lunch today at Titanic -- an off campus place with good food and great beer, that back in the day was the Flick coffeehouse -- one of the top folk clubs in the US. It's where David Crosby first heard Joni Mitchell sing... Mike met us, and then Mike drove us in his girl Amanda's Mustang convertible to the arena. Amanda's mom Loni won't let Amanda have the convertible in LA -- she's convinced that thugs from the tough 'hood that abuts the USC campus will slice through the canvas top and carjack Amanda. Really. So Amanda took the metal roofed SUV, and Mike tools around in the convertible... The Canes dominated UNC, as they've dominated just about all teams this year. We may be witnessing the first ever basketball National Championship. Jacob jumped up and down with excitement -- he and his Dad also went to the Heat game last night. IT occurred to me that they remind me a lot of my Dad and me when I was a young boy. My father would rather have spent time with me than do just about anything else -- and Jim is the same way with young Jacob. I pointed out to Jim that his boy won't be graduating high school for 10 more years. Jim said he plans to drop Jake off at college, and then head to the Social Security office to start benefits... For now, though, he is one proud, loving, and happy daddy. It's great to be a part of that...

Kicking the Can Down the Road

Talk about an expression that's become overused lately --typically to describe Congress's inability to confront problems. Well --my partner has take ut up, too, but in his case it's very accurate to portray our office's handling of cases. So, in this new and invigorated year -- we're taking charge! We've decided to take on a more active role in our practice --as the Stones sang "Just like we USED to." The 2 young lawyers we've entrusted to our practice are excellent lawyers -- probably better in the courtroom than I am. But I was blessed with a keen sense of case selection, and I can offer that. And my partner is the finest negotiator I've ever met -- he brings that to the table. To if we insert our efforts again -- along with our 2 friends -- great things will come. I mentioned this to my old friend Jeff -- he left law 19 years ago to become a Jewish scholar and synagogue administrator -- and he said how boring it was to become a manager of a law firm. I told him that we were hiring strippers to be our new assistants -- and he agreed that might make it tolerable. Ha. As if. They'd have to be adept at Time Matters -- the legal software -- and how many strippers are? I often see my life in books and movies, and one that keeps returning to my head is Steve Martin in "The Jerk." His simpleton character Navin Johnson, raised by a black family, always felt out of place, and Navin searched for his "special purpose." So maybe mine is like California -- right back where I started from. The days will show. All I know it -- it's an amazing benefit to have a lot of free time. Yesterday Wifey and I visited lawyer Dan -- an old acquaintance who we hired to update our wills and trusts -- now that the Ds are both adults, and the estate tax laws seem to be stable. Dan's a great guy -- married to my old college friend Wendy -- and father to three. He's happy in his own firm, but works many, many hours, at 57. He hired a real old time lawyer from the Beach named Smith (probably an Ellis Island shortened surname from something like Smithowitz) who hangs around his office, reading the paper and doing "one closing a month." Dan let on how he' like more free time -- but with 2 kids in private universities and a third in high school likely headed that route -- the hours would have to continue for awhile. I never take my situation for granted. I savor my free time. But it's also time to get back to work, as our awful governor campaigned. And the law biz seems as good as any...

21 And Your Mother No Longer Makes Your Bed

So today is the "Day the Music Died," according to Don McLean's song about the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and a few others, but more importantly to me and my family, it's D2's 21st birthday. I'm so absurdly blessed in my life, and having D2 and D1, and who they are as people, is the foundation for much of those blessings... Ah, pre Andrew 1992. I remember it well. Dr. Eric and Dana were in town from Boston, with one year old Jennifer. Eric's folks Marvin and Norma threw a party for their only grandchild, in the back of their Kendale house. Wifey was literally bursting -- 2 weeks past her due date. D1 was an adorable 3 year old, running around with Jennifer, and eating cake and being earnest. We used to call her the very earnest toddler -- though sweet and cute -- she always went about things with an underlying seriousness... The party was Sunday afternoon, and Monday am I took Wifey to South Miami Hospital, where Debbie Kenward performed an easy baby-ectomy, as I called it. D2 came forth -- huge, due to the extra 2 weeks of baking. Years later, in grade school, all the 2nd graders compared their birthweights. D2 came home and announced she was the biggest! We brought D1 to the hospital room, where I was holding D2. She immediately went to her, kissed her on the head, and lisped "She's my thithter." And so began one of the great sibling relationships I know. At first, D2 was D1's play accessory, and then an annoyance to the "big girls" trying to go about the serious business of putting on fantasy shows in our house. And then later, when D1 was in high school and D2 in Middle, I think D1 realized that she had a way cool sister -- easily popular -- but with a kind and caring heart. Now, despite their many differences, they're best friends --which gives Wifey and me great pride and joy. When D2 was 6 months old, Hurricane Andrew came and destroyed our house around us, as we ran to the car in the garage to seek shelter from the collapsing ceilings. D1 told everyone afterward that our house was "MISstroyed," which I always thought was a better word... Despite the calamity, D2 survived, and prospered. She sailed through pre school, and was known as the rebel. By elementary school she was gifted and popular. She partied a bit in Middle School, and had great friends --some of whom veered off course. But by high school D2 hit the books, and kept an amazing grade average. She sailed into the ultra competitive UF, and now is nearly 3/4 done with college. Last night she went out with friends -- one of them has the same birthday but is 2 years older, and a limo took them to a Downtown Gville restaurant. Monday there's a party at her house. Wifey and I fly to Gville in 2 weeks -- so we'll extend the celebration a fortnight. Like me, D2 is in her junior year not sure what she wants to do after graduation. Unlike me, she's seen 21 with a father who is, thankfully, alive and there to counsel her. So happy 21, my a (pause) mazing daughter. I love you so. It's great to be here with you.

Gratitude

The year started out with so much promise. I was energized, hired a trainer to lose 50 pounds and the medical label of "fat pig" my friend and internist Dr. Dave essentially gave me, without using the words. I was determined to help take over the running of our law business -- at the request of Brian and Stuart, who are great lawyers but need some help cutting out bad cases and streamlining operations... And then the anxiety hit -- a gift from my father along with the wonderful birthright he gave me -- smarts, humor, ability to be the best father in the world. I fight it off, but it creeps back --typically involving the Ds, but every so often involving my health. I developed some vague digestive symptoms, realized I hadn't had a colonoscopy in 10 years, and allowed my sick mind ('stinkin' thinkin" is the term I thin recovery folks use) to convince myself I was a goner. I joke and talk about my own death all the time -- much to Wifey and the Ds' disgust -- but this time -- like when I had the prostate cancer scare LAST January -- I believed it. I scheduled a colonoscopy and upper endoscopy, reviewed all my documents, which are always kept up to date and ready for action upon my ultimate INaction, and, worst of all --dumped on my closest friends and Wifey. It was joking, of course, but Wifey noted I was quiet and lacking my usual ebullience. D2 turns 21 tomorrow. She and I have much in common. She's in the middle of trying to figure out what she wants to do professionally (though with her perfect GPA and induction into Phi Beta Kappa she has more tools than I had in college). And right before I turned 21 is when my father dropped dead. Deep down, I think, that was my greatest fear -- that she and her sister would lose me, as I lost my father. Paul and Barry were best in dealing with my cowardice. Paul, in his inimitable way, lawyered me through the possibilities, and concluded that, as lucky a man as I was, early, heroic death wouldn't be that easy for me. Make money for your family, have a blast, and then check out. No -- too smooth, he concluded. Barry said simply "I'm with you whatever happens -- real or imagined." So yesterday, after a day of colon cleansing, which Dave Barry has hilariously described in his writing, I faced affable, Miami Beach native Dr. Neil. Actually, I didn't face him -- he came around the rear. The only happy part -- propofol -- the famous "milk of amnesia." The Peruana nurse joked that it was "jungle juice" that Neil brought back from his recent family trip to Costa Rica, and I drifted off. I had the propofol last year, too, at my prostate biopsy. When I came out of it, it was the BEST I ever felt. You truly feel as if you were among the cosmos, and gently re enter the world, with ZERO anxiety. I mean, at the moment I was recovering, you could have told me there was a campus sniper in Gainesville, and I would have said "Oh, D2 is smart and resourceful -- I'm sure she'll be fine." I can see why Michael Jackson dug the stuff. With his crazy life, it was probably the only true peace he had. Too bad it killed him. And then, lying in recovery, came the hilarious, epic farting -- expelling the gas pumped in during the test. Of course there was a pretty, blonde, California bred Cubana nurse next to me, saying "You go, boy!" Ah, the indignity of medicine... And then Dr. Neil came by -- telling me NO cancer -- just some irritations that may be the sign of chronic, treatable stuff -- a small ulcer -- maybe small hiatal hernia caused by my being -- here it was again -- a fat pig. It didn't matter. I could deal with it. I wasn't about to visit upon the Ds and Wifey what my dear father visited upon us in 1983 -- by his ultimate DE-visit from this planet. I celebrated by having breakfast with Wifey, followed by an early afternoon nap accompanied by the strange mutt we have -- who is an excellent nap companion. Sleeping with a dog is so primal... And then Paul called. He and Patricia and his old friend from law school, who had the sense to drop out of law school -- Andy -- and his lady friend Joanina, had driven to the Keys on that glorious afternoon, and they wanted to stop by on their way back to Aventura. They arrived, with an actual Key Lime pie, from the Keys, and the 6 of us sat outside in the chilly night, and I built a fire in the firepit. Talk about primal -- Andy started singing Kumbaya... And the ladies were wrapped in blankets, and we all chatted. My Israeli born wife -- me, the neurotic suburban New Yorker by birth, Paul, the North Philly guy, and Patricia, the beautiful Peruana. Andy's from NY, too, but grew up in Puerto Rico with his factory owner father, and Joanina is a Chicago girl. And the warmth of the fire matched the warmth of our friendship, and great conversation, and I was alive. I led them to the street when they left, and I looked skyward into the amazingly clear night sky. The smoke from the fire pit was sweer in the air. I cried a little. I was so grateful.