The Old Firm

I'm Facebook (tm) friends with Dolores, who was the office manager of the firm I worked at from '88-'94. She put together a reunion lunch yesterday, and I fired up the plush man car Buick and headed to Little Havana to attend. Ah, my new Lacrosse! It's roomy and comfortable, and the stereo is terrific. I really ooze down the road in this vehicle -- and the retired ladies watch me go by and say, as if I was the boy from Ipanema, "ahhhhh..." Anyway, I headed over to Casa Juancho, which is Spanish for House of Juancho -- a restaurant that's been in Little Havana for 50 years, and famous for their paella. I met Maribel the receptionist at the front, with her 18 year old son in attendance. He was born after I left the firm, and he's now a JUNIOR at UCF, due to some advanced program at his ORlando high school. Maribel is Puerto Rican, and got the letter 10 years ago to move to Orlando. (Seinfeld used to joke that elderly Jews in NY got the letter requiring them to move to Palm Beach County at a certain age. I figure that Orlando, which has more Boricuas than anywhere else, must send out similar correspondence). Anyway, it was great to see her, and shortly after Maria arrived. Maria worked at the firm after I did, but shortly Esther showed up, too. Then came the elderly Mr. W, the long time handyman, still courtly and still working -- not for my old boss's son, Bobby. He was brought by Tizzy, the former accountant, and eventually Chris and Lourdes arrived, too -- my boss Frank's 30 year secretaries! It's funny...Frank and his wife had one of 2 marriages Wifey and I always aspired to. They had 3 kids, and adopted 2 multi racial nieces. They always spoke to each other in such respectful, loving tones, and spent each August together at a beach house on the West coast. They had a big, messy house in Pinecrest, the golden burgh Wifey and I hoped to someday afford. Life seemed so lovely for them. Years later, they divorced, and Frank took up romantically with Lourdes...so you just never know. Chris, Lourdes, and Dolores and I reminisced about the colorful cast of characters. We mourned the passing of Juan -- an only in Miami guy who used to be an investigator for the firm, and died a few months past. Dolores still keeps up with Ed, who is near 80 and in frail health. She told me his mind is weaker, too. This saddened me -- Ed was one of the few true geniuses I've known as a lawyer. Frank used to say he thought like an engineer and fought like a great general -- and he did. As we ate our paella, I noticed a couple a few tables away who didn't look very Hispanic. Sure enough, it was Jon Bon Jovi and his leather clad wife -- sharing a bottle of red wine and paella. He glanced at our table and smiled, but never came over to ask for an autograph. Classy Jersey fellow... So it was a nice afternoon -- a small slice of the past -- nothing dramatic. The valet brought out my land cruiser, and I glided through the city streets. The car has a great Blue Tooth (tm) system, and I just speak the names of the Ds, and they appear on my speakers. D2 was floating at a lake in Gainesville, and D1 was chilling in her apartment. It was an amazingly gorgeous, sunny day. I like my memories like that.

Purpose

I'm not a man of faith and wish I was. People who believe always seem to know the life path they're supposed to be on, and they do a great job of post facto description: "This happened this way since the Big Man decided..." I started wondering about this last evening, as I sat looking at the sunset at Miami Jewish Home, after visiting Ancient Mom. It was Passover week, and we began on Monday afternoon. D1 had spent the weekend with us, since her boyfriend decamped to Indiana to visit his family. She and the spoiled spaniel and Wifey and I stopped off at Canton for some food for the Olds. D1 set a lovely table in the gazebo, and Wifey fetched her father. My mother in law was also there, with BOTH her drivers, the friendly Jamaicans Stephen and Marcia. My mother in law made a seder plate, and we ate Cantonese and chatted about the holiday. My mother was on another planet mentally, though she DID enjoy the food. My father in law was in good spirits, although he told the same story about eating kosher vs non kosher in Israel while he was a soldier no fewer than 6 times. Tuesday we fetched D1 and drove to Aventura for a fun seder thrown by Stuart. We drank, and laughed, and Stuart charmingly had each of us read part of the story. Children played, and had a blast, and I chatted with old acquaintances Alan and Arthur -- both lawyers, from very different areas of practice. Alan refers cases, and hasn't seen the inside of the courtroom, while Arthur is the brainy appellate fellow. We all had a real good time -- Stuart is a wonderfully warm and loving fellow, and made all feel very much at home. I went back to MJH on Thursday, and Mom was very out of it. She was in bed, and didn't want to get up. I stayed about half an hour, and she chatted her platitudes that had no connection: "All we can do is what we can do..." Yesterday Wifey decided to visit her father late, so we had dinner and then set off for the Home. My haircutter Dania had told me about a new restaurant called Salvatore, and we tried it. The food was wonderful -- we immediately fell in love, and pledged to return. I had a glass of chianti, and later wished I had 2 or three. We arrived at the Home, and planned to fetch each of the Olds and meet in the gazebo. Mom was already in bed for the night, at 7pm, and didn't want to go anywhere. Wifey called and reported her father was the same -- bad mood, and not to be moved. Mom weakly chatted, and treated me to an in bed bowel movement she was oblivious to. I tried to ignore the stink, but it soon started making my just eaten chicken parm feel like a bad idea. I left, after asking the nurse to please go change her bedding... I sat outside, chatting on the phone with my California sister about our fading mother. Then it occurred to me: maybe I have all this extra time just so I can use it to visit Mom in her last weeks or months. If I were putting in the heavy hours like I used to at the office, or running between dance lessons and school functions like I did when the Ds were younger, I simply wouldn't have the time. But Wifey and I are empty nesters -- so we go. It's no fun, it saddens us, we'd rather be anywhere OTHER than MJH on a lovely Friday night, but I guess we figure we have to at least follow one of the Big 10: to honor thy father and mother. I don't know. So today Wifey has lunch on Miami Beach with her old, dear friends Linda and Cara, and I'm headed to Little Havana for a reunion lunch with my old firm. Dolores, my boss Ed's longtime secretary,organized a meeting at Casa Juancho, a great place with historically good paella. Paul's in NYC, but didn't want to go anyway, but I'm looknig forward to seeing old friends and talking about my days at the firm -- 1988-1994. It'll sure beat a visit to the nursing home.

Car Talk

So after I unloaded the crappiest car I've had in years, the pretty but poorly made Genesis, I decided to come back to Lexus -- the maker of the best cars I've had. But since the money coming in is much less than in years past, and I HATE paying $70 bills at gas stations, I decided to get their small crossover -- a vehicle whose model I can never recall -- C200 --I think. Our friend Diane had one, and after a quick test drive to the Falls, I decided it was the car for me, so I leased it. The car was classic Lexus -- well made, quiet, great handling and technology --but was also rather, um, puny. I started calling it the little girlie Lexus. Dr. Barry got in it for a test spin at 94th Aero Squadron, one of my favorite Miami bars, since you can drink and watch the big jets take off and fantasize about being on them -- and his head hit the ceiling of the car. He asked, nicely, whether it wasn't too small for me. Later, Dr. Eric and I drove it to G Ville for a father/daughter weekend. We loved the gas cost -- nest to nothing, but Eric, at 6' an inch taller than I am, was visibly cramped, too. Still, I got a lease, and I figured I'd just drive the thing and use it as a constant reminder that I damn well better not gain any more weight. Meanwhile, Wifey was happy in her '05 Volvo SUV, which we bought in October of '04, and had 57k miles. She loved the comfortable Swedish seats -- great for her bad back -- but the vehicle, though sound mechanically, had the wear of a nearly 9 year old car -- black tape covering broken seat panels -- a glued back A pillar fabric piece, etc... Alas, Wifey's bad back has, apparently, crawled back into its hole, and Wifey offered to drive the little girlie Lexus. She's the right size for it, and told me, nicely, that I look like Shrek in it. "It always looks like you're driving someone else's car -- a big guy like you wouldn't voluntarily get such a tiny ride." But I LOVED the high mileage...and then, the great Shaq provided the answer. He has a commercial for the Buick Lacrosse -- a hybrid that's "not smaller than one of my shoes." I researched the vehicle -- it gets 36 mpg in the city -- and they were running a great 2 year lease deal. So yesterday I drove over to Williamson, a place I leased my last American cars -- a Caddy DTS when I was going through my Tony Soprano phase -- and an Escalade -- when I wanted Wifey to be Carmella... A nice young sales fellow drove me to a lot under the Snapper Creek Expressway, a stone's throw from the apartment complex on 72nd Avenue where Wifey and I met -- and I drove the Lacrosse. Ah -- what room! A true man sized car! And it has all kinds of cool tech stuff. I got a price from Rick -- a half Italian, half NY Rican sales manager who reminded me of my wheeler dealer cousin Barry -- and then I called another dealer, who gave me a price $30 per month cheaper. Rick met it, and I agreed to drive a Buick for the first time since my Ancient Mom gave me her '82 Century to drive after my beloved Firebird -- a sentimental favorite but also crappy car -- was totalled in a crash in '85. Wifey and I drove the Volvo to CarMax to sell it -- they offered $6K. Ah -- people who think cars are INVESTMENTS...I drove back to the Buick dealer, and Rick offered me the same $6K -- car would be wholesaled, he honestly said. So I signed over the title, and the faithful Volvo, which schlepped the D2 back and forth to UF -- and Wifey all over Miami Dade -- was driven away. I instantly loved the new Buick. It has an advanced Blue Tooth system. Rick programmed my phone -- which took 2 minutes, and on the way home I said "Call D1" and her voice came over the speakers. Then "Call D2," and I had a giggling UF junior on the line. Last night, D1 was hired to pick up a neighbor's girl, Rebecca, in the Grove. I volunteered to drive, and we noted the cool, blue, LED light rim on the dash. And as I drove down the curves of Old Cutler, the Buick and I bonded. We fetched Rebecca and her friend Nicole -- and I felt sentimental. I was picking up pre driving girls at a movie theatre -- something Wifey and I haven't done in more then half a decade -- since D2 started to drive. D1 chatted happily with the high school freshmen on the way home. Today, I have to tutor Wifey on the operation of the girlie Lexus. Last time she drove it, she parked at the house and left it running. It was on battery, and silent, so she figured it was turned off. Our visiting Brit friends and I realized the car was left on hours later -- as we drank on the front porch, and Dave noticed the illuminated head lamps. "Your buggy's running," he observed. So after her lesson, Wifey has her new ride -- she's the greenest in the family, and always wanted a Prius. The C2 whatever it is is essentially a luxury Prius... And I'm 51 and driving a BUICK! Oh, my image. Oh, the mileage...

Emancipate Yourself From Mental Slavery

So Rabbi Yossi makes monthly visits to the men's and women's Florida state prisons in deep Sout Dade. Chabad is the ultimate outreach group among the orthodox, and they figure Jews in incarceration are the most in need of Torah study. My partner Paul has begun going along, and Wednesday I joined them, after submitting personal info and being approved for chaplaincy visits. We drove South, past my favorite exotic food stand Robert is Here. We promised ourselves some delicious fruit shakes when we completed our task -- it was not to be, as Paul was running late for a girlfriend family function. We were admitted by gruff, black guards, who enjoyed the fact that our attempts at talking to them through the bullet proof glass were frustrating. Prison and paralysis are my two greatest personal fears -- and both, of course, are the lack of control one has. I used to loathe being at the command of bad teachers and professors. Living at the whim of uneducated, oafish prison guards is the next level of hell... We made our way in, and were lead to a room with 13 guys waiting. They greeted us happily. Rabbi Yossi introduced us, and we exchanged small talk, and then Yossi began explaining what they had to do for their upcoming Passover seder. They hung on every word. The guys were articulate and nice -- joking with each other and us. One fellow, in a wheelchair with a broken ankly, LOOKED like a prisoner -- badass blonde guy --big, tatooed, biker-like. He joked he knew he didn't look Jewish -- but his mother was, and he was rediscovering his faith. I checked him out later in the evening -- sure enough -- ran cocaine, and beat up several Broward Sheriff deputies. The rest of the guys looked more like a group of garden variety Jewish guys. The leader of the group was about 6 feet, trim, and good looking. He had wire rimmed glasses and spoke very well ---I'd figure maybe a senior CPA, or head of a company, or maybe even doctor. As we left, the Rabbi said he didn't look up their careers, but heard the one fellow had 4 life sentences. Paul assumed he must have killed 4 people, but I knew this fellow was no murderer -- too soft looking. My guess was right -- sexual predator -- 4 little girls in Boca and North Broward. Someone's kindly uncle... Of the group that grew to 16 while we were there -- it turned out 4 were pedophiles. So the Catholic priests have no monopoly... Rabbi Yossi said, at the end, he was not to judge. He agreed these guys MUST be in prison, but were still entitled to have the opportunity to learn and grow. In fact -- the theme of Passover, which is coming, was that no matter where we were in life, we had to escape the chains of oppression keeping us down. I guess for the pedophiles, living safely away from kids is a good start. Next came the walk across the parking lot to the ladies...A middle aged woman met us there, carrying some of the supplies for Passover. I chatted with her -- she was from Bal Harbor via Long ISland. I could tell she was wealthy. I asked if she was religious. No -- her son died 7 years ago after a life of heroin addiction and imprisonment -- he was 30. She said she could never bring herself to visit him in prison, but when he died, to respect his memory -- she began making visits to the women's prison. The large group of ladies also happily greeted us. Their leader, PAula, was pretty and impressive. She asked great questions. Rabbi Yossi told me she had taught herself Hebrew, and taught the others English composition. I looked her up after the visit. She was a stripper with a badass rock and roll boyfriend, in Tampa. She got into a violent fight, a gun went off, and the abusive boyfriend took a bullet to his neck and died. Her crappy public defender turned down an offer of 5 years for manslaughter, and she took her chances with a jury. Bad bet: murder one, and now she's a lifer. The rest of the ladies were drug dealers, a few fraudsters, and a few more avengers of very bad boyfriends. One was a dead ringer, younger version of my sister Susan. Her story was the most tragic. A Broward County school teacher, no bad past. She went to a Kareoke night, and had too many drinks, and ran over a woman on the way home, killing her. She got 17 years. She has 9 more to go, and will be 55 when she gets out... We left the prison and I was moved. The fact that I could move freely was everything. Wifey, D1, my mother in law, and my father in law and Ancient Mom will have a seder Monday night at the nursing home -- outside in the gazebo. The olds are trapped there, by their age. But I plan to look skyward and thank the Big Man -- for our freedom. That's everything.

Keeping the Gate

Though my father, my mentor above all and hero and role model wasn't at all religious, he WAS a committed Zionist. I learned from an early age that our family supported Israel, no matter what. Throughout my early years in college, I learned a strange thing -- especially strange for a kid who grew up in a liberal household: some of Israel's staunchest critics were from the left. I guess some of it was the Left's love of the underdog, which, somehow, Israel's enemies, sworn to its destruction, had become. Of course, much of it is also anti semitism... My dad died young, and afterwards I met Wifey, before she was Wifey, of course. She was born in Israel, and her father had fought in the Independence War, and somehow her mother, despite emigrating to Israel after the concentration camps and meeting her husband and having Wifey and starting a new life -- couldn't stand Israel. Her self hatred of her former country reaches comical heights: she warns the Ds against marrying Israeli men with the zeal many mothers or grandmothers have in warning their daughters against marrying drunks... Complex psychopathology there, with my mother in law. Somehow she feels more affinity towards her native Poland, the country whose people betrayed her family to death, than she does towards Israel, the land she helped found. So last night Wifey and I saw "The Gatekeepers," an Israeli documentary. It was a series of interviews of the former leaders of Shin Bet, Israel's FBI. To the man, they questioned Israel's treatment of Palestinians, and the whole war on terror. These were men who ordered the killing of true bad guys -- those who blew up busses carrying children, and yet they wondered, in retirement, where their beloved country was headed, so long as they continued to occupy Arab territories. The film left me very uneasy. I'm comfortable in my standard belief since childhood: tiny Israel is the miracle survivor in a land of those who would destroy her. Why can't the vast surrounding nations take in the "Palestinians?" These former Hawks have their doubts -- clearly. As one said, when he sees a new Israeli Army member, months out of high school, holding an Uzi on an Arab family and deciding their fate -- he is sickened. I have to read more about the movie, and learn the other side of its interviewees... What a world we live in...it's truly so comforting when things are black and white, and they almost never are.

Ms. Know It All

So last Saturday as I was leaving a Gables restaurant with my family, a woman said my name. I looked and looked at her, but had zero face recognition. Finally, she said it was Marcy -- my first boss's secretary. We hugged and said hello. I last worked for that firm in '87, and she remembered Wifey. But she never met the Ds, and was shocked to see 2 adult ladies... We used to call Marcy Ms Know it All, as she had the bearing of one who was always correct. She's only about 5 years older than I am, but when I started as a young lawyer, at 25, she seemed much older. She dressed older, and had a little white dog. She also had and still has a terrific Boston accent. Our mutual boss was one of the worst anti semites I've ever known. He joked that her hired me because my name was German. "Ha -- I don't think I'd have hired you if I knew you were one of the Chosen" he used to guffaw. Marcy is Jewish, too, and endured the guy for many years. His practice was bought out by a large New York firm, and they kept him as a lawyer for years. Marcy just retired after over 20 years with the firm -- her husband is a plumber, and now she manages his business. Seeing her brought back so many memories of those days. The anti semite was always traveling, and left the control of the firm in the hands of a 3 year lawyer who was also one of his lovers. That lawyer, who I'll call Vanessa, since that's her name, almost ran the firm into the ground. She was given too much responsibility, and faked some of it. When she learned Dan had a NEW lover, who he ended up marrying, Vanessa, in a rage, frisbeed her diploma at Dan's head. He ducked, and somehow the framed object sliced through the 2 panes of glass and hurtled to the ground below -- 35 stories. It was late at night, and no one got hurt below, but I think that was Vanessa's last act as an attorney. As far as I (or MArcy) know, she quit the profession and disappeared. I used to come home and tell Wifey I worked for the Addams Family, Indeed, it was a very strange place. I lasted only a year, and then took my first week long vacation, with Wifey. The Sunday night I returned home, my co worker Lou told me the firm was going under, and I ought to look for a new job. I called in sick Monday and met my mentor Ed, Mike's Dad. Ed made a few calls and placed me with a firm in the Grove. Lou left shortly thereafter, and Dan landed as a local partner for the out of state firm. So Ms. Know it All looked fine -- actually better than she did back in '86. And Dan, last I heard, had a stroke and retired. Time wounds all heels...

Professional Help

I received a wonderful ecard the other day, from my nephew in California. He started his own business, and it's soaring. He wrote to thank me for paying for his college tuition, which, he said, gave him the foundation for his first jobs, which led to his ability to start his own company. I'm so proud of him -- mostly because he's become a man. I borrow the great Sidney Poitier's definition: the measure of a man is how well he takes care of his family. Henry gets it. Right now his family is just him, his beautiful wife, and large canine child. I have a feeling his family will grow, and he'll be there for them, first and foremost. I realized that all of my men friends are like me -- they take care of their families. Some do it better than others, but, for all of them, it defines who they are. I also realized that fellows who were in my life who failed their families are no longer my friends... Among the duties in my definition of manhood is taking care of your family even after you're dead. To that end, Wifey and I met with the affable estate lawyer Dan, to update our papers. We drew up wills and trusts when the Ds were both children, and now that they're both adults, and the tax laws have changed, I figured it was time for an update. So Dan met with us, drew up the documents, and then had us in yesterday to sign them. I think Wifey was freaked out; during the whole process, she texted away on her I phone like a bored teenager --barely looking up as the documents were passed around. She said later she was taking notes, but I think she just hates thinking about our inevitable fates -- especially now, as she watches her father draw closer to his. Still, we got them done, so next time I get on the airplane and engage in the illogical thoughts that I'm dying that way (even though my chances of my Ds cashing in on my life insurance are far greater each time I drive on South Dixie Highway), I can rest assured. I had Dan draw up wills and directives for the Ds, too. They each have money, and are all grown up. When D2 saw the draft of her papers, she took a picture of it and sent it to her friends, laughing. And laugh she should -- at 21, thoughts like these ought to be way outside her head. Especially since she has a man in her life, me, to worry and take care of things...

Best Spring Break Ever

D2 had a rough Fall semester, for a variety of reasons, and yet heroically kept up her 4.0 GPA and was inducted into Phi Beta Kappa. What a young lady! Spring has turned out much better, and she came home 2 Fridays ago for a wonderful Spring Break. We spent a lot of family time, and she visited her fading grandparents. And she had 2 dinners with her boyfriend's warm, Latin family, up in Aventuuuuura, as they call it. She left Monday for a cruise, on a ship that probably held 300 Gators. I saw the facebook (tm) pictures, and there were many of D2 and her friends having the time of their lives... Spring Break for my friends and I was a much simpler affair. We drove to Lauderdale, hung out at the Elbow Room and Penrods, and enjoyed a strange place called Area Code 305. Back then, all of South Florida had that area code, and this bar was set up with phones at each table, with the numb er on a placard. You'd spy groups of hot ladies at another table, and call them. They could see if you were a loser or worthy of further contact... One year, we drove to Disney, with a large group. Dr. Eric, then just Eric, had our theme park visit strategically planned, to maximize ride enjoyment, while avoiding lines. Thirty years later, he's exactly the same on trips, which is why he's a wonderful travelling companion. You miss nothing of importance at a destination when Dr. Eric is the guide... Anyway, I fetched D2 at the Port, and debriefed her on the trip. Saturday we all went to our family celebration place, Christy's, and had a great meal. We toasted the kids, the Canes winning their first ACC Championship, and the death of Hugo Chavez -- especially happy for Jonathan's Venezuelan family... D1 spent the night, for sister bonding, and yesterday am I awoke late, due to the time change, to see that D1 had prepared all ingredients necessary for me to make my signature Daddy pancakes. The four of us ate and laughed -- as we have been blessed to do together for over 2 decades. I then attended our homeowner's association meeting, as the Ds and Wifey left. Wifey went to a sleepover meeting of her book club in the Keys. The meeting was nice, though sparsely attended. Things have been too quiet. When there's a controversy -- like peafowl tearing up the place, or excessive dog pooping, or car break ins, folks come out. Lately, though, with none of these things happening, apathy reigns, and only about 1/4 of the households bothered to attend. We had a guest -- a botanist from the local botanical garden, and he led us all on a tour of the 'hood, pointing out interesting stuff about our trees. We apparently have ferns that only grow in our 'hood. The neighborhood's queen, Bobbe Dooley, kept right up. Bobbe's over 90, and living alone in the house she and her husband built 50 years ago. She's terrific -- Texas born, and living in Miami most of her life, with lots of kids and grandkids and great grandkids. She's still doing real estate deals, and tooling around in her Mercedes. She's the true outlier among the very aged -- living and loving her life. I wish my Mom was in similar condition... I returned home, and took a long nap, waking to a happy and relieved call -- D2 made it safely back to UF. And the house was all mine. I lit a fire outside in the cool air, and gave thanks to the stars and Big Man above...

Sunshine Hiding Darkness

I fell in love with Miami as soon as I moved here. I had a friend back in freshman year named Peter, who was a hard boiled Irish kid from Queens. Peter wrote for the Hurricane, and, last I heard, was a PR director for the James Brady Foundation. He was smart and funny, and had a young journalist's dyspepsia. I remember walking around Lake Osceola with him, pointing out the palm trees and tropical birds, and remarking how lucky we were to live in the Tropics. He had none of it. "It's a plastic paradise, Dave -- that's all it is." And then "Guys like me, from Queens, always need to be a little unhappy, and on edge. The world sucks. I know that. And seeing bright sunshine with tropical breezes just doesn't go with who I am." I thought of him this week. The weather has been almost surrealistically gorgeous. We've been treated to a mid March cool spell, with brilliant sunshine. And yet, over at Miami Jewish, my ancient Mom and Wifey's father are sad, weak, and miserable. I saw Mom 3 times the week before, and told myself I needed a break. But Wednesday I had a breakfast meeting before one in the office, and I drove over for a quick hello. She was in bed, at 10 am, and clear speaking, mostly. She still can't remember she has just 3 kids...And she was morose -- saying she's just existing, not living. I tried to cheer her by reminding her that her 93rd birthday was coming soon, and that we would celebrate Passover with her outside in the lovely gazebo. But she just stared off into the distance. Wifey visited her father later on, and when we met at night, we shared tales of sadness. His Alzheimer's isn't progressed far enough for him to have no appreciation of his surroundings. He laid a heavy guilt dose on Wifey -- asking why he had to be in the home, and wondering if the Ds "would put you there someday." Wifey tried to remind him that his final months at home were awful. He rarely left his bed, and peed all over. My mother in law can't care for him, and, truth is, she is relieved to have him in a long term facility. So lately, it would seem better if we lived somewhere overcast, and cold, and gray. The things sadden us, and the weather is too much in contrast...

Super Genius

I get some nice perks for sitting on UM's Arts and Sciences Visiting Committee, and 2 came my way this week. On Tuesday, Wifey and I took Ken and Joelle to my fellow committeeman Lou Appignani's condo on Brickell, for a cocktail party honoring public intellectual Richard Dawkins. Lou's an interesting guy. He's an Italian from Queens, who made tons of money buying and then franchising the Barbizon School for Modeling. I remember their ads on TV when I was growing up on LI. Lou sold the business, and moved to Miami. He was raised a Catholic, and revolted. Really revolted. He became an atheist, and supports lectures and legal fights in church versus state cases. His foundation gives a lot to UM's Philosophy Department, and has become a friend of the famous atheist Dawkins. Lou has a gorgeous place on the 38th floor of the Santa Maria condo, with panoramic views of the amazing Miami skyline and Biscayne Bay. I arrived before Wifey and Ken and Joelle, ordered a gin and tonic (in honor of the English Dawkins) and met a little old man with a big beard and wizard like bearing. He was James Randi -- the Amazing Randi, and mentor to modern magicians and debunker of the paranormal. I had seen him on tv and read about him, and he was a charming character -- out of a Dickens novel, almost. He and Dawkins are friends, and later in the evening Randi did a magic trick -- identifying a passage from a book a guest picked out -- and the brilliant Dawkins was stupefied. As the academic dilettante I am, I loved hanging with the professors and scientists at the party. I met the new Chair of UM's Philosophy Department, and some Psychology Profs, and a neuroscientist who works at Miami Children's Hospital -- whose boyfriend is Sean Faircloth --head of Dawkins Foundation. Sean is another Catholic (he even attended Notre Dame) who is now an avowed atheist convinced all organized religion is the bane of modern civilization. Last night, I used some VIP tickets to the lecture, at the UM basketball arena. There were probably nearly 5000 people in attendance, and Dawkins spoke about the beauty of science, and science of beauty. His theme was essentially that studying beauty just makes it MORE beautiful, not less, as some poets feared. He quoted Darwin, Einstein, and Keats. He speaks in a clipped Oxford accent, in a soft but strong voice. It was the verbal equivalent of listening to James Taylor. I figured he got loads of smart chicks back in the day... Kenny leaned over and said he was a little disappointed -- he thought Dawkins was going to lampoon Mormons. He did take shots at religion during the Q and A session, but Kenny and Joelle had left -- to take their sons home. I read "The God Delusion" and will now read the rest of Dawkins' books. It's a nice experience to be around all that brain power. I spend a lot of time with lawyers -- most of whom just think they're smart...

Sunset, Sunrise

It's D2's penultimate Spring Break. It seems last week we were hosting her high school prom pre party, and now somehow three years have come and gone, and she's nearly 3/4 through with college. She drove home from UF on Friday, with roommie Catherine and a friend named Alex, and Wifey and I hugged her like we hadn't seen her in forever, even though we were just in Gville 2 weeks before. D1 came over, with her old roommie Lauren, and the 5 of us decamped to Sushi Siam for some great Thai food and, for me, a couple of sakis...Lauren and Wifey grew close in Spring of '10, when Wifey moved in to help D1 recover from injuries in a car crash, while attending classes. Lauren completed her Masters in OT, and is just starting a new job in Philly, her adopted new city. Yesterday was the planned visit to the Olds, at MJH. D2 drove with Wifey, as she had dinner with her boyfriend's family in Aventura, and I fetched D1. D1 and I fetched my Ancient Mom, and took her outside to the gazebo. Mom was better than my visit 3 days before, but still largely in her own world of thoughts and dreams. The gazebo was buffeted by chilly winds, so we decamped inside. Soon after, Wifey, D2, my mother in law, and father in law joined us. My father in law was grim and unhappy. He refused at first to leave his room, but Wifey insisted. He's usually overjoyed to see his granddaughters, but his mood lately has soured. When Wifey asks about his activities, he answeres he's "rotting aVay." At the root of his issues is increasing incontinence, which embarrasses him greatly. He was always very vain about his physique and appearance -- a very physical man who won boxing championships in the DP camps after the War, and this loss of his physicality is hitting him very, very hard. We sat in the MJH lobby, with beautiful afternoon light, and my mother had her own conversation stream, while my deaf mother in law barked at Wifey, and the Ds tried to keep their grandparents smiling and happy. Mercifully, D2 announced she had to leave, and as I told her she could follow me from MJH back to the highway without traversing ghetto territories, it was a welcome excuse to leave. D2 headed north to AVentura, and Wifey and I dropped D1 at her apartment. The weather was clearing, and it occurred to me I needed to go somewhere that looked and smelled the opposite of the nursing home. I drove to Coconut Grove. We parked at Miami City Hall, which was originally built as the original Pan Am seaplane terminal. The whole area is deligtfully still undeveloped. We walked through a working boat yard to Scotty's Landing -- an outdoor place that's been there for years. The sun warmed us, and we sat by Sailboat Bay. The view was gorgeous, as always. After a couple of Stellas, my mood improved, and Wifey and I ate some stone crabs and grilled fish sandwiches and huge cut fries. Afterwards, we walked along the water, and reminisced. We passed the Chart House -- where we had a dinner in December, 1983 where I told her I was going snowmobiling in Wisconsin after my first set of law school finals. She had thought I would spend the time with her -- and she broke up with my afterwards. "Well look how things turned out!" I happily reminder her. We got back in my little girlie Lexus, and opened the sunroof, and tooled through the Grove. After 34 years in Miami, it's still my favorite place, and if there's a better way to spend a crisp afternoon than hanging in Coconut Grove, well, I haven't found it. As we neared the traffic circle at Cartegena Plaza, I slyly looked at Wifey and asked if she was feeling decadent. She was -- a little, she said. Where were we going? I pulled in front of Whip N Dip, and we had actual ice cream, instead of the far healthier frozen yogurt. What the hell -- it was that kind of afternoon. So the Olds slouch on, and we're still granted quality time. The Grove remains a historic, gorgeous, and magical place...

Finding Humor in Law

Yesterday my brother in law emailed me a report of the "Stella Awards," an account of absurd lawsuit results named after the infamous woman who won money from McDonalds after she spilled hot coffee on her own lap. A quick Snopes.com check showed the reports were all made up, but still very funny. It jogged my memory about the truly funniest claim letter I ever read. We were in litigation against a lighter company, and the court ruled they had to share with us reports of prior incidents. As a young lawyer, my job was to read through these boring letters, most of which sought new lighters when the ones purchased failed to work. I seem to recall there were hundreds of these. One letter was different, though. It came from a man in Montana, or Idaho -- one of those cold, snowy states. The man wrote in a classic Western US laconic fashion. He said that he lit his pipe with one of the company's lighters -- popped it back into his bathrobe pocket, and walked over to his patio door to enjoy the evening view. He called out to his wife "Honey -- the Simpson house is on fire!" Shortly thereafter, he felt pain in his thigh, and realized that in fact HE was on fire -- and had seen a reflection of his own conflagration in the glass door. He extinguished himself. He only wanted money for a new flannel robe. Ah, the tales of a career in the law business. I really do need to write some of these down. My old boss Ed shared my sarcastic, black sense of humor. Back in the day, when I worked for him, my current partner Paul, and other boss Frank didn't get the humor in much of what Ed and I found hilarious. Ah, Ed. Paul went to the funeral of one of his old friends a few weeks ago. Paul asked after Ed -- who didn't make the trip. He learned that, nearing 80, he stays home much of the time -- back pain keeps him off his fishing boat, and certainly away from the adventure trips he used to love. Paul and I are going to make a pilgrimmage to see him in the coming months -- to see if we can't cheer him up. He taught both of us so much about law -- and so much about life as well. We left his employ nearly 20 years ago, and still invoke his wisdom all the time. Just the other day, I told Paul I was contemplating a long trip -- with D2. Paul recalled Ed's words, when Paul inquired about spending so much money on a hotel: "Some things in life you can't afford NOT to do." I'm going to plan the trip...