Investiture

I've been to probably 50 of these things over the years. After a judge is appointed by the governor, or wins an election he or she takes the bench, and, a few months later, has a ceremony at the old courthouse on Flagler Street. My friend Alan Fine was appointed last year, surprisingly. I was surprised because he's a lifelong Democrat, and typically sitting governors pick their own. Rick Scott, whom I dislike intensely, does have ONE good thing going for him: he's been picking good judges, regardless of political affiliation. Alan was in this number. I typically dislike investitures for the same reason I disliked high school student government meetings: a bunch of sycophants climb over each other to kiss politically important tucheses. Like student government types, the lawyers who are big shots in the bar association tend to NOT be my kind of folks. A few shook my hand today, and darted off in pursuit of more important hands to shake. I realized I truly LIKE about 20 lawyers total -- and that's pushing it. Still, today was surpsisingly moving. Retired Federal Judge Alan Gold was to simply do the swearing in. Instead, he asked for an indulgence to tell a story. Ha! As if! A federal judge can order the FBI, CIA, and IRS to come kicketh the crappola out of anyone. Like some lowly state judge was going to refuse his request. Anyway, Judge Gold told us he was Alan Fine's cousin, and when he was first installed as a judge, Fine's Dad gave him a gift of a gavel -- from another uncle who was a beloved judge in New Jersey. Alan Fine's Dad died last September. Judge Gold said that when Mr. Fine handed him the gavel, he said "Alan -- keep it in the family." Looking skyward, Judge Gold reflected that it was as if Alan Fine's father knew that someday... All of us got teary eyed, and then applauded loudly. We retired to La Loggia for lunch, site of the venerable old lawyer's haunt Sally Russell's. I love walking in there; I always thing of my mentor Ed Perse, and his sacred table. I once sat at Ed's seat, and the long time waiter Sonny admonished me to get up -- the chair was for Ed, whether he came for lunch that day or not. We ate, and shook some hands. Alan's former partner Scott was there with his dad, a retired judge, who wrote an infamous opinion about the divorce of another old friend, Alan. We laughed about that. Scott himself went through an awful divorce, and enough time has passed that he can laugh about it. I asked him if he thought about becoming a judge. No, he said, the salary wouldn't even cover the alimony he has to pay forever... Tonight there's a party at the stately house where Alan and Victoria live -- a gorgeous 3 acre estate. Wifey, the Ds, and both D boyfriends are invited. We'll hobnob with the legal machers. There'll be plenty to drink, I'm sure. Alan will be a terrific judge. It's great when the right people find the right spots at the right time.

Into Each Life Dog Pee Must Fall

Years ago, I saw a terrific bumper sticker: "Life Begins When The Kids Move Away and the Dog Dies." I always saw that as my future. I like dogs well enough, but it's a real treat to not be responsible for them. I adore kids, but I feel like I paid my dues in being a dutiful Dad, and now that I have two grown daughters, I look forward to being a GRAND dad -- enjoying the best out of your grandchild, and then give him back to his parents for the unpleasant stuff... Too bad for me --Wifey and the Ds are the most dogphilic people I know. The spoiled spaiel gets taken to the vet if she even gets NEAR a poisonous bufo toad, and she's fussed over like I've never seen. So two days ago, D1 said she wanted a new guest room bed -- the charm of sleeping with her sister when she spends the night has worn thin. I marched out on Memorial Day, and bought a memory foam number. The salesman asked if I wanted a mattress protector. No, I told him smughly -- no more babies in my house! So while Wifey was watching the Heat lose, the deliverymen came -- after 9 pm. Apparently business is so great at Mattress Firm (tm) they deliver until midnight! The father and son bed meisters set up the new mattress and box spring, even leaving some pillow mints as a PR gimmick, and then left -- ancient bunk bed mattress from the old house on its way to the mattress recycling plant. D2 came in, and wanted to try it out. Hey -- she asked -- why the big wet stain in the middle? Why indeed! The spoiled spaniel must have hopped on, smelled the unfamiliar scent of the memory foam, and decided to mark it as hers -- a basketball sized piss! We knew it want't thre strange rescue dog because her pees go on and on -- had she been the culprit -- the mattress would have been completely soaked. So D2 checked the internet, we got vinegar and baking soda, and removed the cover of the mattress -- clearly flouting all the federal laws admonishing one to NEVER remove it! I washed the stain while Wifey and D2 paper towel blotted up most of the pee -- followed by vinegar, and my putting the foam on its side. I left the cover outside to dry from my dish soap washing of the spot. This am, I put baking soda on, vacuumed it off, and put the cover in the dryer gentle cycle. I just finished wrestling the thing back together. The stink is all gone. But now we bought ourselves the annoyance of having to keep the door closed, like we had some valuable antique inside. I guess Wifey will go buy a cover for the $500 memory foam bed. Although the spaniel seems chastened (she won't follow me into the guest room) she has yet to verbally apologize. Gee -- maybe we can get even MORE dogs in the house. Dogs and kids are a young man's game, in my opinion. My patience has shortened as my years have lengthened. Maybe the Heat will win their next game...

Bar Dues

So my annual statement came today, from the Florida Bar. It costs $265 for a year of practicing law. You also have to swear you either perform pro bono work, or contribute to a legal aid charity. I reflected back to the Fall of 1986, when my friends waited anxiously for news from the Bar -- did we pass the exam? 80% of us did, but we still wanted to hear the good news. My friend Mike's father Ed was my mentor. He did appellate work, and was good friends with the Supreme Court Clerk, Sid White. I sat in my office one October afternoon, and Ed called. "A (he always called me by my last name) -- congratulations! You got your license to steal!" I confirmed that Mike passed, which he also did, as well as the fates of several of our buddies. All now had the coveted license. I called Wifey, and then my mother. I remember thinking she was an old lady -- and she was all of 66 -- just 3 years older than my partner Paul now is. Then again -- my boss Dan's staff had a surprise birthday party for him -- he turned 40. I remember thinking what a fossil he was, too. My friend at the big firms got to wait until the official swearing in ceremony -- at the Third District Court of Appeal. As soon as I told Dan I had passed -- he had his secretary Marcy, who was a notary, swear me in. "Great!," he bellowed. "Now you can go cover that damn 8am hearing tomorrow in front of that crazy Jew Phil Bloom." Dan was a proud anti semite -- he said he hired me because he thought I was German - not Jewish. I was glad to have the job, though, and time wounded that heel. He suffered a bad stroke and had to quit the practice early, though he remains a hated member of his country club -- he cheats at golf. I still attended the swearing in with my classmates. I'm still close with Mike, and Norman, and Jeff from the class, and good acquaintances with several other members. Jeff quit the practice in 1994 -- the year I started my firm. Norman and Mike are at the top of their game. Ed died young, in 1994. 27 years in this strange profession -- I recall having to ask where to file papers in the Dade Courthouse. Now filing is electronic, and I have to rely on the staff to do it. As I opened the dues envelope today, my roommate Mark was walking by. He's a very well respected criminal defense lawyer. He's in his mid 60s, and still wears a beautifully tailored suit each day. "Oh," he said "time to renew the licenses to steal?" I smiled and agreed.

Traditional Memorial Day

Wifey, the Ds and I drove up to Pembroke Pines and fetched my mother in law for lunch. Poor lady -- she truly misses my father in law, now living in the nursing home. She's tough -- having survived the camps in Nazi Germany, and helping found Israel, but she got teary eyed talking about her husband. They've been married well over 60 years, and before this, never apart for more than a few days. We took her to "Sweet Tomato," a restaurant in the West Pines. I knew she'd think a place that served no chicken or meat was unthinkable, and sure enough, after eating her salad, asked "VERE IS DE CHICKEN?" We drove her home and sat on the world's most comfortable couch. The thing truly is -- a leather sectional she bought at Macy's, but possessed of some magical quality that casues at least one person sitting on it to fall into a deep nap. We dropped D1 off at Brickell, and came home. D2's boyfriend fetched her and they went to a Heat watch party at a friend's house. Today the Ds are headed to Uncle Paul's private beach club for a day of classic Memorial Day activity. I have the same planned -- only different. D1 reported that a bed in our "maid's quarters" dates to 1997, and needs replacing. D1 typically sleeps with her sister when she visits, but would like her own bed -- I guess something reasonable in a house with 6 bedrooms. So I'm off to buy a new twin memory foam number. The "maid's quarters" are put in quotes since we don't have a maid. We have a cleaning lady -- Miriam -- who comes once per week, but the house was designed for a live in. My mother picked that room as her own when she stayed. It's small, and dark in the morning, as the glass door faces West. Mom used to emerge from the shower next to the bedroom refreshed and happy, as always. Of course -- those days are passed now. So I'm headed to Rooms to Go, and Mattress One. Macy's has sales, too, but they only have free delivery on more expensive beds, so the price of their stuff is high. Meanwhile, the Heat won last night, and Wifey has become quite a fan. I watch the end of the game, but she sees the whole thing -- enjoying the ballet-like aspect of Lebron and D Wade. My Mom liked basketball, too. She became a fan through her late friend Max, who hailed from Detroit, and watched every Pistons and Heat game with great enjoyment. Max died years ago. Sometimes the ball bounces that way.

Memorial Day

Growing up on Long Island, Memorial Day meant the public beaches were open for summer. It was a big deal. My friends and I used to walk down to Wantagh Avenue, and catch a bus to another bus -- the Jones Beach Express. It cost 25 cents, and deposited us right in the middle of the action --Parking Lot 4. From there, we'd walk to the beach, set up blankets, and wait for gorgeous girls from other high schools to wander over. That rarely happened. And now I live in Miami, home of far superior beaches, and almost never go. My friend Stuart is the opposite -- he's there, with his family, nearly every weekend. Sometimes he calls me from the water's edge and says "I'm doing something you haven't done in 20 years!" That invariably leads to joking conversation... I guess I loke the idea of the beach more than the actual beach. I also like to go there during off hours -- to reflect. Gazing out at the ocean is replenishing. And now, both my parents are there -- more reason to visit. So maybe I'll fire up the man Buick this weekend and go. Miami Beach is out -- Urban Beach Weekend packs in the tourists -- and the place is too nuts to visit. But Key Biscayne beckons -- maybe a walk around the lighthouse. D2 went the other day, with her boyfriend. They went to his uncle's condo in Sunny Isles, and did the beach the upscale way. We owned an ocean front condo on Miami Beach -- from '97- '99. The views were spectacular -- and the beach was just down some stairs from the lobby. We went there infrequently -- the Ds seemed to have every weekend booked with dance and other young girl activities. My sister Sue and our friends got more use out of the condo than we did. One afternoon I was there alone -- had a few drinks, and did some early evennig beachcombing. I found a large piece of coral rock -- and schlepped it to the condo. It was a doorstop for the patio door. Here I have a large piece of coral rock, too. Whenever I push it in front of our family room door, I recall the ocean condo. We did spend Memorial Day weekends there, when we owned it. But the place was PACKED -- and it took forever for the valet to fetch our car when we wanted to go out for dinner. This weekend -- I think I'll drive to the beach myself. And reflect on my Dad and Mom, and childhood, and the Ds...as they embark on their true adulthoods. MEmorial Day.

Monthly Celebration

The called ID popped onto my TV screen, right as I was watching a truly manly show: "Top 20 Most Violent Police Chases." It was a call from Miami Jewish Home. My brain immediately reminded me that Mom was gone, but my father in law is living there, so I still braced for bad news. Instead, it was one of the lovely Haitian American staff, inviting me to the monthly "Celbration of Life" next week. It turns out that they have monthly memorial services for all the residents that die that month. I have always been blessed with a tremendous grasp of the obvious, and right away I made a connection. When the Ds were in Kindergarten at Leewood Elementary, the teachers there had monthly birthday celebrations. It would disrupt too much class time to celebrate each child's birthday -- so each April baby, for example, got to share with the other April babies. So the circle of life is even tighter than I thought. I watched Mom progress, or regress, through toddlerhood and infancy, before she died. And after you die, in a nursing home, you have to share your DEATHday party with the many others who die the same month! Lovely. The day got better, happily. D1 found a deal on Groupon (tm) and a handsome young photographer named Andy came over at 6. He was Cuban, of Greek extraction, and we all liked him right away. He set up his lighting, and we sweated out front as he took tons of photos of Wifey, the Ds, and me. We pick the ones we want and download and print them. They'll be ready in a week or so -- I look forward to having an updated family portrait or two. We celebrated our modeling with a great Italian meal at Salvatore -- our new family go to place. The Ds hadn't been, and loved it like I knew they would. I had 2 glasses of chianti, which greatly dulled the melancholy of impending death, and D1 had a healthily poured glass of Pino Grigio. D2 didn't drink, as she was driving to Aventura to welcome home her traveling boyfriend, and Wifey didn't drink because she never does. I wish she did. So today I'm off to the office, and no more calls from MJH. It's never a pleasant thing when a nursing home calls.

Looking Forward to Fall

Summer weather pattern is here in Miami: sunny and hot early, followed by torrential rains in the afternoon. We have a family photo shoot scheduled for the evening, and it's being threatened by impending rain. D1 found a deal on Groupon (tm) and we plan to all put on white shirts and jeans, and pose around the yard. We'll see if it goes forward. To celebrate the coming worst weather part of the year, I just booked a Fall trip. I really enjoy Autumn up north, and I try to travel there each year. Last year I was in Chicago in October, and saw some colored leaves in Millennium Park. In years passed, we've travelled with Dr. Eric and Dana -- to North Carolina and Maine. This year, we're making it a 3 couples' trip. Wifey's BFF Edna and her husband Marc are going to meet Eric and Dana and Wifey and me in NYC. They have daughters living there, and want to see them. We'll tag along, and see a Broadway show and maybe have a big dinner at Peter Luger's. After a few nights in the city, we'll JetBlue to Burligton, and then drive to Stowe. Eric found a place that's supposed to be the best inn in Vermont, and we'll spend 3 days hiking and biking and eating and drinking, hopefully in the height of leaf season. Then it's a night back in Burlington for one night, before we all fly home via Atlanta. Eric plans trips with the detail he plans forays into his patients' blood vessels. We surrender outselves to him, and he always picks the finest hotels, restaurants, and tours. He's a frustrated camp counselor -- he brings the same enthusiasm he used to bring to that job --one he held throughout college and med school. It was a lucky camper who got to be in Eric's group. Now we're those lucky campers... So D2 flies to Spain for a 5 week study and fun trip, and D1 has 2 summer trips to Houston planned, as well as a sorority reunion up in NC. I have no other trips planned -- but might well get the bug and escape to Key West for a few days. For now, the heat and Miami Heat are both on. Fall beckons, already.

Back To Prison

So after a great breakfast with Norman and his firstborn Jonathan, at LOL, it was back to prison for me. I hadn't seen Jonathan since he left for Kentucky -- 5 years passed, and it was a treat to catch up with him and his Dad. I picked up His Holiness, the rabbi, and off we went to Far South Miami Dade. Rabbi Yossi first led the men in a discussion about the need to be lamplighters -- making the world better for others-irrespective of their current states. The assembly told us how much they appreciated the place, and reaffirmed that even though they were convicted sex offenders, armed robbers, drug dealers, and beaters up of Broward Sherriff's Deputies -- they were still Jews -- they complained about the crappy food, treatment by uneducated guards, etc... Next we crossed the parking lot and visited the women. The talk was the same, but I was taken by sadness -- since I'm the father of daughters. As the Rabbi spoke his message of hope and light, I noticed the woman next to me was named Alyssa -- a classic, late 20th century Jewish American girl name. In fact, D1's roommie is Alyssa. Prison Alyssa dealt drugs and burgled houses to support her habit. Last night -- I checked her out online -- she will be in prison until she is 70. What did her family do to deserve that? Maybe there was pathology -- certainly my own extended family has its share, and attendant issues --but still. I headed home, and took a neighborhood walk with D2 and the strange sausage-like dog that's been staying with us for 2 years now. We never really get a sense we own Vienna -- she just sort of arrived, and may just bolt at any time. I wrote an email of gratitude to the Ds and Wifey, on the heels of the Oklahoma City tornado -- about how much I appreciate our lives. As I lay in bed, I reflected about the Ds and their futures. Their choiced are manifold. D1 friend Alyssa has a terrific job, and a boyfriend who adores her. She was probably out playing evening soccer and then having some drinks. Prison Alyssa was in her bunk with her bunky or bunkies -- lights out at 930 pm. Life's not fair. Thankfully it can often still be exquisite.

The Great Price of Movies

Wifey loves movies. Me, not so much. If I see one or two a year in theatres, that's plenty, although as Wifey points out, when I go I usually end up enjoying myself. This is especially true when we make it a couples' date, like we do with Deb and Norman. A new "Great Gatsby" came out, and D1 saw it with some friends. D2 and Wifey wanted, in, too, especially since D2 had read the book, like every US high school student was required to do... So last night, D2, Wifey, and I fired up the man sized Buick, and stopped for some Thai food at Sea Siam, out go to place. Next we went to the Falls, the local outdoor shoppping mall. It was fun taking D2 -- the Falls is where she and her middle school friends hung out. They supposedly went to movies, but she admitted last night that most nights they just walked around, meeting other groups of kids. It's funny -- now that D2 is 21 and statutes of parental limitations have run, we're finding out more and more about her youth. For example, earlier in the day we re lived a bad prom experience when she was a sophomore. We though we knew the whole story about the bad night -- with D2's friends being expelled from the prom and one boy being hospitalized for alcohol poisoning, but one detail had been left out: the assistant principal demanded to speak to all parents. Turns out that D2 called D1, then a UF sophomore, and had her play the role of Wifey, lest D2 be forced to leave early. Oh well -- I DID engender a closeness between the two of them. But I digress... So we went to buy tickets, and only the 3D version was playing within the hours. The price:$15 per ticket --with a dollar student discount for D2!!!!! $15! D2 told us that in Gainesville, movies cost $7. Still -- the fact that I paid nearly $50 for 3 seats floored me. (The tickets did include a small popcorn, though). The movie was ok. The visuals were spectacular -- 3d took us insided the grand parties. But Leonardo DiCaprio was clearly prettier than the actress who played Daisy, and that unsettled me as much as the ticket price. Still, it was a nice evening. I'm getting old. PRices for stuff like that never bothered me before. Wifey's bad back keeps rearing its head, and last night she kept popping up and down during the movie. So I'll take a movie pass for awhile, I figure. Unless Norman calls...

Grandfather's Clock and Grandma's Gazebo

Mom died 2 weeks ago today, and as scheduling and Wifey would have it, it was time to visit my father in law at Miami Jewish Home. The Ds were together on Brickell, and out with friends, so we toted the dogs along with us. We drove to MJH and brought the pups to my father in law's room. He was having lunch, and happily shared with Mads and Vienna, who snuggled with him as he sat on the edge of the bed. I took the dogs and told Wifey to wheel her father to the gazebo -- our usual outside meeting spot. Ah, the MJH gazebo. Mom loved her time there. First, there was an ice cream machine, and I would always treat her to a chipwich, which she pronounced the "best ice cream she ever had." We spent the lion's share of our time together in the gazebo -- looking out over the lawn and ancient trees of the courtyard. Mom's final Rosh Hashonah and Passover dinners were there. We pushed the patio tables together, put on a vinyl table cloth, and shared our final family meetings there. It was lovely. And I walked up to the gazebo today, and it was GONE! It was roped off with caution tape, and was a pile of demolished lumber! I had noticed some of the roof decking had rotted. I guess the administration decided to simply replace the structure. Their timing was perfect -- Mom never had to go outside and see the most significant structure of her final year in ruins... I recalled one of the favorite songs from my early childhood -- Burl Ives's "Grandfather's Clock." I remember singing it with my parents when I was 4 or 5 -- about a big clock that lasted as long as the 90 year old owner -- until it "stopped short, never to go again when the old man died." Mom outlived Yankee Stadium. They built the stadium when she was a child, and it seemed it would be there forever. Mom, too. Wifey wheeled her Dad back to his room as I waited outside the reception area, watching the gathering storm clouds of a Miami late Spring afternoon. We took the dogs to Berries in the Grove, and then to the UM campus for a walk around the lake. The dogs loved it. So did I. On the drive out of campus, I passed my old apartment site -- a place I lived and loved living for 3 and 1/2 years. The UM administration deemed it fit for demolition. So now I just have the memories. Dust in the wind -- or, a

All the Cars in Front of the House

As D1 is finishing her Master's degree, and D2 is now a college senior, the times of having them both home are becoming more precious. This am, I awoke and took a shower, and when I emerged, I heard the Spoiled Spaniel barking out back. That meant someone had let her out. I assumed it was Wifey, but she was still fast asleep. D2 only wakes early when something really important is going on, so that would have been unusual. And then I looked out front, and solved the small mystery: there was a little white care parked next to D2's red car. D1 was home. Turned out she had dropped her boyfriend off at MIA for a trip to see his family, and decided to come over. We have Daddy=daughters lunch planned for today. But I can't gainsay how much seeing both cars parked in front of our house warmed me. Truly the little things are what make a house a home... I came downstairs and chatted with D1, who was making banana French toast. She just completed her hospital internship and starts one at a South Miami eating disorder clinic on Monday. After 7 weeks there, she has just one final one to complete: a commercial kitchen. Hopefully that one will be at U M Hospital as well, and then it's on to take her RD exam. After she ate, she crawled into bed with her sister, just like they did when they were little. We'll always treasure a crayon drawing D1 made in Kindergarten. The instruction was "Draw Your Favorite Thing to Sleep With." Most kids drew pictures of blankets, or stuffed animals. D1 drew a picture of a little girl next to an even smaller girl: her sister was HER favorite thing to sleep with ... So these are the good old days, and sometimes I remember that just by seeing an extra car parked out front...

To the Four Winds

So D1 came over after her Mother's Day couples' massage with Joel, to celebrate the near end of his law school finals, and off we headed...to Matheson Hammock. On the way we told Grandma Sunny stories, including one of Wifey's favorites that took place at that very park. It was Summer, and a thunderstorm approached. Wifey loaded the Ds, who must have been about 5 and 8, into the Mazda minivan. As the rain started pelting down, my Mom got a little stuck climbing into the van, as she said "Sometimes this big tuches doesn't move soo well." She sighed and struggled as Wifey and the Ds urged her on, and they all laughed all the way home. Wifey concluded she had the best mother in law of all time -- never meddled, always loved and supported. I thanked Wifey for all the love and help she gave Mom in the final years of her life. All the new clothes Mom had, Wifey bought for her -- some designer named Alfred Dunner was her favorite -- and Wifey was always there for her. The Ds visitd her often in the nursing home -- usually with a dog or two in tow. We pulled into the Matheson main parking lot, and it was packed. It was a gorgeous day, and many folks were at the Red Fish Grill for Mother's Day festivities. I drove to a corner, and found a secluded spot, through a path cut through the mangroves. I opened the thick plastic bag, and scattered the cremains. They're like concrete mix, and some floated away, some sank to the Bay bottom. I know that one or two tide changes will spread them all, eventually to the Atlantic, where Dad's ashes were scattered 31 years ago this July. They're together again -- finally. The Ds and Wifey and I tossed flowers onto the water, and they floated away. I looked up, and there was a small white butterfly flitting among us -- gentle and lovely, like my mother. We got back into the man sized Buick, and headed over to Westside Bagels -- a deli opened last month right near our house. D1 and I were there last week, and it will become a nice addition to Lots of Lox. D1's roommie Alissa jumped up to greet us -- she was there with her parents for Mother's Day as well. We shared a table, and happy tales of life. Alyssa's sister LAuren is D2's age, and getting ready to graduate UT in Austin. She'll be home for the summer this week. The Ds headed off for some sister bonding, and Dr. Dave and Maureen popped over. Dave's patient and friend had given him 4 tickets to Bill Cosby, up at the Indian casino in Hollywood. We had some drinks, toasted Dave's dad, who died just a few months ago, and my Mom, and then toasted Maureen and Wifey for being wonderful moms. Cosby was terrific. He essentialy told 2 stories for over an hour, with wonderful digressions, and I loved it -- particularly under the buzz of 4 drinks. Maureen drove home through a heavy rain. So that's it. I did my Father Mackenzie, although I wiped sea sand and water from my hands as I walked from Mom's grave. My duties are completed for Mom. My sister Trudy will now sell her condo and stuff -- I plan to have ZERO involvement in that project. And if there's an afterlife, may Sunny and Hy again be together -- listening to celestial Glenn Miller and Sinatra. Holding hands. Savoring the 4 winds...

An Orphan's Mother's Day

For bureaucratic reasons probably tied to the funeral industry's dislike of cremation, as it costs a fraction of a burial --it takes quite awhile to get one done in Florida. Mom died on April 27th, and the fastest her cremation could be performed was May 9th -- and that was with my annoying the funeral director. Jews like to bury our dead right away, but since Mom didn't go in for the traditional stuff, I guess the delay was no big deal. Still, as her son, I want to complete my final duties for her. So I called the Neptune Society on Friday, and they said they'd be mailing me the cremains (great word) in the morning. They send them US Mail -- registered. I went online with a tracking number, and learned that they made it to my local Pinecrest Post Office early yesterday am, and were scheduled for delivery during the day. I was supposed to go with Wifey and D2 to Miami Jewish, to visit her Dad and take her Mom to Soyka for an early Mother's Day lunch. When Wifey learned that the trendy eatery, just blocks from the Home served matzoh ball soup, she realized she could take my persnickety mother in law there. I wasn't too keen on visiting Miami Jewish or celebrating Mother's Day anyway, and now I couldn't; I needed to accept Mom's ashes, lest they sit in a post office for another 3 days. Sure enough, at 1:30 my zaftig mail carrier rang the bell, and I met her. She's about my age -- old school South Dade lady --and she handed me the package clearly marked "Human Remains" without acknowledging the cargo. I asked her if she were a Mom -- no -- just a godmom, so I wished her happy godmother's day and she beeped away in her jeep. I took the box inside, and opened the cardboard. Inside was a wooden case that reminded me of the box my favorite Irish whiskey Middleton comes in -- though the box is shorter and wider. It weighs about the same... So I put Mom on the rolltop desk in the family room. D1 came over -- she was nannying for a neighbor's girl -- and I made the obligitory black jokes about putting the box on D2's pillow and making spooky noises when she came home. We agreed that wasn't a good idea... D1 left, and later Wifey and D2 came home. They eyed the box of Grandma warily. D2 demanded we do the scattering as soon as we could -- to reunite her with my father -- the only love of her life. I pointed out it was Mother's Day, and Wifey requested a day at the local dog park, before we head up to Broward to see Bill Cosby with Dr. Dave and Maureen. Wifey volunteered to put off her wishes -- saying it was a privilege to honor Grandma Sunny instead, especially on Mother's Day. So that's the plan. We'll wait for D1, and then head somewhere to Biscayne Bay --either Matheson Hammock or Key Biscayne. Biscayne Bay is an estuary of the Atlantic - so Mom's ashes will be in the same body of water where my father's remains were scattered nearly 31 years ago. Mom never rushed anywhere. She was rarely late to events, but made it by starting out hours in advance. So I guess it's appropriate that her final material journey took longer than expected. The house is quiet. Mom's ashes are quiet. She was my mother and I loved her, and I took seriously my sacred job of caring for her and protecting her. So on this Mother's Day, I have one final act in that regard. Brunches and flowers are much nicer ways to observe the day.

And the Teams Are At Full Strength

So I went to the office and strategized a case with my legal brothers, and D2 called from Ft. Drum -- on her way back from Gainesville. She stayed an extra week after her final final because her boyfriend's family asked her to take part in the festivities surrounding the graduation of their older boy... D2 hopped in her red Volvo (the car of choice for over protective parents with some means -- as D1 told me) and fought off love bugs and crapping birds for 5 hours. She arrived at my office, and I whisked her around, bragging about her college achievements to my co workers. If there's a prouder Daddy than I am, I don't know who he is. I bought her a sandwich and I had a yogurt, and we talked of things. Mostly the death of my Mom. D2 is down to two grandparents now, and her grandfather's Alzheimer's disease continues its horrible march. Then some cell phone coordination led to a meeting at Berries in the Grove -- one of D1 and my favorites, but never visited by D2 or Wifey. We met there and toasted D2's arrival and Grandma Sunny's life. While we were at dinner, the funeral director left me a voicemail that my mother's death certificates had come in, and were being mailed to me. So in the eyes of Florida and Miami Dade County, she's really, most sincerely gone. D1 left the spoiled spaniel with us, and D2, Wifey, and I watched the Heat lose to the Bulls. I still think they'll win another championship -- they were rusty from a week off -- a victim of their own awesomeness. If not -- I won't despair. It's not like when the CANES lose, for Pete's sake... And so D2 is sleeping peacefully in her bed. The spoiled spaniel and strange, undetermined rescue dog await her arrival in the family room. She's taking the GRE in June, and is off today in search of some prep books. Other than that, she gets to chillax, as the young ones say, until late June when she leaves for a semester in Spain. So it's looking like a summer for her that doesn't suck... It's just wonderful to have the Ds both back in Miami. The dogs agree...

Haunted House

So my dear friend Mirta had an aunt from Jersey who had some interest in buying Mom's condo. We picked up this lady, and headed north in my man car. When I hear "aunt," I tend to think kindly and elderly. This lady was rather young and attractive... Anyway, it was my first visit to the Kings Point condo since Mom died. Wifey asked if it was tough for me -- not at all. Had it been the house where I grew up on Long Island -- maybe -- but I was never attached to this place. It was just a place to stash my stuff over 4 school vacation summers and winter breaks. But Mom lived there, happily, for 33 years (would have been 34 if she didn't move to the nursing home last May). I fetched the ceramic Vietnamese elephant table that belongs to my sister Sue. She bought it when she was working for an import company in NYC in the late 60s. My parents brought it to Florida when they moved in '79 --tightly wrapped in bubble wrap -- and it sat in Mom's living room all this time. I told Sue I would keep it until she shipped it to California, but she told me it wasn't likely to happen. So now it's looking at me as I type this... I told Mirta to pick out some tchotchkes for herself -- to remember Mom. She took a few glass pieces and an old glass kitchen lamp that hung over Mom's kitchen table -- also a LI import. It was held on the wall by 4 screws -- I remembered hanging it with Dad, a man never known for his mechanical aptitude. But somehow it never came crashing down over more than 3 decades. There was also a used wheelchair I had bought from Craig's List, for Mom to use when she visited. Mirta knew a man who runs a clinic and would put it to use. My sister Trudy had found some letters Wifey and the Ds sent to Mom, as well as my first baseball glove. She left it in the chair. The glove, a boy's sized Spalding, brought back memories. My parents bought it for me when I was 7. It lasted through 4 Levittown Little League seasons, until my growing hands required a replacement. When I was 9, I made a diving grab of a sharply hit grounder hit bewteen my first base spot and second. I fired the ball to the second baseman, scrambled to my feet, and caught the throw for the completion of the double play. The crowd, such as they were -- roared. It was my shining moment of childhood baseball. The glove was stored in an outside closet, and smells heavily of mold. It's airing out on my fronto porch --um, loggia. If the stink clears, the glove will make it to my sports watching room, along with Orange Bowl memorabilia. If not, it'll make it to the trash. I took Mirta and La Tia to Grammercy Deli for lunch. It was the go to restaurnant for Mom and me over the final years of my visits to her. The food was great, as usual, and the Mexican busboy loved having guests to speak Spanish to -- the clientele is typically ONLY Northeastern Jews, like much of West Delray, Boca, and Boynton. Before I lfet, I walked to the mail box to post a note about my Mom's passing, and to give my sister's email address to anyone wanting to buy it. The bulletin board had a clearly worded sign: "NO ONE (THIS MEANS YOU) MAY POST ANY NOTICES HERE WITHOUT THE EXPRESS CONSENT OF THE CAPRI D BOARD." I pinned my note directly over it. Ah, the condo commandos. They used to hassle me for washing my car under the meager shade of the clipped trees, and complain when my friends and I used the pool. My Dad loathed that. So this final act of civil disobedience was the final FU to Kings Point for Dad -- he never liked the place either. I have no doubt the sign was taken down already. Also, as I walked back, there was Lil Krieger sitting in a wheelchair in front of her unit. She's ancient, like Mom was. She asked about her. I told her Mom had died. "But no one told us!" Well of course not, Lil! I told Lil she was the sole remaining pioneer --the group who moved into Building D when it was first built --in 1979. Her husband Irving died long ago. I wished Lil well. The era is nearly over.

The Sad Week

Today marks one week since Mom died. I spent the day after reflecting, and then drinking with my friend and neighbor Pat. Monday I was at the office -- embroiled in a staff screw up which hurt a case --all piss and vinegar, as they say. But as the week moved on, I felt a sadness surrounding me like a cold, Northeast fog. Mom's death was expected, and given the way she was at the end, it was a relief. But still -- the finality is a bit crushing. So I spent much of the week laying low -- not leaving the house. Wifey brought in dinner. I was, after all, having my one man shiva... Today I'm headed up to Mom's condo with dear friend Mirta. Mirta is a true angel. She kept vigil with my Mom the first night of hospice. Throughout the past year, she dutifully visited once per week, despite her crazy busy schedule of nursing school and grandma duties. She wants to help me say goodbye. I have just a few things to fetch out of the apartment. My sister and brother in law are leaving on a 2 week vacation, and they are charged with the task of selling Mom's condo when they return. I'll be relieved when that happens. Although Mom moved in, with my father, 34 years ago next month, the place NEVER seemed like home to me. Part of it was it was a just a waypoint on my journey to college, but a big part was how much my Dad disliked the concrete block nature of the place. When you look out a window -- you see a PARKING LOT! Mom kept that window shaded, but still. That said, Wednesday night I had dinner with Eric, Dana, and Eric's Mom and sister, Norma and Elissa. They took me to an Italian place in Weston. Eric told tales of visits to Kings Point, and they were happy ones: Mom's corned beef dinners, and my father sneaking us into the condo commando guarded pool in military-like operations. So maybe my memories are too harsh. Still --it'll be nice to be done with the condo... On happier fronts, D1 is cruising through her internships. She has 2 more to go, and then the long, winding road of "gradual school," as we call it, comes to an end. She and I attended the opening of the new UM Crohns and Colitis Center --dragging Barry along. It's a spiffy new place, and it would be a great first job for D1. The Director LOVES D1 -- so we'll see. D2 finished her finals, and I pulled info out of her like I was pulling teeth: she kept her perfect 4.0 GPA -- now through her junior year! Chris Rock says they don't give grades for being a Daddy -- but it your daughter becomes a stripper, you get a F! I'm blessed to be on the other end of that spectrum with my lovely daughters. So life goes on, sans Mom. D2 is due home tomorrow, and I look MOST forward to the reunion.