Kafkaesque Airlines

I'm old enough to remember when air travel was a classy, big deal. My first trip was in 1969 --from NY to Israel. It was also my parents' first time on an airplane. The service was great -- folks dressed up to fly. These days, even transcontinental trips are essentially bus rides. First class is equivalent to coach travel 30 years ago. Coach travel is awful. We typically upgrade to Business when we fly overseas. One trip we couldn't; Wifey said I looked like Shrek sitting in a coach seat. D2 is experiencing the crappy state of travel first hand. She called me the other night to ask me to check why her flight from Valencia to Madrid, the first leg of her return, had been canceled. I called American Airlines, and they explained that since she missed her original flight from Madrid to Valencia, on Iberia's "Air Nostrum" (I keep calling them Air Nostradumus), the airline labeled D2 a "no show" and canceled her return flight. But, I protested, Air N had themselves put her on a later flight. The American agent understood, but explained that things are different in Spain. No big deal -- just re book her. No, came the answer after, no kidding, 3 hours on the phone: all flights out of Valencia are packed. So after many more hours on the phone, and D2 asking her professor to take her final early, so she could leave Wednesday night, we still weren't sure of her getting a flight. D2 came up with a solution: she'd take a train to Madrid, and then just catch the final flight leg to Miami. I called the American "manager" (I learned "supervisors" are just no discretion cogs -- you need to speak to a "manager") and said -- great news -- problem solved: my D2 will just get herself to Madrid, and then catch her flight across the ocean. Not so fast! The Manager said this was a "re routing" and there would be a change fee and fare increase -- of $2000!!!!!! I used all my self control to ask how absurd this was: they were penalizing us heavily for THEIR mistake! Luckily, the manager took pity, and noted I was an American Gold member -- and didn't charge extra for NOT taking a flight that the computer canceled D2 off of! Ay caramba! The good news is D2 appears to be properly booked -- on both the train and then flight home. She's due in tomorrow night,and will probably kiss the US ground when she returns... And I got the wild aggravation without having to actually pack and take the trip myself. No -- for me -- sitting at the restaurant 94th Aerosquadron, drinking a martini and watching the planes take off and land -- is plenty!

Adventure in the Grove: The First 24 Minutes

Ap last night Wifey and I met D1 and the spoiled spaniel at one of our go-to restaurants: Berries in the Grove. It's a lovely casual spot build around oak trees on SW 27th Avenue, and they allow dogs, which makes it a family favorite in my dog-philic clan. Wifey's BFF Edna was in town, helping her wildy annoying parents move to a different condo, and she drove to see Diane's condo before the two ladies joined us. They did, Diane ordered some Moet Chandon for the ladies, and I drank a few Stolis on ice. The host came by and asked if anyone had a Shaq Man Car -- champaigne colored. Why yes -- I did? Did I park too close to the dumster, or something. No, he said, some guests had witnessed a white Kia hit it and drive away. The diners wrote down the tag number of the hit and runner... The host introduced me to the crime fighters: nice group of YUCAS (young upwardly mobile Cuban Americans) sitting in the front. The fellow gave me the info, and said he was tired of assholes pulling stuff like this. I agreed, and called the Miami PD. Surprisingly a short time later, a young cop came by and met me. He took the info, and called in the tag. Alas, it came back "no vehicle." Either the offenders had a bogus tag, or my saviors wrote it down innaccurately. Still, he gave me a report, and I'll see if I can find the bastards on Monday. I returned to the restaurant, and ordered a round of drinks for the YUCAS. They were most appreciative. Then I returned to my group of ladies, and had dinner. It was festive: even Wifey drank a few glasses of the 'paigne, as my friend Stuart used to call it. The damage was slight -- a small dent in the door. I'm guessing it will cost about the same as the round of drinks I bought, to fix. But as usual, the tale is the thing. We now have our flirt with the First 48 to remember...

Stags'Leap Canes

So Dr. Dave alerted me to another wine pairing dinner at Shula's, and I alerted Dr. Ken. Nex thing I knew, 3 former Long Island guys were at the bar, drinking our "complementary: cocktail before dinner. We toasted to the health of our combined 6 kids --4 girls and 2 boys. They range in age from 16 to 27, and all are, thankfully, terrific. We found a spot at a back table, and the feast began. the Stags' Leap guy, also from LI, talked a little too long and detailed about the wine, but we drank and ate while he droned. First course was a Chardonnay and a huge prawn, over mango ceviche. Both were delicious. I usually don't drink wine - it keeps me up at night, but I made a happy exception last night. Next came Stags' Petite Syrah, and while the wine rep droned on, we also got a great lamb chop. The Shula's chef then spoke, and was more concise and entertaining. Then came a merlot and a rib eye steak. The Stags' guy talked abuot how the movie "Sideways" KILLED merlot sales -- as the wine was portrayed as the one selected by provincials and poseurs. No -- he insisted -- it was only an inside joke by the movie's directors --merlot was really great wine. And so it was, at least the $70 per bottle stuff they served last night. The final member of the wine fleet was a pinot noir, along with a cheese and desert course. The cheese was terrific, along with chocolate covered almonds, and berries. By now, the docs and I were feeling just fine -- especially for a school nihgt, as Ken pointed out. Then came the REAL desert. Canes coach Art Kehoe spoke about the upcoming season -- he's been a player and coach since 1979 -- same year I came to the U. He gushed about this year's team, and Coach Golden. My loins stirred with excitement... He ran a giveaway -- Canes football, jersey, and 2 great tickets to the Gator game. He called my name for the tickets! I went up to Art, who I had met over the years, and had a moment with him. Our eyes met, and there was a KNOWING. We spoke about Ed Perse, who Art remembered from his playing days and was my mentor as a lawyer. I mentioned Penn State in '79. Art's a Philly guy, so that game meant so much to him. We shook hands, and were both misty eyed. One has to truly love a sports team to get this. Art gets it. I offered the tickets to Dr. Dave and Ken. Dave admitted he likes the Gators, since one of his girls went there. Pshaw! Fortunately, he and his wife will be traveling to Cuba the weekend of the game -- some kind of educational trip. Ken wanted to go -- he was at ONE Canes game with me --the GREATEST of all time. He was down for Winter break in '83-'84 and watched the Canes beat Nebraska for the first championship. I figure he's good luck -- we 'll need him for the Gator game. All in all, a fine evening in South Miami -- in the company of men and grapes.

The Closing

Wifey and I drove to Key Largo yesterday, for the tail end of Mike's birthday celebration. We met Mike and Loni for brunch, and then they took off for home while Wifey and I stayed. We ate well and napped prodigiously. Last night we sat by the sea as a full moon reflected off the water. I thought about my Mom and Dad, together there, for eternity. Jewish tradition says that the soul doesn't rest until all earthly dealings are finished. And so it came to pass today -- my Florida sister called from the real estate closing. Mom's condo is now owned by a NY Rican guy whose parents are moving there from San Juan. My California sister, Florida sister, and I will each receive out share of the proceeds -- slightly more than $14K. I paid Mom's final Palm Beach County water bill. My Florida sister will pay the final FPL bill. And that will bring to a close the last of Mom's earthly responsibilities. Maybe now I will grieve. Mom died just under 3 months ago, and I still haven't cried. From the time I was at her bedside at MJH until now, it was all business: dealing with the cremation place, getting death certificates, spreading ashes, more paperwork with MJH, dealing with the Special Needs Trust folks, talking with the Hospice rabbi and more talks with the nursing home staff. It takes me awhile to let my emotions out. Maybe now with Mom they will. Dad really took his duty as a provider seriously. He died in 1982, and left Mom financially set for the next 31 years. She traveled the world and gave generous gifts to her kids and grandkids. In 1986 she gave my sisters and me each $10,000. Wifey and I used the money as a down payment for our first house -- the place we brought D1 to -- the beginning of our family. Interest rates were high in the 80s and 90s, so Mom lived well off the interest from the $240K Dad left her. As she reached her 80s, she started using principal, and it saw her to the end, when she put the remaining money into a trust that let her get Medicaid, and let her 3 kids get her condo. I've handled her financial affairs for so long now. Looking back, her life was so full and vibrant --until she got to about 89. She crashed her car, and began to decline. She stayed too long alone in her condo -- until a nasty fall convinced her it was time to get constant care. She made it nearly a year at MJH. She didn't see 3 of her grandkids at all. Springsteen is so right: in the end what you don't surrender, the world just strips away. So Mom is gone, and today was the CLOSING. It's funny -- we do realestate closings all the time, and they're usually mileposts for the future -- nicer house -- better location. But Mom's today was truly final. I wrote FINAL PAYMENT on my check to the water company, and meant it. The funny thing about that -- it was still in Dad's name --so long after he died. Mom never changed her phone records either -- we used to laugh when caller ID showed a call from a man gone during the 1st Reagan Administration. So rest well, Mom. We finished all we had to do. We love you and miss you. We tell Grandma Sunny stories all day. Your memory is a blessing to us.

Dropping Like Flies

Members of the Greatest Generation, as Tom Brokaw labeled WW II vets and their spouses, are dropping like flies. My favorite tweak of the GG was after the blown 2000 presidential election. Many of them in Florida voted for Buchanan instead of Gore. Carl Hiassen wrote a column blaming the "so called" GG for blowing it. So they were doddering 13 years ago, and ANCIENT now. Tough year. My friend Norman's mother lead the sadness --passing away in 2012, early. Then my partner Paul's mother Lillian died in October, followed shortly afterwards by his brother in law Geoff's father. My mother died in April, and this am I got a text from my old friend Allison saying her father in law had died, too. I came to tell Wifey, and she was on the phone with her college buddy Eileen, here from Atlanta to put her father Jim into hospice. He stopped eating, and the hospice staff says he'll likely be gone by Monday. Jim's a great guy. He was a long time editor at the Herald, and had an illustrious career that got a major kick when he got the scoop on Al Capone's death on Star Island. As he told the tale -- all of the reporters keeping vigil ran to the mainland to make their calls, but Jim was friends with nightclub owner Lou Walters (whose daughter Barbara rose to fame in the news business, too). Lou let Jim use his phone, and Jim got the scoop. Jim wrote a book about his small town Lousiana childhood, as a lonely Southern Republican. Wifey and I went to his lecture about it when it came out, and I bought several copies. I gave it to Mom, thinking she'd enjoy the tales of her generation. But when I saw her next, she thrust the book back into my hands with a look of disgust. "David --he's a Republican!" she said, using the political party like she was saying "nazi." That was Mom -- if you weren't a Demopcrat, you might as well be a fascist... I never talked her into reading the rest of the book. Speaking of age---we're having dinner with Barry and Eric and Donna and Dana tonight --Barry's joining the 50 club next week. When we met, he was just 18; I was 20. My, how those years fly. So we plan to celebrate heartily. Barry picked a place in Lauderdale that's been there 25 years, and has great paella and sangria. I'll toast D2 --she's still in Valencia, Spain, the birthplace of paella --along with 2 of my brothers of other mothers. It's good to be here...

Fitty Two

Today marks the date I have been on this planet, at least in my current incarnation, for 52 years. It's great to be here! I see so much decay and decrepidation among the elderly -- I always say there's no way I want to be here past 80. And then, last night, I was treated to the company of an outlier. Wifey and I hosted our homeowner's association executive committee -- at a meeting requested by our Village mayor, Cindy Lerner. Cindy wants our support in asking the US Congress to sell 2 acres of a huge agricultural research station just south of Pinecrest to the County, to build a new fire rescue station. It turns out that if Wifey stabs me and I lay bleeding to death, it will take a minimum of 9 minutes for the closest paramedics to reach our part of Pinecrest. With the new station, I might have a chance at NOT exsanguinating... Anyway, we're all for it -- especially the women, who figure the more hot bodied firemen around, the better --but the star of the evening was our neighbor Bobbe. Bobbe is, I'm pretty sure, 93, and the original resident of our 'hood. Her late husband platted our development, as Bobbe reminded us, 50 years ago this year. Bobbe could pass for 70, lives alone in the house she and her husband built, and is sharper than the proverbial tack. She regaled us with tales of history, as well as the nagging neighbor of her reals estate business: the strip club Stir Crazy. She had us in laughs, telling us about the time a federal car parked in her lot, and she wanted to close the gates, so she walked on over and told the owner that the patron better move his vehicle, lest it spend the night in Bobbe's lot. When the embarrassed young man came out, Bobbe said, in her lovely Texas drawl, "Now how would your mother feel about her son, a federal agent, attending such an establishment!?" She also still drives -- and is a habitual speeder. She has a place in the Keys, and gets stopped on the Turnpike. She has never received a ticket -- charming and flirting her way out of all of them. She winked at the ladies, and said "Oh, you know men -- make them think you're helpless, and you get whatever you want out of them." The VERY modern and feminist Mayor Lerner laughed at that so hard she bent over. Somehow I can't see her using feminine guile too much... Bobbe downed 2 LARGE glasses of white wine, and was driven home the 2 blocks by Ben and Gloria, our fine neighbors. If you can make it to your 90s like Bobbe, long life is, I guess, tolerable. Meanwhile, I already got a birthday greeting from D2 in Spain, and tonight plan on going to dinner with D1, D2's boyfriend Jonathan, Wifey, and Paul and his fiancee, Patricia. Ah, the word fiancee. I remember back nearly 30 years ago, I was one, but without the extra e. So as I take stock, now 2 years past the half century mark -- it's a pretty damn great time. This is the first year I'm an orphan, but as Rabbi Yossi said the other day, if the first time you're saying kaddish is when you're in your 50s, you're very lucky. He's right. I plan to just keep on keepin' on --and taking each sday as it comes. In other words -- living in cliches. Is there any other way?

Operating Heavy Machinery

Although I try to deny it, the truth is that my mental sharpness has declined. I used to be a whiz at so called executive functioning -- I did several things at once, all competently. Lately, I try not to whistle while I walk for fear of tripping... Wifey has it even worse. The running joke is that she'll pre decease me, and likely from a stupid accident. The joke sadly is becoming closer to reality. Still, I just pulled a senile stunt that has me shaking my aging head. A few weeks ago, Loni sent an email inviting us to a birthday celebration for my friend Mike, in Key Largo. The running joke with Loni parties is that they're ALWAYS surprise parties -- Wifey even commented, wryly, about THIS year's surprise party for Mike. No I answered, no surprise this time -- just a get together in Key Largo for Saturday July 20th. I emailed Loni that we couldn't make it, as Dr. Barry's 50th is coming up, and we already made plans to have dinner with Eric and Dana somewhere in Broward. But maybe we could come to Key Largo Sunday. Loni emailed back that would be great. Mike called for another reason, and I told him about our plans. He seemed , well, surprised. Today I called to confirm, and he told me he had no idea about the Key LArgo party until I mentioned it -- I had RUINED the surprise! No way, I replied -- I would testify that there was no mention of "surprise" in the email. I was sure of it. And so I went back and checked. The title of the invite said "Mike's Key Largo Surprise Birthday Bash." "Surprise" was even underlined. I profusely apologized to Loni. Mike laughed it off. Like me, he enjoys celebrating bigger on the 5s and 0s -- and turning 52 is no big deal to him. Still, I feel awful... I truly don't see how surgeons operate past, say, 60. Or how other doctors keep their patients' histories straight. Life is truly a young person's game. Wifey and I told D1 that fact just last night -- she's turning 25 in November, and she's clearly in her prime of life. Yesterday we visited Wifey's father at MJH. A lady was playing piano in the social room. There were probably 50 wheel chaired residents there. Maybe 10 sang along and seemed to get into the mix of Broadway tunes and Cuban torch songs. The majority sat there and drooled their ice cream. It reinforced that no way, no how, do I want to live that long. With my declining mentation -- I just hope I make it to 60 without driving into a pole...

When I Do Count the Clock That Tells The Time

I'll be 52 in 5 days. I like to make relative big deals at 0 and 5 birthdays, so this one isn't much of a milestone for me. Still...on Thursday, I had plans to meet D1, her roomie Alyssa with fine boyfriend Freddy, and D2's boyfriend for a little happy hour at my watering hole, Trulucks. Through a series of coincidences, it turned out to be a surprise surprise party -- with a total of 15 friends. I had been with my old dear friend Mirta earlier, and invited her to come, and she told old friend Steve, and Vince had called Steve about a traffic ticket, and so on. It turned out to be a terrfic night. Mike the piano player insisted I take a tequilla shot, and that set me partialy hallucinating, as usual. I rarely drink tequila anymore. Some of the number repaired to the sushi place next door, where we ate raw fish and had great talk into the night. Wifey was upset with D1 for not being invited, but it just sort of happened. So now I'm birthday celebrated out. Now Dr. Barry has a big one coming --his 50th. Since Barry serves others and never himself, he was going to just blow it off. But Eric and I wouldn't hear of it -- at least we're making him go to dinner in Weston next Saturday. Mike, my age, turns 52 tomorrow, but his wife planned a Keys get together. We may drive down next Sunday to take part in that. Meanwhile, the summer crawls on. D2 is loving life in Spain -- this weekend it's Madrid, and then back to Valencia. Her 5 week semester is half over. I can't wait to fetch her at MIA, and then August 5th go to D1's graduation from "Gradual School." We named it that because it took 3 years to get the Masters instead of 2. She picked up her 3rd cap and gown the other day -- high school, college, and now she's becoming a Mistress. I'm one proud rockin daddy in the USA. Still, into each life some rain must fall, and today the rain will be a visit to my increasingly diffucult mother in law. Poor Wifey -- the woman has her at wits' end. Wifey never had homicidal ideations until recently. Luckily they're directed towards her mother, and not me. I have to notarize an affidavit that my in laws are still alive, so the German government pays their Holocaust pension for another year. It's a task I rather enjoy -- my tiny part in making those bastards pay for what they did. So I'll be 52, and this year for the first time, I'm an orphan. People come; people go.

Lord -- What a Send Off!

Years ago, my mother went to a funeral of an acquaintance at a black church. Afterwards, she told us, only half kidding, that she was ready to convert. "The people were SO nice, unlike the yentas in a shul, and the women all sang like that Theresa Franklin!" She meant Aretha, of course, but we got the point. Well, I got my taste today. My friend Steve the cop's good friend Patrice died, at 46. She had a bellyache 2 months ago, which turned out to be metastatic liver cancer, and she was gone in several weeks. I knew Patrice fairly well -- I spoke to her 5 months ago when she hit me up for out annual contribution to her daughter's high school team. That's who Patrice was -- mother of 2, dedicated cop, and true community and church leader. So Steve invited me to go with him, and we went in his green and white, along with his lady Ruth, up to the Antioch Missionary Baptist Church near Joe Robbie Stadium. There were near 1000 people packed in, including many of Patrice police friends. We sat in a pew, and the festivities began. And I do mean festivities. Many funerals advertise themselves as a celebration of the deceased's life, but I have NEVER seen or heard what I did today. First off, the church choir was 15 strong --many large ladies -- and each with professional quality voices. There was a full band, and they were TIGHT! The choir leader sang, and danced, and a paralyzed person would have swayed along. I mean -- they were AMAZING. The lead minister spoke well, and Patrice's cousin did as well, but the women were clearly in charge. They sang truly from theur hearts and soul, and spoke so forcefully and passionately. I didn't know Patrice that well, and several times this ironic, seen it all Jew was moved to tears. Several cops were invited to speak, and they did. Steve brought the house down: he said Patrice had told him he was a black man trapped in a white man's body, and even the very formal minister doubled over in laughter. He spoke aboug how he and Patrice each had each other's back, and how she adored her kids. The other cops were a celebration of Miami's diversity: an Asian fellow, a VERY white, Southern "miamuh" guy, and 2 Latinas all spoke from their hears about Patrice. And then something very strange and wonderful happened. A minister from the youth corps came to the front of the church --in white jacket and white face paint! It was a reverse minstrel thing -- he looked like a mime. And sure enough, he acted and lip synched a very moving gospel song by I think, Bobby Womack, about needing, no NEEDING Jesus in your life. The whole church swayed and sang along. I was reminded of the Marc Cohn song "Walking in Memphis," where a black church lady asked if he was a Christian man, and he replied, in the song "Well I am tonight!" Patrice's cousin led the choir in her favorite song: "Break Every Chain," and we all sang along. It was the most I ever felt while singing along --even more from my heart than when I sing "Thunder Road" with Bruce at his converts. Maybe I have something in common with Steve... We left after 3 hours, and there were still some testimonials to come. Steve, Ruth, and I were all moved greatly by the event. Patrice's ex husband is a Broward fireman, and will take good care of her kids. Money won't be a problem, either -- there will be a very generous pension and life insurance payout. So I'll never go in for the Jesus thing. I have enough time with my own religion's magical unrealism and superstition -- and we have far less B.S. than the 2 other Abrahamic faiths. But I sure admired those folks today -- who literally shook and convulsed with their love of God -- so sure Patrice was in a "better place" and happy that she had found her Lord before she died. Patrice was a true angel among us. Her send off today was fitting. And no way, no how, anyone can sing like these large black ladies did today. I'm still feeling the shivers from their performance...