Unsavory Sandwich

So we Baby Boomers (Wifey is a Sophomore, and I'm a freshman, according to the great classifications of P.J. O'Rourke) are often also called the sandwich generation. We're still involved in raising our kids, but also are responsible for our aging "Greatest Generation" parents. It's daunting. I had primary responsibility for my mother, who tried to remain fiercely independent. She mostly did, at least until she was 89, when she became a major burden. I used to dread seeing her number on my phone -- it usually meant a 3 hour unscheduled round trip to Delray... And even after she went into the nursing home, closer to my house, there was the never ending paper work, and meetings with the staff, and dealing with the doctors and hospital workers... Mom died last April, at 93. But the fun was just beginning for Wifey, an only child whose parents are now in the full blown, totally needy phase... Complicating things is that my mother in law, a Holocaust Survivor, uses guilt as a weapon more adeptly than any character drawn up by the pantheon of Jewish writers...No matter what Wifey does, it's NOT enough...and Wifey is never enough of a friend to her... My mother in law refuses to move closer to her husband, and visits him once or twice a week, via drivers Wifey finds for her. She also calls him several times per day, which requires that my father in law have good phone service. The cell phone was fraught with problems -- my father in law would forget to charge it, or the settings got changed and wouldn't work. So Wifey decided she would have an old fashioned land line put in his room. Simple. Problem solved. Ha! As if! Wifey fought several battles with ATT and the nursing home staff. After literally hours spent on this project -- a line was finally put in. Wifey fetched an old handset from her mother's condo, and they were in business. Done. Not so fast! My father in law complained yesterday about clutter on his night stand, and so my mother in law removed the phone. Of course, she then went home and complained to Wifey that she couldn't call her husband. Wifey was livid, once again, at her mother's dumb move coupled with stubbornness and sanctimoniousness. I was out to dinner with Dr. Barry, and Wifey texted me about this -- using language about her mother one usually doesn't associate with a nice, Jewish daughter. I showed Barry. He laughed -- really shocked. So it'll be back to square one. As Barry reminded me, these issues don't last forever. In the mean time, there's a benefit. Wifey, unlike most of us aging Boomers, has LOW blood pressure -- not high. She actually has to add salt to her diet. Her mother's confounding nature will be a benefit -- each encounter will raise Wifey's systolic many points... She really is a caring mother to Wifey...

The End of An Era

I got a voice mail from my cousin Eddie yesterday, telling me that his mother, my Aunt Florence, had died. It wasn't unexpected -- she was in failing health for quite awhile, and the latest FaceBook (tm) posts from my cousin Marlene had photos of her in the hospital that looked eerily like the way my Mom did in her final weeks. Florence's nickname was Giggles -- because she cried a lot as a child. Ah, the classic irony of immigrant Jewish families like my grandparents' -- it gives us our precious sense of humor. Giggles was the youngest of the 5 siblings. She married Bernie, a man who adored her, and survives her. Family lore is that before Giggles could marry Bernie, her mother, my grandmother, "had him tested to see if he was retarded." Apparently he passed the test. Bernie was quite a character -- an early Cliff Clavin -- a know it all who knew little, but tried to come off as something bigger. He never made much of a living at his various jobs -- another bit of lore is that he was fired as a night watchman for falling asleep -- but somehow he supported his wife and 4 kids --though Giggles had to work. Giggles was warm and loving, and always laughing in my memory. Her house was a chaotic place -- twin girls, my cousins, who were 5 years older than I -- always in and out with friends -- animals everywhere -- apple trees to climb in their various Spring Valley houses... My Mom is one of 5, and she lived the longest life. Marty, the oldest, cied in his mid 80s. Dorothy, the exotic dark haired beauty my Mom adored, died in her late 60s, and Lorraine, my Mom's 5 year younger blonde sister, died in her early 70s. Mom made it to 93, and Giggles was 83 or 84. Our families long ago ceased to be close. The few cousins I truly like seem, like me, to be caught up in their own lives, and the rest I truly have little in common with. I last saw Giggles at Lorraine's husband Abe's funeral -- must have been 4 years ao. She was in a wheelchair, but happy and smiling -- telling me how much she missed my Mother. I reported this to Mom, who declined to attend the funeral since Abe's new wife had "replaced my sister," and Mom laughed -- her relationship with her baby sister had run its course -- and Giggles blowing off my niece's wedding had been the last straw. Still, Giggles had a very full life. In the end, though, her Florida kids didn't care closely for her, and her NJ daughter -- my one first cousin who converted to Christianity (that's a whole different story) took her in -- always posting photos and asking for the "Lord" to bless her mother. Jesus -- what would grandma Goldie have thoght? So now it occurs to me that, at 52, I'm an orphan, with no aunts or uncles... Time keeps flowing...

Man Versus Dog

I'm really over having dogs as pets. As I age and become more curmudgeonly, I want to simplify -- and a big part of that includes reducing living things I'm responsible for. Wifey's been away for a week, so I've had resonsibility for the strange rescue dog, and pampered spaniel grand dog. The rescue dog really is smart. She's an escape artist, which is how she found us -- after running away from someone, and jumping into D2's friends' car. Vienna still tries to escape, and one of these days she'll be succesful. I keep the dogs in the kitchen/family room area, since the spoiled spaniel tends to crap on the oriental rugs when she explores the rest of the house. The other day, I had them there, with a back door opened to the yard. It's fenced, to prevent the dogs from getting to the front, where our gate may or not be open. I was in my office, which used to be D1's room, and all of a sudden I see the rescue dog there. I swear she was smiling at me. I figured I must have left one of the interior doors open, but a check showed I hadn't. Mysterious... Today I solved the mystery, when she did it again...the damn dog found a gap between the gate and the fence owned by our next door neighbor, who I call the World's Busiest Lawyer. I call her this because we've only met her once in the 4 years they've lived next to us -- I see the husband, and he always apologizes that his wife is inside "working on a brief." This even happens Friday evenings. I think she may well be a leper, but so be it... Anyway, the damn dog was able to climb some large rocks, and beat a retreat to the front of the yard. I placed some MORE big rocks in the slot, and watched her again. I swear, she looked back at me and appeared to ask "WTF?" It's a matter of time, with this dog...she just is a ramblin' mutt, and eventually she'll take off. I know it. We've had her 3 years now... Dogs teach us a lack of permanence in life...even the longest lived ones die after 15 years or so. I have zero chance of living in a non dog infested house, at least as long as Wifey is here. She loves dogs -- wants even more. Of course, like the kid she is, it's great to have them when she can go away and have some schlemiel be responsible for them. That's it --I'm a dog schlemiel. I guess I could be worse things...

Temporary Bachelor

So last Saturday I dropped Wifey off at MIA and she jetted to Atlanta. Her sister friend Edna is having some elective surgery, and Wifey is there to help her recover. Plus, those two love time together without end, so there's that, too. The Bachelor life is fine, so far. From MIA I fetched my nephew Henry, who was in town for a short workcation -- a word I think he coined. We went to breakfast in the Grove, and then drove to Matheson Hammock, where I showed him where his Grandma's cremains (I dig that word, too) were cast into Biscayne Bay. We walked the park, and then sat for hours talking. It was the first time in his life (he's 29) that we had that much time uninterrupted, and it was delightful. He's grown into an amazing young man -- kind, smart, artistic, and, most important to my eyes -- a man who takes care of his family. We laughed about the shared psychopathology that is our birthright, as well as the positive qualities given to us via our Ashkenazic ancestors. Henry is blessed with another half of colorful DNA -- Okies who migrated to California during the Dust Bowl years, and made a new life for themselves -- in the San Joachin Valley -- those are Henry's paternal relatives. Saturday night I left him with D1, and the two first cousins got to bond as adults. D1 shares my thoughts about Henry -- as she noted, he's a terrific young man and she's proud to be his family... I went solo to a wedding up in Parkland, which is South of Boca, but somehow seems to be in Casa Caracho, as the Cubans say. Sunday Henry and I met my Florida sister and brother in law, for some Cuban breakfast, before he flew home to San Francisco. They hadn't seen Henry in 4 or 5 years. I hadn't seen them together since my Mom died in April. Such is the modern extended family... Sunday I watched the NFL playoffs in Mike's back yard, and then received the best news in awhile. My brother/law partner's daughter gave birth to a baby boy -- Jack. He was received into an amazingly loving family on the Upper East Side. Poor Jack gets the tough welcome into our Tribe this Sunday -- the ritual snip. I always joke that if I were a non Jew who decided to convert, and I learned about the required circumcision -- well, Buddhism would start to look pretty good at that point. Paul's daughter in law Danielle is due with HER baby boy next week -- so Paul's grandpa cup runneth over... The rest of the week I've kept my dance card full -- dinners with friends, and some real law work. Yesterday Stuart and I went to South Beach to meet some new clients, and then turned the afternoon into a classic boondoggle -- with a long lunch at Prime 112, and a visit to his wife's aunt at the family club Mango's. I dropped Stu at the office, and headed to meet Dr. Vince at Shula's...we laughed heartily over our cocktails -- realizing, as we always do, how college chums had become old farts... Wifey called and said Edna wanted her to stay longer -- she feared the post surgical blues... I told her I could handle some more of this single guy thing...

Descent Into Madness

Jennifer and Richard built the house we've lived in coming up on 13 years this February. We love the place --it's been the source of so many precious memories. It was built by Richard and Jennifer, a husband and wife architect team. They bought the house that was damaged by Hurricane Andrew, tore it down, and proceeded to recreate an Italian Villa they had visited. Everything was custom -- Richard told me they set up a mini sawmill to fashion the custom roof joists, cut from cypress. Jennifer lovingly picked each paint color and room layout... We met them when we bought the place, and Jennifer came back several times to visit. Her adorable, blonde kids, Jackie and Alex, "missed the Yellow House." Wifey became friendly with Jennifer, and spoke to her through the years. The family moved to West Palm, and built a smaller version of our house in El Cid, a historic neighborhood on the Intracoastal. Wifey followed Jennifer and the kids on Facebook (tm). Jennifer said she was getting a divorce, but gushed about her kids -- they attended Dreyfoos School, apparently the West Palm version of Miami's prestigious New World School of the Arts -- you have to be talented and smart to get in. The kids were accomplished violinists and cellists. Yesterday my news junkie nature pointed me to a story of a mother killing her teen kids, and then herself. It was Jennifer. She shot Alex and Jackie, who are now 15 and 16, and then herself. The paper said the divorce and financial problems drove her to despair. I told Wifey and the Ds. The Ds recalled that their bedrooms still have crayon marks from when Alex and Jackie had drawn on the walls -- low down, near the floor. We were all shocked and saddened. Who knows what happens when a person descends into madness? What drove Jennifer, a former beauty queen, to do what she did? Of course, there are no answers, but we're left sickened and bereft. Life isn't fair, as I've tried to impress upon the Ds ever since they were little. But it can be amazingly exquisite. Now it's just wasted, for 2 wonderful kids, and their pretty mother...

Upkeep Of A House

I was one year old when my family moved to our house on LI. We moved one month before I turned 17. Looking back, it seems I lived there forever -- even though it was less than 16 years. This March, it'll be 13 years since we moved into Villa Wifey. Those years have seemed much shorter than a decace and a third...I guess it's the relativity of time that comes with aging. We bought a nearly new house (it was 3 years old) but now it's now nearly 17. Things break, and need replacement. Today an electirician is here, fixing a GFI receptacle that powers my Jacuzzi. I rarely use the thing, as Wifey and I have been married so long, but it needs to keep powered up so that the ozone generator keeps the water clean... As stuff fails, Wifey and I say "Wow -- we just BOUGHT that," but it often turns out the appliance is more than 10 years old. I've been reflecting on this time relativity thing quite often lately. D2, our youngest, turns 22 next month. At our wedding, my inlaws were 62, my mother 67. They seemed so old to us then. Somehow we're now in shouting range of their ages... Yesterday Paul and I took a rare day away from the office to attend a luncheon given by our friend and broker Victoria. A youngish fellow gave a talk about fixed income investing. Paul knew far more than he did --and the questions PAul asked made that clear. The poor young fellow was left fumbling for answers that weren't on his canned sales pitch. There were two young ladies there from the Colombian Chamber of Commerce -- clients of Victoria. I joked with them that my wife was there age -- a good 25 years younger than I was. "Yes," I explained, "to get her to marry me, I lied about my age. I told her I was 82." They laughed, as I did, but the reality was hard, too: I'm no longer a young guy... 52 to a 25 year old might as well be nursing home ready... So I'll not complain about the home repairs. The years take their toll -- on people, as well as stuff...

27

Yesterday was Wifey and my 27th wedding anniversary. I had some mildly romantic plans -- I was going to take her to the stretch of Miami Beach where I proposed, say lovely words of nostalgic love, and then we'd go have dinner. Alas, the day got away from us. Wifey had two medical appointments, and I went with D1 to see an orthopedist. Fortunately, D1's bursitis is clearing up, and then I got a call from D2 in Gainesville, worried about a red and inflamed ear. Unfortunately, D2 inherited my anxiety about health issues, and was convinced she had some type of ear eating disease -- the kind that migrates to the brain and then its IT. Happily a trip to a Shands ER found otherwise -- probably a mild ear infection, or allergic reaction to some unknown allergen. Regardless, the events sort of drained away the romance, and at sunset I sat alone by our pool, drinking Ketel One, and struggling to get a fire started in our firepit. Wifey came home, and the fire miraculously caught, and we sat together in the cool night, watching the sparks and flames climb into the night sky. Dinner was a couple of turkey sandwiches, and then the Ketel sent me to sleep. Wifey allowed the strange rescue dog to sleep with us, which wasn't a good idea. At 3 am the sausage dog decided it was a good time to get up and demand attention. Wifey complied. So there it was -- the wee small hours of the morning, and we were both wide awake. So we started to talk, and talk, and talk. We talked about our Ds in the loving and lampooning way only their parents can -- about D1's eccentricities, and D2's sweetness with a VERY sharp edge when she's pushed... We spoke of our parents -- Grandma Sunny, and Wifey's declining set -- and their laughter and quirkiness. I repeated a tale about my idiot cousin that I had told Wifey hours before, while under the influence of 3 Ketels, and we laughed about my alcoholic fueled bouts of forgetfullness... The hours passed, A chilly wind blew in through the open windows. IT was lovely. And there it occurred to me -- we were doing the basic activity of loving couples -- we were getting each other through a long night. Wifey and I are so unlike in many ways, and our marriage is, like all marriages, unique to us. But on a long, chilly night, I still savor having her next to me. And so there will be, Big MAn permitting, a 28th, 29th, 30th -- well, let's not get crazy! Happy 27, Wifey. You don't bother me as much as the other girls...

And I'm Still Writing '13 On My Checks

So D2 and I lay in her bed, reminiscing about New Year's past...at least those since '92-'93, when she was here. We went through the post Hurricane Andrew years, and talked about the big party we had in '99-'2000. At the stroke of the new millenium, once we knew the world wouldn't end, D2 and I jumped into the pool at our last house. We closed on our current house in December of '00, and we took a few bottles of champagne here to toast the new year. As we looked around the spacious new place, none of us could quite believe we were privileged to live in such a home. That was 13 years ago... My Mom was hilarious when she visited. The house was just too daunting for her. She saw the upstairs once, and after that confined herself to the tiniest bedroom, where she felt secure like a dog in a crate, and the kitchen area. 2014 is the first year I'm an orphan. Mom died last April. Her absence struck me, as the clock turned the year. We rang out the old rather well. First I got a greetings text from Norman, happily touring Israel with 2/3 of his sons. Once I knew the year turned without armageddon, it lightened the mood. Wifey and I drove the man Buick to Captain's Tavern. It was packed. For maybe the 3rd or 4th time since Wifey and I met during the Reagan Administration, she ordered a drink -- diet coke and rum. She had a second! Wow -- things CAN change. Our fun friend crazy Sheryl, who visits yearly from Boston, somehow scored a table for 20, and we sat and kept drinking and eating. Wifey got a lobster tail that looked like it was from the set of a Godzilla movie. I had scallops. We sat next to my old law school friend Lisa, and her fun and charming boyfriend Dave, an Irish guy from Pittsburgh. The restuarant was packed, noisy, and festive. It was a terrific send off to '13. We decamped to Gayle and Jay's house, in Galloway Glenn. They host each year, and this is the second time for Wifey and me. They have a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, like our spoiled granddog, and Wifey was in heaven. Jay joked that he lost his dog. We kissed at midnight, and then retired into the living room, where Dr. Dean, a cardiologist who lives in our 'hood, played show tunes on the piano. My GI doc Neil was in attendance, with his sultry wife Babs. Neil counted probably about 10 of us there as his patients, and the Miami Beach born and bred guy joked about recognizing us only from behind... We were all empty nesters, and we shared tales of college graduations for our kids, their new jobs, and in some cases recent weddings. Dean played on and on. We sang along to "Sunrise, Sunset." The Ds texted greetings --D1 from a party Downtown, and D2 from South Beach. Wifey and I got home around 2 am. We were proud to stay awake. And the night wasn't over: D2 texted that her party bus would arrive at the base house, Scott's, aroudnd 3, and she and her friends were probably North of the legal limit. So Wifey went and fetched 4 college seniors, who are now scattered around our house, sleeping well into 2014... D2 heads back to Gville tomorrow, and then Friday Wifey and I celebrate our 27th wedding anniversary. She and I met 3 decades ago. Time, as Alan Parsons wrote, truly does flow like a river, to the sea...