Pleasant Thoughts

One of my simple pleasures is driving down Old Cutler Road, when the traffic is flowing, listening to satellite radio. Today, I had on the "Bridge" station, which plays folk rock and singer/songwriters from my youth. Alan Parsons project Eric Woolfson sang one of my favorite, reflective, sad songs: "Time." They lyrics are so simple and poignant: time keeps flowing like a river...to the sea. Who knows when we shall meet again ...if ever? The song takes me back to high school -- sitting in my room in our house on Long Island, pondering the future. Then came on Paul Simon's "Kodachrome," a hit from the early 70s. I bought the album it's on -- "There Goes Rhymin' Simon," and played it so often I memorized all the lyrics. The song made me think of Dr. Eric -- as he too has a Nikkon camera -- though he no longer uses the film -- strictly memory sticks. It's so funny how music does that -- opens parts of your brain, and triggers memory. Speaking of which -- we have a great upcoming event: Norman's S3, Benjamin, is graduating from the U this year, and Sunday has his senior recital. He composed a whole jazz concert, which he'll play with fellow musicians, at Gusman Hall at the U, and we get to go. I'm so proud of him -- I watched him perform once before, at a restaurant in West Kendall. I think Norman might be a bit proud, too. So time keeps flowing, like a river...

Negative Nancys

I really enjoy Facebook (tm) because it allows me to observe the foibles of human conduct, without really getting close to anyone. As I age, I keep my close friends closer than ever, and enjoy keeping others at a long arm's distance. With FB, I can act out my inner (after a few drinks) outer wise ass, and blow off psychic steam. For the second time this year, our quiet street was the scene of a pretty good car wreck. Several months ago, a lawyer I'll call Evan (since that's his name) was taking his 15 year old daughter on her very first driving lesson. She overshot the turn in front of my house, took out the street sign, and ended up perched on our neighbor's oolite ridge. No one was hurt, fortunately. Yesterday, mere yards from that wreck, another neighbor was taking HER daughter on her first driving lesson, and she overshot the turn, and plowed into our neighbor Susan's Buick SUV, which was parked off the street. Susan's husband Pat and I often chat at that VERY sport -- usually when we meet after taking out the trash, of fetching the mail. Had the girl hit us, it would have been decidedly less funny, but no one was there except the Buick. The neighbor, a lovely Persian lady, immediately alerted Susan, and assured her her insurance company would pay all damages. So here comes the funny FB part: Susan posted a photo of her car, with the comment that she hoped her week would get better, as someone came along and smashed it (the car, not the week). Her friends immediately posted how horrible it was in Miami, with folks smashing into cars and then taking off. Some wrote "typical Miami story," and our city without "taking responsibility." The problem was, they were all dead wrong -- as the neighbor DID alert Susan, and is making things right. I started to wonder why folks are quick to assume the negative -- the bad in people. It's true we have our share of hit and runs here -- probably mostly due to stupid laws that essentially encourage someone who is drunk and causes an accident to take off, lest the cops be able to prove intoxication at the time of a crash... But still... Earlier this week, there was a tale about a woman driving her 5 month old nephew in on the Dolphin. The boy was a preemie, and had breathing problems. The baby stopped breathing, and the aunt started CPR -- immediately joined by some cops and firemen who were stuck in traffic behind her. The baby survived and is now in Dr. Barry's unit --doing well, because of the goodness of fellow citizens. So take THAT, negative Nancys! There is plenty of good and decent folks around, just as there are some stinkers. In "friendly" Gainesville, D2's boyfriend's car was nailed just like Susan's -- and the guy who did it drove off, leaving the vehicle totaled. So much for friendly North Florida... Again, the main thing is, no one got hurt. But I do think maybe the DOT needs to reduce our local speed limit -- to a crawl. Boca has scary elderly drivers -- we have scary new ones. Maybe we ought to make first timers stick to the Palmetto High parking lot.

Turn and Face the Strange Changes

I haven't been too excited about my law practice the past several years. I work at it, doing my favorite things, which include getting new business and strategizing about the cases' handling, but things had become pretty rote and boring. And then, a major change hit! One of the team has decided to move to Orlando, to take a real peach of a job where he merely works cases for a major marketing guy for a salary of $500K, and this forced us to re align and re jigger our operation. And it looks like we have. A dear old friend, a guy I've known since I was a mere clerk and he was a young lawyer, is ready to make a move. He was also sort of languishing at another firm -- focused on raising a teenaged daughter after the tragic death of his wife. Well, the girl is now a college freshman, and although my buddy is no spring chicken, he wants to really kick things up for the next 5- 10 years. At the same time, my great friend Joel had brought in a young Turk -- a former 3 year prosecutor who's got his own growing practice in the criminal world, and wants to learn the PI biz. The fellow is a quick study, energetic, and a great young man -- with real world experience including a stint as a bouncer at a rap club in Atlanta -- despite his being, well, VERY white. My partner Stu and I met with the new guys last night at Trulucks, my local watering hole. We're down to one familiar bartender, the Peruano Victor, but he spotted us and brought us our drinks through the packed bar. We laughted, and toasted the future, and for the first time in awhile, I'm professionally excited. I joked that I want to be the Don Shula -- figuring out each person't talents, and using them to the fullest. John and Stu will be the experienced trial guys, and Vince the energetic associate. Paul can take the role of case manager -- being in charge of money -- he negotiates better than any lawyer in the city. We should really be a force to reckon with. So, appropriately, baseball season is starting up. Pitchers and catchers report to camp tomorrow. And I'm hearing John Fogarty's classic "Centerfield" lyrics in my head: "Well, I spent some time with the Mudville 9 -- watching it from the bench...but now it's put me in coach, I'm realdy to play, today." If we hit it really big, I might pursue the dream I've had for awhile -- starting a full time charitable foundation. If not -- well, at least our fraternity of over aged pledges ought to share a hell of a lot of laughs.

La Suegra Dificil

Ah, my mother in law...She survived the Holocaust, and clearly survivors need to be tough. She is. She's tiny, deaf, and stubborn as a mule. She's a candidate for cochlear implant surgery, to restore hearing in one ear, but refuses -- lest there be a complication and she end up in a nursing home like her husband. Wifey is her only child, and bears all of the unpleanantness in dealing with her mother. Wifey does everything for her -- finances, arranging rides, arranging housekeeping -- but my mother in law doesn't accept these gifts graciously -- she gives Wifey guilt barbs whenever she can. She was an awesome grandmother. She lived for my Ds -- still does, though lately her life advice, on matters such as dealing with broken hearts, is heavy handed and hurtful. She means well, but when you tell a young girl getting over a boyfriend that "I had vun love -- and I still miss him every day after 70 years" well, that doesn't exactly comfort. So yesterday Wifey and I drove our wonderful overnight guest, Dr. Barry's boy Josh -- back home. Josh was at the U for a computer lecture, and we fetched him. It was delightful -- he's maturing into a great young man, although he marches to his own drummer. Although he doesn't make stellar grades, I told Dr. Barry I have no doubt he'll end up richer than just abuot any of our friends' kids -- after inventing some type of app or whatever it's called. Anyway, after dropping Josh off, wee picked up Wifey's mother -- and took her to buy a new refrigerator, and then for lunch. It was trying. She talks WAY too loud, and then gets livid when Wifey tries to quiet her. She screams for the waiter if her coffee isn't immediatley available, and steaming hot. She demands Wifey look at her when she talks AT Wifey... All in all, not a pleasant lunch date. When we drove her back to the condo, the lawn guys were there, leaf blowers in full throttle whine. Wifey turned to me and said "You know -- that's exactly how my mother's voice sounds to me." I doubled over in laughter. I guess humor is the only way to deal with difficult suegras...

Homophobia -- I Just Don't Get It

I just never understood bigotry against gays. I guess part of it was my mostly tolerant, liberal upbringing, and the fact that my Dad had plenty of gay sustomers who owned gift shops. When I would ask him why the men acted like ladies, he'd just shrug and give me the classic Yiddish/English answer: "well, they're faygellas, and they love other men." His response was akin to saying that maybe another guy liked redheads -- or a woman preferred short guys. In other words, no big deal. As I went to college and met gay guys, or at least fellows who admitted it, I had a simple, practical take on it: terrific -- less competition for the ladies! I had one or two guys come on to me, but it was the same as when a fat chick did the same: I was mildly flattered, but not shocked. So fast forward all these years to last night, when Wifey and I went to our first same sex wedding. Dr. Patti and Dolores -- who have been together 20 years. Of course, our neanderthal Florida government is about 10 years behind the times, and doesn't recognize gay marriage, so they had to make it legal in Vermont. But they're allowed to party here, and they did, in fine style. We met at the Signature Grand, a banquet hall in Davie, I think. After all these years in South Florida, I can never differentiate between Davie and Plantation...Anyway, the ceremony was under a chupa, as Dolores is Jewish. Patti was raised Catholic in Maine, but I guess culturally they go Old Testament. The ultra liberal rabbi gave a lovely service, and at the end, both ladies broke the glasses. It was lovely; it was joyous. The reception was great -- drinks, buffet dinner, and an entertaining DJ. Folks gave speeches -- the best one was by Dr. Barry, who did a servicable Billy Crystal. Oh yeah, one more thing: Patti and Dolores are two of the finest humans I have ever met. Dolores is a pediatric nurse, who cares for the most medically challenging kids -- vegetative state, paralysis, various deep levels of brain damage. She does it with such love and dignity -- making the parents feel like their kids are the same as "normal" kids, that a visit to her facility at the Jackson complex makes you leave thinking our species really is worth a damn... And Patti, well, she's a critical care doc, and teacher of young docs, and expert in the worst area imaginable -- essentially hospice care for dying children. Here, too -- she acts with saintliness, as evidenced by the speeches of some of the parents last night, who broke down that Dr. Patti, who gives so much of herself, was finally celebrating a night of her own happiness... Plus -- on top of everything, she's part of the Miami Dade Urban Search and Rescue Team -- best in the US -- they fly into ravaged areas and pull victims out of collapsed structures. One of the firemen spoke last night about how Patti is supposed to wait for the rescuers to bring the patients to the sideline, but Patti is always right there, risking her life to save others... True angels on earth, these two. And a portion of our society would treat them as less than equal -- deny them the right to marry. Well, last night was a huge F YOU to those haters. Amazing people celbrated their love for each other, and we were privileged to share. Dolores has 2 grown sons, and she and Patti adopted one of the grandsons -- he's now 12, and a gorgeous towhead. He grabbed the mike at the toasts, and put it into perspective: "I don't really know what each of you do at work, but I know you save kids lives, and that's great. And I also know I love being YOUR kid." I cried. Wifey, acting like her mother, kept pulling my face to see "Are you crying? Arew you CRYYYYYING?" Yes I was. Last night made me proud to be alive.

All is Quiet on Valentine's Day

So today is El Dia de Amor, as we say in the 305. The sun is shining brightly, and the cool front has brought in the most delicious temperatures. It looks lovely. Our most memorable VD was 13 years past, right after we moved to Villa Wifey. I set up a table in our front courtyard, brought in great food from DiNapoli, and we plugged in a boom box which played sweet music. The 4 of us toasted our gorgeous new home. The Ds were, I think, 12 and 9. This year, I'm doing a partial reprise. Old friends Jeff and Lili are coming over -- Lili with her famous flourless chocolate cake, and I plan to bring in sushi and dumplings, and have ample champagne. The moon will be full, and I'll fire up a chimnea for some warmth. D1 is joining us, too. And we'll celebrate love, which anyone of any sense knows isn't just the candy and flowers thing, but rather the deep connection between people. Speaking of flowers, VD is also sad for me. Each year I'd send flowers to my Mom in Delray, saying she was my first valentine...She'd call me, so excited: "Oh, David -- they're BEEEEEEYOUTEEEFUL!" Some years I'd sent a potted plant, and she'd lovingly tend to it for years afterwards. Last year I brought her roses in the nursing home, and put them in a vase for her before taking her outside for a walk. It was likewise a sunny day, and she looked skyward and said "Thank you mother nature!" as her skin was warmed by the rays. This year, for the first time, my first valentine is gone. Also speaking of flowers, I never get them for Wifey, becuase she's had enough of them from her years as a flower broker. This year, on the Wifey VD front, I scored big. The Miami Herald asked readers to submit stories for their online paper about how they met their life's partners, and I did so. I got a call from the young reporter Tuesday night, and she told me of hundreds sent in, they selected several, and mine was one. It hasn't come out yet, but the reporter just emailed to say it would be. I wrote about how the Hollies song is about a bus stop and an umbrella, but Wifey and I have a mailbox -- the one that got stuck outside my door was what caused us to meet -- 30 years ago last August. When we celebrated our silver anniversary, we took D2 to the spot and recreated the meeting. D2 laughed and rolled her eyes as she photographed it. Wifey looks the same as she did. I'm more wrinkled, fatter, and grayer. Who da romantic man, huh?

Take the Highway

So Wifey and I fetched a bottle of Vieuve, that had been sitting in the frig since I got it as a Xmas gift, and headed over to pick up Mike and Loni, in the normal sized Lexus SUV... Mike greeted us with tall glasses of a punch he had made, complete with led lit ice cubes -- red and yellow. They sipped while I drove up the Palmetto, and exited at North River Drive -- in Medley. We drove past trailers that nearly hit the roadway -- smack next to industrial sites. Traffic Circles led us to Miami Shores, and a 50s era strip center (shopping, not the other kind, though I joked with Loni that the surprise was we were dropping Mike and her off at one of the sex hotels on Okechobbee Road, across the canal... We shared the bottle of bubbly, and then entered the Hurricane Grill -- a place out of the 60s, maybe updated in the mid 80s with the then new UM logos. The place was buzzing with locals -- and was entirely GRINGO and GRINGA. It was a very weird thing -- surrounded by Hialeah were all these people speaking English -- some old style, "MiamUH" English... Mike and I ordered a couple of G and Ts, and the tatooed young waitress took our order. Our mutual friend Julie P found the place, somehow. The walls are covered with UM (and a few FSU) pictures -- mostly older gringo guys in Canes gear. The steak special is $20 -- served weekend nights, with a salad and potato. Wifey -- that maverick -- ordered fish. The steaks weren't great, as advertised, but were serviceable...And the bill for the 4 of us, with Mike and I getting G and T refills, was just over $100... Sober Wifey took the controls, and we talked her through the Springs, to Miami Jai Alai. Mike and I had been there about 5 years ago, when the Canes Club had an event, and the place was tired looking...But now it's all spruced up, with the magic of cash that slots bring in. We decided to be big shots and valet the car -- for $5. We went inside and found the box office -- and told the eye rollng Cuban lady the secret word -- "Marshall Tucker" and she gave us the free tickets. I fortified Mike and myself with another pair of G and Ts, which were $4.50 each, and we entered the fronton. The only Jai Alai being played was at Dania -- you could bet on it -- but the fronton was a stage set up for a concert. We sat, and drank, and watched a strange thing: Marshall Tucker fans -- mostly like the folks I remember from the late 70s -- but somehow different: wrinkled and thicker -- except in the hair department. Mike and I played a game "She was HOT during the Carter administration." Then the music started. They were awesome. Really. It wasn't just the alcohol. Wifey danced to some of the songs, and the band JAMMED to "Take the Highway." The young flute player was wonderful. This being Miami -- there had to be a strange component, and there was: 2 large black ladies in front of us -- getting down to the music, but having to annoyingly wave away the weed vapors of the guy smoking in front of them. Apparently the band had friends who were ex Carolina residents, as the lead singer, who looked like a 60 year old Willie Nelson, kept making reference to the fact that they had been in Miami long enough, and needed to come home to Carolina... We all sang along to "Can't You See," and they encored with "Heard it in a Love Song." We strolled out of the fronton, and into the huge casino they had built (the Hecht family, not MTB). We got on line, and Wifey, Mike, and I each got a $50 game credit card. Next to me in line was a tall, dark haired attractive woman. I told Wifey we knew her -- she was one of D2's friend's Moms. "You always think you recognize people, and they're not people you know," she sneered. Ha. Wrong again, Ms. Know it All! Indeed she and her friend were who I had thought, and we caught up about her kids -- her boy dropped out of college, needing some growing up, but is now at UF... We played with the house's money, and WON --$100! We cashed out, and gave Loni the money -- to be used, maybe on another night to see the Grass Roots, or .38 Special. We've found a new place!

A Different Korner in Heaven (Thanks, Norman)

So as a boy growing up on Long Island, I was legally obligated to be a Mets fan. This was cememented the summer I turned 8 --1969. Men walked on the moon, and the Mets won the Series. I had a truly lucky childhood. My fan-dom waned in the late 70s, as the Mets became awful. I remember going to a mid week game at Shea with some high school buddies -- there were probably 2000 people in the stands, at most. Girls became far more important to me than the Mets -- I became an even bigger fan of them. In 1986 the Mets soared again, and I watched the NL playoff games and World Series on a little TV on Metrorail as I commuted home. My friend Mike was with me -- and the native Miamian loved the feel of being a city sports fan -- watching a game on public transit...The Mets won, but my fan dom was short lived -- I was at the first game of the new Marlins franchise, and shifted my allegiance to them. They've won as many Series titles in their short history as the Mets have in their longer one... I could never be a Cubs fan -- rooting for a perennial loser is bad for the soul... Anyway, THE Mets announcer was always Ralph Kiner -- a former Pirate player who was with the Mets from the beginning, in the booth. He had a quirky post game show called Kiners Korner, where he'd interview my heroes -- Tom Seaver, Jerry Koosman (even more so, since he was a lefty like I was), Cleon Jones, and Tommy Agee. I didn't notice when I watched, but the show was infamous for Ralph becoming progressively drunker as the show went on. He'd imbibe all game, probably on Rheingold beer == the official beer of the Mets -- and then continue on from there. Apparently, by the end of some shows he made hilarious malaprops, and misnamed his guests... Good for him. He died yesterday at 91, after a life time of drinking heavily, often to excess. We can all learn from his wisdom.