As Many Lives As One Can

A wise friend of mine once said she knew the words for her gravestone: "She Lived As Many Lives As She Could." I started reflecting on that this am, as I got a text from another good friend, asking if I'd had a "full week of life." The answer was, I had. First, as always, I was a father -- fetching D1 frm MIA late Sunday, even though a cab would have done fine, advising D2 on health and career issues, and reinforcing for her that I'll be there for her as long as I live. I wore the dutiful husband hat -- hosting Wifey's dear friend for the past 11 days, and advising her and helping her through the awful process of being appointed guardian for her failing parents -- awful because her parents are two of the least thankgul and gracious folks ever... I'm re -immersing myself in the law business -- so I lived the life of a law firm CEO and strategist -- meeting with my law dogs about the future handling of cases. I was a confessor and drinking buddy -- a dog walker and manager of finances. Yesterday I was consigliere for a friend facing firing from her employer of nearly 30 years. In Florida, you can lawfully get fired if your boss doesn't like your shoes -- so long as you're not discriminated against. We think my friend may be targeted because of her age, so I referred and conferrred with a labor lawyer, and then tried to figure out who the players were at her organization who could stave this off politically -- without need for the law. So many people choose insulated lives -- holed up alone, "keeping busy." I applaud them -- if they find happiness that way -- that's terrific. But for me, being alone is just a re charge period, before I'm off to live another life, or at least part of one. Today Norman, Mike, and I plan a mini law school reunion with Pete -- a fellow grad I haven't seen in some time, even though he lives close by. We're headed to a local tavern for beers and wings -- and I'm sure talk of the days we though we were already adults -- even though, as the Rug Rats Angela used to admonish her baby siblings: "You babies don't know NOTHING." So maybe I know a little more than I did at 22, or 25. I do know that the lives are full and varied, and for that I'm eternally thankful.

Spring in Miami

So Spring has sprung, and the weather is lovely, albeit a tad warm. But that will change tomorrow, as a front is coming in to give us, maybe, the last cool evenings of the season. Meanwhile, D1 is visiting friends in Chicago, where it's 21 degrees and snowing! She's been having a great time --visiting with 6 different friends, from Palmetto and'or UF who now live in the Second City. D1 loves the place, but can't understand living in cold weather. None of us in our family can. Wifey, hearing about her 4 mile walk from friend Elizabeth's apartment to the Art Institute, asked, in wonder "You walked in that cold?" as if D1 had scaled a Himalayan mountain...I got me some tropical ladies, for sure. Edna is here, dealing with the abject misery of her declining parents, and no help at all sister. She's been meeting with lawyers and social workers, and has a hearing set for Friday. She was going to leave tonight for Atlanta, but decided to just stay and get more of the paperwork done this week. Speaking of the Olds, Wifey and I are headed to MJH to visit her Dad and Mother. Wifey goes at least each week, and I'm on a bi weekly shift. We'll walk my father in law to the aviary, admire the birds, and then head to the ancient trees. Time really flies -- we celebrated my mother's 93rd birthday there coming up on a year ago. Edna is thinking seriously about movnig her father there, as well. Party! So my good friend John moved into the office yesterday, and tomorrow starts a new era in our law business. I was at a happy hour last Friday with an old friend and banker Carole, and she noted a spring in my voice and attitude about the firm she remembered from years back. I guess I am excited about this new cast of fraternity characters, and making some money together while we share laughs... John's a retired USAF pilot, and will bring some military protocols and procedures to our shop -- something we need badly. But he's not immune to fun, either -- we've had our share in the nearly 30 years we've been friends. So here's to a new law business! Spring is, at least in non tropical climates, the time for re-birth. Maybe that'll happen with my career...

Paperwork Continues Long After Death

So I fetched the mail today, and there was a letter to my mother in care of me. It was from the Guardian Pooled Trust, the company that held Mom's assets so she was Medicaid eligible, and thus her nursing home tuition, as I liked to call it, was paid. The paper was a K-1, which is a tax document given to partners in some financial arrangement. I get them each year for my law firm, and also for some hedge funds Wifey and I own. This one said simply "No Earned Income for 2013." I knew that was the case, as Mom's final money in the trust went to pay off Medicaid, for the benefits they provided her. Miami Jewish charges about $5500 per month for a bed in their nursing facility, so Mom "came out ahead." I still get a $39 bill from some pharmacy service in Tampa, for some meds I guess Medicaid and Medicare didn't pay. At first, I wrote to the company stating Mom had died, and there was no money in her estate. The bills continue. So now, I send them back, writing the company's address as the return address, so they have to keep paying double postage. Such is the way of a passive-aggressive, like me. Wifey's BFF Edna is here from Atlanta, dealing with her parents' end of days issues. Her folks are Holocaust Survivors, like my in laws, and even more difficult to deal with. During the last year, they bought a new condo for themselves, and now realize they can't live without help. Edna has a younger sister, but she has her own issues, so can't or won't be the aid. So there are social worker meetings, lawyer meetings, and visits to nursing homes. Edna may decide to bring her folks to Atlanta, or may move them into MJH. I feel for her, as I dealt with this with my Mom, and Wifey is dealing with it with her parents. Right now, she's putting together paperwork for the annual Medicaid "Audit" for her father -- which is essentially the same as the initial financial record scavenger hunt you have to undergo when you first get them elibible. No one returns calls, and faxes have to be sent, re sent, and re sent again. It's a true clerical nightmare. And then, when it all ends, well...the mail continues.

Biting My Tongue

So I ran into an old college friend recently -- one who is infamous among our group for making absurdly bad life choices. She always had the reputation of being one who earnestly asked for advice, and then did exactly the opposite. But, she was charming, and warm, and caring, so she was allowed to hang around with all of us. Over the years, when we speak, I became practiced in the fine art of biting one's tongue. I'd listen to her absurdities, and be tempted to spew out outrage, and advice, but I didn't. I'd just patiently listen, and then offer banalities, like "Well, things all work out," and "I'm sure you'll find your way." I've stopped a bad habit: commenting on FaceBook (tm) after I've had a few drinks. My guard is down, and my posts tend to be edgier than they are when I'm sober. Likewise, when I chat with my friend, I usually do do straight... Well, she got me the other day. I returned to my office late, after a few Titos at my watering hole. I was going over some work, when she called, to tell me about a move to another city. To justifiy and preface it, she laid down her version of her life from 20 years past. It was as if she were talking about someone else. "Really?" I asked. That's not how I remember it. And then, fueled by the Titos, I set things straight. But I didn't. She grew silent -- of course she knew, on a deep level, that I was accurate -- that she practiced revisionist history better than a Soviet propaganda minister. But she just said ...nothing. I felt bad. I had told an innocent child there was no Santa Claus, and there had never been a Santa Claus. So I back tracked, and said "There, there..." and "It will all work out for the best!" As I age, I see more and more the value of biting one's tongue. I just have to get better at doing it at varying levels of intoxication.

Community

Last night Wifey and I attended our annual homeowner's association meeting, hosted by our neighbor Annette. Annette is a cool lady -- born in Colombia to an Italian American Dad, and Colombian Mom -- came to the US, and converted from Catholicism to Judaism to marry Eric, an American Jewish sports psychologist. Annette started a language translation business, and she and Eric had Sophie -- a delightful and adorable 2nd grader. Anyway, only about 15 % of the houses attended -- since things have been boring here. Our off duty FHP trooper, Corporal Jim, said there has been ZERO crime over the last 4 years. The silly crimes in 'hoods that surround us -- taking coins out of unlocked cars, for example, don't occur here because of our off duty troopers -- local teens figure it just makes more sense to not risk arrest or worse. Jim's a funny guy -- he said he held a pizza delivery guy who went to the wrong house at gunpoint. He was kidding, I think... We asked for volunteers to take over the exec board, and got none. So our neighbors Ben and Gloria were relected without opposition ("like the damn Clintons') joked Frank, a retired Federal contractor. Three ninety something widows attended -- really neat ladies who are still very active in their lives. One, Bobbe, was involved in the platting of the 'hood with her late husband, and used to host kick ass St. Patrick's Day parties. Ironically, she wondered aloud if maybe our welcoming chair (me) shouldn't greet new guests with a plant, instead of a bottle of wine, as these days some folks are alcohol free. I disarmed her with a tale of my task: a few years back, I enlisted Jeff to come with me to greet a new neighbor -- who lived 2 houses away. As we walked over, we talked about what if the new folks were Mormons or something, and my wine gift was offensive. We knocked on the door, and the man answered -- three sheets to the wind. As I handed him the bottle, he clumsily grabbed for it -- saying, in a slurred voice "Great! Thanks!" I knew I hadn't offended him. His wife was there last night, and Wifey cringed, lest she know I talked about her huaband. Oh well -- what are ya gonna do? There was a nice young fellow there, a lawyer originally from Philly, who married a Miami girl he met in Chicago, and they settled here. They have 2 daughters -- 6 and 3. Wifey asked if his wife was a stay at home -- he said she was. So Wifey realized this family was essentially us --17 years younger! That's a nice thing about our 'hood -- young families move in, as empty nesters leave -- sometimes! My neighbor Irv -- 92 and still sharp and spry -- ain't going nowhere. He and his young hottie wife Key (she was an Eastern Airlines stewardess -- and hates the term flight attendant) play golf every day, and attend most UM games. Kay is in her 70s, and clearly was a stunner back in the 60s -- wild, "CAtch Me If You Can" days in Miami... So boring is good. I guess a few armed home invasions, or shooting of peafowl, or excessive dog pooping might rally more neighborhood interest. I prefer things this way. Plus, the lone homeowner who has never paid his annual $150 voluntary dues, has moved! The techinical reason he has never paid is that he's our neighborhood asshole. But no more. It'll be interesting to see who moves in. I'll go over there with my bottle of wine -- or plant.

Missing Jetliners and Suburban Mysteries

So the big news the past week is the disappearance of a Malaysian Airlines 777 jet. It went off radar, and now no one can find the thing, or its 200 some odd passengers. People are shocked at this -- we assume modern technology is such that stuff should be locatable instantly. PEople forget how hug the ocean is, and world, and since the plane's transponder was off at the time of the disappearance, enormous areas of land and sea need to be scoured to find the thing. Last night, as Wifey was in bed blasting an old movie, a phone number appeared on our U Verse screen, but the house phone didn't ring. The call was from Norman. I knew the absence of a ring meant a phone somewhere was off the hook. I called Norman back on my cell, and then set about finding the offending off the hook phone. Most of the calls are for Wifey -- and most of them are from her mother, so Wifey was in no hurry to restore the service. No luck. All phones appeared in proper off mode. This am, I resumed my search, and walked through our too big house. I counted 8 handsets. Absurd -- for 2 people. Still, all were off, and then I went to the closet area, where a phone booster system sometimes goes off, after an electric surge. Nope -- that was in order, too. I started coming to the realization that we needed to engage in one of the most unpleasant tasks of modern living -- having a tech from ATT come visit. Wifey would complain that she couldn't be expected to stay home all day to accommodate the company, I would likely say forget it -- I'LL stay home, as my sense of OCD is much worse than hers, and it bothered me that the damn phone wasn't working -- even though I almost never got a call! And then, as an afterthought, I made one more sweep, and VOILA! -- found the problem. The fax machine phone was askew... I was so excited -- I exclaimed A HA! out loud, even though I was accompanied only by the strange rescue dog, who was nonplussed. She never answers the phone. And so I wish the searchers well, and luck. IT takes this writer overnight to essentially hang up a phone. Those poor bastards have a whole region to comb...

At One With The Cosmos

Most days I fetch the mail, there are 2 or 3 heavy packages: hardcover books in green canvas sacks. When Wifey's bad back first reared its head, years ago, she learned that the Miami Dade Library has a program for folks who can't make it to the library: you pick out books online, and they mail them to you, free. Wifey signed up, and has sort of forgotten to tell the library she can now make it there in person. So she happily peruses the book reviews and picks out fare I typically like -- non fiction -- stuff about gangsters, medicine, history. I just finished Groom's (the guy who wrote "Forrest Gump) book about great aviators --Lindbergh, Rickenbacker, and Doolittle) and am now about through with a book I'd been wanting to read, "Proof of Heaven," by a neurosurgeon who returned from a near death experience. In essence, the guy, a very accomplished doctor, who worked at Harvard, got an awful meningitis infection and was in a coma over a week. His chances of surviving were near zero, but somehow he woke up, and is convinced he visited other dimenstions while, essentially, higher brain dead. He describes vast universes with love showering all -- and one (or one's being) can do no wrong, and there is complete awareness and consciousness. He's back doctoring, but feels it's his duty to report on what awaits us all after we die. I sure hope he's right. As I age, I keep forgetting more and more, and think I understand less and less, so if in the following stage there's complete knowledge and understanding -- well, it will be terrific. In the mean time, I guess I'll keep plodding along with earthly chores. It appears a dear old friend of mine will be joining our law business, and I'm excited about that. I'm going to put together a kick ass operation, where I can be proud to bring in clients, and maximize their recoveries in cases. I also savor the fraternity we have -- in addition to our group of civil lawyers, my friend Joel has brought in some great criminal defense fellows -- and we all enjoy each other's company (and the occasional cocktail at the end of the business day). Ah, to be loved by the cosmos. Not a bad gig, if it's the inevitable future.

Lesser Holidays

As my sister Sue well described, we were all raised as bagel Jews -- that is, proud of our ethnic identity, but with no real sense of observing the faith. We had an electric menorah in the window of our house on LI, but it was more in the spirit of adding to the holiday cheer. We also did light a real menorah, again -- to have something to answer to the Xmas trees of our gentile friends. I knew there were Jewish holidays --like Purim and Simchas Torah, but we never observed them. In college, as I got close to Jewish friends, I learned, at least, what the holidays were, and their meanings. When the Ds were small, Wifey and I sent them to a reform temple and later the JCC, and they got a much fuller education than I did. I remember them dressing up for Purim -- a holiday I vaguely understood as having to do with a queen who used her "feminine wiles" to save the Jews -- paving the way for generations upon generations of Jewish women manipulating their men... I remember D1 saying she like Purim, because it "was like Jewish Halloween." I remember thinking how funny it was that we needed to relate a Jewish holiday to a paganized one to understand it. So, alas, Purim approaches. I really dig hamentashen, the Purim pastry. D2 is back at UF -- I doubt she'll celebrate -- although she may get lured over to Chabad of UF and have a hamentashen or two. D1 is busy as ever -- full time JMH dietician, and seeing private clients on weekends -- all while being a very dedicated dog mommy... Our new young lawyer Vince is a proud Irish American from LA, and he has asked all of us men to join him on Monday to celebrate St. Paddy's Day with him -- with a few adult beverages, and hearty and mirthful talk. I told him I'm definitely in. And so we mark the time, as the holidays come and go. My lovely mother's one year anniversary of leaving this earth is next month. If we practiced our faith, we'd be planning the unveiling of her headstone next week --11 months after her funeral. As it is, I'll swing by Matheson Hammock, and remember her as I look out on the Bay --my Dad, too. So maybe someday there'll be grandkids, and celebrating Purim at a Jewish pre school. That would be something.

Reunion --All I Never Wanted

So my old high school FaceBook (tm) friends are planning my Class of 1979 35th reunion for this coming Fall. There is building excitement for the event, which apparently one of our number, a corporate lawyer spinster-type woman (I LOVE that politically incorrect description -- courtesy of Dr. Smiley Hill --one of Dr. Barry's medical mentors at UF) has decided shall be held in NYC. Alas, it will be held without me. I attended my 10th and 20th reunions. The 10th was fine -- I went alone, as Wifey stayed home with one year old D1, and it was nice to catch up with my classmates, many of whom I last saw at graduation. My parents and I left for Florida the day after I graduated HS in Levittown, and the 10 ensuing years were very busy for me. I finished college, law school, got married, bought a house, passed the bar, and had D1. I also lost my beloved Dad -- just 3 years after graduation. Still -- I enjoyed the time -- mostly hanging with my old, dear friends MArk and Rita, and seeing how we had all changed from 18 year old kids to young adults. Then, Wifey came along to the 20th -- by then we had baby sitters for the Ds back in Florida, and we turned the reunion into a bed and breakfast weekend with Ken and Joelle -- in the Hamptons. Somehow, the vibe had changed. First, a grade school crush came to my room VERY trashed, looking for a little romance. That went over like a lead balloon with Wifey. And at the party itself, I realized that there was a reason I kept in touch with some, and not with others: many of my classmates, especially those who never left Long Island, were, well, BORING. So I skipped the ensuing reunions, and am done with them. FaceBook (tm) also is partly responsible -- it allows us to keep limited contact with old high school friends -- without the annoyance of having to actually visit or call. One friend, Marcy, who was 50 when we were 18, is a very nice lady living in New Jersey -- married to a doctor. Wifey gets a big kick out of her posts -- all about saving the New Jersey environment, and supporting Israel. These are both important things -- but Marcy is best shared as a friend on FaceBook -- I don't see the need to meet her in person. My friend Jeff, now in the Chicago suburbs, can't believe I don't want to go. I was always very social in high school -- the type of kid who had friends with all different types -- stoners, jocks, and the brains. Nah -- I tell him. I get all the contact I need, and I can stand a night without listening to how bad the Jets are, or the tragedy of the ISlanders moving to Brooklyn. Long Island was a fine place to grow up, but I'm quite content to keep it in the rear view mirror.

Rare Biz Trip

So I find myself at the Potbelly Sandwich Works at Thurgood Marshall International Airport, on my way home to the 305 after a rare business trip. It was ok...met with an expert,and took him to dinner, and had time today to walk around Baltimore a bit in chilly but sunny late winter weather. I sat by the civil war ship Constellation, and hummed Otis Redding. I ate some crab cakes, and reminded myself that's a food that always sounds better than it is. As usual, I'm way early for my flight, and there's no Admirals Club here at BWI. But, there is a NY Times, courtesy of the Kimpton hotel. I'm thinking about my friend Nor,an, who still travels for legal business constantly, and I'm not sure how. Even flying First Class and staying in nice hotels, it got old fast for me, and it must for him, too. Speaking of traveling...D2 is on her way back to Gville after her last undergrad Spring Break. We all attended D1s apartment warming party Friday,and it was lovely. D1s new roomie Lauren is terrific...ad exec from Broward, with a bunch of very nice and cool friends. The spoiled grand dog Madeleine greeted the guests with a wagging tail...she approves of Lauren,too. So it's back to the 305 for me...it's a fine thing to go home, even after just a short trip.

When Our Children Soar

If there's something better than watching the success of your good friends' and your own kids, I don't what it is. The last few weeks have been a shower of great news regarding the older kids I know. First, I learned that Dr. Barry's oversized son Scott, as humble as he is accomplished, is currently ranked #5 in his graduating class. I knew he had done well -- but 5???? He was named his school paper's editor in chief for next year, so I think this young fellow will have his choice of college journalism programs to choose from next year. I still feel guilty when I'm around him, though. Barry gave me the supreme honor of holding him when the mohel did his bris. It took all I had not to pass out that afternoon in January of '97...and I still think I should have grabbed the baby boy and run away from the knife...Scott has forgiven me, though... And last Sunday, Norman's youngest son Benji had a wonderful shining moment: his senior music recital at the U. Wifey and I went to see, along with Dr. Barry and his younger boy Josh, who is himself a musician and budding computer guy (we all think that, in a stable of accomplished kids, Josh will somehow end up the richest -- he is people wise beyond his years, and knows computers like nobody's business). Jim was also there, along with an array of friends and family. I got to sit with Norman's Dad Max, who beamed with pride as Benji played with a bunch of other amazing jazz musicians -- all songs Benji composed. Several of the songs were as good as I've heard. I'm surely no jazz expert, but clearly Benji got much more sax in college than I did... And finally, today, my own D2 got some great news: an extremely competitive corporate summer internship she applied for came through. Matter of fact -- it looks like the second one she applied to is going to make her an offer as well. She seemed shocked to get these positions, even though she is Phi Beta Kappa, beautiful, poised, and funny. I think she just defaults to the self deprecating -- but regardless, it's awesome to see her soar. And, both companies are here in Miami, so we have a summer to look forward to with both Ds in town! Now she'll have to decide -- reduced prices on burgers, or discount sea cruises... All I know is, I am one proud, rockin' Daddy in the USA. As are Barry and Norman...