The Decline of Aging Parents

Mom's been gone over a year now, and Wifey seems to have her elderly parents happy and stable. Ok, maybe not happy, but stable. Her Dad is at Miami Jewish Home, and Mother still living alone in Century Village, in Pembroke Pines. Since they're nearly 90, we know the other shoe will drop, eventually. But for now Wifey has things under control. Our dear friend Edna -- not so much. Her parents, meaner and far less loving versions of my in laws, are in decline, as well. They had mostly shut Edna out of their lives, focusing instead on her younger sister, whom they fully supported. The sister never saw any point in working -- instead having her condo, car, and expenses paid by her parents. Well, things turned south, and poor Edna has been pressed into service. She's hire lawyers and aids, and comes to South Florida from Atlanta often. She was due back next week, but her mother got Baker Acted. Apparently the old lady has stopped eating, and told a hospital doc she no longer wants to live. So Edna is here, dealing with getting her mother and probably father into nursing care, and sorting through the complicated and until recently secret finances of her parents. I feel for her. It's a thankless job -- her parents and sister are convinced Edna, a wealthy lady, is stealing from them. But Edna acts from a sense of duty -- she's simply doing the right thing for her declining parents. I admire her for that -- I see so many grown kids simply shirk these responsibilities. There's special fate waiting for them, I'm convinced. Meanwhile, D1 continues to amaze me. She works full time, sees private patients on the side, and does therapy dog work. She also volunteers with a group of young Jewish professionals, and today's paper featured their succesful project: crowd funding to buy new busses for elderly folks in Miam Dade. The "Busses for Bubbes" program lets the WW II folks have some freedom. D2's last day of cruise line internship is tomorrow, and then she heads to NYC for a fun weekend before returning to Gainesville and completion of her Master's degree. My friend John and I were chatting, and he said that when it's all said and done, between us we have three awesome daughters. I told him I agree -- the measure of a man, according to the great Sidney Poitier, is how he takes care of his family. The measure of a woman, too, and Edna measures up in a big way.

The Very Old Doctor

I left for my morning constitutional a bit earlier than usual today -- after chatting with D2 about the final days of her summer corporate internship. Her last day is Thursday, and then she gets to chill for a few weeks before returning to her MS studies in Gatorville. The strange rescue dog and I ran into Evan, our County Attorney neighbor. His oldest just graduated from Wake Forest, and is working for an auto supply company in Doral -- living at home. His middle boy is a rising sophomore at FSU, and their youngest, auxilliary child, is a high school junior. As we were in the final stretch towards home, we saw Sam, the slow moving, sweet natured Boxer, and his owner, Doc. The strange rescue was timid towards Sam -- Sam outweighs her by about 60 lbs. Doc and I chatted. He's been retired from his Dermatology practice for a year now, and "hates retirement." When he closed his office, I'm pretty sure he was among the longest practicing docs in the county. He must be near or at 90. I asked why he didn't teach more, or consult, but he told me the hassles involved in each -- like the untenable commute to UM's Med School, where the Department very much wants him. As to consulting, he can't stand the frequent court cancellations inherent in our law business. So he spends his time reading a lot, and talking with his younger wife, a Jane Lynch lookalike. He has 2 grown daughters, but no grand kids. And that's too bad -- I can see him as a wonderful grandpa -- sharing his wisdom and wit and sharp observations with a grandchild. He still walks his daily 1/3 mile, though arthritis has him bent over to about a 45 degree angle. And he NEVER goes outside between 10 am and 3 pm --he said they'd revoke his Dermatology license if he did... I enjoy our chance encounters. He's so COURTLY -- old world manners and charm. He always calls me by my formal name. As we were finishing our encounter, Annette's mother came by with her LWD (Little White Dog). Annette is running for Lt. Governor, on the ticket that should win. I introduced Doc to her, saying she might become our state's "Second Abuela." She loved that. So walk on, Doc. Walk on.

The Height of the Heat

So in a weak effort to reclaim some degree of physical fitness, I have resumed my morning walks, with the strange, sausage shaped rescue dog named Vienna. Vienna is most excited about this. When she sees me in the family room wearing sneakers, she trots towards the front door, knowing a tour of all the neighborhood's smells in iminent. The only problem is -- it's hot. Africa hot, as Neil Simon once described Biloxi, Mississippi. Today we were blessed with an overcast sky, so I only sweated like a small pig, instead of a feral hog. One of the neighbors was having a garage sale -- something "discouraged" by the homeowners' committee -- due to "security and traffic issues." In other words -- we don't want to attract poor people here. The balance of the walk was quiet -- with the silence only broken up by that worst of all suburban sounds -- the leaf blower. I see why some municipalities want to ban them -- damn things sound like jet engines, albeit more whining. A few months ago, when Wifey was still traveling to far off places like Pembroke Pines, we took her mother out for lunch. It was a tough day with the old lady -- she talked incessantly, and not with an indoor voice, as we used to teach the Ds. As we dropped her in her condo, the lawn service was using TWO leaf blowers, and Wifey remarked that they reminded her of her mother's voice. The laugh made the whole day worthwhile. So D2 was up pretty early for a Saturday. She and some friends are going on a bus tour of the breweries of Wynwood -- as well as a final stop at the rum distillery. The final place is owned by a friend and former client. I hope he's there -- he'll get a kick out of meeting my girl. D1 is hosting her boyfriend down from NYC. We're all meeting tonight for dinner in the Grove. Hopefully the breeze off the Bay will make the hear more tolerable. This is NOT the most wonderful time of the year in Miami...

A Waste Of People

I just finished reading some profiles of the poor people aboard the Malaysian Airlines jet that was shot down. What a tragedy -- what a waste. There were AIDS researchers, and novelists, and rescue pilots, and an amazing array of wonderful people, most of whom are Dutch. The Dutch are, in my opinion, among the finest people there are --beautiful, brilliant, and tolerant. It looks like the Russian separatists mistakenly shot the plane down -- thinking it was a Ukrainian transport. My father's parents are from that part of the world -- a city named Cernovitz -- then part of Romania, and now part of the Ukraine. I'm thankful my grandparents decided to decamp to the US. Meanwhile, closer to home, my 53rd birthday was a great time. We gave Wifey some pills and put her in the back of the SUV, and then fetched D1 and Erica, D1's houseguest, and the daughter of Wifey's best friend Edna. We arrived at Anthony's Runway 84, a place the Sopranos would have liked, and Wifey wobbled inside. Our table had more than 5 seats, and sure enough, Drs. Barry and Eric came in. The Ds called and asked them to join us, and we ate, laughed, and reminisced heartily. It was a terrific time. Eric and I had veal parm -- best in the city. And we shared baked clams, stuffed peppers, and awesome meatballs. One shouldn't begin his 54th year hungry...

53

A wise man (Denis Leary?) once said that there comes a time in a man's life when he should realize his birthday is no big deal to others, and that should be age 9. Still, I've always thought that birthdays were as good a time as any to reflect on one's life. I've already cleaned out all by belly button lint, so there's nothing much left for introspection. But I note the simple fact as I'm well into my 2nd half century on this planet how things wax and wane. The big news today locally is a judge in Monroe County overturning a law preventing gay marriage -- now clearly something that will be the norm within a year or two. And it's remarkable to me how that just came upon us so quickly. Just a few years back it seemed the moral "conservatives" would never allow that, and then it just, well happened. My father, the first true liberal humanist I knew, would have been happily amazed. He would have also poltically incorrectly, said "Good for the faygellas." Also today, there's a strife in the Middle East. Israel is beginning a "ground war" against Hamas leaders in Palestine. So nothing changes there -- except the continued inability of those poor bastards to realize that Israel is here to stay, and until and unless they accept that, they'll be doomed like some cartoon villain to say, essentially, "Curses! foiled again!" So people come and people go...but much really does happen. The Miami Dade County Commission voted to approve a Cuban Exile Museum on County land -- to honor them and all they've done for Miami. I think that's great. But maybe there should also be a museum dedicated to middle class Jewish folks who moved here from the northeast, made their fortune and gave a lot to charity, and started successful businesses that helped the lives of others. I'm just saying... So I know I am a lucky man, as I begin my 54th year. From this point in his life, my Dad would have less than a decade more on this earth. I'd like some more years -- but maybe not as many as my Mom got. All I know is -- Ds is home today, and D1 is at work. We're taking Wifey's best friend's daughter Erica with us to an awesome Italian place in Lauderdale for dinner -- Anthony's Runway 84. I've been there once and have been eager to return -- atmosphere and food right out of Brooklyn or South Philly... Erica is here for the birth of her best friend's baby -- due today by C section. Imagine that -- July 18 will be that newest Miamian's birthday. I wish for him or her as great a life as I've had, and wish to continue to have. So happy birthday to me, and thanks, as always, to the Big Man...

Violent Home Invasion

So even our leafy suburb is not immune from crime, as we learned a few days ago. Wifey was called over by our young neighbor, who just had a baby, because there had been an invasion. Sadly, it would turn violent. The neighbor, who I'll call Stefanie, since that's her name, opened her door to check for a package, and a dachshund rushed in. He was a short haired chubby fellow, and immediately began rolling around the house and playing. Stefanie called Wifey, as well as out off duty FHP trooper. Wifey, the local dog lady, arrived with all haste. I would have recognized the weiner dog, but Wifey didn't. Instead, she noticed the dog had on an "invisible fence" collar, which had a number to call which would identify the escaped pooch. While they were doing this, Stefanie's 8 year old was playing with the dog, who I'll call Oscar, since that's his name. Something went awry, and Oscar bit the little boy on his cheek. Stefanie began to yell for 911 to be called. Since we have more police than we need in our Village, within minutes 3 patrol cars arrived, to assist the FHP trooper already there. Then Miami Dade Fire Rescue came to the scene, and immediately rendered first aid, in the form of an ice pack to the bite. The dog owner came by, and didn't have proof of rabies vaccination (for Oscar, not herself), so Animal Control had to be called, presumably to put little Oscar into the hoosegow until he could be proven rabies free. The 8 year old ended up needing a few stiches, and is just fine. Both the dog owner and the 8 year old's step dad are lawyers. The Paul Harvey "rest of the story" might well become absurd... I saw our FHP off duty director this am, an affable corporal. I always chat happily with him. I started off by asking what he intended to do to prevent further violent home invasions. He replied "No! This is how rumors get started, and in a neighborhood where many folks have too much time on their hands..." So happily all ended well -- assuming little chubby Oscar makes it out of lockup. The 8 year old was seen riding his bike to summer school -- so he is no worse for the wear. We're blessed and privileged that this is big news in our 'hood. Now about those peafowl...

Lebron or LeGone?

I'm not really a Miami Heat fan, but I must admit that the machinations surrounding free agency is a welcome distraction from the current tales of tragedy and misery. The 4 death boat crash is the awful local news, and last night I read that over the holiday weekend, 84 people were shot, and 14 killed, in Chicago. Wifey just read me an email from her cousin in Israel, where news of a new grandchild is tempered by descriptions of hunkering in basements, against the Palestinian rocket fire. So it's the summer of sad news... Lebron James is truly a once in a generation player, and he's very entertaining to watch. In the 4 years he's been in Miami, he's let the Heat to the Finals all 4 years, winning two championships. But, like all modern pro athletes, his true team is his own inner circle, and so to get truly amped by his "decisions" is a fool's errand. But it's surely entertaining. I miss the naivete of being a boy when it comes to following sports. When I was 8 or 9, the NY Mets were my heros. And it seemed that then teams truly did stay together longer. You KNEW the ace righty would be Tom Seaver, and Tommie Agee was in centerfield. Now winning seems more about the chess like skills of general managers, in getting the best players for the least money. College football is plenry corrupt, too, but somehow I can still be a true fan. It comes from going to a school for 7 years, teaching there, and making many lifelong friends from our shared time at the U. When the Canes win, it truly lifts my mood. A loss on Saturday keeps me angry most of the week. The good news is that the first game is less than 2 months away -- at Louisville. It will be Monday night, and my friends and I will gather to get a sense of the coming season. I have low expectations, since we don't have a proven quarterback. I nontheless love that team --I'm a fan. As for the giant with the amazing basketball skills -- it will be nice if he stays here and the Heat keep winning. It improves the mood of the city -- gives the bus driver and secretary bragging rights over their compadres in other places. I haven't been to a Hear game in years, and don't really have a desire to go. But the more Lebron is in the news, the less space their is for misery. And that's a good thing.

In a Miami Minute Everything Can Change

So July 4th saw another tragedy involving young people in town: a horrific boat crash off Coconut Grove killed 4 twenty somethings, and left 2 more in critical condition. FaceBook lit up Sunday night -- 3 of the 4 kids were from South Miami Dade, and went to Palmetto High. D2 knew one of the girls, barely, and her mother taught at the school. Today I learned that Catherine, D2's good friend, in fact knew one of the girls quite well -- they danced together since Middle School. These things sicken us. Older folks die and it's sad, but they've lived their lives. Even my beloved father, who died too young at 63, got to have kids and grandkids and enjoy the fruits of his life's labor. But a twenty something? It's just awful. The Herald reported another awful coincidence -- the young fellow driving the boat was the son of a retired Miami Dade fireman. And not just a regular fireman, but one who captained fireboats. Apparently the young fellow was also an experienced mariner. The details will come out, but all were returning to the marina after watching July 4 fireworks. The speculation is that the boats were all racing to make it to the ramps ahead of the crowds, but at this point it's only speculation. What's real is the tragedy of the loss. So all we can do is keep on keepin on, and savoring our kids. Lightning strikes. People die. Life can be exquisite, but it can also be wildy unfair -- as it is this week to the families of these poor young people.

The Dreaded Early AM Phone Call

So it was a perfectly peaceful July 5th here in the leafy tropical suburb. I walked the strange rescue dog, came back for a swim, and then settled into a lovely afternoon nap to one of those true crime shows. My cell phone woke me, and it was Jeff, who made me feel good about myself, as always. Whenever I start to think I'm getting old and unexciting, for example spending July 4 in a restaurant, Jeff outdoes me. His family couldn't even muster the energy to drive to an invited fireworks show -- they stayed home and watched it on tv. Then Wifey and I decided that since we missed out on a barbecue, hot dogs were in order. Well, I decided that, and Wifey agreed to go to Fuddruckers for dinner. As we pulled out of the hood, Norman called -- he and Deb were headed to Cheese Course, the gourmet sandwich place. I swung by and fetched them, and it turned out that Norman, on my same wavelength as usual, had ALSO wanted Fuddruckers. So we drove to Sunniland Center, and Wifey suggested Wagon's West -- where she and Deb got Dolphin Rachel sandwiches, and I got my hot dogs , and Norman a patty melt. From there, it was the nitrogen ice cream place, and then to drop off Norman and Deb. And then, if the evening wasn't exciting enough, Dr. Santi, our great neighbor, came by to drop off a goldfish that had grown too big for his little pond. We sang "Born Free" as he dumped the little guy into our much bigger pond. Santi, had, I could tell, pond envy... And then we were fast asleep, when that dreaded ring came. It was near 1 am. In my paranoia in the middle of the night, I fully expected to hear a thick NY accented NYPD detetective on the other end, telling me of some tragedy involving the Ds. Nope -- I immediately heard Creole, and knew it was about my father in law at the MJH. He had fallen, again, and opened a gash on his forehead. He seemed fine, but since he had Medicare, Mt. Sinai needed to have him for CAT scans and other wallet biopsies... Wifey mostly slept through the conversation. Ah, to be able to live with much less worry... So this am, Dr. Barry and boys are driving down to LOL, for breakfast. At some point, Wifey and I will drive to Mt. Sinai. There's no such thing as a quick discharge from that place -- Wifey already called, and though he was brought in at midnight, they still haven't really evaluated him. AFter 6 days out of MJH, my mother in law has to pay $350 daily to keep her husband's bed for him. Medicaid rules, which is nuts, since usually Medicaid people are poor... At 7, I fetch the Ds, and will hear of their great several days in NYC. It's better to deal with the young than the old.

Manhattan in Miami

Many long time Miamians lament the "Manhattanization" of Miami -- with all the high rises here and more coming, and traffic, and culture, and music...Ha. As if. This place was for years the "6th Borough" before becoming the capital of Latin America. To me, one of the best things about NYC is the classic steakhouse, and the Palm is the perfect example. They opened a Miami outpost in, I think the 70s, and it's been thriving since. And the place is just like the Midtown version -- intimate bar, simple decor, caricatures of famous and frequent diners on the walls. So last night we decided to reprise a mini July 4 tradition -- dinner there. Norman and Deb and Wifey and I did it a few times before, last time with visiting Elizabeth, but last night Dr. Dave and Maureen, and Paul and Patricia completed our octet. Norman and Deb had prior business on the Beach, so they met us, and Dave and MAureen came over to Villa Wifey. I opened a bottle of 'paigne, as my friend Stu used to call it, and Maureen had a little, Wifey had one sip, and Dave and I acquitted ourselves in homage to the French rather well... Wifey lied down in the back, head on Maureen's lap, and off we went, through South Miami Dade, through North Miami, and finally to Bay Harbor, ancestral home of the Palm. Norman and Deb were at the bar with Paul and Patti -- reminiscing with the long time host, who has seen Paul there many times over the years... We asked after our long lost sister of another mother Allison -- her family eats there a few times per week, and the host told us her Dad, Dr. Sy, RETIRED. The man was Mt. Sinai Urology Chief since the Kennedy administration, and I guess he got tired of washing off that index finger... So Norman had some gin, Paul, Patti, and Deb had wine, and I had my man sized Ketel One martini. My mentor Ed Perse always appreciated a proper sized martini, when it was, as he gestured with his hands vertically far apart, "This fucking big!" and I think of him each time I enjoy one. We went to the table, and toasted our kids, and in Paul's case, grandkids, and we toasted Dr. Dave's retirement from practicing medicine over 30 years. Then I realized another thing -- we 4 American born men were with some exotic ladies: Wifey, born in Israel, Deb, born in Canada, Patricia, born in Peru, and MAureen, from Suffolk County, LI! Ok, so maybe that's not so exotic. The ladies, in decreasing rank of hotness, are...Ha! As if! I didn't have THAT many martinis... Wifey and I shared a NY Strip -- delicious as always, and the table shared spinach, hash browns, and asparagus. We then shared a flourless chocolate cake, carrot cake, and "Bag o' donuts) for dessert. That last item is a bag of donuts...with awesome dipping sauces. We left around 9, and then, as Norman had wisely scouted out the local fireworks schedule, watched a display just to our northeast -- 96th street off the beach. It was lovely. Maureen drove the SUV home, and it was over... The best of Manhattan without actually having to go there -- as our Ds have. I thought of them watching fireworks as we did. These are some damn good times.

Freedom Day

So it's July 4th, and I celebrate my many freedoms. I dropped the D2 at MIA last night, thinking they wouldn't make their flights to NYC. All earlier ones were canceled, due to pre Hurrican Arthur T storms in the Tri State area, but theirs, the latest, ended up leaving an hour late. They passed the time in the Admiral's Club, courtest of Dad's AMEX Platinum card...so the wait was fun. I drove back to JMH and fetched Dr. Barry. We headed to Balen's, the local nice restaurant and grill, where the Turkish waitress took care of us. I heard her accent and asked if she was Persian --"close" she answered... Barry and I knocked back a few and compared notes on who is most blessed with his marriage. I guess I win -- mine is 28 years long, almost, while his is a newlywed 23. The examples of why and how blessed we are were varied and fascinating -- almost Toltsoyesque in their happenings... I returned home, and headed to bed. D2 texted at 915 that they were taking off. I went to sleep -- anxious about the Ds rough weather flight, as well as stay in Fun City, and 60s mayor John Lindsay called it during the time of comically high crime and rioting. It's must safer now, of course, but still enough to make a worry wort Dad like me go searching my bathroom doors for the 3 year old Xanax. I wondered whether it would work. It did -- I slept to the almost unheard of, for me, 9:30 am. Wifey was awake with cooled off coffee and the Herald. I consumed both. And then it occurred to me. I hadn't taken a long walk in months! My hips and back were starting to freeze up, not to mention my prodigious belly, so it was time. I saddled up the strange rescue dog, while the 2 spoiled Spaniels looked on, clearly thinking WTF??? Wifey was incredulous -- "Youre walking at 10:30 in the HEAT???" Hey -- it's the day of freedom -- call me a wild man. Off I went. And it was hot, although blissfully cooler under the shade trees that cover about half the route of 1.1 mile. Everything was amazingly green, following the recent rains. The only people out drove lawnmowers or held leafblowers. I waved as I passed, as they thought "Damn gringo rico --he can be inside in the AC. Why does he patronize us?" I did come upon one neighbor -- a handsome young Peruano. His aunt is the ex wife of a lawyer acquaintance -- he told me about her recent alcohol rehab in Lima, and how she was ALWAYS nuts. I had heard she was again with my lawyer friend -- a guy who could be twins with Neil Diamond. The balance of the walk the strange sausage dog hobbled along, tongue wagging so far out I could see its blue spot --evidence there is some Chow dog in her varied genetics. We made it home, and she flopped on the cool floor. I decided to enjoy an activity I never could if I lived in a condo or townhouse development -- I went for a naked swim. My pool is hidden, though it's in the front of the house. The only possible view is from next door, and that's 100 feet away, and through a heavy Travelor's Palm. The new neighbor, a 23 year old with a checkered past, I'm sure has NO interest in seeing my nude corpulence. She already snagged her idiot 50 something lawyer -- and he's in better shape than I am, though short and not as cute. The Spaniels chased lizards as I floated blissfully under the ficus and palm leaves. Our pool is mostly in the shade, so the water never gets hot. It was, especially after my overheated walk, delicious. Tonight Wifey is leaving early for our July 4 dinner in Bay Harbor. It's about a 35 minute drive, which is double her "radius" -- the distance her bad back lets her travel. So I think, if I understand her D Day Invasion-like planning, she will leave for D1's apartment and wait there, to allow for the extended radius. Meanwhile, Norman and Deb and Dave and Maureen will meet here, where, in honor of the 4th, I'll pop open a bottle of French champagne, and we'll toast before heading to fetch Wifey and completing the balance of the epic journey. The best damn NY strip in Miami awaits at the Palm (the best in the country, in my opinion, is at Bern's in Tampa). So a celebration of most that is great in life awaits. I'm glad the Patriots did their number nearly 240 years ago. London broil sucks compared to NY strip.