The Death of Parents

So much that's so critical, so instant in our lives, fades to insignificance over the generations. I wasn't close to either of my grandmothers and rarely think about them. My paternal grandfather died before I was born, and my Mom's Dad is a very vague memory to me. So maybe we have to keep the memories of our own parents fresh, at least for the first generation. What is a person who doesn't understand where he came from? Mom died two years ago today. My Dad's death, 31 years before, was so much more dramatic and tragic for me. Mom slipped away gradually, and peacefully, starting 2 weeks before, at her 93rd birthday party. She was out of it -- raising a cup and wishing all a "Happy Anniversary." I had a strong sense the end was coming. Mirta, the sister sent from another mother to our family, grew to love Sunny so. She learned so much about life from her. I went home to rest after a long day at Mom's bedside, where I had given the go ahead for hospice. They were to start the morphine to ease her suffering, and, I knew, hasten the end. Mirta stood vigil through that last night -- making sure the less than dedicated staff of Haitian and Jamaican nurses did what they were supposed to do. Mom got her morphine. Mirta slept a little at a chair by her bedside. Mirta called me very early, and made sure I was coming in. Of course I was, and so Mirta left. As I was getting gas at the station next to MJH, I got a call from the staff. Mom had passed. I was over there in minutes, and she was so peaceful. They had hastily cleaned up as quickly as they could, but the room still stank, even through the heavy spray disinfectants they liberally used. I called Mirta first, and she cried over the phone. Coincidentally, Dr. Barry was coming to visit, and he called from the parking lot. I think I made a black humor joke -- NOW he was visiting??? Wifey and her friend Edna were coincidentally there, too, and Wifey fetched her Dad and was walking him to see my Mom. As usual, Wifey ignored her cell phone, as I tried to warn her away. Instead, I jumped to the hall and started waving, lest my father in law be shocked. Barry arrived, and we all stood vigil until the man from the funeral home came, wrapped Mom up in a blue velvet shroud, and wheeled her away. Last Friday, Wifey, D1, and I paid a shiva call -- D1's friend's grandmother had died, at 90. I spoke to her oldest son Frank, who lived with her, and extended condolences. I told him my mom had died two years earlier, and I felt for him. Frank, who never married, and has no kids, asked me how I dealt with the loss. I explained that the death was coming, Mom was 93, etc...And then he looked over at Wifey, and D1, and said "Oh -- that's right -- you have a whole family, a whole life." It was one of the saddest things I had heard. This poor fellow had lost his Mom, who was all to him... So I figure I have to keep the story fresh, and the memories of Mom bright. I'll head over to Matheson Hammock later, on my way home from the office, and look out upon the Bay and ocean, and talk to Dad and Mom, and thank them for who they were, and all they gave to their family. The new cliche is that it's all about the dash, as in 1920-2013 -- what filled the years between birth and death. In Sunny'c case, it was laughter, and love, and giving. I'm so thankful for that.

Another Day at the Old Races

Since we'll be traveling for the next month or so, Wifey wanted to celebrate Mother's Day and her Dad's birthday early this year, so yesterday we fired up the rental Dodge SUV and headed to MJH. Wifey had invited Mirta, who was there visiting Edna's Dad Meir, and Mom Miriam, though Miriam doesn't ever want to leave her room. I stopped at Soyka, which has become our go-to restaurant, and ordered 5 takeout meals. We arrived at MJH under cloudy skies, and Mirta helped set up our picnic while Wifey and I fetched her parents. The sadness of MJH is always evident. While we were at the table, a landscaper shouted that someone had fallen. Mirta, the nurse, raced over and found an ancient Cuban fellow who was in a wheelchair, and got too close to the edge of the walkway, and toppled over like an old turtle. A young gringo doc arrived, and together we righted the old fellow and pushed him to safety. Mirta translated for the doc, and said the man was so scared. It occurred to me that we ALL ought to be scared of aging... In the elevator from my father in law's room, my mother in law was in full form. She's nearly deaf, and speaks comically loudly. A rather large Cuban lady was in the elevator with us, who thankfully spoke no English. My mother in law said something in Yiddish to her husband, and then said to me, loudly "Oy --Richard says I need to lose weight --IMAGINE if I vas her size!" The woman got off the elevator none the wiser about this awful insult, and I scurried ahead -- ignoring my mother in law as we need to do when she pulls these antics... The picnic was lovely. Poor Meir lost his hearing aid, and picked at his gourmet meatloaf, in his own silent world. Poor Wifey had to explain why her wrist was in a splint -- her recent car crash. My mother in law kept saying "Vell -- I know a good lawyer!" as if it was the wittiest thing anyone ever came up with . Still, my father in law ate heartily, and seemed in the best spirits he's been in for a long time. The rains came as we finished, and we repaired to the inside --sitting in the same spot where we celebrated my Mom's 93rd birthday, just over 2 years past. Each time I see him, my father in law asks why she had to die so soon --and I always patiently explain that Hashem called her, saying "Sunny -- it's your time," and, as an obedient person, my Mom followed commands...That seems to comfort Richard, who, at 90 in a few weeks, must think about his own mortality constantly... On the way home we bought a new SunPass for the rental SUV -- if Wifey's vehicle isn't ready by Friday, D1 and I will be hurtling up the Turnpike for D2's graduation. At another old lady's shiva on Friday, we say the Grays, the family we will celebrate with in Gvile. Their girl Hillary and D1 started UF together and roomed together in the sorority house, and we all had breakfast the day before classes began. Now, NINE years later, we plan to have dinner with them following the earning of Masters degrees by D2 and their son Michael. Michael is getting his CPA and heading to Chicago for a job -- his sister got a MS from Northwestern, and lives in Chicago, too. I'm REALLY looking forward to being around young people after spending so much time with the ancient. The balance is essential -- one needs to be among the hopeful and striving after being among those just biding time in their final years... When we said goodbye at MJH, my mother in law started to cry. She was sad that she wouldn't see her daughter for another month. That time keeps flowing like a river...to the sea.

Un welcome Crap Storm

My dear friend Norman is a terrific guy. In addition to fulfilling the critical roles of excellent Dad, son, brother, uncle, husband, and responsible law partner/supervisor, he is very involved in his old UM fraternity. I mean VERY. He's a national officer, an office which not only doesn't pay, it COSTS him tons of money in pledges, and travel to meetings all over the US. Norman does it because he really loves his fraternity, and because he truly believes that fraternity life is an experience that molds and shapes young men for the better. His father was a member of the fraternity, and his youngest son Benji joined as well. Norman's role caused plenty of annoyances, mostly regarding to issues about the local house, and sometimes more serious -- like when a brother gets in trouble with the authorities. Norman takes calls in the middle of the night, and sometimes has to get involved -- like being the devoted uncle to a gaggle of loser nephews. Still, the worst was yet to come down the pike. Last week, members of the UF chapter were on a spring break, up in Panama City, and they had a bad encounter with a group of disabled veterans and their families who were staying at the same resort. No one was injured, but there were claims of gross disrespect on the part of the brothers towards the vets and their families. A full investigation is underway, and apparently several brothers were already kicked out of the fraternity. But this thing has gone internationally infamous, as the story line is classic for a media frenzy: privlieged college boys disrespecting veterans who sacrificed so much for their country -- allowing young men to attend college and go off on Spring breaks. The facts aren't all in, of course, and some of the allegations may prove false. In the first place, where people photograph EVERYTHING with their cell phones, no one from any of the vets' group have apparently any video evidence of the bad behavior. And, as a rule, Vets and their families tend to be, well, rougher and tougher than college frat boys. Why did the Vets take this like victims, instead of causing the story to have a very different ending? In any event, my friend is swimming in it, given his role as a national officer. And it just stinks. My Dad NEVER joined organizations of any type, let alone became officers of them. His experience in the army during WW II taught him a basic lesson; NEVER VOLUNTEER! He taught that to me, but I haven't followed his advice. I've joined many organizations and sit on committees. But the truth is, as I get older and more like my Dad, I let them fall aside. I learned that after a year of serving as a Guardian ad Litem, I wasn't cut out for it. My Ward took my time each month, and ended up doing exactly the opposite of the advice I gave her. She's a girl with a genius IQ, who could have gone to Harvard (unlike my own girls, whose lack of ethnic or racial minority essentially excluded them from the Ivy League). Instead, my ward got pregnant and dropped out of school... I sit on a committee at UM, one "charged" with advising a college Dean. The Dude NEVER listends to us, although he pays lip service to the richest members of the group. My attendance basically gets me priority seating at university events -- I don't see much other benefit. We have a neighborh who I'll call Dr. Bob, since that's his name. He retired recently after a LONG career as a dermatologist. I saw him recently, and asked him why, given his vast experience, he doesn't volunteer at a clinic or something. He replied "David -- I've learned something. People don't value or repsect volunteers. If they don't pay for something, they take it for granted. At this stage of my life, I choose to avoid being put in that situation." He haa a point. Still, Norman is not giving up -- I know he'll see this latest crap storm through to the end. I'm sure he'll also anger some folks -- either within the fraternity, or the veterans' group. As I told him yesterday: "This is why they DON'T pay you the big bucks." Still. we're scheduled for dinner and drinks tomorrow night. I'm hoping a little Canadian whiskey might help things along for him...

It's Always Something

So I cruised into my office yesterday, ready to deal with a few cases, and Wifey called. She was sobbing --"This TIME it WASN'T MY FAULT." I knew right away this was a car related issue. Wifey has had a LOT of them -- typically they ARE her fault. But this time she was calling from the Gables, where an 84 year old guy pulled out of a parking lot and T boned Wifey as she drove north. A Gables cop saw the crash, and called paramedics. Wifey's wrist hurt. I drove to the scene -- the cars were parked in the old Miami's Best Pizza lot. Wifey was sobbing uncontrollably -- her wrist hurt, but she was mostly in shock. She realized that if the old man didn't turn his vehicle, and take the impact on the front of his SUV, she easily might have killed him. The old fellow was there with his wife, shaken up. Turned out he was an Okie who married a very wealthy Guatemalan lady, and the two lived there and on Key Biscayne. They run a famous theatre in Central America. They apologized, and the wife had the look in her face familiar to me -- a look that said her husband's driving days were probably over. The cop ticketed the old man, and I called Dr. Lew, our hand surgeon friend. Luck was on our side: his one afternoon per week he sees Miami patients was Monday, and so I drove over to the medical plaza near Kendall Regional. He examined Wifey, and we caught up with his wife Maria, who runs his office. He didn't think there was a fracture, but told us to go get an Xray. We drove back to the car, called AAA, and followed the car to the collision shop in the Falls district. Then, we went to a Baptist Walk In clinic, and only 4 people were waiting. We figured we'd be in an out pronto. We figured wrong. Three hours later, a Cuban doc showed me the Xray -- he saw a scaphoid fracture. I called Lew, and he will follow up with Wifey tomorrow. PRobably no surgery -- but 6 weeks in a cast. Wifey immediately thought this might stop our upcoming Israel/Switzerland trip. Can she traipse around in a cast? D1 came over to eat sushi and comfort her mother. She and D2 think Wifey can most certainly still go...I guess we'll see, but those REFUNDABLE airline tickets are looking more and more like a good investment... This am I called the old guy's carrier. The adjuster told me they accepted full responsibility, would directly pay the body shop, and had arranged a paid rental at Hertz. I told her we needed a SUV -- we have to move D2 back from Gville in less than two weeks, and my pessimism about repairs tells me the damage to Wifey's vehicle will take longer to repair... I guess we'll see. Wifey was up most of the night having nightmares -- mostly about how much worse this could have been. She now understands the "pain and suffering" part of the lawsuits I handle. Still, we're both thankful it wasn't much worse. Roseann Rosanadanna's wisdom reigns again.

Party Like We USED To

Wifey and I don't go to many rock concerts lately -- especially ones in large arenas. The crowds are a hassle, and with our flat screen plasma tv and Bose sound system, both of which were state of the art in 1995, we tend to stay at home for entertainment. Still, I read the Who were playing the AAA, and the Monday before the Friday show, I went to the online Ticket Master (tm) web page and bought a couple of $160 tickets. I really dig the Who and had never seen them. My college roommie Mike, now a doctor in Arkansas, listened to Quadropenia and Who's Next over and over and over, especially after he fractured his leg in a Serbian New Year's Day game (that's a whole different story) and camped out for most of the Spring semester on a used recliner my parents donated to our on campus apartment... Anyway, Friday came, and Wifey and I fetched D1 at her place and decamped to Trulucks, my favorite bar on Brickell. We arrived around 5, and though the place was crowding up, my favorite end of the bar was open. We snatched up 3 stools, and saved a 4th, and I had martinis while D1 had a glass of wine and Wifey overdid it with filtered water. D1's friend pulled a Godot on us -- we waited and waited but she never arrived, but later on my office roomies John and Stuart popped in. I made it to 4 or 5 martinis, and remained strangely non wasted -- like the teens in Pete Townshend's song... Anyway, around 630 Wifey and I left for the show -- a leisurely paced mile or so to the AAA. We got there and enjoyed the A/C, and then Joan Jett came on and played a formulaic set of about 10 songs. She looked pretty good for a late 50s female rocker, and I learned the next day she was off to Cleveland for installation into the Hall of Fame... And then the Who came on, and they were, well, terrific. They played passionately and flawlessly, with Ringo Starr's son Zak playing the HELL out of the drums. Townsend was funny and gracious -- explaing all the band's connections to Miami and Florida, and the crowd loved him. We sang along and danced, as did the crowd, most of whom were of a certain age, like Wifey and me. We left smiling. Although the People Mover was running, we ended up strolling down Biscayne Blvd, chatting and reminiscing. It was a lovely night. We came upon a couple we knew from our 'hood, walking with another couple. The wife, who I've known for a long time, never turned around. I'll call her Barbara, since that's her name. Gary, her husband, stayed behind and we chatted about our kids. He recalled I referred him a health care lawyer from LA for a case, and he thanked me. It occurred to me that his wife never once turned around to check on him. I pointed out that I could have been a mugger who knifed Gary and pushed him to the grass, and Barbara wouldn't even know. I asked him if his wife had the car keys...he replied that she did...so why should she even care if he lived or died... Ah -- empty nest romance -- sometimes a very sad thing, indeed... But Wifey and I kept walking, and fetched the SUV and headed for home. The next day Wifey was out again -- to Lincoln Road, for lunch with her good friends Cara and Linda -- celebrating Linda's XX birthday -- since she and Wifey are the same age, I am forbidden by marital law to mention the number... I headed for Aventura -- the City of the Latin Jew -- to meet Dr. Barry and his family for breakfast. Young Scott attended a program for Syracuse U -- he has to pick a college in the next few weeks. Scott is a big young man -- in size, and more importantly, character. Wifey and I recalled him coming to our house when he about 8, and already 12 year old-sized and mature. Nothing has changed -- the kid is a leader with a huge heart and extremely quick mind. He's going to soar wherever he goes -- it's now just a matter of which color jersey he picks to root his team... And then yesterday Wifey and I visited the Olds, and then stopped at City Hall for dinner -- fine meat loaf. On the way home, we stopped at Jeff and Lili's -- Jeff's sister Robin was in town from Chicago, and they invited us over for birthday cake. Ah Robin -- the classic very pretty little sister. And somehow she turned 50! I told her I was having a hard time dealing with that... So it was a lovely weekend, of music and friends. There are far worse ways to spend some time.

Biannual Dealing With Sheet

The Ds and Wifey justly make fun of me for actually looking forward to my every 2 year meeting of the septic tank man. When we moved in, I was told by the builder, Richard, that the system was installed by Mr. Smith, and I ought to let his company do the every two year pump out. We learned from our first house that failure to service a septic tank is bad -- the drainfield gets clogged, and then you're waist deep in...well, shit. I met Mr. Smith and immediately liked him. He's a classic cracker, millionaire next door kind of guy. He showed me pictures of the house he built in Montana, "all because of the shit I do." He introduced me to Pedro, the Cuban guy who does a lot of the pumping work. Every two years, I dutifully Ha! call Smith's company. They park on the street behind Ha! my house, and toss the hose over the stone wall. They then pump it out, and I'm crap free for another two years. So it's April, and I called Smith. The old man answered, and said Pedro would be by. Sure enough, this am I got a cheerful "Hello Mr. David -- I'm on my way!" Pedro has the classic Spanish accent, which has a problem with the short i sound. So, he deals with "sheet." I really love the fact that he's one man who can talk literally about sheet, as opposed to the rest of us who over use it metaphorically. Pedro had "plenty of sheet to deal with" today, and like making "money from sheet." He's been "doing this sheet for 25 years now," and happy for the phyical part of the job, as he's battling Type II diabetes. He told me "MY father died at 50. I'M 50, and I don't wanna die. Too much sheet (there it was again) left to do. If you wanna live, you gotta keep your mouth closed." I brought Pedro a Keurig (tm) brewed coffee in a mug I stole from an insurance company, and told him to keep it. I mean, who needs everyone else's shit?

Happy Birthday, Mom

Today my wonderful mother would have turned 95. Or maybe not -- we learned a few years before her death, that her birthday may have been April 11. Wifey and I were taking her to see an oncologist because of Kaposi's sarcoma, a slow growing cancer common among the very old. We avoided the C word -- we told her the doc was a "Leg specialist" who was examining the bruises she had...She bought it, especially as we kept turning her head away from the office signs that said "oncology." Sure enough, she died WITH the kaposi's, not of it. Anyway, the office said there was a problem with her Medicare -- the date of birth was off. When we asked Mom -- she said she knew her birthday might not be the 13th -- but 13 was always her lucky number -- so that was it. In any event, April 13, 1920 was it -- we continued to celebrate that day with her... As Wifey and I deal with parental aging, as do many of our friends, I always go to the default position that my Mom was great until 89 -- after that, her life quality declined, and it was more of maintaining a failing person. But my sister of another mother Mirta calls me on that. She visited Sunny weekly for the last 11 months of her life -- and sat vigil at her bed side as she passed. Mirta tells me my mother taught her more about being happy in those final 11 months in a nursing home than any other person she's met. Mirta feels her becoming friends with Sunny was sacred. So that just shows how wrong I am... When Mom turned 80, I took my whole family, and older sister and younger sister and her sons, to San Francisco to celebrate. On the AA flight over, I mentioned the purpose of our trip to a flight attendant, and, sure enough, the captain's voice boomed over the PA "From the flight deck, American Airlines wishes a very happy 80th birthday to Mrs. Sunny Auslander." Mom beamed -- and the trip was sterling -- wine country, Alcatraz, great restaurants except for a runs inducing visit to Chinatown. My nephew Henry so fell in love with SF he decided to attend college there -- and still makes his home in the Bay Area... At 85, I took everyone to LA -- the place Mom married my father during WW II. It was another fine trip -- we ended up standing at a building on Colorado Blvd. in Pasadena -- a GAP store. We looked down and saw it was the Wall Drug Store -- the place Mom got coffee each am before she took a trolley to CalTech, where she was the Dean's secretary. During the visit, my old law school friend Cheryl, who married a fellow, Neal, who became THE music producer in LA, invited us over. Mom took a scary fall -- though luckily no fractures. It taught us her traveling days were over. But I'm so glad we took those trips... Mom turned 93, and was in obvious decline at the pizza party we threw for her at MJH. She raised her soda glass in a toast and wished eveyone a happy new year. 10 days later, she was mostly asleep, but fitfully so. We brought in hospice, to ease her discomfort. 2 weeks to the day following her birthday, she passed, quietly. My sisters were lucky -- they last saw her up and alive. The final days were sad. My brother of another mother Barry wished to visit. It turned out he came on the day she died. Wifey's BFF Edna was also in town. We were all together in Mom's room when the man from the funeral home came. He was a burly black fellow -- Mom was so tiny at the end, he had no problem with his task... Afterwards we met at Soyka -- our go-to place near MJH. D1 came by. We toasted Sunny and told tales of her life -- all funny and love filled. I'm not sure about any after life thing, but if there is one, Sunny and her beloved Hy are together. I know they're smiling together. Happy 95th, you beautiful, loving lady. You were my first girl and will always be in my heart.

Charity at the U

It's so easy to be pessimistic about the future. Macroscopically, the planet's warming towards cataclysmic end, and on a smaller scale, our president seems bent on having the weakest foreign policy since Jummy Carter. Although crime is down, statistically, each week there are tales of young black guys killing each other in tough neighborhoods, and it also seems that weekly some poor pedestrian gets run down by a driver who keeps going --caught later on, after the alcohol has warn off. So on the positive side, it's terrific to see young folks doing charity -- much more than my friends and I did at a tender age. That shows maybe things will be ok... My Ds amaze me in this regard. D1 works full time, and puts in a LOT of time in her two groups. She jokingly calls them "my Jewish group, and my Gentile group." The gentile one is Junior League, and she takes therapy dogs to nursing homes and schools -- actual hours of weekend time, not just nice lunches at meetings. For the Jewish ones, she makes and delivers food baskets to elderly shut ins. D2 puts in lots of time in her sorority -- various events that help folks in Gville, and she is always donating to this or that fund. Yesterday, Wifey and I took advantage of some time off from our houseguest Elizabeth -- in town for her yearly attendance at a generous cousin's events. The cousin pays for upwards of 50 family members to have lunch and dinner --and Elizabeth stays with us between trips to Doral and Coral Way and gym time with her sister, who lives in the Grove. So we headed over to the U, where Dr. Barry's boys were spending an entire day at a Cancer Relay -- walking from noon to midnight, and taking part in events to pass the time. They go each year with their awesome Aunt Phyllis -- whose husband Marty is a cancer survivor, and gives back to say thanks for his cure. When I was 17 and 18, the boys' ages, the only thing that would get me to do anything for an entire Saturday involved alcohol and Jones Beach or the North Shore's Planting Fields. Maybe there was a charity car wash or two -- but that was only for a couple of hours, and had the added benefit of seeing some classmates in bikinis... Not Barry's fine young men -- they were there, and they enjoyed it, and they made my day. I guess it's no surprise. Their Aunt Phyllis is a long time Broward teacher -- she now teaches other teachers how to teach reading. She's made a career of service to others. And Barry, of course, works essentially three jobs, all underpaid, making the sickest kids better, and more, teaching new crops of pediatricians. So the apples haven't fallen too far from this family tree. Wifey and I celebrated our visit to the U with a dinner at Shorty's -- her suggestion. As she noted, I NEVER turn down a chance for their barbecue... We headed home, and I made a rare impulse buy -- tickets to see the Who this upcoming Friday at the AAA. We usually avoid big venue concerts, but Wifey was game, so we'll meet at Trulucks so I can get properly in the mood to dance in public, and then we'll take the MetroMover to the arena. There are worse Friday nights... But back at the U, the young men of tomorrow gave of themselves. And it warmed me...

The Marlins Opener and the Curse

As I drove past Marlins Park on Friday, after fetching D2 at MIA, I decided I wanted to go to the season opener. I knew it was sold out, but also that I could get tickets from StubHub. The game was at 4, and I messaged my friends Mike, Norman, Eric, and Barry to see if there was any interest. Norman was already planning to go with his foreign brother in law -- he's Canadian -- and Barry and Eric had perverted priorities of taking care of sick patients. Mike, like me always amenable to playing hookey from work, agreed. I drove to his office, and decided to use the Intercontinental Hotel for a pre game pee, and I ran into Ian, one of my original Truluck's bartenders. Ian had moved up to assitant manager, and then left. Alas, he was working all this time for Michael's Genuine, and now was being hired as Assistant Manager at a steak place in the Intercontonental. He invited me to visit for free drinks -- I plan to take him up on his offer. Mike and I took the Overtown shortcut to the stadium, and looked for house parking, as we did for many years at the Orange Bowl. Being savvy, we only were interested in "No blocky," which any gringo fan of the Fins and Canes remembers means that your car will NOT be blocked in by others, so you don't have to wait for the caprice of the guy in the last car before you can leave. I was caught once this way, and it was a Fins Monday Night game. My bad luck had my Firebird behind a guy in a Benz, who stayed behind well after the game ended. My protests to the house owner were met by a shut tight house, with the inhabitants sitting inside, I'm sure, giving me the finger and laughing at the naive gringo... Anyway, the owner promised me, and Mike and I walked the half block to the stadium, where we drank vokda (me) and margaritas (him) and saw baseball history. The roof of the stadium was open, and the day was sunny, but after the second inning a squall blew in and it poured. We witnessed the first rain delay in a roofed stadium --it took 15 minutes for the roof to close. The visiting NY Mets fans next to me whined "But now it's too HOT!" It really wasn't. Mets fans are the biggest whiners in the League. I'm glad I'm not one of them anymore! Play resumed, and it was a great game -- though the Fish had bases loaded with no outs in the 7th inning and stranded all runners. The Fish lost 2-1. But we were still glad we went -- a lovely afternoon of baseball and alcohol... We walked to the the lot, and DAMN! Sure enough, there was a Jaguar parked behind me, blocking me in! I looked around, and sure enough -- bars on the duplex's windows -- no sign of life. Mike and I had been scammed again -- just like it was still 1985! There was no sign of the Jag owner, and I started to really worry. Marlins PArk has a Clevelander Bar, and for all I knew this guy was planning to drink the night away with the scantily clad table dancers. I decided to at least vent my frustration. I got a piece of paper and wrote on it: "You promised no blocking. You lied. I have put a Palo curse on all in this house. You lose." Palo is the most sinister form of Santeria, or Cuban Black Magic, and I figured at least I would scare the scammers, if they were superstitious. Even educated Cuban friends of mine are known to completely freak out if they find a cut up dollar bill with pennies on their doorstep. I figured this would have the same effect. I slid the note onto the porch, through the bars. But then -- the door opened! The man read it, and got a sad look on his face. "De car is mine -- you just had to ask me to move it!" He came out to do so, and I apologized. I then waved my arms, Pope-like, towards his house, and said "I hereby remove the curse!" I tried to sound booming and official. He said "Gracias," and then directed his zaftig wife to move the car. So the curse was lifted, and Mike and I left for his office, where I dropped him off. Hopefully the Fish will be under no similar black magic this year...

Passover in Paradise

Wifey and I would, over the early years of our marriage, typically host seders at our house. They were short on religion, and long on family togetherness. One year, when the Ds were little, we took our family along with my Mom and in laws and sister and brother in law to a Chabad community seder. That rather ponderous event went over like a lead balloon... The rest of the time we'd gather, and Wifey would bring in food, and we'd drink and laugh. A few years, when the firm was making serious jack, we'd have the events catered. Alas, now Mom is gone, and my father in law is in a nursing home, so our family seders have devolved to dinners near the MJH -- a restaurant called Soyka, which features a killer matzoh ball soup and other Jewish soul food. We've spend the last 2 seders there, and plan to go today. But last night, for first seder, we were invited to my law partner Paul's son's in laws -- a gorgeous house on La Gorce Island in Miami Beach. We've grown close to Alex and Danielle and their adorable boy Roger, and looked forward to spending an evening with them. D2 came from Gville, albeit with greater difficulty than expected. As the pilot on the regional jet spooled up the engine on her early am flight, feathers flew everywhere. A bird or birds had decided to spend the night in the engine, and succeeded in canceling the flight. As GNV is such a podunk airport, American Eagle hired a fleet of taxis, and took the whole planeload to JAX, a bit less podunk. D2 made it home 6 hours late. She was annoyed, but I told her her day was better than the Gville birds...and when I greeted her with a LOL bagel and nova, and her puppy Bo, well, she perked up nicely... So we drove to the Beach, and walked into a scene from Miami Vice -- at least the opulence of the houses they featured. The house sits on the Bay, and the back yard was spectacular. We drank wine and chatted, and it was so warm and special. The seder was short on religion, too -- the youngest guest simply read and answered the Four Questions, and then our host and Paul gave toasts. We ate brisket and chicken and maybe the best kugel since my mother in law used to cook. The talk was all positive -- young folks starting their careers, and finishing school, or starting college. Warm, funny, Jewish jokes were told, and the laughter was sincere. Wifey and the Ds beamed -- and I was so proud of them all. Wifey teetotaled herself into having to drive home, and we did -- talking of Passovers past, and those to come. Today D1 came over to spend sister time, and the dogs enjoyed getting together -- hopefully a preview of the Ds kids someday. We should be so lucky... We fetch the olds in a few hours. Mirta, my sista of another mother, will be joining us -- she is visiting my father in law and Cip's best friend Edna's parents - all residents of the Old PEople Kennel, as Edna's husband Marc has named the place. I'll order a quick couple of Ketel Ones, the better to appreciate the rustic spendor of my in laws, and we'll have our meal. This might be Mirta's first seder, such as it is, and I'll disclaim that it's simply a meal with funny cracker bread. My Gator Rabbi bud FedExed some Schmurah matzah -- the exceptionally pure stuff only for Pesach. Years ago, my friend Jeff and I visited the Dickensian factory in Brooklyn where they make the stuff -- the water and flour have to be together less than 2 minutes before they're put in the oven -- to prevent even a microscopic level of leavening that takes place in the absence of yeast. These Dudes take this stuff seriously! So we plan on having another fine, unleavened day. Good times, in the Spring...

Modern Family

So I had a long lunch yesterday with my old friend Allison, along with her husband Steve, and my partner in law, Paul. Allison and Steve referred a case to us some time ago, and the fee finally came in, so we decided to make the exchange of the checks an excuse to get together. For years, Allison was the little sister in our legal fraternity, and we shared so many experiences together. Paul and I adore her -- she was always there for us like a sister in the best sense of the word -- and she married Steve a bit later in life and now has 2 young girls with him. After we caught up on tales of our mutual friends, Allison shared with us the story of her mother's recent death -- aboard a luxury cruise ship in the Caribbean, and how her beloved father is dealing with his new stage of life. And we talked about extended families... My father had a brother and sister, and his brother died when I was small. His sister in law remarried, and although we had some contact with my cousins, through the years we drifted apart, and now the only exchange is through the wonder of FaceBook (tm). I haven't seen my cousins Russ and Gary in close to 30 years -- same goes for their younger half brother Adam. My father's sister Anne died at nearly 100, and I see my cousin Steve every few years -- when he's passing through Miami on a cruise. On my mother's side I have many first cousins. Growing up, spending time with them was always such a treat -- I have so many memories of running through the countryside of Rockland County with them. Although it was a suburb of NYC like my LI, somehow it was the country -- with apple trees, and open fields. My maternal side cousins have also drifted away -- I see one or another every few years, and continue to give free legal advice when one or another calls. But the point is, if something great or awful happens in my life, it wouldn't occur ro me to share it with any of them... Allison told me she hadn't spoken to her sister in the two years before her Mom died -- they're only a few years apart, and live about 40 minutes apart. Both married very succesful men, and have great lives. On a positive note, their mother's loss brought the sisters back in contact -- they now see each other and speak often. I guess the death of an elderly parent usually has the opposite effect -- the person the siblings had in common is gone -- what holds them together now? My Ds have 4 first cousins, and only have a relationship with one of them. Fates and circumstances have operated that way -- and it seems common these days. My partner and friend Paul is a happy exception. This Friday we'll gather at his son's in laws' house for Passover. His boy Alex is very close to his cousins -- Grant, in particular, looks up to Alex as his life mentor, and Alex adores him. My friend Norman is another exception -- he's close to many of his nieces and nephews and their children. He visits with them often, and Norman's father is one of the most beloved grandfathers and great grandfathers I know. He in his late 80s and can proudly tell you details of EACH of their lives -- and how he revels in them all. So the modern family, at least extended version, is not like it used to be in my parents' time. I'm old enough to remember "Cousins Circle" weekends in upstate NY -- swimming and playing softball with cousins -- getting a ride in my closest cousin Michael's Metropolitan sports car... A thing, in our case, of the distant past...