The Numbers Eventually Get You

Wifey and her two closest childhood friends are statistical anomalies: they're all nearing 60, and all three enjoy having both of their parents being alive. Well, maybe "enjoy" is the wrong word in the case of Wifey's BFF, but still... I just read a good one about two statisticians duck hunting -- they shot at the same duck. One missed a foot high, the other a foot low. They high fived each other: statistically, the duck was dead. I've never been good at math, except for Geometry, which is logic based, and shows shapes I could see. I still remember getting a 90 on the NY State Regents exam. Therafter came Pre calculus, and calculus -- and my mind never wrapped around those. In college, somehow Dr. Barry's tutoring to my moronic self got me a gentleman's C in the class -- and I therafter fled from Math, never looking back. But numbers are there, whether I appreciate them or understand them or not, and they're catching up to Wifey. Her father was discharged from Mt. Sinai yesterday, after a 15 day hospitalization. The infection took its toll -- he's fractionally as aware and awake as he was before this latest health event. Wifey is dealing with her Dad with so much love and caring -- as she also deals with her far more difficult mother. I told her this am how proud of her I am -- and she is precisely the type of mentsch I wanted to marry, and did. Unfortunately, I'm a seasoned pro in the dying parents department -- I had my first gig at 20, and the second two years past. These are unchartered waters for Wifey, though -- which is a truly happy thing. She's kept her parents a long, long time. When my father in law was 63, the age MY Dad was when he died, Richard had quadruple bypass surgery. Afterwards, I asked his surgeon, a highly skilled Brazilian fellow, what was the long term prognosis. He said he hoped he gave my father in law "10 more good years." Well, that was 26 years ago, and the surgeon himself died several years back. So my father in law was given many, many more years than I thought were coming. Most of my close friends have lost at least one parent, if not both. It's a numbers game, of course. For now, Wifey will keep her Dad as comfortable as possible -- and visit often. She's a mentsch, and that's what a mentsch does. But those damned statistics keep rolling in, and tell us eventually we all die. It's in the numbers.

For Want of An IPhone Tap

As I age, I find the quotidian activities of daily life more and more daunting. I mean -- not seriously so, like my ancient Mom did in the final years of her life -- but I tend to make more mistakes than the sharper minded youthful version of myself did. Today, I met Wifey and the Ds at Mt. Sinai, where my 90 year old father in law remains -- it'll be two weeks there on Wednesday. He came in with sepsis following an out of control UTI, which in the extremely old is much more serious business than it is for the take some antibiotics and pee more often younger set. He's getting better, at least in Wifey's view, and may be discharged in a few days -- back to MJH. D2 and I decided to stop for some dinner in South Miami, and we pulled into adjoining parking spots on 74th Street. I pulled out my IPhone, and went to the "Park By Phone" app -- D2 did the same with her phone and car. I emerged, after inputting the space number, telling D2 the App was "the best invention of all time!" It would cost $3.50 to park for 2 hours. Some friends of Wifey, from Central Florida, had some meals with us in South Miami, and were appalled at the idea of paying for parking. They claimed they NEVER did when they went out -- all of the restaurants they ever ate at were in strip centers, where the parking was free! How grand is that, they asked. Anyway, D2 and I ended up at My Ceviche, and the food was terrific and well priced. We each had some mixed ceviche, and bought one to go for Wifey. I tried something for the first time, too: a Snapple (tm) Diet Arnold Palmer. It was awesome -- I'm a new fan of sugar free iced tea mixed with lemonade. 45 minutes later, we walked to the cars, and there was a parking ticket on the windshield of my small Caddy. What! Must be some miskake. Alas, D2 did a quick bit of IT forensics, and realized I never pressed the "Confirm Parking" icon. I was an idiot. I was careless. I now owe South Miami $18. Since I never paid on the App, which would have been $3.50, I'm really only out $14.50. And, since the fine is for 18 -- Hebrew for Chai, I figure there's a bit of good luck there. I rather like South Miami -- always have. I can easily contribute $14.50 to their coffers. And, I have to be thankful I live in a place where the restaurants aren't in strip shopping centers. Ya gotta pay, if you want good stuff. Or, if you get old and careless...

Fitty Four

So I turned fifty four yesterday. Dennis Leary once said there comes a time in a man's life when he ought to realize his birthday is no big deal, and that time is age 9. Still, when you have a wife and 2 daughters and a lot of female friends, that's not a tenable concept. We were going to have lunch at the Capital Grille Wednesday, but Wifey's father was taken to Mt. Sinai, on what we thought might be the final journey. But not so fast! The hospital of my people gave him the highest of care, and he's on the mend -- I predict he'll be discharged late next week, to resume his life at the nursing home. Friday night the Ds met me, as Wifey went home to rest, and we had some dinner at Morton's. They had plenty of room while the Grille was sold out, and we saw why -- they haven't upgraded the place since it opened, and the service was very slow and inept. Still, my martini was cold, and the Ds sparkled. D2 met friends and spent the night on Brickell with D1. Saturday am Wifey and I met my sister of another mother, Mirta, at LOL. Lori was working, and after Wifey told her it was my birthday, brought the staff over with a Linzer tart and a candle, and sang. Mirta gave me an awesome gift: a bottle of Middleton, the fine Irish whisky I always like to keep around for special toasts. It's very expensive, and Mirta is not wealthy -- so the gift had deep meaning. We left LOL and a small Asian lady was handing out cards for a new nail salon that opened next door. Mirta mentioned she wanted an eyebrow wax, so I went in and bought her a manicure and wax. She and Wifey protested, it was MY birthday, but they know me well -- I'm much happier buying stuff for others than receiving it. Well, Wifey said, we ought to ALL go in, and we did. I treated myself to a "special" pedicure -- it lasted nearly an hour, and left me with the feet of a young girl. Well, not exactly, but they WERE left looking less reptilian than usual, and felt great. Mirta left, and Wifey and I came home and watched PHillip Hoffman's last move, a thriller about terrorists in Germany. It was pretty good -- he was terrific -- what a waste he died so young. The Ds came over, and accompanied me to my birthday task -- cleaning out my closet. We had a blast -- D1 expressing, loudly, shock and horror at some of my jeans and shirts from the first Bush Administration. She and her sister tore through mercilessly -- I offered only a little resistance -- my vintage Canes shirts, though far too small, needed to stay. But before long, there was a pile of clothes nearly 5 feet tall and 5 feet wide. They even grabbed all of Wifey's old sweatsuits, which she had sneaked onto one of my top shelves, and added them to the pile. Wifey wasn't too happy about that, but soon got over it. We hauled away the clothes in 5 huge duffels, and headed to Goodwill. The clerk there doesn't show a lot of good will -- she's a rather sour Latin lady who looks like she hates her job. I cheerfully said it was my birthday, and I got to give charity with my daughters -- what a blessing. She answered something in Spanish that I think translates to "whatever." But the three of us still felt great. A lot of my jeans still had tags on them, as did the shirts, so I'm thinking some folks will truly benefit. Then again, Wifey and several of her rich friends love to shop at the thrift stores, so if I see Jodi's friend Bob or a retired lawyer named Larry wearing some of my donated clothes, I won't be surprised... My birthday dinner, by design, as there have been lots of major meals lately, was takeout from Whole Foods. The Ds and Wifey had salads, and did I, but with the civilized addition of fresh made jerk chicken. This am Dr. Barry is coming with his family to LOL -- his boy Scott's favorite -- worth the drive from Pembroke Pines. Lori will take care of us, and we need to toast over coffee (ha) Scott's graduation and preparation for his U Maryland adventure. So last night, as Wifey, D2, and I sat on the couch watching a Season 4 "Sopranos" (D2 plans to see the whole series by end of summer), I remarked it was an awesome birthday. Wifey said it wasn't very exciting. And that's exactly what I wanted.

July is the Cruelest Month

My dear friend Paul, who has become quite the learner of matters Jewish, tells me the days of Tisha B’Av are nearly upon us. TBA is the time of the year that commemorates the destruction of the great Jewish Temple -- sort of the ancient Vatican of our people. Tradition holds it is a time of great mourning -- weddings in the orthodox community never take place during TBA -- and it seems bad and sad things happen with greater frequency. In my case, it was surely true. My father died in mid July. And now, sadly, Wifey's father Richard is going through a tough time, too. I noticed at our last visit he was in tough shape -- very cold and uncommonly quiet. Sunday night, after our visit, MJH called to say he had fallen, but with no injury. Monday he had another fall -- and the staff was going to put an alarm on him which goes off if he tries to exit his bed unassisted. Yesterday the Ds and Wifey and I and Paul and his fiancee were going to meet for an early birthday lunch for me. Not so fast! My father in law was taken to Mt. Sinai Hospital in rough shape -- fever of 104 degrees, shaking, etc... D2 and Wifey headed over to the Beach, and spent the day there. He was admitted to the ICU, and the thought is he has a bad urinary tract infection, as well as the flu. He was seen by no fewer than 5 specialists -- cardiology, pulmonology, urology, nephrology, critical care, and a hospitalist. The plan is to give him IV antibiotics and fluids, and hope he bounces back. I have a strong feeling he will. The man is incredibly strong -- an athlete in his younger days, as he will remind anyone who visits him. He had a cardiac bypass operation in 1989, and the surgeon told me it would give him another 10 good years. Well, the surgeon died several years ago. D2 was a great comfort to Wifey as the hours passed. We met for dinner after the long day, and Wifey couldn't stop thanking her second born. D1 will go visit after work today, and I'll drive Wifey over later. My mother in law will come, too, and as D2 told Wifey, this could be one of the worst weeks ever for you. Drs. Barry and Eric both gave us sage advice, as usual. One of the docs tried to convince Wifey that she might rethink the advance directives. She remained steadfast, armed with the great counsel of our dear friends. Intubating a 90 year old with Alzheimers is not something my family is looking to do... So I hope our TBA travails are nearing an end. It would be nice to have a July to recall for happy reasons...

So the Miami Summer's Not So Bad

Wow --what a night for us empty nesters last night. After a Saturday of hard core inactivity, as our Ds enjoyed sister bonding on Brickell, Wifey and I squeezed into the small Caddy and drove to the Grove to fetch our friend Diane and her fiance John. Those two are happily living on South Bayshore -- working part time for the US government and a major construction company, and taking turns with visiting kids and grandkids... They wanted to reciprocate our treating them to Christy's a few weeks past, and took us to Il Gabbiano, which is Italian for "extremely expensive but truly worth it food." John knew the owner, and the fellow greeted us. John asked about his girlfriend, a reporter for ESPN Latino, and, I'm guessing, not an appearance challenged young lady. "No," he replied in his great Italian accent, "I switched channels." I loved that line... We sat outside, and the breeze off Biscayne Bay was awesome. Our waiter came -- handsome young fellow from Sardinia -- and charmed all of us as he reeled off, by memory, the many specials. He looked like a young Giancarlo Gianinni, and Wifey and I recounted the plot of "Swept Away" to Diane and John. We shared prawns, and lumps of some of the best cheeses of all times. My no carb diet laughably took a vacation, as the bruschetta and breads were passed. Diane had red wine, John some G and Ts, and I had some Stoli martinis. Wifey ordered, shockingly, the salmon. She almost always gets that. The three of us had osso bucco, and it was the best I ever had -- truly butter-like meat. When we left, the place was packed, and we ran into an old neighbor at the car valet. I guess the awesome food and drinks made me feeling a bit jaunty, and I took Wifey and John and Diane to Little Havana -- to the Ball and Chain. It's a club originally opened in the 30s -- Louis Armstrong and Billie Holiday played there -- and then closed in the 60s when the 'hood changed from Shenandoah -- working class Jewish -- to Little Havana. Last year a local young man named Zach Bush bought it, and after an awesome renovation, opened. With beloved Tobacco Road closing, B and C has become the new live music place. We entered and it was crowded, and a fine jazz quintet was playing. Diane befriended a young Uruguayan hedge fund guy celebrating his birthday with bottles of champagne and bottles of fine Scotch, and got him to share some seats with her and John, in front of the band shell outside. Wifey and I listened to "Summertime" and "Fly Me to the Moon." A Cuban guy, well dressed, came up to me and remarked how awesome the players were, and how young. I was thinking the same thing -- they looked like UM undergrads. They probably were... At 10 we went outside. Tito Puente, Jr, was setting up, and began to play with his salseros. The place began to rock. People salsaed in front of the stage -- including a young dancer wearing a New Orleans style mask, and a trim young fellow. The women were absurdly gorgeous. And Puente, Jr, got them all moving. He invited a young singer onstage -- wearing a silk Cuban flag, and she sang like Celia Cruz. I think she might have been a relative, although I seem to recall the great Azuca! Queen never had kids. Regardless, she was awesome -- playing off the band's drums. I felt a bit like Michael Corleone in II, at New Year's Eve in Havana. Happily, I didn't learn of my brother Fredo's betrayal... When we left, the club was PACKED. And the crowd was deligtfully mixed -- 20s kids, and plenty of gray hair and Latinas of a certain age packed into too tight outfits... We'll be going back. As I swayed in the evening light, and it wasn't too hot, I realized, as I always do, I don't want to live anywhere else. Though if Tito, Jr asks me to go on tour, I'd probably say Si!

A Real Live Nephew of My Uncle Sam

And so it's the 4th of July, and what have you done? I'm sure I have an Uncle Sam if I look back a genertion or so -- Sam Kessler, or maybe Sam Goldsmith. As a kid, July 4 was my favorite holiday -- up there with Halloween and New Year's Eve. As a young boy it meant a picnic at Salisbury (later renamed Eisenhower) Park, with my parents. Some years we brought my brother in law's siblings Kathy and Michael, and ate watermelon and sandwiches while we waited for the fireworks. The reports always seemed so loud and booming -- I liked them more than the exploding colors, although it was always great to hear my Dad's running commentary on those: "Look! Spaghetti!" As I grew, the holiday meant a month's preparation, as my idiot teem friends and I gathered firecrackers and bottle rockets from illegal sources, and methodically, like young Al Queda, removed the gunpowder from them to make even larger bombs. It's really lucky none of us were killed or maimed worse than the lingering hearing loss my friend Eric has, the result of a cherry bomb that Fitz forgot to throw. And the summer of being 16 and 17 - well - that was a highlight. With fake IDs we went to Beefsteak Charlies in the local small mall, and drank all the beer, wine, and sangria we could, before walking to Eisenhower Park (a healthy 5 miles or so) in search of ladies from other high schools. I only had one sad July 4th -- the year after my father died. I took Mom to FAU in Boca for the fireworks, and as they exploded she looked so small and lost. She'd recover, though, and go on to have another 30 years, 26 of which were awesome. But I learned the rockets and reports could be symbols of loss. The summer of '84 was an awesome 4th. Miami Beach planned a huge party -- the Beach Boys were playing, AFTER they played the D. C. Mall. We spent the night before in Wifey's friend's Yvonne's South Beach apartment -- a time when South Beach wasn't ultra gentrified yet. We got to the beach early -- probably 11 or so, in order to stake out a great spot. It was Wifey, Yvonne, and her friend Jeannette, and Jeannette's cousin Dennis, a great Brooklyn guy, somehow found us, without the aid of cell phones. We drank all day in the hear of the sun, and by the time the Beach Boys came on, I barely remember. But, they had guests: John Lodge and Justin Hayward of the Moody Blues, and Ringo Starr. Jeannette, and enormous Beatles fan, even to this day, ran like a possessed woman to the stage -- and there were easily 200,000 people there. After the show and fireworks, my reptilian, drunk brain told me to simply make my way to the ocean and sleep right next to it. Wifey rescued me -- taking me by the hand and leading me back to Yvonne's apartment, where we waited for the traffic to lessen, and then she drove us in my '82 Buick Century back to Kendall. The years the Ds were young meant the Biltmore in the Gables. We'd get a room for the weekend, and the Ds savored it -- exploring the historic place, supposedly haunted. They halted the shows for a few years to let the golf course grass recover, but have them again. Maybe we'll take grandkids someday... Today, Wifey and I are headed to the Grove -- a night at the Ritz there, where we spent one T Day. We plan to relax at the pool and grounds, and then wander off campus for dinner -- maybe Scotty's -- maybe Chart House -- and D1 and some friends may meet us. Sunday D1 is using the $100 resort credit for a massage, and we'll all have breakfast. I'm thankful relatives at the turn of the 20th Century, including my grandparents, saw fit to leave the Old Country for this one. and give us lives beyond their wildest dreams. Feliz Cumpleanos, US. Happy to celebrate with you...

Cool in the Summer

Over the 36 years I've lived in Miami, I've heard the occasional tale from an old timer about living here before the advent of air conditioning. I no longer believe these stories. Up north, they have the occasional summer heat wave, and it's oppressively hot, but sometime during the night, the temps cool a bit. Not in South Florida. The third of our three main A/C units gave up its ghost Tuesday night. The first two cool the living/dining room and the kitchen/family room. They were replaced by Danny, an affable Argentine thankfully referred by Norman. I called Danny Wednesday, reminded him I hadn't yet paid him for unit 2 (he was on vacation) and told him I needed the third and final 5 tonner replaced. He rearranged his installer Livan's schedule, and Livan came yesterday and put in the new unit. I'll meet Danny next week and give him a check for over $10K. Ah, home ownership and its joys... But when I visited the upstairs rooms late Tuesday night, to fetch stuff, it was 86! Again, untenable for civilized humans. Miami without air conditionin is the Amazon jungle.. The good news is we ought to now be ac-ed for the next 10 years -- probably longer than we'll be living here. Wifey and I are already pining for a condo rental -- probably in the Grove -- where maintainence issues or approaching hurricanes come down to calling the owner and saying "It sucks to be you." As a current homeowner, sometimes it sucks to be us... Also on the annoying front, my Herald subscription. I changed from daily to 4 times per week, and haven't gotten the paper since. I've called each day, and written three emails. The most I get is conversations with sub continent accented guys who promise to get it fixed. They've done as well as the Pakistani government has in stopping terrorism. Today I emailed the executive editor, telling her I know she's in charge of content, but content don't matter if you ain't able to read it. I purposely used bad grammar to get her attention, though these days, with the younger generation of some journalists, she might not notice. So for now my news habit must be satisfied only online. The obits aren't as easy to find -- I can't simply turn to them while in the bathroom and feel smug that I'm not listed there... Tomorrow Wifey and I, who thought about going to Key West for the 4th, will instead split the difference and go to Coconut Grove, as the Rodney Crowell song said. The Ritz had a summer rate -- and with AMEX it includes an upgrade, breakfast, and a $100 spa credit, which D1 has already claimed and scheduled a massage for the 5th, as her payment for watching the hounds while we're away. Ah, my Ds -- they do love being pampered. D2 called from MIA on Wednesday -- crowing about the new Centurion Lounge where she ate and drank well while waiting for her plane to LaGuardia. May their pampering continue -- and their newspaper deliveries never be halted...

Reunion -- All They Ever Wanted

So later this afternoon, D2 is off to MIA, and then to NYC, for a 4th of July reunion weekend. Her boyfriend is there, and she looks forward to seeing him, of course, but the highlight is a reunion of the Women of Yellow House. She was lucky to live with the same 3 friends junior and senior years at UF -- in a house right across from their sorority house, painted Sponge Bob yellow. D2, Cath, Ashley, and Alli became like sisters -- sharing that most exquisite part of life together -- going from girls to young women. I was always so happy to visit them in the house. Someone was coming or going, and there was vodka in the freezer. During graduation week, I helped myself to too much of it... I lived for three and a half years in an on campus apartment -- 22Z. Barry moved in and was there for three of those years. Eric commuted, but crashed there regularly. These guys are still two of my closest friends. We still tell many tails from that time -- to the eye rolling of our wives and kids, except Eric's wife Dana, who was there for the final year of this extraordinary male bonding. My friend Jorge lived there for a year, before he left to get prematurely married. Another friend, Mike, is an academic doctor like Barry -- but in Arkansas, of all places. Mike WAS Mr. Long Island -- classic heavy accent, lived for the NY Jets, and the thought of him in Little Rock always makes me smile. Another friend, Colin, became extremely rich and lives in his native Hong Kong. D1 had a reunion of her dear friends a year or so ago. They met in Utah, where Hannah's family has a vacation house. She savored her time with her group of Palmetto and UF girls... The other day, Barry's boy Josh spent the night, after a long Miami bike ride. He was telling Wifey, D2 and me that he'd go to college, but didn't think it "essential." Steve Jobs is one of his heros...D2 pointed out that college may or may not get you a better job, but that either way it was the best years of your life. I agreed. You never regain that awesome mix of adult and kid...everything seems possible, and money and power take a back seat to just being with your friends and laughing so hard your belly hurts. D2 has her MS, and now an apartment all ready and waiting in Murray Hill. She moves in the Fall. Adulthood with an asterisk awaits. The asterisk is Wifey and me, who have the wherewithal to help and advise her far past the point our parents helped and advised us. This is both good and bad. But this weekend, the Yellow House ladies are set to catch up. D2 will join Ali and Ashley in NYC -- Ali is getting a grad degree as a Child Life Specialist, and Ashley already has her MS and started the same job with Macy's D2 has. Cath is a rising 2L at Emory Law. I will toast them from the Grove, where Wifey and I plan to spend the 4th. They are 4 a(pause) mazing ladies. May their reunion be savored by each. I know it will.