Having the Pack Together

D2 moved to NYC in September, and hasn't been home to the 305 in nearly 4 months. We've visited her twice in that time, but there's nothing as great as having her here -- especially when she and D1 both stay over. That's happening now. Yesterday we hosted a brunch to meet D1's boyfriend Joey's family, and as expected, they were terrific folks. Jackie, Joey's Mom was there, with her three boys and one (so far) daughter in law, Vera. Joey's Dad was at work -- they recently bought a franchise of green, dry cleaners, and Sunday is the day he does his organization. We'll meet him at another time. Joey's family are Colombian Jews, and they first moved to Cincinnati when they came to the US. They were the only Latinos in their class, and the boys were welcomed because of their supposed soccer prowess. Roberto, the oldest, was called "The Brazilian" -- close enough, it seemed, for the clueless Ohioans... We ate at a lovely table set by Wifey, and talked of wonderful things. Vera, a Jewish Peruana, is also a research scientist at the U, and she regaled us with tales of keeping stem cell colonies alive -- the Ds wondered if they were like so many puppies... Vera is half Ashkenazi and half Sephardic, and her new husband Roberto, fully Sephardic, makes fun of her Ashkenazi ways...It seems the major difference to me is rice -- the Sepharads consider it a holy food, and to our Eastern European folks, it is something foreign... D2's man Jonathan was a no show, unfortunately, as he brought home a nasty virus from NYC. He's on the mend, and the Ds and their men are double dating tonight -- they can talk Venezuela versus Colombia -- which, near as I can tell, is sort of like NY versus New Jersey... No talk of marriages yet, but this lucky man would be absurdly lucky to have this pair of South American Jewish men as sons in law -- even if they'd rather watch soccer than real football. Jonathan is a Heat fan, too, and I think Joey might tolerate some roundball... After the company left, the Ds and Wifey and a surplus of dogs all assumed their posts on the family room couch, and it was sacred to me. I flash back to them as adorable toddlers somehow grown into beautiful women. Wifey was 26 when I met her -- between the Ds' ages, and somehow now my baby girls are women, too. D2 went to a get together at her lifelong friend Amanda's house -- daughter of my law school best friend Mike -- and came home late to share her room with D1. We still keep posted a drawing D1 did in kindergarten, in which she was asked to draw her "favorite thing to sleep with." She drew a little girl and a smaller one next to her -- her favorite thing to sleep with was her baby sister -- and 22 years on, little has changed. So we walk towards 2016, and there's no better way for me to celebrate it. Wifey and I celebrate our 29th anniversary on January 3, so the holiday season for us is always packed --wifey's birthday on December 25th, New Year's Eve, and then our anniversary. D1's man is heading to Utah to snowboard, and he asked D1 to come along, but she's politely begging off the zero degree temps, and reminded him she's starting her business right after the New Year. D2 and Jonathan have South Beach plans. Wifey and I are undecided. There's a great nightclub in Little Havana called Ball and Chain, and they have Tito Puente, Jr playing. I tried to entice some friends to go, but they've begged off so far. I posted a not about it on FaceBook, and the owner, who is the friend of a friend, personally invited us, so we'll see. However we ring in 2016, I am one cool, lucky Daddy in the USA.

Into Each Life Some Excrement Must Fall

So Wifey and I had a great trip to the Left Coast -- saw my nephew Henry and his wife Valerie, and my sister Sue. The 5 of us toured great wineries in Sonoma and Napa, and then spent three rainy but still great days in Half Moon Bay, where Steely Dan would have written, the Asian gentlemen sleep all day. We ate and drank exceptionally well, and took the red eye home yesterday am. I went to the office to toss out the last of 2015's junk mail, and returned to two flooded toilets and a bathtub with an inch of brown water. I'm no handy man, but Wifey is truly clueless --thinking it a bad coincidence that two toilets went on the blink at the same time! I explained it was a systemic problem -- a back up somewhere -- and called Smith Septic, one of my favorite companies. It's owned by Wendell Smith, now near 80, who has the sense of humor required of one who has literally dealt with shit for his entire career. The message was cheerful but upsetting -- they close EVERY year before Christmas through New Year's, but recommend emergencies call A Above All, their Homestead neighbor. I did, and Ken answered right away -- he could come by first thing next am. He called at 7 having just serviced his biggest customer -- the Fountainbleau on the Beach. He told me that baby wipes are a property owner's nightmare but a plumber's dream -- they clog the pumping stations and keep him busy. We recognized each other -- Ken had been out over 10 years ago to pump sludge out of the bottom of my fish pond -- Wendell Smith referred him -- as his company has the most powerful trucks. Ken is a little fellow -- maybe just 5 feet -- and also possessed of the great sense of humor required of a long career in the doody field. He opened our clean out, and put down first a high pressure hose, and later a metal snake. Sure enough -- some white paper products -- maybe feminine -- sloshed out into the septic tank. He had me flush toilets, and joy and flowing water returned to Villa Wifey. But not so fast... he said the reason for the clog was probably roots making their way into the line -- truly fixing the problem would take digging and cost $575. The pump out was only $150. I was going to have Ken return Sunday, but remembered D1's boyfriends parents are coming over to meet us, and having a septic guy there might not give the finest appearance. So we made a date for the following Sunday -- which happens to be Wifey and my 29th anniversary. I figure the symbolism is too perfect -- she's been puttnig up with my crap all these years, why not have a guy over who keeps the literal type flowing where it should. So the end of the year approaches, and for now, we have working plumbing. As it should be. Enjoying the greater things, and dealing with the excrement -- isn't that, at end, all it's about?

Bereft Equals Deprived

I spoke with a friend last night, and she was so empty of feeling, so sad, and even morose, I struggled for words. I came up with bereft, and its secondary meaning, which is deprived, as in deprived of feeling. She's dealing with a sick family member, and not the kind of sickness that either gets cured or ends swiftly in death. Rather, it goes on and on, like a years long tsunami, pulling all in its path to waste and ruin. What do you tell someone in that place? The sun will come out tomorrow? Truthfully, as bad as things are, they're only getting worse? Of course, for those who believe in the Big Man, there is an answer. Seek comfort in God, God has a plan, let things flow, there is a reason for all of this, but you can't see it now. I envy my truly religious friends, like Rabbi Yossi. He truly seems to know, in his heart and head, that the reason for ALL we see and hear and feel on this earth is because God says so. When I asked him the cliched question, about why our benevolent Creator allows us suffering, he offers the example of the toddler nearing a busy street. His father grabs him, maybe even gives him a spank, and says NO! To the toddler, who can't comprehend what's truly good for him, this admonition seems only mean and cruel -- let me go where I choose. Later, the toddler will realize his father/God was doing what was best for him. I don't know. I question so much about the whole thing. I do feel who I am, a Jew, and love the symbolism in our religion. Right now, it's Chanukah, and last night I wished the light of the menorah would brighten the darkness my friend is surrounded by. She was telling me she wanted to move, to change everything -- I offered practical advice: don't make permanent life choices when faced with a temporary crisis. But the crisis, sadly, isn't temporary. A sick relative can drain the colors out of all of life's paintings. All appears gray, and I, at least, am powerless to bring back the brightness. Still, tonight I'll turn the electric bulb on, for the third night of Chanukah. The luminosity, like chicken soup to a head cold, at least can't hurt.

Holiday Decorations

And so soon starts Chanukah...and what have you done? Yes, the Festival of Lights begins tomorrow, and the laborious task of decoration falls on me, as Wifey is not into it. So I have to walk all the way to the corner of the garage, dust off the electric menorah, which has great sentimental value, but I can't remember what it is, dust it off, plug it in by the window, and remember how many bulbs to nightly turn on. I'll fetch the regular menorah, too, and if D1 swings by, we'll actually light some candles and sing some songs. I think that menorah might have come from my mother, as I am the only one of three kids who cares about the Jewish holidays, but I don't recall that, either. Still, it's nice to see all the Christmas decorations around, in the stores, and in neighborhoods OTHER than Pinecrest, which seems to have so many Jews and RICH Christians for whom lights are declasse to really put on a good show. But when I drive through Kendall, and especially West Miami, and parts of town near the Gables, there are plenty of lights. Working class Cubans really seem to do it best... My Rabbi friend has invited us to the Falls, for a public menorah lighting, but I think Wifey and I will take a pasadena. We enjoyed these events when the Ds were little, but now Chanukah means only Wifey and the Ds buying themselves gifts and telling me they're from me. I have zero problem with that, as jewelry to me sort of all looks the same. Apparently I hit it right this year with Wifey's bracelet, which will serve as her Chanukah, birthday, AND, maybe anniversary gift, though the last is still under negotiation. December 25th is, of course, the shining height of the season, the day we celebrate the birth of our savior, the one we worship, and whose grace brings light to all of us: Wifey. We usually celebrate by going to a movie, but this year, we're going to lunch instead of dinner at Tropical Chinese, since D2 is arriving on an evening flight from NYC. So D1, her boyfriend Joey, and Wifey and I will head over for some dim sum. I invited Dr. Barry, who will be pulling his usual "I'm the only Jewish attending in the PICU so will take Xmas week" job, and he has said if the unit is quiet, he'll cruise the Dolphin to Palmetto and meet us for some lunch. And then comes New Year's Eve. The Ds and their boyfriends are all invited to the same big party in the Grove -- rich friends who are getting married the next day. Wifey and I haven't yet made plans, though I flirted with the idea of scoring some VIP tickets to see PitBull at the big Miami celebration at Bayfront Park, but the thought of slinky young Latinas twerking us as the hour of the rising Orange approached changed our minds...Wifey's mind, anyway... The Ds plans made me nostalgic for NYE of '86-'87. Wifey and I were to be married January 3rd, and so for NYE we had our "rehearsal dinner" at our tiny first house. My Mom and both sisters were there, as were my inlaws, who seemed at the time so old, and were actually very close to Wifey's age now. We brought in Chinese food, and most of our wedding party attended, and we ate and danced and "rehearsed" to the humorous script I had typed up, calling my Mom MOG (mother of groom) and my mother in law to be MOB (mother of bride). The following night, the Canes played Penn State for the National Championship, and my groomsmen gathered to watch, and eat the leftover Chinese food plus brought in pizzas. The Canes dominated, but Vinny Freaking Testaverde threw 4 picks, the last of which sealed the Canes loss. Several groomsmen looked up from their gloom and asked if I was going ahead with the wedding. Wifey didn't think that was funny. Well, we did, and the Canes won 4 more rings... So for us, the Holiday season starts with T Day, and goes through January 3, our anniversary. This year the number is 29. Nearly three decades. Time truly does fly. But that trusty menorah still lights...