Texas WW II Memorial Day

My Dad served nearly four years in the Army during WW II, and I'm of course, proud of his service. But fortunately, his service was all state-side, and his only tales of derring do involved a happy coincidence which kept him OUT of the Battle of the Bulge, and later, after the War ended, of his humorous way out of the service. Memorial Day is to honor those killed in action, and the holiday always takes me back to a remarkable experience Wifey and I shared back in 1995 or so. We took our first exotic vacation -- a "destination cruise" that left from Istanbul and ended in Venice, on a small ship called the Marco Polo. It was a very upscale trip -- our celebration of my starting to hit it pretty big in the PI Law business. We left the Ds, then 4 and 7, with Wifey's parents, and jetted off to the dividing line between Asia and Europe. We met an interesting array of folks, including the first tech millionaires we ever encountered, a couple from SF who had just sold their business and were off seeing the world. They were lovely -- the fellow was Cuban, originally from Miami, and went to Stanford to study computers and met his California wife, a lovely and large lady who, comically, was too much for the little moped we rented in Mykonos...memories I treasure still. But we became good friends with a most unlikely family -- a Greatest Generation couple from Midland, Texas, traveling with their daughter and granddaughter who had just become a third generation Texas A and M Aggie alum. These folks were VERY Texan -- big hair, accents out of the show "Dallas," and very, very Christian -- especially the Grandma, Crystal. We met them while touring the Topkapi Palace, a place where ancient treasures are kept,and where, walking around, I truly felt like I had made it to an exotic place. I mean, I was a middle class Jewish kid from Long Island, and I was touring freaking TURKEY? Anyway, back at the ship we started spending a lot of time, and became fast friends. Phil, the grandpa, was a retired "oil and gas man" who I sort of gleaned was VERY rich, even though he dressed and carried himself like he was a former derrick worker. He and I talked college football -- a LOT -- and by the end of the trip had become honorary Hurricane and Aggie fans. Years after our trip, after a particularly great victory, the phone in our old house would ring, and a happy, Texas voice would proclaim "This my boy Dave???? Your Canes sure looked FINE tonight!" The Fouches were friends with "W" and his family, and Wifey had no idea who they were talking about. We sure learned, though, when their buddy was elected president. We learned they family was on an errand as well as a celebratory trip. Phil was a WW II hero, wounded during the Battle of Monte Cassino in Italy, and had received word that a memorial plaque had been placed in the Village Green of the town of Cassino. Phil wanted to visit and say a prayer, and planned to take the train to Cassino from Rome, while the ship was docked there. Wifey and I asked if we might go along, and Phil and Crystal asked why in the world we'd give up an entire day of Roman sightseeing to go to that dusty little town. I clammed up, and Wifey explained that my Dad was a WW II Vet, I still missed him terribly, and spending a day with Phil and his family appealed to me far more than standing on line to see some crumbling buildings. So the excursion was set, and we trained it to what was indeed a dusty, little town, where no one spoke any English. We wandered around, this couple from Miami, and family of four Midland/Odessa folks, having no idea where the Town Center might be. I found a fellow, and comically pantomimed asking where the Police were -- play acting getting arrested and handcuffed, and somehow getting across the request for police. It worked! We found the Village Square, and sure enough, there were a few rusting American tanks and large guns. And we found the plaque -- dedicated to Phil's division, and how many had died as they rousted the Germans from their mountaintop stronghold. Phil dropped to his knee, and started to cry. We all hugged him, and he just kept repeating how many good buddies he lost that day. We shuffled back towards the train station, and stopped for some, of course, pizza. It was a moment I'll never forget. Phil explained that he spent the duration of WW II helping to sell War Bonds, returned to civilian life, and helped build his family. He was, to me, a true man in full. The last night of the trip, Crystal took Wifey's hands, and told her how close she felt to her, which was why she hoped Wifey and I might please, please consider accepting Jesus Christ as our personal savior. Crystal's daughter and granddaughter were horrified -- "MOTHER!!!!" Wifey and I weren't offended at all. We understood that Crystal, as a true Christian, simply wanted to share with us her source of comfort and direction. I made her laugh and told her I'd be sticking with corned beef sandwiches and Woody Allen movies. And indeed our friendship endured. Phil died a few years back, and I made a contribution to a WW II foundation in his memory. And still , these so many years later, I think of him and I thank him and his buddies. I'm so thankful that I never had a personal errand like Phil's -- my buddies travails were limited to choosing graduate programs, and the occasional failed marriage. But for Phil, Memorial Day was very, very real.

The Very Funny Wife

Years ago, my law partner Paul and I were having lunch at our power spot, Capital Grille, and had with us our friend and associate Allison, and Paul's law school bud Abbey. Allison was single, and studying the ways of powerful men, and asked Abbey how he chose his wife Allene. Abbey told us when he was contemplating marriage, he made two lists about his girlfriend -- what he liked, and what he didn't, and the first one was very long, while the second had only one entry, so he went ahead with the proposal. And, it seems it's a fine match -- they've been together now over 40 years, have two great kids, the second of whom is marrying soon. Of course, I had to know, what was the one negative? Abbey replied "She has NO sense of humor. She rarely thinks things are funny, and seldom laughs." Wow, I thought -- that was a deal breaker for me. A lifetime with minimal or no laughter? I think I'd have overlooked the positives, and bolted. Okay -- maybe not -- Allene also came from a very rich family... So when I asked Wifey to marry me, in 1986, I didn't make any formal lists. I loved her, and knew she loved me. Our values were similar -- proud Jewish Americans, not religious. And we laughed together -- a LOT. So we made it official in January of '87, and plan to celebrate our 30th anniversary in a little over half a year. And we've been blessed in our lives beyond our wildest imaginations -- largely with two Ds that are, well, pretty ok. And the laughter is still there. I make her laugh a lot, and she still cracks up the Ds and me, though lately, it's been via some hilarious social miscues. Last month, we were in NYC, at a historic Italian place, with D2 and her man Jonathan. The waiter was a Central American fellow, with a pronounced Spanish accent. He brought one of the courses, and announced it was "feeesh." D2, Jonathan, and I just nodded, but Wifey HAD to know. She looked at him and asked "Feeeeeesh?" She claims she said "Quiche" -- mishearing the man, but D2 and Jonathan heard otherwise, and looked at each other in horror -- thinking Wifey was cruelly mocking this man's accent. Finally, she figured it out, and announced "Oh -- you mean FISH," and the meal proceeded. But the rest of the trip one of us would say "Feeeeesh???" and make each other laugh. Well, last night Wifey's unintentional humor struck again...again at a restaurant. D1 and her man Joey and the two of us met at Glass and Vine -- an awesome new restaurant located in Peacock Park, in the Grove. It was my third time, and we made plans with the Assistant Manager Patrick to bring a large group back for July 4 fireworks. D1 knows EVERYONE in Miami, and sure enough her friend Hillary's grandmother was there. I put on my charm hat, walked up to her, and asked if she had a sister named Amy (Amy is her daughter). I made the old lady's night, of course... And then D1's two former sorority mates came over. I'll call them Julie and Stacey, as those are their names. They're terrific young ladies, and were married last year at the Biltmore. I thought everyone associated with the Ds knew this. I was wrong. When Wifey asked their names, and heard the last ones were the same, she blurted out "Oh -- you're SISTERS?" Of course, Wifey wasn't the first to make that mistake, we're all sure, but it was classic Wifey. So now, I'm guessing family lore for the next month or so will be "Oh -- so you're SISTERS?" Maybe there'll be sister Feeesh. Wifey keeps us laughing, and that's priceless...

Happy Drive

So Wifey really, really wants to move, and one of her arguments is that I'd be closer to the office, and have less of a commute. A day like today reminds me that's not a necessarily good thing. Fortunately, I rarely have to commute during rush hour, which in Miami has become untenable. I typically wait until after 9:30 or so, and have a smoother drive. Today it was downright enjoyable. Old Cutler Road leads to Ingraham Highway leads to Douglas and finally into the Grove proper. The banyan and ficus trees provide a gorgeous canopy, and the sun splashes through, dappling the roadway. Local artists always paint scenes of these roads -- sometimes in the Gables, and sometimes in the Grove. There are always flowering trees, but this time of year it becomes, from a botanical point of view, almost pornographic. The Royal Poinciana trees bloom -- mostly in an orange and red -- colors brighter than the brightest crayon in a child's kit. The blossoms are truly something to see -- when there are three or more trees in a stand, they seem to almost glow. And so it was today, for my drive. And then there is my single favorite piece of modern technology -- XM Sirius radio. I tuned to their "Classic Rewind" channel, which plays music from my teen years. Today I tooled along, through the Grove, as George Thorogood sang about his unfaithful girlfriend, causing him to need "one bourbon, one Scotch, and one beer." After George, Aerosmith sang "Walk this Way," and then there was a Molly Hachett song. The music was still blasting in my mini Caddy as I pulled into my office lot. The Jamaican security guard smiled. Next time I'll be playing "The Joint" when I drive in -- XM's reggae channel. So when I'm not rushing to be somewhere, the drive can be more than tolerable -- it can be a mini vacation. I think the drive home tonight will feature Frank Sinatra and friends...

Never Too Late For New Experiences

When I was a young boy, I was a very finicky eater, which is hard to believe given my adult love of most food, and my non-anorexic appearance. I still carry a few of the finicky habits from childhood -- for instance, I only eat eggs scrambled, hard boiled, or in omelettes. Today, I was up early, and in need of fetching my newly altered jeans from the dry cleaner next to LOL, and so I fired up the mini-Caddy and headed over. Alas, Lori, my long time waitress and friend, was off duty, and I was placed in the care of one of the many other ladies who are familiar to me, but whose names I never learned (one, a recovering addict, is Charlene). My server today is an always pleasant West Indian lady. I really ought to learn her name, even though Lori will then accuse me of waitress infidelity. I read my Herald, and ordered my usual: 2 scrambled eggs with turkey sausage, everything bagel with chive cream cheese, and a fruit cup. I made it to the obituary section of the paper, and read a sad-romantic entry about an old WASP couple, long time members of Riviera Country Club who retired to Gainesville, and the wife was in awful pain, and the husband couldn't bear to live without her, and so they committed double suicide, and were now both in the "hands of Jesus." Wow, I thought, what a guy... Anyway, the plate was put in front of me, and it contained the turkey sausage and SUNNY SIDE UP EGGS! I kept quiet, but this caused quite an internal stir. I could have aped my mother in law, and shouted out immediately "DIS NOT VAT I VANT!" Much more likely, I could have said, classily and politely, "Excuse me, but I ordered scrambled." Instead, I said nothing, and thought -- hell, I'm turning 55 in just over 2 months -- maybe it's time to experiment a little -- broaden my horizon -- really go for it. And so I did -- I ate the eggs. The yolks ran onto the whites. I mixed them, and took a bite. Eh. It was ok. I'm still going to remain an omelette and scrambled guy. But damn it -- I took the stab. I stepped out. I tried something new. On the way home, it occurred to me -- I'd better find more real excitement, if trying fried eggs is worthy of even mentioning, let alone writing about. What else might I attempt? Wifey's Lexus SUV lease is up in September. Maybe I'll surprise her and come home in a Porsche SUV -- or Mercedes -- or BMW. Nah... Our anniversary, thirty years, is coming in January. Maybe I'll give Wifey her golden parachute, and move to Key West, or Costa Rica. Nah... Most likely, I'll give my typically un-liked Indian food another try. Or maybe not. The possibilities are endless...

Let's Go Heat

So with the $500 pair of tickets in my pocket, Wifey and I drove to my office, parked there, and planned to meet Dr. Barry at Trulucks. Alas, he decamped home early, or tried to. He got stuck in traffic, and called to ask where that awesome pizza by the slice place was. It is in D1's building, and he found his way there. D1 met him, and watched him eat 2 enormous slices. I was happy to hear that -- the story about Dr. Eric's staff member's husband killing himself after he got skinny frightens me, and I don't want to see any friends meet that sad fate... Pat texted that he was at a place called American Social, in the river, and so we walked over to meet him. We crossed the old Tobacco Road lot, and I was greeted by the long time attendant, who I always tipped well. "Where ya been, Mon?" he asked in his great Jamaican accent. I pointed to the big gap where the Road used to be. He said they were trying to open a 2.0 version in the same area. I told him I'd be there if they did. The Social scene ha! was fine, except that Wifey, Pat, and I were clearly the oldest there. I had three martinis, Pat drank beer, and Wifey went wild with the lemons in her water -- I counted 4 ! that she added. We shared a great flat bread, and left for the AAA a bit after 7. We got on the People Mover at its newly opened City Centre stop (you can tell the coming place is going to be classy based on the spelling of center), and D2 Facetimed with us. I gave her a taste of the evening, as she walked home in Murray Hill -- introducing her to a random young man who smiled like he must deal with an embarrasing Dad, too. We found our seats, which were excellent, and came with white playoff T shirts. And then John came in, and the Larry Davidesque part of the night ensued. His wife was behind him. The Donald got in trouble discussing less than attractive women, so I'll just say the lady could have been Rosy O'Donnell's Mom -- except with a deep scowl. She walked over to us, never said hello or introduced herself, and proclaimed that we would have to move, since her son was coming, and he liked a certain seat. We moved, but apparently to the wrong side. "No!" she said. I said (remember, I have never met this beast, nor been introduced, "Where do you want us?" She pointed to what would have been the worst two seats -- in the middle of the section -- and Wifey and I complied. As John walked past, I put my hand on his shoulder, and said "I feel for you, man. My wife at least introduces herself and gets to know people before she bosses them around." He smiled wanly -- Dude obviously has a very heavy cross ha! to bear... Wifey and I watched the game. The Heat and Raptors are probably the two crappiest playoff teams I've ever seen -- missing layups, bobbling easy passes, etc...The Heat were less crappy, and won the game. Wifey asked if I'd ever get season's tickets. No -- I really only care about the Canes enough to go to games. I wish the Heat well, but I won't feel it deeply if they end their season on Sunday in Toronto. We walked back to my office, in the high humidity. Last time we were at the AAA, for the Who concert, we ran into D1's friend's parents, Gary and Barbara, and walked back with them. Same thing last night -- I've always enjoyed Gary and his dry humor, and Wifey and Barbara walked ahead and caught up about our total of 4 daughters. Wifey drove home, as the blissful A/C cooled us down. All in all a lovely Friday night, and one of perspective. When Wifey and I squabble, it's no fun. But after seeing at least one other lawyer's wife...well, I sure feel blessed.

Naggers (con't)

So no sooner do I whine about annoying people, than I get DRENCHED in a storm of new ones! Serves me right -- I ought to just shut up about the negative. First off, the Miami Heat. I haven't been to a game since before Lebron, but realized how much Wifey enjoys the playoff games, and decided it was time to go. My office roommie, who I'll call John, since that's his name, mentioned that he has extra tickets. So I went on line and found that lower bowl playoff seats cost $250 each. John has them, and paid $80 apiece for them. John is in his 70s, and apparently a successful, semi retired guy. He mentioned he moved because his Coral Gables real estate taxes were near $50K -- this translates to a $4M house. He moved in a few months ago, as a sub tenant of our sub, sub tenant, and is enjoying cheap rent. I've paid for his lunch several times. That will now end. I told him to tell me how much he wanted for the tickets, and assumed he would say what I would -- "Just give me what I paid." No - I REALLY assumed he wold give them to me, as I would to him -- as my friend Norman did with his Panther tickets last month, when he couldn't use them. Ha. As if! He told me to cut him a check for $500. I now know EXACTLY who I'm dealing with in the future. Not a bad guy, or unethical one. In fact, he enjoys a decent reputation as a middle of the pack, semi retired lawyer. But the free lunches have ended. Then, I got a certificate from my beloved U -- thanking me for "19 years of giving." I scratched out the 19, wrote "30" and returned the certificate in the self addresses, stamped envelope they included to allow me to "make this year's gift." I got an email from a "Development OFfice" (why can't they just say "giving" or "charity") who said I was "an exceptional alumnus" and there would soon be a "corrected" certificate. And then he added a fatal mistake -- a printout of all gifts from me and my law firm since 1984. The total: close to $150K. Other than the gifts I HAVE to give to keep my football tickets, I think I'm saying "Dayenu, or enough. I wanted to pay back the scholarships they gave me, which total probably $7K. Done, and in spades. I no longer earn the big bucks. I feel I have well and properly acquitted my duties to my beloved alma mater. And finally, there was the clergyman, who I have likewise supported too generously. My partner Paul reminds him that in our more than 2 decade friendship, it's remarkable that he has never referred us a single client, and yet is very smooth and good at asking for donations all the time. Well, the opportunity arose: a wealthy congregant needed an attorney. Our man took the high road, and gave the congregant several names, one of which was our co-counsel. It appears the client will NOT pick our group. The Naggers strike again. That's ok. This should be my biggest problem. But I sure see the wisdom of the best bumper sticker of the 70s: "Gas, grass, or ass -- no one rides for free." If they DO ride for free, they become, eventually, very annoying.

People Who Annoy You

Several years back, there was an episode of "South Park" that was true comic genius. One of the fathers was on "Wheel of Fortune," and had to solve the puzzle -- the clue was "People Who Annoy You." The puzzle was N-GGERS, and the Dad agonized -- saying he didn't know if he should say the word on TV, etc... Finally, under pressure, he blurted out "Niggers!" and there was a hushed silence. The correct answer was, of course, NAGGERS, and the rest of the episode went on to explore political correctness, and race issues (he kissed Jessie Jackson's bare butt on TV in an attempt to show his apologies). Anyway, as I get older, I think a lot about naggers, and how certain people have a way of annoying me. I've decided that a prime example of this is the false advice seekers. Last week, I got a terse email from a female professional, who I know through a close friend. The woman has a key position of power, and her email, in its brevity, seemed to signal a problem -- could I meet with her, on short order, to give my advice about an issue. I could, of course -- any friend of a close friend gets Cadillac treatment -- and I checked my calendar and gave several dates. And then -- nothing. I never heard back from her. Since I'm a techno moron, I feared maybe I'd mis-sent my email, leaving this advice starved woman in a lurch. And thinking I was a jerk. So I actually emailed again -- making sure she got my message. Oh yes, came the now breezy reply -- she DID want to meet, but had gotten crazy busy. Could we still meet later this week? In short -- annoying. Not tragic, not even awful -- just annoying. She said, in essence, I have drama that I wish to foist upon you, but maybe it's not that bad once you invest your time and concern. Whatever. I had dinner last night with Mirta, my sister of another mother. We went to our favorite dim sum place -- Kon Chao -- which I call the Poor Man's Tropical Chinese. Mirta has always had certain greater wisdom about the human condition than I -- she dislikes most people right off the bat, and realizes the vast majority of those she encounters are selfish, and care only about their own agendas. She's correct, of course. I guess I inherited too much of my Mom's naivete -- although I control how much I allow people to get away with. I guess the key to growing older without becoming the mean, bitter man who chases kids off the lawn is just being selective. The number of people who get Cadillac treatment grows smaller and smaller. But the naggers will still be there.

The Two Mother's Day

My Mom's been gone three years now, so the whole MD thing is, at bottom, sad for me, but I've shifted my focus to Wifey who, as far as I know, is the only Baby Mama I have. And yesterday she had 2 MDs. The first was for her. We fetched D1 in MidTown, and drove across the causeway to the Land of Our People, as Archie Bunker used to say, Miami Beach. D1 and D2 had been to a gorgeous new hotel called the Edition, and Wifey chose the place for a MD brunch. I usually avoid trendy Beach places, but this one was a smaller version of the grandeur of the Fountainbleau at its height. It was beautiful and elegant. The pool and patio areas, ocean front, were stunning. D2 FaceTimes us, and walked with us to our table. We set the phone on a water glass so she could participate virtually -- Wifey opened her MD gift, as usual, a piece of jewelry from Phillips House, our "family shop," owned by dear friends Alex, Danielle, and Lisa. Wifey loved it, and D2 signed off. We ate a delicious brunch, and then toured the property. It was sunny and unseasonably cool. It was a delightful day. D1 was due in Sunny Isles Beach to attend her boyfriend's Mom's MD celebration, and was going to Uber, but instead I offered to drive. The trip up Collins Avenue was terrific -- it was a drive my parents and I took often with my Uncle Abe and Aunt Lorraine, back when we were tourists in the Beach. We drove past the condo we used to own on 55th Street, now with a white building instead of peach. D1, like me, essentially a member of the local Chamber of Commerce, pointed out all of the micro neighborhoods along the way "Argentines live here;" "this is mostly Russian." We dropped her at Ocean II, where Jackie, maybe her future suegra, lives. They invited us in, but we had OTHER mothers to fry... We were due to fetch my mother in law Rachel, at 6. We arrived at 6:08, and Wifey was greeted by screams asking why she makes her wait so long. It was a lovely greeting. Wifey walked out, and wrote on her phone that her mother was NEVER to do that again. Rachel meekly apologized. My mother in law is stubborn. She is obnoxious. She thinks she is still sharp as a tack, but she is in early dementia. This makes for a stew of difficulty in dealing with her -- like a spoiled toddler, who will go off at any moment. We took her to old standby Canton. She lit up "Oy -- I haven't had Chinese in so long!" I reminded her we had taken her twice in recent weeks. "Maybe de have a hamburger?" No, but I was ordering their "special steak," which comes to the table steaming. "Oy -- I don't eat steak -- I have chicken." So we ordered both, and when she saw the steak, helped herself to a cowboy sized portion. The chicken largely went to feed some stray cats Wifey saw later at her condo... The evening went from bad to worse. After we took her to a local bakery and got her a chocolate eclair, which she devoured like a squid does its prey, we returned to the condo, which Wifey has in pristine condition. She had begged Wifey to move her there. Now she told Wifey she was bored -- she "needs to go out every day for a few hours." Easy solution, thought I, Dave the fix it guy. There's a pass through gate to a Publix strip center -- I wrote to her that she should walk over each day when Wifey hadn't planned a driver, at least to walk around, maybe get a coffee. She LOVED the idea, and so we walked her the hundred feet or so to the gate, like parents showing a first grader how to walk to school. She struggled with the door -- a heavy Medico locked thing. My mother in law always had the light touch of a longshoreman, and now its even worse -- she nearly broke the key off in the slot. When Wifey tried to help, she violently pushed Wifey back "I NOT stupid!!!" but was unable to manipulate the door. So much for practical solutions to an ancient, obstinate woman's issues... So it went... and so it go. For Wifey, one out of two ain't bad.

Glowing Medical Tests, Aging, Etc...

Wifey and I have been members of MDVIP since our good friend Dave joined that company. You pay a yearly fee, and in return get "concierge" treatment, with appointments the next day, at the latest, quick diagnostic tests, and coverage wherever you travel. Dave never charged us the fee -- I would do legal work in barter -- but he retired three years ago, to be replaced by a smart, friendly woman from Texas named Mary, who was moving to the 305 with her sportswriter husband, who covered the Fish for MLB.com. Mary gave us all the first year free, but then started charging, and we kept it up. Wifey is a BIG consumer of health care, and as a courtesy Mary gives the Ds exams when they need them, as well as blood draws. Plus, Nurse Nancy, David and now Mary's long time assistant, draws blood like a vampire on xanax -- she's the only one D2 wants to let touch her. And we LOVE Nancy -- we joke with Dr. Mary that we'll only remain patients as long as Nancy is there. She says we're not the only ones. So I go for my annual "Executive exam," where they draw 6 vials of blood and tell you EVERYTHING about your health, in an attempt to stave off issues before they pop up. Other than that, I tend to avoid medical visits. Until...I had strange, vague back pains over the course of a few weeks -- not sharp, and along the spine, but what I learned are called "flank pains." Like everyone, I looked up the conditions on the web, and figured I had kidney failure, or lymphoma, or pancreatic cancer. So I went to see Dr. Mary to get the confirmation of the news, and start planning my trip to Positano, where I would spend my final months... I saw Dr. Mary, and Nancy, and Dr. MAry's cancer sniffing Doodle dog, who thankfully sniffed me and went and sat down. When the dog puts her head in your lap, apparently, you're as good as dead. Dr. Mary wanted to rule out kidney stones, and set me up for a CT Scan. The staff called, and found an opening at a Baptist Children's Diagnostic outpost, in West Kendall. Did I know where it was? I did, since my old friend Kenny often manned that center -- he's a Peds radiologist. Well, it turned out they now did adults as well. I went for my final breakfast, before learning my short fate, at Bagel Emporium. As I was pulling into the lot, the office called and said I was set for noon. As I said, the MDVIP people provide outrageously good service -- like you lived in a small town, and knew all the docs. I texted Ken -- was he on service? He WAS, and I told him an oversized child would be filling his CT scan later. He told me to come early, so we could have lunch. The tech put me in the machine. I was happy to learn it would only take 10 minutes. At a MRI I had a few years back, to rule out prostate cancer, I had a panic attack from claustrophobia after 40 minutes in THAT machine. This time -- no such issues. As soon as I was done, Kenny pulled me into the viewing room. Great news -- normal test, although I DID have the spine of a 55 year old, with curving, and compressions, and osteophytes, or bone spurs, that would easily explain my subtle back pain. Ken said the only cure for further degeneration was to die, so I guess, like everyone else, I'll live with back pain. I thanked Ken, and left. A few hours later, he texted, and said his colleague also checked my heart -- and my arteries showed ZERO calcium buildup. This meant I was, deapite being a fat 55 year old, at low risk for heart attack. I told Ken this threw a wrench into my plans. Since I was 20, and my Dad died in my arms, I fully expected to check out in my early to mid 60s, like he did. If I'm to last years later, I need to re-jigger my plans. I called D1 to tell her the news. Her response: "Great Dad -- but you're still fat, and I want you in better shape." She's right -- she and her sister really love me and want me for grandpa duty...but food is SO delicious. We're headed to Salvatore D's tonight with our friend Diane. Maybe I'll skip the pasta fajole and chicken parm, and get the grilled fish and a salad. I'm not betting on that... So I was happy -- unintended good news. Dr. Mary called to deliver it, but I pre-emppted her. She laughed. I told her I hoped all the news she would deliver would be so good. She agreed, but said it was not to be. So we head to Mother's Day, and will honor Wifey, and later her mother. Nice to do so without kidney stones or coronary calcifications...

Caring for the Elderly

My FaceBook (tm) Karen posted yesterday, about how one of her proudest accomplishments was caring for her father and her in laws before they died. Her mother had died early, in her 60s. I dig Karen, who is one of those people who was 40 years old when the rest of us were 12 -- large, smiling, wise, and always a mentsch. We were friendly from kindergarten through high school, and saw each other at the 10 and 20 year reunions, but lost touch, until we were brought together by social media. Wifey is convinced she has a huge crush on me, and always has. I don't think so -- she's been married for 25 years to what appears to be an accomplished fellow, and though they have no kids, seem to enjoy a great life together -- traveling the world, always fixing up their LI home, caring for large dogs, etc...Karen friended Wifey, too, and now responds to Wifey's posts like they're old friends, too. But the point is, I really dig Karen and what she did. As we concluded on FaceBook (tm), caring for parents is a Top 5 Commandment! We saw my Mom to the end. Last week it was the three year anniversary of her death, April 27. Wifey and I drove to Matheson Hammock, where we spread her ashes. It was a lovely late afternoon. It was low tide, and two women, who might have been Mom and one of her sisters in the 1950s, walked together way out into Biscayne Bay. They chatted so happily with each other -- their voices carried the distance to where Wifey and I stood. We spoke at length to Mom, telling her all about our girls, and news of her entire family -- some of which, we blackly joked, would have killed her if she wasn't already dead. Wifey knew she was with her beloved husband, my Dad Hy, and they were at a celestial beach, sitting on chairs, side by side, as they loved to do at Coney Island, Jones Beach, South Beach, and finally, Delray. After Mom it was my father in law Richard, a big, strong, strapping man robbed of all of that by Alzheimer's Disease. Still, Wifey became his case manager, saw to it that he was placed in a home and cared for, and visited frequently. At the same time, she slowly took over her very headstrong and stubborn mother's life...although my mother in law's focus was on her 60 plus year husband. When we buried Richard, we did it also knowing we had done our best for him, to the very end. And now we're left with one final parent -- my mother in law. Wifey has set her up in a beautifully furnished condo. She's arranged two separate drivers. This past weekend, we fetched her Friday night for a shabbos dinner we hosted for D1's boyfriend's family. Joey's mother, Jackie, sat next to Rachel. We tried to "rescue her" from the non stop stories, but Jackie had none of it. She truly enjoyed hearing about my mother in law's journey, from small town Poland, to the horror of the Shoah, to an unhappy time in Israel, and finally, happiness in the US with the greatest gift of her life: Wifey. To this day, despite their squabbles, my mother in law thinks her daughter is a smarter version of whatever most beautiful Hollywood actress you can name... In fact, in Jackie's thank you email, she said meeting Rachel was a life changing event for her. So what do you know... Yesterday, D2's boyfriend Jonathan's mother invited us to an event -- the screening of a documentary, "The Absence," that she had made 25 years ago. It turns out that Lizbeth is a leader in the field of Holocaust teaching. The Aventura Cultural Center was packed -- with "young" Survivors -- those who were children or teens during WW II, and educators including the Miami Dade Schools Superintendent, and the U Miami Dean of Education. The Survivors, including my mother in law, were invited on stage and recognized, and then the movie was shown. It was powerful. It was in Spanish, with English titles. We stayed through its intermission, when my mother in law started to fade, and we left. I pointed out to Wifey that she has given her mother an amazingly full life since moving her here -- all errands done, and social engagements several times per week. Unfortunately, the old woman isn't fully appreciative -- but her attempts at casting guilt "Just put me in a HOME someVERE and barely Wisit me!" are constant comic fodder for us. Last night, two neighbors came to our gate asking about a small dog they had found. One of them, a 40 something mom named Sabrina, remarked how lucky we were to be empty nesters --- she was right in the midst of her twins' school, dance practice, etc... while working full time as a lawyer. Wifey reminded her that after the empty nest time, or during it, you get to take care of elderly parents. Sabrina laughed and said she had her kids late -- she'd be visiting them at college during furloughs from her own nursing home, she said. It rarely works out that way. So our duty is 3/4 complete. I can't help but think that many of our life's blessings come out of a karmic thanks for what Wifey and I undertook. Who knows? With my mother in law...we'll just keep on keepin' on.