C'mon...Baby Don't Ya Wanna Go.

So the traveling continues, for Wifey and me. Tomorrow we head to MIA and aboard a triple 7 to ORD .  We'll be meeting more than 30 Canes friends for a football weekend -- at Notre Dame, in South Bend.

I was surprised Wifey wanted to go, but I think the thought of seeing a piece of real Americana -- and Notre Dame's campus is that, appealed to her. Plus, even though she's not a real football fan, she does have a great time with many of the football friends. So it's off we go.

It's funny -- back in the 80s and 90s, Canes/Irish games were a big deal. Both teams were top rated, and the rivalry was fierce. This year ND is BAD -- 2-5, and the Canes are a mediocre 4-3. Still, for me, beating ND will make it a great season.  I hope we do.

Back in the 90s, my friends and I planned a guys' trip to South Bend. As legal fate had it, my law firm had depos set in Indiana and Michigan the summer before, so I got to visit South Bend.  I had a magic marker with me, and actually grafiti-ed a men's room stall -- "Beware the Canes."  I looked so forward to the trip, and that very same case got bizarre, and I ended up having to testify in Federal Court in Ft. Myers the very day all my friends flew to Chicago.

To my boss Ed's credit, and my forever gratitude, as soon as the hearing ended, he had his driver rush me to the Southwest Florida Airport, and I caught a late flight to Chicago.  I got to the hotel to see boxes of pizza stacked up.  Our friend Mike had insisted each man get his OWN pizza, and the leftovers were legion. I ate cold pizza and the next day we drove to the game. Alas, the Canes lost on a controversial fumble call...

Three years ago, we again played Notre Dame, in Chicago. Wifey sat it out, but I flew to Chicago, and we had a great dinner at Gene and Georghetti's, the venerable steakhouse. The meal was mediocre, but the Canes took over the entire second floor of the restaurant, and we had a blast. The game, at frigid Soldier Field, was also awful -- the Irish shellacked us.  We owe them this weekend.

Making the weekend even more attractive is the Cubs in the Series. Game three is tomorrow night, and the buzz in the city -- first Series visit for the Cubbies since 1945 --ought to be tremendous.  We're staying at the Drake, and I told Wifey the bar still preserves the initials Dimaggio carved in the bar -- his and Marilyn's. I plan to toast their eternal love...

Also today, I booked what may be our next trip -- NYC in early February. D2 turns 25 the Day the Music Died, and is planning a nice party for her friends and her. D1 is going, too -- we may visit Sammy's Romanian, for vodka, chopped liver, and the schmalty humor of the hilarious Israeli DJ.

The other day I passed a shopping center in West Kendall where we had a movie birthday for D2 -- she was probably 8 or so.  And now she's turning a quarter century. Ah, I am old...

Speaking of old, the ancient suegra has been quiet this week. Hopefully she'll stay that way while we're gone -- giving Wifey a nice respite from her antics.

So it's go Canes! And go Chicago pizza.  Since D1 announced her engagement, I've been going light on the carbs so I can be a svelte rockin' Daddy in the USA and salsa at her wedding. But the pizza ban ends, temporarily. D1 reminded me I could have a slice or two. Not happening.  But hopefully the Canes will be in fine shape.

The Old Tavern

Back in college, and later law school, my friends and I would sometimes go to a great tavern called Duffy's. It's on Red Road, a few miles north of the U. The beer was cheap, and they always had several TVs going with different sports. Of course, the tvs were big and wide, then, and pro sports in Miami meant only the Dolphins...

A typical college move was dinner at the Blue Grotto, just up the street, and then a stop at Duffy's. The Grotto was cheap and delicious. You could get a dinner for $5.99, and it included unlimited minestrone and garlic rolls. My friends and I often made them regret the garlic rolls offer...

I took my long time college girlfriend to the Blue Grotto on our first date. She was raised far richer than I was, and the whole time there she looked around mildly disgusted. I should have known then that our futures were not destined to merge...

Anyway, the Grotto was closed years ago -- it became a German place for awhile, and I don't even know what it is now. But Duffy's has endured. A year or so ago, Wifey and I were at a swank private banking event at the Biltmore, and I met a Coral Gables based, wealthy WASPy couple. It turned out they owned Duffy's -- started by the man's Dad, I think. I told him I loved the place, but hadn't been since maybe, oh, 1985 or so.

There was no real reason for my absence. I LOVE old taverns -- the antithesis of fake, fern bar places like TGIF, or the now closed Bennigans...Tobacco Road and Fox's were my two favorites , and now both are gone. But Duffy's is just a tiny bit out of the way, I guess, and so hadn't visited, until yesterday.

I took a pass from a visit with mi suegra horible, and told Pat McGrath I was free to watch the Dolphins. He suggested Duffy's. And so I cruised up Red Road in the girlie Caddy, on a spectacular Miami Fall early afternoon.  I said hello to the ghosts as I passed the U, and pulled into the Duffy's lot. I went inside. Nothing had changed, except for the tvs -- now all flat screens instead of the big tube jobs...

We sat, and ordered wings. Pat was drinking beer -- I had a few Absoluts (they have Absolut, Goose, and Gordon's vodka -- like I said, this is a REAL bar).

Pat is in some type of fantasy for play league, and so he was as interested in Bengals/Browns as Fins/Bills.  An elderly buddy of his from Rivieria CC came by --former president of the Orange Bowl Committee. I knew his name from the papers -- Sherrill -- and he drank red wine and we talked Canes football -- making ample fun of Pat and his Gators.

The Fins game turned out to be a great one -- they came back against the better Bills, and won.  I drove home in the still gorgeous weather, and met Wifey on the porch for some iced tea. She had avoided her toxic mother for the day, too -- she'll see her during the week before we leave for Chicago.

And Duffy's is back on my list -- my next visit will be far before the next 31 years...

Fat Goeth Before the Fall

My mother in law is an anatomical wonder. She's nearly 92, and morbidly obese.  I'm talking sheets of blubber hanging everywhere fat. Corpulent beyond anyone I've ever seen her age. When and if she finally dies, her heart ought to be studied, for clues on how a muscle pump can keep working for clearly a century with that kind of stress...

She's now developed a habit which makes life for Wifey and me just lovely.  She gets out of bed in the wee small hours, and doesn't fall. Or, if she does, the enormous sheets of blubber cushion her contact with the floor, so she doesn't get hurt. She just flops around like a beached whale, until she steamrollers herself to the phone to call Wifey.

This happened this am, around 1. Wifey slept through the call, and after I answered and learned what happened, I hung up and went back to bed. I'm a heartless guy when it comes to her, but I knew her aide would be along in a few hours anyway...

Wifey got up, and asked who called. I told her. "Where you going to let me know???" Eventually, I answered...

So as we dressed, the old hippo called Wifey's cell. I answered and responded as Wifey, as we got into the car. I reminded the horrible orca that we had a problem: I (Wifey) wasn't strong enough to lift her, and needed her husband (me) to do it. Problem was, the old cow was angry at me for demanding she no longer talk to me like a servant, and since the mother in law was so proud, probably she didn't want my help.

"No, No! I forgive him! I forgive him!"  I sort of figured.

So we went in, I got my hands under the fat dripping arm pits, and lifted her up, as she "OYed" comically. I then left to check the mail, and encountered a nice young fellow outside walking a very cute spotted terrier puppy. We chatted about the dog. He asked if I was "Kaley's dealer." No, I responded, just an annoyed, put upon son in law...

I returned to the condo, and Wifey was telling her mother that she owed ME a huge apology, for the way she had acted last week. Predictably, she refused, still saying I owed one to HER. Wifey said if she didn't apologize to her husband, she would not visit Sunday. "So don't come!" she said dismissively.  Unless, of course, the old cetacean needs another lift.

So Much For Returning a Favor

I've always enjoyed going out of my way for folks, and doing favors. Truth is, I get uncomfortable when others do or give to me. I inherited that from my Dad...

When I give charity, I see it as its own reward, and I've been blessed to be able to give more charity in a typical year than my parents gave over 10. And I rarely expect anything in return. Except once in awhile...

Beginning in '06, I started making a yearly contribution to a med school division. I agreed to pay for all of the docs, residents, and fellows to attend a national conference on gastric disease.  A particular type has affected my family, and I really think a cure for some of the chronic conditions is not far off. I figured that making it easy for local academic docs to hear the latest developments would be a cool thing.

The tuition bill started out being about $5K to send them to the weekend meeting, but as the meeting moved from South Florida to Orlando, the bill went up -- last year it was close to $10K. I got a little annoyed when I learned that one doc took advantage of my offer -- even though she and her doctor husband earned a lot more than I did. Whatever...

Well, one of the treating docs is a nice enough young woman. A few years ago, when D1 worked at the hospital, I ran into her, and she gushed on and on about how much she appreciated my yearly gift -- it meant SO much to her and the budding docs she taught. I downplayed things -- probably just cheerleaded --and that was it.

This nice young woman turned out to be a treating doc for one of our young clients. This week I reached out to her -- could she cut through the absurd red tape, and give us 20 minutes to meet us off the record about the patient. She had been sent authorizations, and we really just needed a few questions answered about the little girl's future needs.

Put starkly -- I gave her division over $50K -- could I ask her for a quick 20 minutes?  She ignored my email request for  most of the week, and then responded last night. No -- she was just too busy, given understaffing, busy patient load, etc...

Now, either she truly does NOT have the 20 minutes (maybe she can do procedures while sitting on a toilet), or she simply chooses to try to avoid any legal/medical matters.

Either way, she's going to get subpoenaed to come to Court -- and that will take up hours and hours.  In other words, things will go based upon what she MUST do, as opposed to returning a favor to a donor.

Wifey's been pointing out to me for years that I'm often a sap. All through the years, as our law firm soared, we ALWAYS picked up dinner tabs -- for family, friends, acquaintances, etc...I can count on one hand the amount of time anyone has recriprocated.  I NEVER asked for a check and had a waiter tell me someone had taken care of it -- a frequent move Paul and I pulled numerous times.  And that's ok.

Well, the annual paying of the seminar ended -- not because of this, but because of a far worse breach -- one of the related docs completely ignored D1 when she came home from Mexico sick as a dog.  To this day we can't figure out what happened -- so we gave up trying. D1 switched doctors, and I stopped telling people to go see Maria, after I referred her no fewer than 20 patients, including one young man whose family became a major donor to Maria's program.  Oh well...

If you constantly keep score with people, you're bound to become bitter, and though I've become crochety, I hope to avoid becoming bitter.

Then again, I guess I'm thankful that if anyone asks me for 20 minutes of my time, to give free legal advise, I have the ability to give it. I'm never, ever, THAT busy.

The Impermanance of Life

So just when you thought all the Jewish holidays were over, well, they're not.  We're celebrating Sukkot now -- a combination of a harvest festival as well as the remembrance of the Jews wandering in the desert for 40 years following emancipation from Egypt.  And after Sukkot, there's Simchas Torah -- the celebration honoring the giving of the Torah to the Jews from God.  Fall is definitely the busy season.


The deeper meaning of sukkot is the impermanence of life -- particularly the material things. Observant Jews construct a temporary hut attached to their house or apartment, and eat meals there for a week. This shows that even if we have a huge mansion, God alone decides, and it may well be that our only shelter is a primitive tent-like contraption.


My friend Rabbi Yossi builds two sukkahs, as the huts are called -- one at his shul, and the other at his house. He invited Wifey and me to have dinner there tonight, and we're going.  We haven't done this in years -- despite his annual invitations -- but the time has come.  And, the good news is there will be plenty of Lçhaims -- toasts with alcohol.  My kind of dinner...


We all need reminders of how good we have it. No one I know has an easier life than Wifey -- kids are grown, she doesn't have to work, she has a housekeeper, and me to take care of essentially everything practical -- but she does have to care for her mother -- a huge, foul smelling, wet blanket on her happiness.  But -- talking about impermanence -- the old woman is nearly 92.  She probably has no more than 20 years left...


Last night was a banner one for my suegra. She barked an order at me at a restaurant. When we returned to her condo, I typed out a stern rebuke. I told her the only entities that get to order me around are the Big Man, and any earth bound man who holds me at gunpoint. She is neither. She issued a classic Trumpian apology -- she was sorry I was so sensitive, but being a spoiled only son, it was really no surprise.  Oy.  If I had a rocket launcher...


But back to important matters...the good news is no rain forecast for tonight. I recall an evening in Rabbi Yossi's sukka, probably close to 20 years ago, when it poured. Chabad tradition holds that you stay through the rain. It was warm and I didn't mind, but I was a bit concerned with the jury-rigged lights he had set up. No Jews were electrocuted that night, thankfully. And tonight should be lovely.


So we drift along, planning for the future, and hoping the Big Man's decisions are merciful to us. But ultimately, we're just dust in the wind, and so much of current importance isn't. Tonight will be a clear reminder of that.

TMI

One of the too numerous to count things I do to make Wifey's life better is fielding nightly calls from her mother.  The old lady is deaf, and uses a CapTell phone -- she can't hear the voice of the caller on the line, but reads a printout of what they say. So once I tell my suegra it is her daughter, she chats away -- and I have a better sense of humor and more patience dealing with her.

Wifey loves her mother, of course, and is dedicated to caring for her until the end, but the old woman is awful.  She's stubborn, and a know it all, and plays the victim card better than any poker champ plays Texas Hold 'Em.

I have taken to giving her over the top complements, and always telling her she is correct, no matter how clearly wrongheaded her statements are.  I mollify and patronize her. She loves it.  Wifey is too honest -- she calls the old woman on all of her BS. I don't -- and it makes for more pleasant evenings around Villa Wifey.

Well last night I paid for my favor.  While we were on, the old woman had her gall bladder removed. She did fine -- I joked that she only had 2 of the "4 Fs." My doctor friends always told me that a typical gallbladder patient was fat, female, fertile, and forty.  My suegra is only the first two, as far as I know. Then again, maybe she's still fertile...

She recovered completely, except for some lingering pain, and the doc gave her a narcotic. She told me seriously that she had to be careful -- "de stuff is ADDICTIVE." I told her that if I made it to nearly 92, I think I 'd do every single drug there is. I might even take up smoking...She didn't hear me, of course, and seriously is worried about becoming the world's oldest pill addict.

Anyway, of course a known side effect of narcotics is that they constipate. So last night, the old woman called, as I returned from the Canes loss to the Tar Heels. I fielded the call, and told her how I (Wifey) couldn't wait to see her tomorrow, to take her for a late lunch.

"Oy -- I don't know. I have to vait until I have a bowl movement -- if not, I cannot leave condo." She pronounced bowel movement "bowl" and the then went into a lot of detail. Ugh. Hoist on my own petard!

I told Wifey that conversation exceeds my pay grade. I'll flatter and charm the old woman, but will NOT be a party to details about nearly 92 year old bodily functions.  Wifey may actually have to field the calls herself...

Going It Alone

Back in the glory days of both the Canes and my law firm, my partner Paul and I each bought many season's tickets -- to give to clients, friends, staff.  The games were at the sacred in memory Orange Bowl -- rickety, but loud, and fun.  I always had someone to go with me --typically my sidekick D2, who grew up with friends in those dusty old parking lots, and then the benches at the Bowl.

The Canes moved to Joe Robbie Stadium, which we old timers will always call the place, regardless of the latest corporate shill name.  I cut down on the number of seats, as they grew more expensive, and we bought Club membership. My thinking was that at least I'd be more comfortable in a place I didn't really wish to visit.

Still, the tailgates were great, and there seemed always someone to go with me. As D2 moved to Gainesville, my sister of another mister Mirta filled in as the go to date.  We had so many laughs, and she was an awesome designated driver.

Years ago, I reduced my order to only a pair of seats, and truth be told, often had a tough time finding someone for even that one extra ticket.  So I'd just motor up to North Dade alone, still enjoying the games.

My partner Paul still buys 8 seats -- gives them out to friends' kids, and enjoys the luxury of watching the first half from his sideline vantage point, and the second half up in the Club.

This season, there's new excitement. An alum, Mark Richt, is our new coach, and he seems to have the fire he lacked while coaching successfully but not greatly at Georgia.  I truly think we'll get our 6th ring under his watch.

The first home game, Wifey actually went with me.  She wanted to see the newly revamped stadium, and she had a fine time. The second game I took my friend Pat, a major Gator guy who has plenty of time on weekends, as his main home is now in Pennsylvania, and he stays in Miami for stretches alone, just to work.  We had a fine time, but he lives near Downtown, and the way I exit the stadium makes me have to circle back, adding another half hour on my return trip.

The greatest home game was last week. We were on the Wifey birthday cruise.  And this week, we play a fellow top 25 team, North Carolina, and Mirta was set to go with me.  But, alas, she twisted an ankle doing yard work, so I'm a solo guy again.

I asked Wifey if she wanted to go.  She was honest, as she too oftenis: she WOULD go, but didn't really wish to.  She explained she was already at one game, and was going to travel with me to Chicago to go watch our boys play Notre Dame.  Wasn't that enough???  It was.

Looks like Paul, and Dr. Barry, are in similar straits today. They both texted -- they had many extra tix, too. So it'll be a bunch of us single guys together, today. Only problem for me is that with no designated driver, I'll be sipping Diet Cokes. After my impressive drinking performance on last week's cruise, it's probably just as well...

So I'll fire up the girlie Caddy I lease, tune to some traveling music on XM, and cruise up to the stadium.  Sometimes it's nice to be a lone wolf...

Each In His Own Way

So Yom Kippur just passed, and for maybe the 4th year in a row, I skipped shul.  Yesterday, following YK, I received the obligatory call from my Rabbi friend Yossi, lamenting the fact that I posted on FaceBook I was at Matheson Hammock -- why couldn't I have made it to temple? He was doing his job, of course, and we concluded that he HAD had some positive Jewish effect on Wifey and me -- both Ds seem headed towards preserving our culture and faith. In a few weeks, D1 and her fiance Joey will have dinner with Yossi and family, to begin the process of their traditional Jewish wedding. Yes, Yossi concluded, in his Brooklyn, wise guy way, he had accepted failure with Wifey and me, but the next generation was more important, anyway...

I have tried over the years, I really have. But, alas, I am my father's son. He had religion forced upon him by his immigrant parents -- kosher home, shul on the holidays. His lingering memory of YK was the awful bad breath of the congregants from their fasting...

Later, when I was a boy, he never took us to temple. I remember being about 10, and we drove past a congregation one YK. My Dad pointed out how the parking lot was empty, but the surrounding streets were clogged with double parked cars. No one wanted to be seen driving to temple on YK, but it was ok to drive to within a block...for show. "And the poor goyim whose lawns get messed up have to suffer," as my Dad said.

In college, Dr. Eric and his family took my along to Temple Beth Am, where they were members. His family was from "west of the highway," which meant they were from the poorer 'hood of Beth Am members. I remember being struck by how fashionable the people were who attended. Religion-wise -- the services had zero meaning for me.

Later, I went a few times to Hillel -- one year I think Barry dragged me.  Same thing. I sat, and felt totally out of place.  I gave up totally on going to temple following a really bad experience with a rabbi Wifey and I thought was going to perform our wedding service.  The fellow, who I'll call Mark Kram, since that's his name, totally sucked Wifey and I into the whole thing -- "pre marital counseling" to help insure we'd stay wed, "let me be the third spouse in your marriage" etc... And then a week before he called to say he was offered a free trip to Israel when someone had dropped out of a Federation trip -- see ya! I asked for a replacement, and he said he didn't know of any, but he REALLY, REALLY loved going to Israel -- that was to be his third trip, so we wasn't pahtners after all.

Much later, we met Yossi, and our friendship has meant a lot to me. I DID go to services for years -- one Kol Nidre, the night before YK, I truly did feel a connection with the Big Man, but I think it's because I immersed myself into the really great, creepy hymns that surround that service.

So Wifey and I DID find an online service this year, from Central Synagogue in NYC. Wow -- talk about really, really BIG Jews! The cantors who sang, from the David Geffen Hall, were all Broadway quality.

On YK itself, I drove to Matheson Hammock, where I had put my Mom's ashes over three years ago. It was spectacularly bright yet cloudy day. I enjoyed the lovely breeze, and spoke to Mom and Dad, and gave many thanks to the Big Man -- and asked forgiveness for my sins.

And then I drove home, and convinced Wifey to do penance with me -- we visited her mother.  Believe me -- spending time with this woman IS penance...

Still, I made her laugh, the old so and so... I wrote out on my phone that I was fasting, but that Wifey had paid someone to fast for her -- as Wifey pays people to do ALL The tasks she finds disagreeable.  "Oy -- you SO funny!" said the old woman, and laughed heartily. So maybe I get credit for that.

I envy people of true faith -- those who really find connection with a higher spirit in services. It just isn't me --- except at Canes games, several drinks in with my brothers and sisters, when the Canes win big...

Reverse Columbus Day

So today the holiday celebrates the European who dared sail into the unknown to discover our "new world."  It's funny -- Wifey and a band of merry people came home from a trip on the seas.  That was the second reverse of past days: when we sailed out of New York Harbor, it occurred to me that my grandparents all sailed INTO New York Harbor a bit over 100 years before, to give our family a czar-less life in America.  Our digs were a lot nicer on this opposite voyage...

Wifey and her BFF Edna both have milestone birthdays -- Edna's was yesterday, and Wifey's is 12/25.  I'm not allowed to mention that the number for each is 5 more than the old Jimmy Carter imposed speed limits during the 70s energy crisis...

Anyway, they decided on a "fall foliage" cruise, where you sail to the Canadian Maritimes in search of colorful leaves, and listen to the never ending struggle of two Brooklyn raised women to properly pronounce "foliage." They keep saying FOIL-age...

I checked into prices for a suite on Royal Carribbean -- the line we had gone on several times before, and found to be fine. A suite on their ship cost about $3000 for the week per couple. I figured we'd take it. Not so fast...  Edna had cruised on Silver Seas, and reported that there was "no going back" to the "regular ships." This resonated with me, as I don't travel that often, but when I do, I happily pay for luxury. It's no fun staying in a Comfort Inn once you've tried the Ritz Carlton.

Whether it resonated with me or not, Wifey put her foot down -- we WOULD sail Crystal -- supposedly just like Silver Seas. The week long cruise was about $10K -- more than three times the other quote. So we booked the trip.

Without going into the spoiled details of "first world problems," let's just say the Crystal ship was no better than Royal, or Celebrity, the other lines we had tried.  The food was excellent, and we drank our share of premium liquor, but overall, the six of us laughed a lot at the mediocrity dressed up as first class.  And we were clearly in the minority. Most of the people we met were on their 10th or 20th trip -- mostly older folks, clearly with plenty of dough, who were amazingly loyal to Crystal.

No matter. Deb, Norman, Marc, Edna and Wifey and I had a terrific time. We toured Newport, and its glorious mansions. In Boston, Wifey and I walked in the very hot weather, and met old friends Sheryl and Mark on Newbury Street.  In Bar Harbour we drove to the top of Cadillac Mountain, for spectacular views, before a great lobstah bake on the way back to the ship.

I finally got to see the Bay of Fundy. Due to Crystal's crappy excursion, it wasn't too much Fun...what are ya gonna do?  In Halifax, we endured a comically mean and boring guide who wouldn't shut up as we drove to Peggy's Cove -- also gorgeous. On the way back, we stopped at at museum to a ship wreck whose name I can't even remember -- since it wan NOT the Titanic and had no movie about it starring DeCaprio.  The museum was far less impressive than my friend Mike's living room displays of historical stuff...

Still, we laughed a lot, and heard some great music. Our favorite was a gay fellow who kept opening his sets with Alan Parsons Project songs, to the delight of Norman and me.  After three martinis one night, I told the fellow the joke about the "9 inch pianist."  It seemed he avoided us after that...

The night before the ship pulled out of the harbor, Wifey and I had dinner with D2 and Jonathan, at Quality Meats.  The evening just highlighted for me how much I miss them -- I hope very strongly they complete their NYC adventure soon, and come home to Miami.

In the mean time, mission of celebrating Wifey's birthday, although 2 months early, is complete. If we're going to wildly overspend money, let is always be on celebrations.  In that vein, I have a much larger kettle of fish to pay for next September...

As for Columbus Day -- in Miami, it's no big deal, except for the naked, wild Regatta out on Biscayne Bay -- an event I only attended once, back in college.  I guess you need lots of Italians in your city to really make a big thing out of Columbus Day.  But I, for one, appreciate his 1492 sail of the ocean blue.  My family has thrived in the US -- so much so we can leave it happily, and gratefully return home to it. And even wildly, and laughingly, overpay for the privilege...