Avoiding the Heaviness

My family ALWAYS subscribed to newspapers.  On LI it was Newsday, and our neighbor Big Jimmy, who was a shipping clerk for the Times, used to deliver to several of us that bountiful Sunday paper, which my Dad savored, usually along with crumb cake he'd bring home from the Levittown Bakery.  Sometimes my Dad would bring the Post home for my Mom, who enjoyed its silly articles about the celebrity world of NYC.

When they moved to Florida, my Dad subscribed to the Herald, and then a few years later switched to the Sun Sentinel, as it had more news about Southern Palm Beach County.  My mom kept up the subscription after he died, and when I would come home from UM, I'd read it each am. Until...

One day, when I was in law school, I awoke and went to fetch the paper from the front of her condo.  There was none.  Sunny had canceled the subscription -- she said it was mostly sad and bad news, and she no longer wished to get that into her head.  Same thing with TV -- she watched travel and nature shows, and cooking specials, but would switch off the news.

I thought that was silly, and was mildly annoyed at having to drive to the Stop and Shop for my morning news fix, but as I age, I see my Mom's wisdom.  It really makes sense to block out the negative, when you can, and only allow the happy and positive in.

Of course, life brings us plenty of the black.  And I'm too much of a news junkie to ever give it up.  But when I choose to socialize, I really only want to the happy, the lighthearted, the sweet.

My dentist Larry is a cool guy.  He's near 70 -- Miami Beach native.  He told me a tale last I was in his chair.  He and his wife went out with another couple -- the other wife was the "it girl" back at Beach High, Class of '65.  When they sat down, the other couple began the conversation by listing their many health issues.  Larry said he exclaimed "Not tonight, please.  I know we all have these medical problems -- I myself am a double cancer survivor.  But can we please focus on the happy -- let's share tales of our kids and grandkids, places we've traveled or still wish to see."

At first, he said, the woman was offended, but later came around.  Larry didn't wish to hear her troubles, nor share his own.  Again -- I love his wisdom.

Friday night Wifey and I were enjoying a quiet night, and her friend called -- in town from Boston.  The friend has a son facing probably decades in prison for an awful accident.  We discussed it at first, and then, after I had my two Ketels, Wifey drove us to Christy's.  I took control -- grabbed the menus from Wifey and her friend, ordered us delicious food, and kept the conversation on the happy side of things.  I think our friend really appreciated the break -- many of her local friends seem to wish to dwell on the dramatic and sad.

And so it shall be.  I'll still get the paper, and read the world's travails, but to the extent I control my own input, well, it's going to be happy stuff, most of the time.

I had a long talk with my Rabbi friend, as I asked him some advice about a family issue.  After he shared his wisdom and take, he reminded me -- I'm one of the sunniest dudes he knows.  It's my natural state.  He told me to resist those who would try to bring me to the dark.  The Rabbi is right on, as usual.

Maybe I'm Amazed

So today was a normal Thursday -- went to the office and moved a pile of papers from one side of the desk to another...But my partner John was planning on leaving early tomorrow am -- his daughter Elizabeth was set to graduate from UF this weekend.

Lizzie is a terrific young woman.  Her Mom died when she was 13, after a tough battle with melanoma.  John was an excellent Dad and Mom at the same time -- Lizzie wanted for nothing, and did well in school, and was accepted at her Dad and Mom's alma mater.  Seems like yesterday John was moving her to Hogtown, as we affectionately call Gville, and now Lizzie is ready to accept the sheepskin at the O Dome.

Of course, it brings back poignant memories for me -- D1's graduation in '10, and D2's college graduation in '14, and MS graduation in '15.  For NINE straight years I traveled to Gville -- most of the time for great reasons, though D1 and D2 each had me visit for a couple of scares -- health, in one case, and matter of heart in another.  Still, the graduations were awesome days, and I'm glad John is getting to experience one for his girl.

I invited him out tonight for a toast in his girl's honor, and we chose Town, in South Miami.  We hoisted a few adult beverages to his daughter, and to how lucky we are as Daddys in the USA, of daughters who have given us so much joy.  Lizzie has a post graduation job -- at Amazon.com, and next month she'll learn where she will work.  It's a narrow choice -- one of only 30 states.

 At Town, I ran into Julie, D2's great friend's Mom.  Julie has a son who graduated UF, a middle son who is there now in law school, and a baby boy headed there to start school this summer.  Julie is a Cane like I am, so we made fun of our "underperforming" kids...  Ha.  As if.  I know personally of several kids accepted to Ivy League colleges and rejected by UF.  Getting in there is a very tough order...

I came home to an empty house, but a full email box.  One email got my attention:  a pre sale for tickets for Paul McCartney's maybe final tour.  His is opening the tour at the AAA in Miami.  General tickets go on sale Monday, but as an AMEX Platinum holder, I could buy them now.

Well, maybe I'm amazed, but I went on line and bought 4 -- in the lower bowl, for face value.  I emailed D1 about them -- she and her man LOVE McCartney, and the tickets are now spoken for.  D2 told me last night she thought about coming to Miami 7/4, but is coming later in the month.  I figure to keep things fail, I will now have to take her on a shopping trip mid July.  Dad knows how to keep both Ds happy...

So this Thursday turned out to be a rather special one.  I sent my buddy John off to Gville with the proper toast, and scored 4 great tix to Maca.  Not bad...not bad at all...

Snapshots in Time

So preparations continue for what I've begun calling D1's big, fat, Colombian wedding.  D1 is quite the executive, and has hired two excellent wedding planners, so most of the work is done.  I have two tasks, and I'm nearly finished.  First -- write a big check, which I did, to open a "wedding account" D1 has been using.  Second, buy a new tux, which I did.  It should be delivered in May or June, and then I get another included tailoring in August, hopefully to make it smaller as I shun carbs in anticipation of the big day.

D1 was telling me about her guest list, and deciding which friends to include.  Even though it's going to be a big wedding -- 285 is the max allowed by the hall -- you have to decide, to summon Bob Seger, who to leave out; who to leave in.

It got me to remembering Wifey and my wedding, now over 30 years in the past.  Friends who seemed so integral to our lives have drifted out of our lives.  Some people then on the periphery, or not known then, have become crucial friends.  Of course, many of the relatives have since died.

D1 isn't having a bridal party -- the only one standing with her will be D2.  As we look back on Wifey's party -- there were 4 women.  Wifey's best friend then and now had to miss the wedding, as she was about to give birth to her daughter Erica.  And of the 4 who DID stand -- two are completely out of Wifey's life, one she speaks to only a few times per year, and the other she sees rarely as well.

I had a larger group of fellows: 6 groomsmen.  Happily, 4 are still close buddies, but two of the guys are gone from my life, mostly.  One completely, and one I saw for the first time last year in 20 years and likely won't see again for a good, long, time.

Had you asked Wifey and me, back in January of 1987 if there was ANY chance of these changes, we'd have laughed.  And yet, the ebb and flow of life has its way.

Wifey was walked down the aisle by her parents.  Her Dad died last year -- her mother, at 93, is still very much alive.  My Mom walked me down, with her brother, my uncle Marty.  Marty died, a happy and old man, about 15 years ago, if memory serves.  Mom passed 4 years ago -- this coming Thursday is her Yahrzeit.

We had a "relief rabbi," a fellow named Lipson, who did the ceremony after our planned rabbi, Mark Kram, bolted at the last minute for a free trip to Israel, when a Federation guy got sick and there was a non refundable ticket.  His abandonment of us, after giving us a big play about being an integral part of our wedding, soured Wifey and me on organized Judaism for years -- only to be brought back to the Tribe by a rental tenant we had who happened to be a great young man -- he'll be performing D1's wedding -- he Bat Mitzvaed her, too.

As soon as I broke the glass, and moved in to kiss Wifey, her head was pulled away by her Mom -- SHE was to have the first kiss of her married daughter.  The moment was a preview of life ahead -- to this day, Wifey remains my mother in law's reason for living -- she adores her daughter as few other mothers adore theirs.

We laugh about that moment now, and PROMISE to D1 that Joey will get the first kiss.

And we'll take pictures -- snapshots in time.  It'll be wondrous to see how things change from the wedding day forward.

The Face He Deserves

I'm not vain about my appearance, sometimes to Wifey and Ds' chagrin.  I tend to dress "below my station," as I was once told, never get manicures (pedis are an acceptable father/daughter activity) and would get plastic surgery only following a, Big Man forbid, fire or massive auto crash.  I NEVER get confused with being a gay man -- unlike many of my friends who tend towards, the, well, metro side.

The last time I spent lots of time examining my face was when I was in my early 20s.  Now, I shave, try to trim any protruding nose or ear hair (another gift of aging) and off I go.  I DO notice when I get too fat, of course, as my chins multiply like a Chinese phone book, but that's about it.

Saturday we were out at a hip young restaurant, with low lighting, and we ran into two of D1's friends.  We shot a photo, I looked at it,and thought "hey -- I look pretty good."  I guess I noticed the weight loss of the past few weeks.  Maybe it was the fact that the photo had me with the two pretty young girls.  But I rather LIKED the picture.

Honestly, though, it showed an older guy -- nearly all gray, and jowly.  If anyone looked at the girls with me, they'd think, right away, either daughter or sugar babies.

Last night, Wifey was going through her mother's old photos, culling a few to save, and tossing the rest.  She came upon a photo of me -- must have been about '95 or so.  I was sporting a full beard.  My hair was completely dark and curly -- sort of like early Springsteen.  I was YOUNG.

Wifey showed it to me with that sort of wistful smile -- ah, the man she married -- really, the boy she married.

I joke that raising two daughters gave me all the gray hair.  It's a joke because I was an unbelievably lucky Dad -- the Ds were awesome kids, very tolerable teens (at least to me), and young women who continue to amaze me.  A big part of my happiness has been their choices in men -- they pick winners, never losers.  So the gray has just come with age, along with the jowels, and bags, and wrinkles.

And I wear them as the badge of life.

One of our Saturday guests remarked that she'd love to be 30 again.  Not me, not at all.  Each wrinkle to me is a marker of great life experiences.  To be 30 again would be giving up all of those tales, and bouts of laughter, and tears.

Orwell was right: at 50, we have the face we deserve.  And I'll happily keep this one, with all its accretion of time.

Staying Young

Wifey and I rarely go out to dinner in Wynwood, the edgiest and hippest 'hood in Miami.  We go for coffee, at Panther, as they have coffee that must contain cocaine -- you want more and more.  But typically we stick to the Gables or Grove -- older folks friendlier, and more convenient.

Yesterday we met three other couples at Beaker and Gray, and it was well worth the effort.  Wifey and I arrived first, got a seat at the bar, and Wifey even had a craft cocktail, as I had my usual Ketel martini.  We were joined by the other 4 people, and spent the next three hours surrounded by artistic types, and younger folks, and a few even older than us.

The food was delicious, and unusual (fried rice Ruben -- fried rice with pastrami and saurkraut -- awesome -- and jerk chicken, and a few folks had whole fishes grilled perfectly.  The place was loud, and we struggled to hear sometimes, but that was part of the scene and excitement.

At the very next table D1's friends Chelsea and Percy were dining, with other friends.  D1 fixed them up as roommates, and they love it -- living away from home, other than college, for the first time.  Percy was ALSO fixed up with her current job by D1 -- at an upscale bakery in the Gables D1's other friend just opened, and where Percy is now head baker.  We promised to go visit -- I may have to suspend my breadless, low carb diet for an afternoon to try out their stuff.

Wifey and I left near 11, and agreed that it had been a terrific evening.  As she said, we need to get out of Kansas, like Dorothy, every once in awhile...

Today I cleaned out the last of the stuff from the condo, save the huge china cabinet.  I have a new appreciation for my California sister's business -- selling estate items, like furniture.  This is a real nice and huge wall unit -- my in laws bought it in 1968 for thousands, and it's in pristine shape.  I tried putting an ad on the local market web site, and Wifey tried Craigslist.  She got one response, from a fellow in Mass who turned out to be a less than serious buyer...

Our Rabbi friend Yossi put out the word to fellow South Florida Rabbis, and one young fellow from Pompano and his wife want it.  They've leased a pickup truck and will head down when the weather clears.  So we'll get a tax deduction, as well as first hand knowledge that what I suspected is true -- crap ain't worth very much.  Even a nice piece of furniture is a burden when it's time to get rid of it.

I agree with all of the happiness/money studies I read:  experiences give you the joy, and stuff gives you the headache.

Last night's laughter with the gourmet food was well worth the expense...

Banner Night For The Parental Units

So it was a happy and busy Friday.  I got my monthly haircut by Dania, and while waiting had a great talk with a fellow waiting for his wife.  He's 80, and retired from Publix after 40 years with the company, and he regaled me with tales of Publix on Miami Beach back in the day.  I said goodbye as Dania finished with his wife, who is either demented or unfriendly, as she walked past the both of us without saying a word.

Then I powered the little girlie Caddy to Brickell, where I FedExed the closing condo papers to the Boca legal assistant, who is named Marcia with a very Jewish last name, and without meeting or talking to her, I know EXACTLY what a Boca paralegal with the name Marcia Goldbergsteinowitz looks and sounds like.  From there it was to North Miami Beach for a power lunch, business meeting, and then I drove back home to await our guests.

D1 and her man Joey were coming for Shabbos dinner, although they were delayed and ended up coming after candle lighting times.  Wifey also invited her friend Diane, who is going through a rough personal patch, and Diane brought two bottles of champagne which she and Wifey largely drank.  I was very impressed.

Joey DID say the kiddush prayer for us, and we munched on takeout Lebanese food -- chicken, salmon, and lamb, which was all good, and we caught up with the very busy lives of the two young folks.

And then Joey told us something D1 had forgotten to mention, as D1 is not at all into sports.  But she was hired as a consultant to a VERY high profile Miami organization.  Wifey and I melted.

D1 and Joey left for Midtown, and Diane and Wifey got down to brass tacks about womanly stuff, and then D2 called.  Since it was late on a Friday, I assumed her call would be some kind of tax or finance or health insurance question, but it wasn't.  She merely wanted to share with me an email she got from her supervisor, which said, essentially, that in the two months she has been with the company, they are blown away by her.

I wasn't surprised, and D2 seemed happy, but not ebullient.  But that's her -- though I could tell that affirmation of her hard work and skill thrilled her.  She was with her first grown up job for over a year and a half, and never got an email like that one, from that dying giant company.  Looks like a different deal here.

So Wifey and I cleaned up the party dishes, and then walked the dogs, and then I landed in bed, still happy from the Ketel martinis I had poured.

But mostly, I was a proud, happy Daddy in the USA.

When They Turn Out Good

When D1 was in elementary and middle school, she had a friend who I always liked a lot.  I'll call her Danielle, since that's her name, and thanks to the wonder of FaceBook (tm) I've reconnected with her.  She went to FIU and now works locally, and is marrying a nice fellow in the coming months.

I also well remember Danielle's brother, who I'll call Sean, since that's his name.  He was a tall and handsome boy, but what I remember most was what a kind soul he was.  Once, when I fetched D1 and Danielle from a bus stop, Sean had given them his umbrella -- keeping their precious hairstyles intact while he got soaked.

Near the end of middle school, D1 had a strange habit.  Even though we had moved close to the school, D1 still asked us to drive her 4 miles west, to our old 'hood, so she could ride the bus with her friends.  We'd comply, of course.

One time, apparently the bus didn't arrive, and most of the kids were offered rides with Sean's friend's parent.  Sean stayed behind, with his older sister and D1, to make sure they were safe.

I lost touch with Sean, but his sister posted a news article about him today on FaceBook, from a local Atlanta paper.  Sean, I pieced together, graduated from FIU, worked at a local JCC, and then scored a Director's spot at an Atlanta JCC -- focusing on special needs kids.

The article profiled an autistic boy at the center, and how Sean, through patience and skill, taught the boy basketball, and was able to have the boy socialize more with the other kids.  The child's mom was interviewed, clearly overjoyed at the progress her son had made, and further amazed at the "guardian angel" her son had found: Sean.

The article brought me to tears -- the kind of tears I enjoy.  Tears of happiness.  Tears that show, even in this world of Trump, and selfishness, there are young men like Sean.

I reached out to him and his Mom, Sherri.  I texted Sherri that, to me at least, nothing in this world matters more than how you are as a parent, and that Sherri had won the Lotto with her kids.

In Sean's FaceBook (tm) pictures, it shows him with a pretty young lady.  If she's smart, she'll hold on to him.

He's a true mentsch, and I'm proud to say I knew him when.

Future Docs

When our house Elizabeth was here last week, we talked about medicine, as she's a nurse practitioner in Orlando.  She mentioned how when she started, about 10 years ago, many of the residents who passed through Orlando Regional were white Americans, and how lately they seem rarer.  The kids are, of course, way smart, but she met many Indians, and Africans.

I told her that, of my many doctor friends, NONE had kids going into medicine.  It simply was no longer worth it, to put in 4 years of college, 4 of med school, and minimum of three after that before you could start making a living.  It used to be a GREAT living -- and that's much harder to find for docs these days.

One friend of mine, Jeff, who's a reformed lawyer, does have a girl in med school, in Chicago, and he tells me most of her classmates are Indian.  It makes sense -- the dream of immigrant parents is to have a kid in "the professions," which meant medicine or law, at least to my parents' generation, and newer groups to the  US have adopted the same dream.

I noticed the same phenom among the Ds' friends.  I think they only know a small handful of classmates who went to medical school -- their peers who DID want to go into health care chose fields like PT, or OT, or Physician's Assistant.  They can do well with much less school.  Makes perfect sense.

Of those who DO go into medicine, the modern advice is to take the ROAD (Radiology, Opthamology, Anesthesiology, or Dematology).  These fields give the best living, after all the training.  Sure enough, Jeff's girl probably wants to go down the O path...

When FIU asked the state for a med school, they argued that they would be the community school -- putting out primary care docs, which would be in short supply.  They argued that their low tuition would allow their grads to stay off the ROAD, and instead become family docs, pediatricians, ob/gyn docs.

Not so fast.  Dr. Barry, who is a student of medical student training, tells me the FIU kids chose the ROAD in the same proportions as do the UM kids.  They want the big bucks, too, and who can blame them after all that school.

When D1 was getting her MS, she took pre med classes and got As.  A doctor friend, a big shot academic at the U, told her she ought to consider med school.  D1 reacted like Amy Winehouse did at the suggestion she go to rehab: No, No, No.  D1 saw first hand the trials of med school, and chose to stay away.  I was very happy she did.

I have a feeling the future docs will be more and more from other places, and that will be fine.

Two Year Cleanout

Wifey and my first house had septic tank issues.  It was an old place, and the owners before us, since the house was built in the 50s, never had the tank properly cleaned.  So we would get back ups,  and when we sold, it barely passed inspection.  But it taught me the importance of keeping septic systems happy...


The sellers of our current house installed a new system when they built the place in 1997.  Richard told me he used Smith Septic, the kings of crap.  So two years later, I called Mr. Smith, and he came out and did the cleanout.  We struck up a nice acquaintance -- I loved his sense of humor.  He showed me pictures of his vacation home in Montana, and said "Sure is gold in my shit business." His Cuban son in law was learning the trade at the time.


Each two years I call them, they come and park the truck behind my stone wall, along Ludlam Road, and hop over with the bright green hose, and do the work.  Yesterday it was time.


I called, and Mr. Wendell Smith answered.  Sure enough, they had a job in Coral Gables, but could be at my place at 11.  I gathered up the invoices dating to '03, and when I heard the horn honk, went out back.


Carlos the son in law greeted me, and pointed to his mouth.  Sure enough, he had a new set of dentures -- he's a good looking guy, but had awful teeth.  "Check these out, Mr. David.  I got them done last year." I complemented him, and said his wife needs to be careful, now that he was so handsome.  He replied Ït's true.  Lot's of women get turned on by septic tank men!"


He did the clean out, and told me I was a great septic owner -- no trees around the drain field, and no non biodegradable solids in the tank.  I was proud.  I take pride in it -- if your toilets and drains back up, not much else can happen in your house.


I paid his check, and Carlos hopped the wall.  Mr. Smith was waiting by his smaller van, and I greeted him, and asked how he was.  "Great, Dave.  Each day is shitty, and that's how I like it!" This stuff never gets old for me.


I recalled a tale from our last house -- after Hurricane Andrew.  Our across the street neighbors put on a large addition, for the artist Carlos's studio, and needed a new septic tank and drain field.  Lois was home when the Septic Inspector came by.  She asked the guy if they passed.  No, he said, they needed to do something, but if Lois would meet him for a drink at the nearby Bennigan's, maybe he could let it pass...


Lois was infuriated, and called the County on him.  She also was annoyed it was the Septic Tank inspector.  Ïf it was the electrical or HVAC man, I would have felt better,"she said.


Yes -- lots of humor in the septic arena.  I'm just glad we're good to go, literally, for at least another two years...

Still Stuck With Stuff

So our gig as innkeepers ended, as Elizabeth woke up bright and early yesterday, I made her a strong coffee, and she was off the the Turnpike and back to Orlando.  Wifey awoke later, and we debriefed the guests and the last few days, and later on went to the Palmetto Bay condo for the penultimate clean out.

The job is nearly done -- we gave away just about all of the furniture, and the bedrooms, kitchen, and bathrooms are all empty.  All that's left is a large china cabinet, which her parents bought in NYC around 1968.  It's a huge thing -- dark wood and glass.  It needs to go.

D1 said she might want it, but that would mean having it in MY house for the next year or two -- I took a pass on that.  I told her I was trying to get rid of stuff, not store more of it.

I've really become militantly anti stuff.  I look around my house and always think that if Wifey wasn't here, I'd give away most things, keeping only the furniture needed to sit on and hold clothing and supplies.  Clutter bothers me more than it ever did, and unfortunately Wifey has become a world class clutterer.

Then again, she reminds me that, compared to our friends Mike and Loni, she's positively Scandinavian.  Their rooms are filled with excess furniture and collectibles to the extent that most of their house is, essentially, a storage shed.  Years ago, my friend Allison, also a neat and order person, visited them in their old but still very cluttered house.  After a few minutes there, she told me she had received an emergency call.  Later she admitted that the supreme household disorder was triggering a panic attack.  At the time I didn't get it -- now I do.

So at the condo, Wifey left out several boxes, and told me they were to come to the house.  While she wasn't looking, I took them to the condo dumpster.  She busted me -- asking where a mirrored jewelry box with streaked glass was.  I admitted my crime.  She had bought her mother a very cheap standing lamp -- and wanted it for our house.  As I was putting it into the SUV, the cheap metal snapped.  It joined the other stuff in the dumpster.  I told Wifey, and she didn't believe me that it broke.  I challenged her to visit the dumpster to confirm the truth.  She declined...

Meanwhile, she put the china cabinet on Craig's List.  We have until April 27 to move it out -- that's the scheduled closing date.  It's also the anniversary of my mother's death.

As for my suegra, I hope we're done with moving her.  Wifey and I did it 2 times within the past year -- first from her Pembroke Pines condo, where my father in law's death left her too lonely, and now to the Assisted Living center, where for now she's doing great -- without all her stuff.

Last night, Wifey was combing through her mother's many old photo albums, and harvesting the photos she wanted to keep.  I figure we already have enough D photos -- the only ones I care about.  But Wifey is more sentimental, and only chucks an album after it has been cleared.

All I know is, the stuff bothers me, and I don't see how it will ever be possible to move to a smaller place.  And that's fine with me -- I want to stay here for years to come.  So for now, I have to step over piles of suegra stuff in the garage.  Now when Wifey's not looking...

We Really Need to Go More Often

So yesterday was a fine Saturday.  I was up early and met my brother Norman at LOL -- we had a bunch of catching up to do, and our lady Lori took great care of us.  I wished Lori a happy Easter, and asked her plans -- she told us her husband was religious, and would go to sunrise services, and then they'd visit their favorite restaurant, in Key Largo, the Lazy Lobster.  She went on and on about how great it was -- she went at least once per week, and Norman and I were interested.

We are both very suggestible.  When someone tells us about a great place -- we want to go, sooner than later.  We both filed away the information, for future use.

I returned home, and Wifey and our house guest Elizabeth were hard at work gardening.  Elizabeth loves to do it, and now that Wifey has jump started our landscaping, the two went to Home Depot and bought stuff to plant and hang on trees.  I helped a little -- lifting the heavy pots, and hauling away the trash.  I told the ladies that, later in life, essentially the only real reason to have a man around is to lift heavy stuff, and maybe reach places typically shorter women can't.  They agreed.

We all took afternoon naps, and then Norman texted -- how about a visit to the Lazy Lobster.  Elizabeth had a family reunion, and Wifey and I had plans to attend a small gathering at Mike's, but I could tell she wasn't thrilled about the sports watching and drinking get together, so I said, sure, why not.

So we fetched Norman and Deb, and were off to Key Largo.  It's so close for us in South Dade -- we were at the restaurant in 35 minutes, after driving the beautiful Overseas Highway from Florida City.
Lori had told us to tell Dave, the owner, she had sent us, and we did.  Out came a delicious, complimentary shrimp cocktail, on the house.  Finally -- something good for rich, white people, I thought.

The meals were delicious.  I had a tuna steak which was the best I ever had.  Norman felt the same about his stuffed shrimp.  They only had wine and beer, so I opted out of adult beverages, and Wifey and Norman and Deb shared a great coconut cake -- I have pledged to avoid dessert until D1's wedding -- giving me a fighting chance of being less huge for that event.

The breezes were delicious.  A guitar player sang James Taylor, and Pink Floyd.  Thankfully -- no Jimmy Buffet.  We laughed and talked of long marriages and travel.  It was a delightful evening.

As I drove home, a huge red ball of a sun was setting into Florida Bay.  It occurred to me how much I love the Keys, and how seldom I visit.  I guess I just take the place for granted.  I need to change that.

My favorite time to visit Key West is summer -- it's hot as hell, but less crowded.  $600 per night rooms at Ocean Key House are $250 per night.  Maybe Wifey and I will cruise on down for a few days -- martinis at the Chart Room, dinner at Bagatelle, and b reakfast at Blue Heaven all beckon.

In the mean time, it was a lovely stay cation day.

Running the B and B

Years ago, Wifey and I were strolling a leafy street in Key West, past quaint inns.  Like many people, I dreamed, momentarily, that I might give up the regular job, come to Key West, and become an innkeeper.  I shared this with Wifey.  Instead of buying into this fantasy, she said suddenly and firmly" "Are you kidding?  I don't even like to clean up after or cook for my own children.  You think I'd want to do it for strangers???"  And so that fantasy died a quick and painless death...

Still, I continue to have those thoughts from time to time, and the last week I played them out.  First D2 came home on early Sunday morning, and stayed a too short few days.  But I'd greet her in the morning with Nespresso in bed, and one of the days with a cuddly Spaniel and strange rescue dog.  Her first day back at work, Wednesday, she told me she preferred sleeping late and having her coffee in bed to waking early and walking to the PATH station for work...

Then came Edna and Marc -- staying over Tuesday night.  We sat with them and watched the Marlins home opener, which turned out to be memorable with a cat running across the field and delaying the game.  Of course, in this viral social network age, the cat was taken in by a Marlins staffer, named Don Cattingly (the Fish manager is Don Mattingly), and given the nickname Rally Cat, since the Marlins won the game.

After breakfast at LOL, Marc and Edna left, but were lured back on Thursday by Wifey's movie afternoon.  I came home early, and found Wifey, her friend Jodi, Marc, Edna, and our newest guest Elizabeth all watching some French horror film.  All but Elizabeth left, and she became our latest houseguest.

That evening we went to Captain's Tavern, and Friday Elizabeth and Wifey did errands together, including a visit to the Palace to visit the ancient suegra.  Elizabeth loves to garden, and they stopped at a nursery and bought some orchids to hang on our trees, now that we have new landscaping.

Last night I poured Elizabeth a few glasses of wine, and I had a few Ketels, and we watched "20th Century Women," a roman a clef by Mike Mills, which I really liked and the two 20 century women with me thought was boring.  Go figure.

Elizabeth leaves tomorrow am, after tonight's family reunion.  I'll send her off with some fresh hot coffee.  I think she's the last guest we're expecting for awhile, and that's fine.  But my inner innkeeper enjoys it.  I guess I'll just have to do it sans Wifey, if I ever buy that B and B...

A Tale of Two Seders

We're not religious, but still enjoy keeping the holidays, and Passover is in the Top 3.  This year we got to enjoy two seders, and they were a contrast in styles.

Monday night Paul and Patricia hosted an elegant affair at their condo.  There was a bartender, and formal dinner settings, and delicious food.  Before the seder there were passed lamb chops, and salmon covered cucumbers -- we munched and caught up with Paul's family and old friends.

Best for me was the fact that both Ds were there -- D2 after quite an adventure thanks to the incompetence of Delta Airlines.  But we ate, and sat, and Paul delivered a lovely talk about the meaning of the holiday, geared for those not members of the Tribe.  And Wifey was especially happy -- Paul and Patricia invited Edna and her man Marc, and Edna's presence always elevates Wifey, even though at the end of the evening, Edna stepped in front of an arriving car at the valet stand and nearly made for a tragic ending to the night -- and an ironic one, too, as the vehicle being brought was Wifey's SUV...

Still, we went home happy and full, and D1 left for her man Joey's family seder, up the road in Sunny Isles.  It was a lovely night.

Yesterday I drove D2 to FLL and she had a thankfully uneventful return to NYC.  She called this am as she trudged to the PATH train and work -- she preferred to sleep late, and have me bring her Nespresso in bed.  Real life so gets in the way of vacations...

Last night we had the second seder -- this one at the Palace.  My mother in law was in good spirits, and we sat at a table as the activities director led the service.  The fellow next to me looked familiar -- sure enough, he was a retired Miami Dade Lt, and a close friend of my buddy Steve, a/k/a 5-oh.  During breaks in the service, we shared hilarious Steve stories -- Randy has known him since high school.  Randy was there with his Dad -- a retired chiropractor, and Clara, Randy's Venezuelan girlfriend.  It was her first seder.  Miami being Miami, there was another connection -- Clara's daughter is a FIU grad in Dietetics, and was a follower of D1 and her business.  She wants to meet D1 now.

Edna and Marc drove down again, and after the seder we sat out at the Palace's gazebo, under a gorgeous full moon.  My suegra retired early.  Edna and Marc spent the night, and are with Wifey now, post breakfast, taking some stuff from our sold condo to Edna's condo up in Hallandale...

So that will be it for me for Passover, although my low carb diet will keep me away from bread for the week and beyond.  No matzah, though -- I'm going full bore.

Tonight D1 has asked me to come to the grad school class she teaches as a "specimen."  She's teaching the students about interviewing techniques, and I will play the part of a fat, middle aged guy who needs to eat much healthier than he does.  Somehow I don't think the role will be too much of a stretch for me, or, as D2 said when I told her "Well, Dad, if the large pants fit..."

So it was a fine Passover, and I'm thankful to have shared it with my Ds.  In fact, it was the finest unleavened couple of days in a long while...

Early Morning Airport Fetch

So for a mere $1000, and deft use of computer keystrokes, D2 snagged the final seat on a LGA to FLL flight on JetBlue, to make it in time for her sister's get together.  The other downside was arrival time: around 1 am.

Well, I like to think I specialize in turning lemons into Arnold Palmers, so I contacted still single for the weekend Dr. Barry and asked if he wanted to have a late dinner and see a late movie.  He did.  And then, showing life still holds surprises, Wifey said she'd go, too, even with the late hours.

We drove up to Eastern Shores, and met Barry at a fine Lebanese place, and shared great entrees.  We then drove a bit East, towards the old Castaways Hotel, now a tall condo, and found the IPIC, the luxury theater.  We saw "Get Out," the dark comedy by Peele, and all three of us liked it a great deal.  It ended at 12:40 am, and D2 called -- she had landed at FLL.  We said goodbye to our dear friend, and cruised up the I to FLL.

There was lots of tensosity at the terminal, with folks honking and being angry, I guess due to Delta's effect on all travel, but we found a smiling D2, and hit the road home.  There was mercifully little traffic as we neared the wee small hour of 2.

D2 had a joyful dog reunion, with the strange rescue, her special needs Spaniel, and the spoiled Spaniel, who has been staying with we grandparents for a few days.  We all fell asleep a bit after 2.

I popped up around 8, as the light came into my room.  I had my coffee and fed the dogs, and then brought wake up coffee to Wifey, and a wake up Nespresso to D2.  They left the house at 10 for D1's barklorette party.

D2's prediction for my day was accurate: full on chill.  I read the Sunday Herald, which takes a solid 20 minutes given its sparseness, and then took a regal nap to a Smithsonian show about military planes.

At 2, D2 and Wifey and 2 of the dogs returned, and all immediately headed for nap land as well, after telling me the Dogya, or dog yoga party, was a success.

When they rise from the naps, we'll head to the Palace for D2 to visit her grandmother, and get to see first hand the comically miserable roommate Lee.

Tomorrow I'll drop D2 at her sister's place, and then head to the office for a bit.  I'll then fetch Wifey, and then the Ds after their sister bonding day, and head up to Paul and Patricia's for their seder -- a catered affair preceded by a Seder Happy Hour that ought to put us all in the mood to consider freedom.

It's terrific to have both Ds in my jurisdiction.  Years ago, when we sued a local company for products liability, we got to take the deposition of a very charming and impressive CEO, who wasn't happy about being sued, but realistic to know his insurance would be paying the damages for the made up liability case we brought.  His name was Arnold, and during questioning breaks, I spoke to him.  He had grown up kids.

I asked where they lived, and whether they were far flung, like so many grown kids I had heard about.  He laughed, and said no, all kids and grandkids were REQUIRED to stay in "his territory" -- he adored them so much, it was simply unacceptable for them to live more than a few hours away.  I dug that answer, and wish to implement the same rule, especially after there are grandkids of the human variety, should we be so blessed.

For now, it's just a delight to have D2 here -- well worth the wee small hour airport fetch.

Puck You, Delta Airlines

So D2 was booked on a flight for a long weekend home, first to attend D1's barkarette party and also the first night of Passover, which Paul and Patricia are hosting up in Aventura.  A barklarette party is where the bride to be and some friends and their dogs gather for celebration.

D1 eschewed the usual bachelorette party -- she's been partying with her close friends over 10 years now, and she thinks she outgrew the idea of a regular one, so it'll be dogs and ladies.

Delta had other plans.  Apparently they had awful weather in Atlanta Wednesday, and closed ATL.  That was a major problem for Delta -- the old joke is that if you fly Delta and die, your corpse will have to go through ATL.  Still, we all figured in a day or two, things would return to normal.  Ha. As if.

The LGA to MIA flight was canceled Wednesday and Thursday night, but on Friday D2 figured she'd make it.  Then came the text -- first a three hour delay, then a four hour delay.  No sweat for Dadber -- I planned a later dinner with Dr. Barry and figured I'd fetch my girl afterwards.

Barry and I retired to Christy's -- we sat at the bar and had a fine meal and time.  Then D2's texts took a worse tone - finally, around 11, they canceled her flight.  I left Barry and we spoke -- she figured she'd just come Saturday evening.  No dice -- they canceled that flight too -- but they COULD get her to South Florida Monday.

No, that wouldn't do -- so the woman refunded her $600.  We typically fly AA, as they are "our" airline at MIA, but this trip they wanted $900 for a coach ticket.  Spring Break, Passover, and Easter are all this week, and flights from the Northeast are packed.

So, sadly, D2 Ubered back to Murray Hill -- she really didn't want to miss this trip -- she and D1 are closer than, well, sisters...

At nearly 1 am, she called -- she got the LAST seat on a JetBlue flight, leaving LGA at 11 pm tonight, and arriving 1 am tomorrow.  If they do what they are charging her $1000 to do, she will make it, sleep a bit, and still attend the barklarette.

Yay.  Dadber plans maybe a movie and late meal at Lester's Diner near FLL.  Barry may wish to go -- his family is all visiting the Terrapin sophomore -- he fetches them at 1 am Monday.

I just hope we get our girl here, safe and sound.

As for Delta?  It seems absurd that a one day one airport weather issue effectively grounds them for the better part of a week.  I guess when all your planes need to pass through one airport, that'll happen.

In the future, we'll stick to American.  I just wish JetBlue flew to MIA, too...

A Pleasant Commute

I try to leave my office before the intense rush hour, or, if I have to stay later, can usually be persuaded to stick around for an adult beverage before hitting the road.

Today, I left right around 4, and girded myself for some serious traffic, even though the Grove school zones lift at 4, and the traffic isn't at its worst for another hour.

As I cruised South on Bayshore, listening to XM Classic Rewind on the little girlie Caddy loaner (the same as my car but 2 years newer and silver instead of black) , I got a call from a 954 area code, an unfamiliar number.

It was my old classmate and Florida Bar exam roommate.  He had heard about the death of a classmate, and wanted to know if it was indeed so.  I gave him the sad confirmation: it was.  Our classmate Mike died on the 31st .  Mike did defense work and was a triathlete, but apparently failed to do the most important thing in avoiding heart disease -- have good genes.  The fellow who called me was a vegetarian from way back -- he's a bit older than I and started eating that way as a hippie, and I could tell he was both saddened and freaked out -- realizing maybe all those healthy habits don't bring guarantees.

But after we shared the sad news, we talked for the rest of my drive, and it was delightful.  He started out, as I did, doing insurance defense work, and after a few years moved to the plaintiff's side.  He used to do worker's comp, and we referred our cases to him.  Then worker's comp dried up, and he went back to defense work -- this time going in house with a national insurance company.  The work was steady and smooth -- he's been at the company 13 years now.

His oldest daughter was born when we were in law  school.  Wifey used to sit on the sidelines watching us play softball -- playing with the baby girl.  The baby is now an OB/GYN in Ann Arbor, finishing a fellowship.  She's 34.  His son is a lawyer in Boston, and living with a lovely girl.  We agreed that kids who turn out well are far more important than careers...

And then there's the marriage issue -- he was married for 34 years.  His wife was talkative.  One day, he said, he simply couldn't listen anymore, and started divorce proceedings.  His ex wife moved to Maine, of all places, and my old friend has a live in girlfriend.  They live in East Boca, and life is fine.

We shared a few tales of our years together at Miami Law, and some of the characters we met along the way.

When we took the Bar, in July of '86, my friend was a nervous wreck.  He already owned a house, with a mortgage, and a wife and three year old.  His firm made it clear that failing the bar meant no job until he passed.  Wifey and I had bought our first house as well, but Wifey made good money, and there were no kids.  Plus, I guess I was just a sanguine sort of guy.  So I kept my buddy loose and stress limited, with endless jokes peppered into the study week.

Years later, when his boy started law school, in Boston, and I wrote to congratulate him, he gave me a great compliment: he hoped his son found a friend and study partner that made his law school experience as great as I had made his.  I still cherish that complement.

Anyway, I invited my old friend to Trulucks one evening when he's in MIami on business.  I hope he takes me up on it.

Regardless, our talk and walk down the past 34 years made the drive a fine one.

Manipulated Money Across the Generations

Since lately our home life is consumed with issues of elder care, and has been, really, for the past 6 or 7 years, it was only fitting that an old friend of Wifey's called me for advice.  She is one of three siblings, two of whom moved away from Miami years ago and had little to do with the family.  The Dad recently died, and Wifey's friend, who I'll call Shelley, even though it is NOT her name, was in charge.

Dad had a trust, and made it clear: his residence would be sold and the proceeds split three ways.  All of his other assets would go only to Shelley.  Seems clear.  Ha. As if!  The two estranged siblings called Shelley -- it was cruel and mean of her to keep all the rest of the money, even though it was Dad's wish.  They've threatened to sue.  Shelley called me for advice about a lawyer, other than the fellow who was already the Dad's trustee.  I 'm reluctant to refer folks anymore -- all down side, and no up side for me, but I gave her several names.  She chose one, met with him, and liked him, but then the Miami shuffle ensued.  The banker said, yeah, he heard of the guy, but was he really the one for the job?  So Shelley asked me, and I said I wouldn't guarantee anything, but I had referred the fellow some probate work, and he seemed competent.  She may stay with him, or not.  Part of me hopes "or not," lest I be blamed if things go bad, even though it seems a pretty clear matter.

It's so much easier when there's little or no money.  Actually, it's not.  Probably 10 years before she died, my Mom owned her condo and had maybe $100K in savings.  One of her fellow condo know it alls convinced her to change her will -- leave the condo to us, her 3 kids, and the rest to the grandkids.  Mom was insistent.  So I took her to a lawyer, and I paid the guy probably $4K to draw up new papers -- following Mom's wishes.

As it turned out, the money had dwindled, she owed the IRS a chunk for closing out her IRA, and she went into Miami Jewish with about $70K.  My friend Steve, now retired, drew up new papers -- the money into a Special Needs Trust, to get Mom on Medicaid, and the condo to a Lady Bird Deed, which conveyed the condo to her three kids upon her death, away from Medicaid's prying hands.

At her death, the Trust took all, to pay back the liens, and all that was left was the condo, which my sister sold.  We each got less than $15K.  I gave my Ds my share, to symbolically honor Mom's wishes.  And there was nothing left to even argue about.

Wifey is an only child, and her Mom is ABOUT to become broke -- pre paying all of her savings to the Palace for ALF care, and then going onto Medicaid, as well.  In fact, Wifey is going to the bank today, to accomplish that goal.

Even simple instructions can get ugly.  Steve, a probate lawyer in Boca, who handles some stuff for us, was in Miami recently, to show his daughter UM Law.  We were trading tales, and he told me about a rich client he had, with 2 sons.  Each was grown, with young adult kids.  Dad left half his money, about $1M, to son A, with whom he was close, and the other half to Son B's kids. Seemed simple enough.

But Son B called in HIS kids, now $1M richer, and told them if they didn't give him half the money, he would cut them off forever.  They relented -- they loved their Dad, jerk that he was, and gave up grandpa's gift to them.  So Son B got his Dad's money anyway, or some of it, despite Grandpa's wishes.

Meanwhile, we had some good news: our realtor Joyce got us a signed contract on the condo -- exactly one week after we listed it with her.  And she's happy -- the buyer is Jack , the upstairs neighbor, so Joyce keeps the whole commission.  She turned out to be the opposite of realtor Mark, who sold our Pembroke Pines condo -- but just as the listing was about to expire.  Joyce and Mark are both near or at 70 -- Mark needs to quit; Joyce is going strong.

So the clean out continues.  Wifey is going through each photo album and envelope of cards and letters.  She knows if she left it to me I'd clean out the whole place with about 10 quick trips to the dumpster.  Still, we're nearly done -- gave away most of the furniture to my suegra's former aide, and our housekeeper Miriam.  There's one huge leather sectional -- a couch of family lore.  It's comically comfortable -- you can't sit on it after a meal and not nod off.  So Wifey is taking it -- to put into a spare room upstairs, even though it will have to be crammed it.

And the final piece, a dining room break front, needs to go, too.  My in laws bought it in the early 60s -- the first nice piece of furniture they bought as Americans.  Wifey is trying to get it to a consignment store -- maybe the proceeds will pay for a few nice dinners, where we can toast the past and future.

At least we won't have to worry about any problems like Shelley has.

Ultimate Control

So yesterday I went to the Palace with Wifey to help schlep some of her ancient mother's stuff.  We spent another hour in the condo, and Wifey realized something:  the old crow had outsmarted her.  When we moved her from Pembroke Pines to Palmetto Bay, Wifey made her promise to cull out stuff she really didn't need.  Well -- turned out that some of the boxes marked "supplies" we paid the movers to move actually contained REAMS of letters and notes -- many of which were from the Ds.

I get keeping a few particularly cute notes, but my mother in law kept every thank you from everyone -- even recent ones from the adult Ds that read "Thanks for the birthday check, Sabta."  There were also notes and brochures from Holocaust groups dating to the 80s...the stuff finally found its way to the local dumpster, where it will become, hopefully, compost, or at least add to the height of the tallest point in Miami, Mt. Trashmore...

We walked in, and I met first hand the roommate.  Wifey had not exaggerated -- this was an instantly obnoxious, despicable person.  She reminded me of an older version of the wife of one of my office mates -- who I met once and never again at a Heat playoff game.  I came in and pleasantly said hello, and she scowled and said "Your mother in law talks in her sleep!  She will have to move!"  I tried to deflect, telling the old See You Next Tuesday that she ought to listen -- my mother in law gives out awesome stock picks at night.  She scowled more.

Wifey, never cowed, said "well, maybe you'll have to move."  I thought the 92 year old was going to hit her, saying "This is MY room.  I've been here a year!  Don't you DARE talk to me that way -- I won't have it!"  At that point, I put the suegra into a wheelchair and beat a retreat for the patio outside her room, and a lovely gazebo.  It brought back memories of MY mom --  she loved the gazebo at Miami Jewish, which, like Grandfather's Clock in the Burl Ives song, was taken down right after she died.

Anyway, soon after D1 and Joey arrived, and the old lady beamed.  After a while, we went inside, and dinner was served.  The server offered us some banana cream pie, and I thought I might have a bite.  D1 erupted.  How dare I!  I had promised to lose weight before her wedding, and now I was clearly showing her I didn't care.  She got very upset.  She really loves me and wants me around for awhile.

The old woman just sat and ate while I was, properly, berated.  In fact, I haven't exercised, and eat badly.  Trying to eat the pie in front of my dietitian daughter was like a drug addict Dad saying he was going to shoot up just one more time...

So I promised her to change.  Wifey and I stopped for dinner -- I had a Greek salad with chicken.  I took the strange rescue dog for a night walk.  I plan to drop 50 in 5 months -- for the wedding.

And then, as if a bolt out of the blue, came an email from Norman -- a classmate of ours had died.  Mike, a delightful guy, had passed.  The Christian site Caring Bridge filled in the details -- Mike, a world class athlete (his FaceBook photo showed him running with bulls in Spain, and a bike tour of Mt. Zion last Fall) had suffered a massive heart attack, lingered for a month, and died March 31.

All of the comments were about how he was a health nut -- only ate healthy, and exercised daily.

Of course, this isn't a license for me to stay fat and immobile, but it does show -- we really have less control over our fates than we'd like to think.

One of my biggest annoyances is people who think EVERYTHING is cause and effect.  "Well, he was struck by lightning, but he shouldn't have been outside that day, even though it wasn't raining!"  I find many times these kinds of people end up making some of the stupidest life choices of all.

But back to Mike.  He was an all American, sweetheart of a guy.  Always speaking well of people.  I last saw him a few years ago -- he was a defense lawyer in Broward, and was doing well.  I learned he had 4 kids -- a son Sean wrote eloquently about him and his life on the Caring Bridge site.

So we carry on, hopefully enjoying life, and making the right, as often as we can, choices.  But, as the saying goes, the Big Man laughs.

Sometimes delightful, productive people are taken in their 50s, and other nasty, obnoxious, 92 year olds hang around simply to terrorize their fellow residents.  Go figure...

The Drama of Real Estate

We listed our condo in Palmetto Bay just 5 days ago, and already our realtor Joyce has been buzzing.  We got 5 offers already, even though we disclosed that there is a "40 year" inspection coming, and each owner may be assessed anywhere from $3 -$5K to update electrical, plumbing, etc...

Wifey and I have been cleaning out the unit, and made a funny discovery:  my ancient suegra TRICKED us.  Wifey made it clear that, when the old woman moved, she take only limited photos, letters, etc...Somehow the old woman, who IS sentimental, brought everything, and hid it in boxes and drawers.

We've been sorting through every thank you note the Ds ever wrote to her, and multiple photos of every piano recital, dance recital, etc...Most of the photos are of Wifey, the true love of my suegra's life.  I think we already have plenty of photos, and would simply toss my mother in law's collection, but Wifey is going though everything, tossing out very little.  So now we get to move it to OUR house, which in a way is good for me.  Wifey wants to move and downsize, but adding to our crap makes that impossible, so I get my desire and we'll stay in our house forever...

But back to the drama.  The neighbor upstairs really wants to buy our unit.  He has a one bedroom, and also realizes that now that he's nearing 70, having stairs to deal with isn't too smart.  Jack rides his bike each day, and I've watched him struggle to get the thing up and down the stairs.  So he is going to make a good offer, but needs his lawyer to look over the contract.  The lawyer is out of town until tomorrow.  His Merrill advisor emailed Joyce that Jack is definitely going to buy.  I responded to Joyce the age old wisdom of 1L Contracts professors in law school: a verbal agreement to buy property isn't even worth the paper it's not written on.

Meanwhile, an investor submitted an offer for the same amount as Jack, but with less escrow money.  Joyce is emailing that buyer and telling her we will answer tomorrow -- giving Jack a bit of courtesy.  The good news is it appears we'll have a cash buyer and hopefully get our check by May...

All of the calls reminded me of the days when we bought our first houses -- where we hung on every word, and development from the realtors.  A lot was at stake then -- it was our family home we were talking about, not an investment property that turned out to be a bad investment.

On a sad note, yesterday Wifey and I saw a UHaul truck at the condo.  My former friend's ex wife was moving her son's stuff out.  The young man, who had a troubled youth, had gone back on drugs, and was away at a rehab center in Mississippi.  He had been doing well -- working, with a nice girlfriend, etc...I guess his demons pulled him back in.

The owner, according to the ex wife, has sold his unit to his daughter and her new husband, for a little less than we are selling our unit.  The daughter is doing well -- she is a nurse, and married to a nurse manager.  They plan to live in the unit and save for a house, and then keep the unit as a rental property.

They've met Jack, and hope he ends up living right across the hall from them.

I guess the drama will play out this week, and we'll have a signed contract.

Finally Said Thank You

So yesterday was an eventful one around here.  Wifey moved the ancient mother to her new room at the Palace, and it appears the new roommie is less than gracious.  I told Wifey to make it sporting she should give each of them long, sharp knives, and see how things turn out.  Comic tales will surely ensue.

On another front, it appears we may have sold our now suegra vacant condo in record time.  Joyce, our realtor, came by and admitted she had listed it too low, and bumped up the price $20K.  It's not all good news, though, as there is a "40 year" inspection coming, and the management company says each unit may be assessed $3-4K.  Also, they made it harder to rent -- renters have to pay the ASSOCIATION a non refundable $500 fee, which, to units that rent for $1500k per month may be prohibitive.

But, Joyce got an offer, and then our upstairs neighbor Jack called her.  Jack is near 70, a Miami native (Miami High Class of '62) and a retired PE teacher.  He recently took care of his mother's estate, and needs an extra bedroom for the stuff.  He had his Merrill Lynch person call Joyce, and it appears he will buy the unit -- assuming any future assessments himself.  I told Joyce that's the only way I'm selling -- I'm not going to escrow anything to be dealt with months later, when they finally get around to making the repairs.  Still, it appears promising -- I can maybe get back some of the cost of the Big, Fat, Colombian wedding...

Then I headed to Shula's, for Happy Hour, to meet John.  He was running late, but at the bar was my old friend Eddy -- we worked together in 1987 -- he was a first year associate and I had joined his firm after a year working for an anti-semite named, hilariously, Schwartz.

Eddy has his own firm, doing insurance defense work, and has 5 lawyers working for him.  He married Grace, the daughter of a very wealthy broker, now passed away, and they have three kids.  Eddy's one of those guys I see too little of -- I actually run into his brother in my building and always ask after him.

Anyway, I brought up to Eddy a big favor he did for my partner and me years ago.  We were handling a case where a little girl fell out of a ride at a cheap amusement park, and seemed to be terribly hurt, but actually only suffered dental injuries.  We jumped on the case -- had the ride inspected by a national expert a day after the incident, and had the whole case "wired," as we used to say.

Our aggressiveness led to a very high and quick settlement offer.  I wanted to grab it -- Paul voted to push on for even more money.  I suggested we ask Eddy to hear both sides and give his opinion.  He did -- he said the offer was already triple what he would ever recommend to any of his clients -- we ought to take the money for the girl and run.  And then he acted as consultant to the Court to tell the judge the same thing.

I'm pretty sure I thanked him at the time with some fine spirits, but couldn't recall that, and so last night I picked up the tab for him, his wife, oldest son (visiting from NYC where his is a B of A analyst) and a childhood friend.  Eddy was floored.  It was my pleasure.

He's Cuban, and I'm Jewish, and we both love "Godfather" movies.  So thanking another man for a favor, even years later, resonates with us.

It was a fine ending to an eventful Friday...