The dog days are here -- I can testify first hand. After my heart scare, I have been walking quite a bit -- either 2.2 or 3.3 miles each day around my 'hood. Even in the pre dawn time, or post sunset, it's hot and YOOOmid, as Wifey says.
Last night, as an aside, we went to the movies at the Falls -- our old stomping grounds. We saw "Dunkirk." I tend to dislike 9 out of 10 movies we go to see -- halfway in, I resent that they have stolen hours of my life on cliched crap, but last night was an exception. "Dunkirk" was a masterpiece -- and one you really have to see in a big theater. You are THERE in this one -- Wifey's stomach was in knots the whole time. It was awesome -- the audience all applauded at its end. And the theater was nice and cool...
But, in the way Ishmael knew it was time to put to sea when land living depressed him, I really like to escape to cooler weather in the Miami summer. And Wednesday we shall -- we're off to Oregon and Washington state.
We're going with Loni and Mike -- and it's a real treat. Mike and my buddy Eric are both frustrated travel agents. When we go with Eric and Dana -- the itinerary is set, and included all things you really need to see and do in a given area. Same with Mike -- as soon as we discussed the trip -- he came up with a plan that takes us from Portland to Crater Lake National Park, back to the Oregon Coast, and then up to Seattle. Eric LOVES Oregon -- and he gave us terrific information about wineries to visit, as well as hotels and restaurants.
Mostly, I look forward to going outside and breathing in cooler air -- with less humidity. I spent 2 nights in Seattle and loved it -- but the weather in January was comically bleak -- cold rain and the sun never shined. Hopefully it'll be a little better in early August.
As for Oregon -- Eric ways Crater Lake might be the most gorgeous place he's ever been -- and he is by far the best traveled of all my friends. So I look forward to that, too, as well as the rustic Oregon coast -- we have an inn booked with a gourmet restaurant -- and promises to sit listening to the crashing surf while drinking cocktails.
Loni and Mike and Wifey and I have been friends nearly 40 years -- we've shared endless laughter as newlyweds, new parents, and now empty nesters with elderly parents still under our care. This should be a terrific trip.
Chris, Loni and Mike's boy, is back from USC and about to start UM Law. He'll be house and pet sitting at his place, and will watch our house and dogs, too. When we were in law school, Mike's Dad Ed would host pizza night every Thursday -- to give us law students an excellent break from the pressure of being 1 Ls... I intend to have Mike carry on this fine tradition with Chris and his new classmates as well -- I'll bring the pizza...
D1 emailed me when I sent our itinerary and asked about the "bean letter." She knows me well -- I keep a list of our finances and tell the Ds where it is. Wifey used to call it my "airplane pizza" file -- the info she needed if my many trips by air ended poorly, and I ended up looking like pizza. D1 said she assumed I would send the info if we were captured by a grizzly bear in the woods. I reminder her I didn't need to outrun the bear -- only Wifey.
I hope for a successful trip, and then a return for the home stretch before the Big, Fat, Colombian wedding.
And, oh, that cool air...
Sunday, July 23, 2017
Friday, July 21, 2017
A Single Moving Truck
So as my new found walking energy continues, this afternoon, following a heavy downpour, I decided to do my third 1.1 mile circuit. It was a dark and gloomy path -- also very quiet, even for a Friday afternoon.
As I rounded the corner, I saw a moving truck in front of Wifey's friend Shari's house. I saw her daughter a few weeks back -- she told me they would be leaving by the end of July. Sure enough...
Shari and her husband Dr. Bob moved to the 'hood in 1968. Both of their grown daughters grew up here -- one still lives with Shari, and commutes to work as a horse trainer up in Davie. Her sister, more mainstream, also lives in Davie, and Shari is moving to be closer. The younger girl wants to stay -- she told me she loves this 'hood, and Davie lacks our tropical foliage. I have a feeling when her Mom dies, she might take her inheritance and move back. We'll see.
I miss Dr. Bob. I met him soon after we moved in, in '01, early in the am. He was walking his beloved boxer Sam, and he cut quite a figure. He must have been 6'6", with mutton chop sideburns, and a loud, booming, educated voice -- sounded like Burl Ives to me. His last name was as WASPy as they come, and I immediately decided he was a Protestant doc from maybe Missouri, or some such place. Nope. Turned out he was a NYC Jew, who had received his medical degree in the Netherlands, and was the oldest practicing dermatologist in Miami.
We'd chat in the mornings whenever he walked by. I adored his political incorrectness, and wit, and intelligence. When he finally retired, he complained that he would read the Miami Herald in 15 minutes, the Wall Street Journal in 30, and the NY Times in 45 -- leaving him nothing much else to do the rest of the day. I gamely suggested maybe he volunteer teach -- with his decades of experience, surely UM or FIU would love to have him.
He told me something I keep to this day: volunteers aren't valued. He was old fashioned and conservative -- but he told me in a capitalist society, you must pay for things of value. He told me he'd had plenty of poor patients -- but he always expected they pay something -- even if it was a barrel of tropical fruit. This way they followed his advice. If he was free, he reasoned, he wasn't worth a damn, even to his patients.
Years later, when I became a Guardian ad litem, Doc was proved right. I attended a phone conference about my ward, with no fewer than 9 bureaucrats on the line -- social workers, case managers, psychologists, teachers, Program lawyers, etc...When it came time to actually have someone DO something -- go check out the potential home for the ward and her coming baby -- they asked ME to drive to Florida City. I barked that I was the only volunteer -- one of these functionaries could damn well go. I thought about Doc that day.
Anyway, he died a year or so ago, and Shari decided to pull up stakes. Wifey is her book club friend -- I assume they'll stay in touch. Shari's best friend, Lori, lives in our 'hood. They're all members of the LWC, or Lucky Wives Club. All have successful husbands, and none have to work. Nice gigs, if you can get 'em.
As I walked past, I reflected on their family home of nearly 50 years. Almost no one stays in one place that long.
My childhood home, the one I still dream about when my dreams turn to my childhood -- my family was there a whopping 17 years. Hell -- my Mom lived in her condo, the place none of us considered home except Mom -- for 33 years.
In February, we'll have lived in Villa Wifey for 17 years. The memories here are priceless -- Ds going from girls to women -- tears -- but mostly laughter and love.
And I guess, at some point, just like Shari's home of much longer duration, it'll all come down to a moving truck on, maybe, a stormy afternoon.
As I rounded the corner, I saw a moving truck in front of Wifey's friend Shari's house. I saw her daughter a few weeks back -- she told me they would be leaving by the end of July. Sure enough...
Shari and her husband Dr. Bob moved to the 'hood in 1968. Both of their grown daughters grew up here -- one still lives with Shari, and commutes to work as a horse trainer up in Davie. Her sister, more mainstream, also lives in Davie, and Shari is moving to be closer. The younger girl wants to stay -- she told me she loves this 'hood, and Davie lacks our tropical foliage. I have a feeling when her Mom dies, she might take her inheritance and move back. We'll see.
I miss Dr. Bob. I met him soon after we moved in, in '01, early in the am. He was walking his beloved boxer Sam, and he cut quite a figure. He must have been 6'6", with mutton chop sideburns, and a loud, booming, educated voice -- sounded like Burl Ives to me. His last name was as WASPy as they come, and I immediately decided he was a Protestant doc from maybe Missouri, or some such place. Nope. Turned out he was a NYC Jew, who had received his medical degree in the Netherlands, and was the oldest practicing dermatologist in Miami.
We'd chat in the mornings whenever he walked by. I adored his political incorrectness, and wit, and intelligence. When he finally retired, he complained that he would read the Miami Herald in 15 minutes, the Wall Street Journal in 30, and the NY Times in 45 -- leaving him nothing much else to do the rest of the day. I gamely suggested maybe he volunteer teach -- with his decades of experience, surely UM or FIU would love to have him.
He told me something I keep to this day: volunteers aren't valued. He was old fashioned and conservative -- but he told me in a capitalist society, you must pay for things of value. He told me he'd had plenty of poor patients -- but he always expected they pay something -- even if it was a barrel of tropical fruit. This way they followed his advice. If he was free, he reasoned, he wasn't worth a damn, even to his patients.
Years later, when I became a Guardian ad litem, Doc was proved right. I attended a phone conference about my ward, with no fewer than 9 bureaucrats on the line -- social workers, case managers, psychologists, teachers, Program lawyers, etc...When it came time to actually have someone DO something -- go check out the potential home for the ward and her coming baby -- they asked ME to drive to Florida City. I barked that I was the only volunteer -- one of these functionaries could damn well go. I thought about Doc that day.
Anyway, he died a year or so ago, and Shari decided to pull up stakes. Wifey is her book club friend -- I assume they'll stay in touch. Shari's best friend, Lori, lives in our 'hood. They're all members of the LWC, or Lucky Wives Club. All have successful husbands, and none have to work. Nice gigs, if you can get 'em.
As I walked past, I reflected on their family home of nearly 50 years. Almost no one stays in one place that long.
My childhood home, the one I still dream about when my dreams turn to my childhood -- my family was there a whopping 17 years. Hell -- my Mom lived in her condo, the place none of us considered home except Mom -- for 33 years.
In February, we'll have lived in Villa Wifey for 17 years. The memories here are priceless -- Ds going from girls to women -- tears -- but mostly laughter and love.
And I guess, at some point, just like Shari's home of much longer duration, it'll all come down to a moving truck on, maybe, a stormy afternoon.
Thursday, July 20, 2017
Never Want To Leave
So today is Day 2 of my new "wanting to avoid cardiac issues" renascence. I was up at sunrise, and fed the dogs, and then Paul called early. We've decided to pledge to walk during our daily phone talks -- he already did, but my summer laziness kept me inside. Today I saddled up the strange rescue dog, and went off -- leash and speaker phone in the same hand.
We did a mile, and then the rescue looked at me with soulful eyes that said "You DO realize it's hot as hell with 90% humidity, right?" so I left her home and did another mile sans dog. Paul did the same around "The Circle" in Aventura.
Wifey left, for a "table scape" meeting with D1 and the wedding planners. Apparently this is a new fangled term for planning how the flowers will be arranged. She took the opportunity to leave for the day -- errands in West Kendall and a meet with her mother.
I was going to the office, but two things stopped me. First, my morbid interest in OJ's parole hearing kept me at the TV, and second, I realized that Paul was staying home, Stuart was in NYC on a food vacation with his son, and John was driving his girl to Houston to settle her in for her first big girl job. So had I been the only one working of our group, that would have made me a schmuck, and Hy didn't raise no schmuck...
The sun went down, and I looked at the strange dog. She nodded. So we did ANOTHER mile -- her second of the day and my third. The Cutter (tm) kept the mosquitoes at bay, and the dog happily trotted on her stumpy legs along with me. We made it home, and she immediately crashed to the cool marble floor, and I stripped naked and went into my pool.
I floated, with the spoiled Spaniel chasing lizards nearby. There's a privacy wall, and heavy foliage around our one acre, so there was no danger of terrifying any onlookers.
It was simply delightful. I floated for a good hour -- on the new blue float we got from Jet.com...
I'm pretty sure if I did this at a condo, police would be called. I never want to leave my house.
Tuesday night, while we killed time waiting for D1 and Joey to meet us at the Capital Grille, Wifey and I walked around Brickell. It was Midtown Manhattan-like -- filled with pedestrians and joggers. Wifey said it energized her. I pointed out that we were by FAR the oldest -- Miami has become truly a city for the 20-40 set, at least in the high rises on Brickell and Downtown.
Not me. I vant, like Garbo, to be alone...
I guess time will tell, but I ain't going nowhere soon...potential sharers of a townhouse or condo pool will thank me.
We did a mile, and then the rescue looked at me with soulful eyes that said "You DO realize it's hot as hell with 90% humidity, right?" so I left her home and did another mile sans dog. Paul did the same around "The Circle" in Aventura.
Wifey left, for a "table scape" meeting with D1 and the wedding planners. Apparently this is a new fangled term for planning how the flowers will be arranged. She took the opportunity to leave for the day -- errands in West Kendall and a meet with her mother.
I was going to the office, but two things stopped me. First, my morbid interest in OJ's parole hearing kept me at the TV, and second, I realized that Paul was staying home, Stuart was in NYC on a food vacation with his son, and John was driving his girl to Houston to settle her in for her first big girl job. So had I been the only one working of our group, that would have made me a schmuck, and Hy didn't raise no schmuck...
The sun went down, and I looked at the strange dog. She nodded. So we did ANOTHER mile -- her second of the day and my third. The Cutter (tm) kept the mosquitoes at bay, and the dog happily trotted on her stumpy legs along with me. We made it home, and she immediately crashed to the cool marble floor, and I stripped naked and went into my pool.
I floated, with the spoiled Spaniel chasing lizards nearby. There's a privacy wall, and heavy foliage around our one acre, so there was no danger of terrifying any onlookers.
It was simply delightful. I floated for a good hour -- on the new blue float we got from Jet.com...
I'm pretty sure if I did this at a condo, police would be called. I never want to leave my house.
Tuesday night, while we killed time waiting for D1 and Joey to meet us at the Capital Grille, Wifey and I walked around Brickell. It was Midtown Manhattan-like -- filled with pedestrians and joggers. Wifey said it energized her. I pointed out that we were by FAR the oldest -- Miami has become truly a city for the 20-40 set, at least in the high rises on Brickell and Downtown.
Not me. I vant, like Garbo, to be alone...
I guess time will tell, but I ain't going nowhere soon...potential sharers of a townhouse or condo pool will thank me.
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
The AFTER Birthday
Yesterday I turned 56, and until the end of the day, it was a crappy one, or at least an angst filled, worrisome one.
I don't fear death. I've been around it three times in my life. The first was when my Dad died in my arms. Years later, in a (now) comical case of mistaken identity, I was held at gunpoint by three cops, one of whom I saw had a twitchy finger. And closest of all, I was in my boss's King Air plane as we lost control, an event the VERY experienced pilot later admitted was the closest he ever came to dying in a plane, too.
Each of these three times, I was suffused with calm. I don't know if it's psychological or physiological, or both, but it was the calmest, anxiety free feeling I experienced, other than waking up from propofol, which is great, too.
No - what I fear is the effect my death would have on, in particular, my Ds. I greatly fear visiting upon them what was visited upon me when Dad died 35 years ago. And that is why when I have a health scare, it really bothers me -- inordinately so.
So, as it turns out no coincidence, last week I started feeling a tightness in my chest. I chalked it up to the memory of Dad's death -- I first got chest pains in the Fall of '82, and an EKG confirmed it was only stress. Twelve years ago Eric made me get a stress test -- having a Dad die at 63 and a paternal grandfather die at 55 -- both of heart attacks, is a "bad family history." The test years ago was normal, and last year, during a CT scan to check for kidney stones, they also looked at my heart circulation, and found ZERO calcium deposits -- a very good sign. But the tightness persisted, and on Monday I called Eric.
"Go get checked NOW," he said. He was more concerned that it was tightness than pain -- pain could be a pulled muscle. How about after my birthday? No NOW, Eric insisted. In addition to being my brother from another mother, he's a brilliant doc -- Harvard trained -- a cardiologist's cardiologist -- head of a major health company's heart division. So when Eric tells you to do something medically, you freakin do it.
He told me to either go to an ER, or try to see his buddy Harry, who practices in South Miami. I walked into Harry's office -- it was packed. Harry was off, but the nice manager, hearing my tale, added me on as a patient of the senior guy, Yale Samole. I waited about 3 hours, and then met Dr. S.
I knew of him -- he's from a prominent Miami Jewish family. His older brother hit it big in electronics -- he invented 3 D chess, and founded the Chess Hall of Fame here. The brother died in '00 and the museum moved to St. Louis. But Dr. S was a top guy -- used to be head of South Miami Hospital -- a place I hold pretty dear, since they were nice enough to sell us both of our Ds there, and they saved my Mom's life a couple of times, too.
Anyway, they did an EKG, and it was inconclusive. I have a normal variant called a right branch bundle block -- I've known about it for years. It isn't a cause for concern, but it makes reading EKGs tough. Dr. S said he was considering putting me in the hospital until they could do a stress test. I protested -- I felt pretty good -- couldn't I just go home and come back, AFTER my birthday?
My negotiation was partly successful -- no hospital, but stress test would be next day -- birthday or not. I was set for 1:30.
Ha. Not so fast. I got a call from the office canceling it. AvMed refused to pay -- their protocol was an echocardiogram BEFORE they paid for a stress test. I called the office -- I would self pay.
It always amazes me that people who can afford it let insurance companies dictate their health care. They have no problem spending thousands on stuff, but if a better doctor or faster care costs out of pocket -- they refuse. Not me -- I gave them my credit card for $1600 and figured I'd try to collect from AvMed later.
Wifey took me. We arrived 3:30, and I was taken in around 5. They injected a radioisotope into my hand, and then put me in a scanner for 8 minutes. Then another wait, and I was on the treadmill. Dr. S was there -- reading the equipment. I went for 10 minutes, which Eric later said was "decent." He said a few things to the medical student with him -- I figured this was my bad health sentence. I asked him. He said he doesn't comment until all the testing is done.
I then went back to the scanner, first on my back, and then ample belly. This checks the heart POST exercise. I finished and got dressed. It was 6:30. I was convinced I was going to hear bad news.
Roberta, the manager, said the doc was in his office calling each patient he had seen that day. I was impressed. The man clearly isn't doing it for money anymore -- a Google search told me he lives in a $7M house in Miami Beach. But he's 70, sharp as a tack, and really loves to help folks.
We got into Wifey's SUV and started driving to meet D1 and Joey. I conferenced in the Ds, and told them what was going on -- I knew the fact that they let me leave the office was a good sign. And then Dr. S called. I jumped off the phone. He said the tests were essentially normal, except that at high exercise, my heart was beating too fast. In essence, I was a fat, out of shape, pig -- but no disease!
I told him I was with Wifey, and he had given me the best birthday gift in a good long while. Hearing Wifey's name, and knowing right away she was a Sabra, he wished me happy birthday in Hebrew. What a guy. Sometimes people come into your life briefly and it's a true blessing.
I called Eric, and then Barry, who I had forced to share my anxiety. I was crying. I love them both.
Barry told me he clearly remembered the night in '82 when Eric and I came into his parents' townhouse, in Davie. My Dad had died - - I was spending time until I had to pick up relatives at FLL. Barry was 18. He admitted he didn't know what to say -- parents weren't supposed to die at that stage of our lives.
Years later, he deals with worse deaths -- those of children in his ICU. I don't think it ever got easier for him, but now he at least knows the words to use.
Wifey and I met D1 and Joey, at Capital Grille, the old celebratory restaurant Paul and I spent many nights following professional triumphs. Joey had never been. I ordered the fish -- just for the halibut. The waiter laughed -- some Groucho lines never get too old...
So I will truly celebrate today. I already took my first mile walk -- I have pledged to the Ds I will move myself. A LOT more. We have a treadmill and bike in front of an upstairs TV -- I plan to do my watching while MOVING. Wifey says she will commit to better health, too. I hope she does.
We've had an amazingly blessed life together. We're about to marry off D1. We hope to do the same with D2. And dare we hope for grandkids? We do dare...
So I begin my 57th year on this earth -- another trip around the sun. And when you're, to borrow an AC/DC phrase, cut loose from the noose that had you hanging around -- in my case a noose of angst and worry -- well, you're one blessed and lucky Daddy in the USA...
I don't fear death. I've been around it three times in my life. The first was when my Dad died in my arms. Years later, in a (now) comical case of mistaken identity, I was held at gunpoint by three cops, one of whom I saw had a twitchy finger. And closest of all, I was in my boss's King Air plane as we lost control, an event the VERY experienced pilot later admitted was the closest he ever came to dying in a plane, too.
Each of these three times, I was suffused with calm. I don't know if it's psychological or physiological, or both, but it was the calmest, anxiety free feeling I experienced, other than waking up from propofol, which is great, too.
No - what I fear is the effect my death would have on, in particular, my Ds. I greatly fear visiting upon them what was visited upon me when Dad died 35 years ago. And that is why when I have a health scare, it really bothers me -- inordinately so.
So, as it turns out no coincidence, last week I started feeling a tightness in my chest. I chalked it up to the memory of Dad's death -- I first got chest pains in the Fall of '82, and an EKG confirmed it was only stress. Twelve years ago Eric made me get a stress test -- having a Dad die at 63 and a paternal grandfather die at 55 -- both of heart attacks, is a "bad family history." The test years ago was normal, and last year, during a CT scan to check for kidney stones, they also looked at my heart circulation, and found ZERO calcium deposits -- a very good sign. But the tightness persisted, and on Monday I called Eric.
"Go get checked NOW," he said. He was more concerned that it was tightness than pain -- pain could be a pulled muscle. How about after my birthday? No NOW, Eric insisted. In addition to being my brother from another mother, he's a brilliant doc -- Harvard trained -- a cardiologist's cardiologist -- head of a major health company's heart division. So when Eric tells you to do something medically, you freakin do it.
He told me to either go to an ER, or try to see his buddy Harry, who practices in South Miami. I walked into Harry's office -- it was packed. Harry was off, but the nice manager, hearing my tale, added me on as a patient of the senior guy, Yale Samole. I waited about 3 hours, and then met Dr. S.
I knew of him -- he's from a prominent Miami Jewish family. His older brother hit it big in electronics -- he invented 3 D chess, and founded the Chess Hall of Fame here. The brother died in '00 and the museum moved to St. Louis. But Dr. S was a top guy -- used to be head of South Miami Hospital -- a place I hold pretty dear, since they were nice enough to sell us both of our Ds there, and they saved my Mom's life a couple of times, too.
Anyway, they did an EKG, and it was inconclusive. I have a normal variant called a right branch bundle block -- I've known about it for years. It isn't a cause for concern, but it makes reading EKGs tough. Dr. S said he was considering putting me in the hospital until they could do a stress test. I protested -- I felt pretty good -- couldn't I just go home and come back, AFTER my birthday?
My negotiation was partly successful -- no hospital, but stress test would be next day -- birthday or not. I was set for 1:30.
Ha. Not so fast. I got a call from the office canceling it. AvMed refused to pay -- their protocol was an echocardiogram BEFORE they paid for a stress test. I called the office -- I would self pay.
It always amazes me that people who can afford it let insurance companies dictate their health care. They have no problem spending thousands on stuff, but if a better doctor or faster care costs out of pocket -- they refuse. Not me -- I gave them my credit card for $1600 and figured I'd try to collect from AvMed later.
Wifey took me. We arrived 3:30, and I was taken in around 5. They injected a radioisotope into my hand, and then put me in a scanner for 8 minutes. Then another wait, and I was on the treadmill. Dr. S was there -- reading the equipment. I went for 10 minutes, which Eric later said was "decent." He said a few things to the medical student with him -- I figured this was my bad health sentence. I asked him. He said he doesn't comment until all the testing is done.
I then went back to the scanner, first on my back, and then ample belly. This checks the heart POST exercise. I finished and got dressed. It was 6:30. I was convinced I was going to hear bad news.
Roberta, the manager, said the doc was in his office calling each patient he had seen that day. I was impressed. The man clearly isn't doing it for money anymore -- a Google search told me he lives in a $7M house in Miami Beach. But he's 70, sharp as a tack, and really loves to help folks.
We got into Wifey's SUV and started driving to meet D1 and Joey. I conferenced in the Ds, and told them what was going on -- I knew the fact that they let me leave the office was a good sign. And then Dr. S called. I jumped off the phone. He said the tests were essentially normal, except that at high exercise, my heart was beating too fast. In essence, I was a fat, out of shape, pig -- but no disease!
I told him I was with Wifey, and he had given me the best birthday gift in a good long while. Hearing Wifey's name, and knowing right away she was a Sabra, he wished me happy birthday in Hebrew. What a guy. Sometimes people come into your life briefly and it's a true blessing.
I called Eric, and then Barry, who I had forced to share my anxiety. I was crying. I love them both.
Barry told me he clearly remembered the night in '82 when Eric and I came into his parents' townhouse, in Davie. My Dad had died - - I was spending time until I had to pick up relatives at FLL. Barry was 18. He admitted he didn't know what to say -- parents weren't supposed to die at that stage of our lives.
Years later, he deals with worse deaths -- those of children in his ICU. I don't think it ever got easier for him, but now he at least knows the words to use.
Wifey and I met D1 and Joey, at Capital Grille, the old celebratory restaurant Paul and I spent many nights following professional triumphs. Joey had never been. I ordered the fish -- just for the halibut. The waiter laughed -- some Groucho lines never get too old...
So I will truly celebrate today. I already took my first mile walk -- I have pledged to the Ds I will move myself. A LOT more. We have a treadmill and bike in front of an upstairs TV -- I plan to do my watching while MOVING. Wifey says she will commit to better health, too. I hope she does.
We've had an amazingly blessed life together. We're about to marry off D1. We hope to do the same with D2. And dare we hope for grandkids? We do dare...
So I begin my 57th year on this earth -- another trip around the sun. And when you're, to borrow an AC/DC phrase, cut loose from the noose that had you hanging around -- in my case a noose of angst and worry -- well, you're one blessed and lucky Daddy in the USA...
Sunday, July 16, 2017
Whose House Is It, Anyway?
Wifey and I bought our first house in September of '86, using the $10K gift my mom gave to us. Back then, interest rates were still high, and some years Sunny would gift each of her three kids that tax allowed amount -- as rates fell, and her savings dwindled, the practice stopped. But we found a place in East Kendall that looked like it was in Coconut Grove, with a huge banyan tree out front, and put down 10%, or $8650, and we owned our place -- along with the bank, of course.
I started having wild financial dreams about maybe someday owning the place mortgage free. It seemed that would never happen, or it it did, it would be LONG into the future. We stayed there four years, and bought our second house, for $175K, in October of 1990. By then I had become a plaintiff's lawyer, and made more money, but the thought of a mortgage free house also seemed a far away goal...and then a hurricane hit.
Andrew was a life changer for us. It put us in peril that night in August of '92, with my Mom staying with us, 3 year old D1, and 6 month old D2. Ceilings filled with stormwater and collapsed, and we found refuge in my car in the garage. Thankfully that room held -- it was on the NW corner of the house, farthest from the wind. But after all the insurance adjusting was done, we were left, in fact, without something I thought we'd have a long time: a mortgage. Our rebuilt house was all hours, so long as we paid the real estate taxes.
We never looked back. Though I made good money, our next house waited until we could afford it for cash -- a pile I plunked down in December of 2000. We've owned the place free and clear ever since -- paying high real estate taxes, and an ever escalating insurance bill. But that's ok -- I have no real complaints.
But lately it occurs to me the house isn't really mine -- I sort of serve at the pleasure of the folks who service us.
Our long time cleaner Miriam comes once per week, and every third week for a supplement. She comes and goes as she pleases -- and I try to be gone when she's there. She used to come early and leave around 4, so I'd be out of the house before breakfast, and back in the late afternoon. But lately she's still there at 5 or so -- I gamely come in, and struggle with Spanish to try and communicate with her. She thinks I speak it better than I do -- I fake real well.
And on Friday, the pool guy is there -- lets himself in, opens the garage to service the filter. Nice guy, but I got blocked in the other day, and I waited, twiddling my thumbs until he was done, so as not to interrupt.
It used to be weekends I knew the house was all ours -- I might even decide to take a naked dip in the pool, or leisurely read the paper on the porch. Not so fast. Wifey has new landscape guys, to service the new stuff she had put in, and they come EVERY Sunday .
Just this am, I was going to take the dogs out to hang, while I finished the paper, and then the strange rescue alerted me to a presence in the back yard -- the man with his leaf blower. So now I'm inside until they finish their work.
I realize these are the whiny complaints of a rich guy, complaining about the "help," but it teaches me something deeper -- I really DON'T want to be surrounded by many folks as I get older. Wifey pressures about selling the house and moving to a condo -- not going to happen. I'm annoyed at a few service folks interrupting my solitude -- the thought of neighbors I have to see is terrifying.
So I'll get my second cup of coffee and realize I should be happy to be providing work to the three handscapers, the pool guy, and Miriam. But I fantasize about a house really being all my own...
I started having wild financial dreams about maybe someday owning the place mortgage free. It seemed that would never happen, or it it did, it would be LONG into the future. We stayed there four years, and bought our second house, for $175K, in October of 1990. By then I had become a plaintiff's lawyer, and made more money, but the thought of a mortgage free house also seemed a far away goal...and then a hurricane hit.
Andrew was a life changer for us. It put us in peril that night in August of '92, with my Mom staying with us, 3 year old D1, and 6 month old D2. Ceilings filled with stormwater and collapsed, and we found refuge in my car in the garage. Thankfully that room held -- it was on the NW corner of the house, farthest from the wind. But after all the insurance adjusting was done, we were left, in fact, without something I thought we'd have a long time: a mortgage. Our rebuilt house was all hours, so long as we paid the real estate taxes.
We never looked back. Though I made good money, our next house waited until we could afford it for cash -- a pile I plunked down in December of 2000. We've owned the place free and clear ever since -- paying high real estate taxes, and an ever escalating insurance bill. But that's ok -- I have no real complaints.
But lately it occurs to me the house isn't really mine -- I sort of serve at the pleasure of the folks who service us.
Our long time cleaner Miriam comes once per week, and every third week for a supplement. She comes and goes as she pleases -- and I try to be gone when she's there. She used to come early and leave around 4, so I'd be out of the house before breakfast, and back in the late afternoon. But lately she's still there at 5 or so -- I gamely come in, and struggle with Spanish to try and communicate with her. She thinks I speak it better than I do -- I fake real well.
And on Friday, the pool guy is there -- lets himself in, opens the garage to service the filter. Nice guy, but I got blocked in the other day, and I waited, twiddling my thumbs until he was done, so as not to interrupt.
It used to be weekends I knew the house was all ours -- I might even decide to take a naked dip in the pool, or leisurely read the paper on the porch. Not so fast. Wifey has new landscape guys, to service the new stuff she had put in, and they come EVERY Sunday .
Just this am, I was going to take the dogs out to hang, while I finished the paper, and then the strange rescue alerted me to a presence in the back yard -- the man with his leaf blower. So now I'm inside until they finish their work.
I realize these are the whiny complaints of a rich guy, complaining about the "help," but it teaches me something deeper -- I really DON'T want to be surrounded by many folks as I get older. Wifey pressures about selling the house and moving to a condo -- not going to happen. I'm annoyed at a few service folks interrupting my solitude -- the thought of neighbors I have to see is terrifying.
So I'll get my second cup of coffee and realize I should be happy to be providing work to the three handscapers, the pool guy, and Miriam. But I fantasize about a house really being all my own...
Friday, July 14, 2017
35 Years Ago Today -- the Worst Day of My Life
So July 14, 1982, I was on top of the world. I was about to turn 21 4 days later, had found myself intellectually at UM by changing my major to English, from Biology, and I was enjoying a terrific summer. I had a gig at Jordan Marsh in the Town Center Mall, and Boca back then was still very seasonal -- young guys like me were in short supply, and I had quite a few ladies to date at the store...
I was looking MOST forward to my senior year of college -- living that exquisite time of life when the only cares and concerns were my own. I owed no money to anyone, and was even given a full tuition scholarship due to my student activity work -- so my retired parents wouldn't even have to come up with the half tuition they had been paying. Yes -- I was cooking with gas, as the expression goes.
Dad had had a heart attack, a serious one, which scared the hell out of my Mom and me, but he had gotten through, and it looked as if he'd have plenty more years on the earth to enjoy. His only real worry was one of his kids -- my California sister, who had married bad and just had a baby boy -- her new husband made it crystal clear he was not going to support his family, and Dad was looking into going back to work to acquit that unexpected responsibility. The heart attack had put any of those plans on hold.
He had an appointment with his doctor, and asked me to go along. I was uncharacteristically annoyed with him -- I had already given up a good deal of party time due to his hospitalization, but the night before, as we lay in his bed watching baseball, he asked me to please come along -- what if the doc said he needed to go back to Bethesda Hospital -- Mom would be stressed. Fine -- I called my friend girl Donna and canceled the plans I had to take her and her Wisconsin cousins to Miami for the day. I never turned down my Dad's requests.
The visit went fine -- Dr. Heller, who I always suspected graduated from the bottom of his class, said all was ok -- maybe Dad should go easy on the meat and eat more fish. We left with the happy good health news, and headed to a local cafeteria -- maybe Morrisons? -- for lunch. Sure enough, Dad got the fish, even though the meatloaf and brisket called to him. I much later realized that his final meal would be one he didn't like -- even a condemned guy on death row gets to enjoy that final treat.
We were going to head home, but Dad wanted a haircut. My Miami plans were ruined anyway, so I drove us, in his boat-sized '75 Olds 98, to the shopping center where his barber was. Mom left to walk to the next door Publix, and I read Sports Illustrated while the haircutter, a punk-looking young girl, probably my age, started her work. She had piercings and a purple streak. My Dad didn't care.
Next I heard, she was yelling "Sir! Sir!" Dad had slumped over in the chair. Even then, I was cool in a crisis, and started CPR. She called 911. But as I breathed into his mouth, I knew. He was gone.
The paramedics were there fast, and took over. They put him on a "thumper" which did the chest compressions. Poor Mom walked in. She looked like a scared little girl. I hugged her and lied that everything was ok.
An old man stood at the door rubbernecking as they wheeled my father out. Get lost, I yelled to the ghoul. He started arguing me that he had a right to be there and observe. I still remember him -- small and bald. As I led Mom to the car, to follow the fire rescue truck, I hissed at him to go fuck himself.
We got to the hospital, and a few minutes later, I saw a young doc trying to assemble a team out of our view. I knew what was going on. They pulled us into a small room -- the doc and a nurse and a social worker, and started to stutter out platitudes. I interrupted them -- "My Dad died, right?" The young doc seemed relieved to be saved having to actually say the words.
The rest of the day, and summer, was a blur. I slept walked through much of my senior year -- somehow keeping up my grades. I dulled the psychic pain mostly with early 80s sanctioned promiscuity.
I made many trips to Delray, to try to get my WWII era Mom independent. She had never paid a bill or balanced a checkbook. Neither had I , really, but I learned and taught her. Little by little she got on with her life.
I was dissuaded by faculty mentors against a grad degree in English -- this was the end of the Boomer generation in college, and academic jobs were scarce as hens' teeth. I settled on law school instead -- figuring it was reading and writing and I could do both serviceably. I applied to UF and UM, and got into both, but I knew it would be Miami, since Gville was too far from the widowed Mom -- she still needed a lot more care and feeding.
So I grew up too fast on this Bastille Day, now three and a half decades ago. My life's blessings since have been almost comically manifold -- starting with two daughters who have turned out beyond any Dad's dreams, and Wifey, a life partner who made that dream a reality.
I have friends I savor and adore. I acquitted the responsibilities I assumed, when Dad left, mostly seeing Mom through to her end, which would come over 30 years after he died. I'd often deal with an issue by saying "WWHD," or What Would Hy Do?
I recently relieved myself of this burden vis a vis the extended family -- I figure 35 years of partly filling in for Dad was enough.
D2 called this am, from Hoboken -- saying she knew today was a tough one for me. She's right -- it was the worst day of my life. But I moved on. And I savor each day since...
I was looking MOST forward to my senior year of college -- living that exquisite time of life when the only cares and concerns were my own. I owed no money to anyone, and was even given a full tuition scholarship due to my student activity work -- so my retired parents wouldn't even have to come up with the half tuition they had been paying. Yes -- I was cooking with gas, as the expression goes.
Dad had had a heart attack, a serious one, which scared the hell out of my Mom and me, but he had gotten through, and it looked as if he'd have plenty more years on the earth to enjoy. His only real worry was one of his kids -- my California sister, who had married bad and just had a baby boy -- her new husband made it crystal clear he was not going to support his family, and Dad was looking into going back to work to acquit that unexpected responsibility. The heart attack had put any of those plans on hold.
He had an appointment with his doctor, and asked me to go along. I was uncharacteristically annoyed with him -- I had already given up a good deal of party time due to his hospitalization, but the night before, as we lay in his bed watching baseball, he asked me to please come along -- what if the doc said he needed to go back to Bethesda Hospital -- Mom would be stressed. Fine -- I called my friend girl Donna and canceled the plans I had to take her and her Wisconsin cousins to Miami for the day. I never turned down my Dad's requests.
The visit went fine -- Dr. Heller, who I always suspected graduated from the bottom of his class, said all was ok -- maybe Dad should go easy on the meat and eat more fish. We left with the happy good health news, and headed to a local cafeteria -- maybe Morrisons? -- for lunch. Sure enough, Dad got the fish, even though the meatloaf and brisket called to him. I much later realized that his final meal would be one he didn't like -- even a condemned guy on death row gets to enjoy that final treat.
We were going to head home, but Dad wanted a haircut. My Miami plans were ruined anyway, so I drove us, in his boat-sized '75 Olds 98, to the shopping center where his barber was. Mom left to walk to the next door Publix, and I read Sports Illustrated while the haircutter, a punk-looking young girl, probably my age, started her work. She had piercings and a purple streak. My Dad didn't care.
Next I heard, she was yelling "Sir! Sir!" Dad had slumped over in the chair. Even then, I was cool in a crisis, and started CPR. She called 911. But as I breathed into his mouth, I knew. He was gone.
The paramedics were there fast, and took over. They put him on a "thumper" which did the chest compressions. Poor Mom walked in. She looked like a scared little girl. I hugged her and lied that everything was ok.
An old man stood at the door rubbernecking as they wheeled my father out. Get lost, I yelled to the ghoul. He started arguing me that he had a right to be there and observe. I still remember him -- small and bald. As I led Mom to the car, to follow the fire rescue truck, I hissed at him to go fuck himself.
We got to the hospital, and a few minutes later, I saw a young doc trying to assemble a team out of our view. I knew what was going on. They pulled us into a small room -- the doc and a nurse and a social worker, and started to stutter out platitudes. I interrupted them -- "My Dad died, right?" The young doc seemed relieved to be saved having to actually say the words.
The rest of the day, and summer, was a blur. I slept walked through much of my senior year -- somehow keeping up my grades. I dulled the psychic pain mostly with early 80s sanctioned promiscuity.
I made many trips to Delray, to try to get my WWII era Mom independent. She had never paid a bill or balanced a checkbook. Neither had I , really, but I learned and taught her. Little by little she got on with her life.
I was dissuaded by faculty mentors against a grad degree in English -- this was the end of the Boomer generation in college, and academic jobs were scarce as hens' teeth. I settled on law school instead -- figuring it was reading and writing and I could do both serviceably. I applied to UF and UM, and got into both, but I knew it would be Miami, since Gville was too far from the widowed Mom -- she still needed a lot more care and feeding.
So I grew up too fast on this Bastille Day, now three and a half decades ago. My life's blessings since have been almost comically manifold -- starting with two daughters who have turned out beyond any Dad's dreams, and Wifey, a life partner who made that dream a reality.
I have friends I savor and adore. I acquitted the responsibilities I assumed, when Dad left, mostly seeing Mom through to her end, which would come over 30 years after he died. I'd often deal with an issue by saying "WWHD," or What Would Hy Do?
I recently relieved myself of this burden vis a vis the extended family -- I figure 35 years of partly filling in for Dad was enough.
D2 called this am, from Hoboken -- saying she knew today was a tough one for me. She's right -- it was the worst day of my life. But I moved on. And I savor each day since...
Thursday, July 13, 2017
Hasta 7 Weeks, D2
Yesterday was D2's last day in the 305 before heading back to the 212. I did my Dadber routine -- shuttling her to a dental appointment, and then a stop to fetch some contact lenses, before lunch at LOL. From there it was home, so say adios to Wifey and the dogs, and then I dropped her at MIA.
I missed her as I watched her walk into the terminal, but was happy that her man Jonathan was to meet her there, and the two would enjoy a bit of the Centurion Lounge before their flight. I'm happiest when both Ds are in my bailiwick...
I think this visit resonated even more than most with D2, and Jonathan as well. They just signed a two year lease for their Greenwich Village apartment, and I think that might be the duration of their NYC sabbatical. NYC truly is the world's best city, in my opinion, and I'm thrilled they're getting to live there, and REALLY live there, in Manhattan, the heart of things. But the 305 lifestyle is easier, and better.
Plus, I keep joking that Jonathan is required by law to return to the 305, as he is a Latin Jew, in the way that Northeastern Jews who turn 65 are now required by law to move to Palm Beach County. I think Jonathan may agree...
In any event, I then drove to my office to check on the mail, and catch up with my compadres, and then I left at 5 for a typically 30 minute drive to South Miami. But it rained, and despite living in the Tropics, that seems to confound Miami drivers, so it took a full hour and 15 minutes to make it to my meeting, with my old friend Kenny.
Kenny is a retired Navy Captain, and current Peds radiologist, and he was killing some time before fetching his wife at MIA -- she was in Chicago attending a critically important meeting of law professors. I say this in jest -- to me, law professors are among the most un-needed professionals in American society -- but, hey, they feel otherwise, especially when they congregate to discuss their important things...
We had dinner at No Name Chinese, a place that opened a month or so ago, by three young fellows who had met at Ransom High. The food was delicious, and reasonably priced. Sure enough, even though it was a stormy Wednesday night, the place was packed. I saw zero Asians there, which is a bit contrary to usual for Chinese places, but then again, the best Jewish deli in Miami is co-owned by an Egyptian Muslim guy, so how can I judge?
I brought home some delicious beef and broccoli for Wifey. She put in on the kitchen table, and it was stolen by our strange, short rescue dog, who jumped onto a kitchen chair and then table to steal it. I asked Vienna if she liked the food. She looked at me and licked her chops -- I took that as a yes...
So D2 is due back in less than two months, and I look most forward to it. We speak most days, either on her way to or from work,but it's still best when she's here. I raised two daddy's girls, and I'm thrilled I did.
I missed her as I watched her walk into the terminal, but was happy that her man Jonathan was to meet her there, and the two would enjoy a bit of the Centurion Lounge before their flight. I'm happiest when both Ds are in my bailiwick...
I think this visit resonated even more than most with D2, and Jonathan as well. They just signed a two year lease for their Greenwich Village apartment, and I think that might be the duration of their NYC sabbatical. NYC truly is the world's best city, in my opinion, and I'm thrilled they're getting to live there, and REALLY live there, in Manhattan, the heart of things. But the 305 lifestyle is easier, and better.
Plus, I keep joking that Jonathan is required by law to return to the 305, as he is a Latin Jew, in the way that Northeastern Jews who turn 65 are now required by law to move to Palm Beach County. I think Jonathan may agree...
In any event, I then drove to my office to check on the mail, and catch up with my compadres, and then I left at 5 for a typically 30 minute drive to South Miami. But it rained, and despite living in the Tropics, that seems to confound Miami drivers, so it took a full hour and 15 minutes to make it to my meeting, with my old friend Kenny.
Kenny is a retired Navy Captain, and current Peds radiologist, and he was killing some time before fetching his wife at MIA -- she was in Chicago attending a critically important meeting of law professors. I say this in jest -- to me, law professors are among the most un-needed professionals in American society -- but, hey, they feel otherwise, especially when they congregate to discuss their important things...
We had dinner at No Name Chinese, a place that opened a month or so ago, by three young fellows who had met at Ransom High. The food was delicious, and reasonably priced. Sure enough, even though it was a stormy Wednesday night, the place was packed. I saw zero Asians there, which is a bit contrary to usual for Chinese places, but then again, the best Jewish deli in Miami is co-owned by an Egyptian Muslim guy, so how can I judge?
I brought home some delicious beef and broccoli for Wifey. She put in on the kitchen table, and it was stolen by our strange, short rescue dog, who jumped onto a kitchen chair and then table to steal it. I asked Vienna if she liked the food. She looked at me and licked her chops -- I took that as a yes...
So D2 is due back in less than two months, and I look most forward to it. We speak most days, either on her way to or from work,but it's still best when she's here. I raised two daddy's girls, and I'm thrilled I did.
Wednesday, July 12, 2017
D1, Norman, and The Charitable Day
In addition to running a business, keeping house with her fiance, and a very active social life, D1 is very active in the charitable world. Of course, of the manifold reasons she gives us to be proud of her, this is very high on the list.
She jokes that she is heavily involved in two charities -- her "Jewish one" and her "Gentile One." The latter is Junior League, where she meets with Miami's female movers and shakers, helping victims of domestic abuse, and homeless women. She's given talks to the homeless at Camillus House, and spent time with her therapy dog helping kids learn to read.
The "Jewish " charity has been Jewish Community Services, where she chaired a committee, and has spent lots of time helping out elderly and disabled. That brings us to today's tale...
She sent me an email, and asked me to forward it to local friends, about one of the JCS programs -- one that provides day care and job training for disabled adults. The program is in financial peril, and D1 knows how critical it is -- for the families of special needs adults, having a safe and loving facility where they can leave their family member is critical -- no less than allowing the family to have some semblance of a normal life. And for the special needs adults -- well, D1 was moved to happy tears at her visits -- these folks getting real life training that gives them a sense of self worth...
So I sent the email, and I figured one of my friends, Norman, might respond. I made a self commitment that my family would match any contribution he made -- figuring it might be a nice one.
Well, as Wifey pointed out years ago, Norman and I have a LOT in common -- we think and act identically about most life issues. We worship our fathers -- in this arena Norman is far luckier than I -- he still has his Dad with him -- nearing 90. The other thing we have in common is that when we decide to do something, moss doesn't grow on our tucheses... we act immediately.
So I was sitting in my car, checking emails while awaiting D2 at the tailor's shop -- getting the final adjustments made on the dress for her sister's wedding, and in came one from Norman. He had already made a contribution -- a VERY sizeable and generous one, I got a bit teary eyed...
I joked with him in the way men do -- telling him he was a jerk for making such a big gesture -- since it would now cost me big, too. But my heart was thrilled, for helping this awesome cause.
D1 came over to spend time with her sister, and Wifey, the Ds, and I went out for a farewell to D2 dinner, at a local Italian place. The ladies talked about skin, and hair, and I caught glimpses of the All Star game on the restaurant's tv. I was beaming...
D1 left, Spaniel in tow, and Wifey and D2 and I played our version of "Name That Tune." I impress them with my ability -- especially with music from the 60s through early 80s... I told them that when I team with Norman, who has a far greater knowledge of Punk, New Age, and Jazz than I -- we're unstoppable.
And then I went online, and made our family's matching contribution to the special needs program -- thinking about D1, and thinking about Norman.
When you can be involved in charity -- or better -- when your kid is involved in charity -- well that makes for a damn good day. And Norman rocks...
She jokes that she is heavily involved in two charities -- her "Jewish one" and her "Gentile One." The latter is Junior League, where she meets with Miami's female movers and shakers, helping victims of domestic abuse, and homeless women. She's given talks to the homeless at Camillus House, and spent time with her therapy dog helping kids learn to read.
The "Jewish " charity has been Jewish Community Services, where she chaired a committee, and has spent lots of time helping out elderly and disabled. That brings us to today's tale...
She sent me an email, and asked me to forward it to local friends, about one of the JCS programs -- one that provides day care and job training for disabled adults. The program is in financial peril, and D1 knows how critical it is -- for the families of special needs adults, having a safe and loving facility where they can leave their family member is critical -- no less than allowing the family to have some semblance of a normal life. And for the special needs adults -- well, D1 was moved to happy tears at her visits -- these folks getting real life training that gives them a sense of self worth...
So I sent the email, and I figured one of my friends, Norman, might respond. I made a self commitment that my family would match any contribution he made -- figuring it might be a nice one.
Well, as Wifey pointed out years ago, Norman and I have a LOT in common -- we think and act identically about most life issues. We worship our fathers -- in this arena Norman is far luckier than I -- he still has his Dad with him -- nearing 90. The other thing we have in common is that when we decide to do something, moss doesn't grow on our tucheses... we act immediately.
So I was sitting in my car, checking emails while awaiting D2 at the tailor's shop -- getting the final adjustments made on the dress for her sister's wedding, and in came one from Norman. He had already made a contribution -- a VERY sizeable and generous one, I got a bit teary eyed...
I joked with him in the way men do -- telling him he was a jerk for making such a big gesture -- since it would now cost me big, too. But my heart was thrilled, for helping this awesome cause.
D1 came over to spend time with her sister, and Wifey, the Ds, and I went out for a farewell to D2 dinner, at a local Italian place. The ladies talked about skin, and hair, and I caught glimpses of the All Star game on the restaurant's tv. I was beaming...
D1 left, Spaniel in tow, and Wifey and D2 and I played our version of "Name That Tune." I impress them with my ability -- especially with music from the 60s through early 80s... I told them that when I team with Norman, who has a far greater knowledge of Punk, New Age, and Jazz than I -- we're unstoppable.
And then I went online, and made our family's matching contribution to the special needs program -- thinking about D1, and thinking about Norman.
When you can be involved in charity -- or better -- when your kid is involved in charity -- well that makes for a damn good day. And Norman rocks...
Sunday, July 9, 2017
D Bonding
Unlike many of our contemporary helicopter parents, whose obsession about their kids was getting them to go to "prestige" colleges, I never much cared about that. They both were accepted and attended the most competitive place in Florida, UF, and that was fine with me. Plus, it allows me to unleash a never ending barrage of Gator jokes -- UF and Notre Dame will always be schools I love to make fun of, based on long ago football rivalries. No -- I had one major goal as a Dad of 2 daughters -- and I'm pleased to say, mission accomplished. I demanded they become best friends.
I'm an empiricist, and care deeply about my girls. I plan to check off this mortal coil long before I do, and wanted to make sure they have go to people, unconditionally. That would be their sister.
D2's boyfriend Jonathan just celebrated a birthday, and D1 arranged for them to have a great weekend at a club hotel on the Beach. Then D1 said SHE would be attending lunch both days -- to snare sister time.
As it turned out, Wifey and I were invited along yesterday, and I begged off. I was way tired from the McCartney concert, and Dadber pick up of D2 at MIA. Plus, I had committed to attend a birthday brunch for my rabbi friend Yossi, at his shul and community center. So instead I drove D2 to her optician, and then took her to breakfast. I then handed her off to Wifey, who drove her to the hotel -- they had a sister AND Mom day together.
I came home from the shul, and took a terrific nap. I awoke to see a text from Mike -- he was barbecuing some of the prime meat he got from a client, who owned a restaurant on Brickell, but due to untoward circumstances, had to flee to Uruguay. Mike now has more than a year's supply of beef, as well as cases of Spanish wine. I went over, and had a great evening, with Mike, Loni, their kids, and old friends Paul and Darriel. We reminisced about Canes trips we had taken over the years -- including a last minute charter to Dallas to see the Cotton Bowl, on January 1, 1991.
But all day my soul was warmed, thinking about the Ds. They're very different in personality. D1 is the consummate bubbly extrovert; D2 is taciturn and likes fewer and fewer people as she meets more and more people. But their bond is unbreakable.
That makes me one happy Daddy in the USA.
I'm an empiricist, and care deeply about my girls. I plan to check off this mortal coil long before I do, and wanted to make sure they have go to people, unconditionally. That would be their sister.
D2's boyfriend Jonathan just celebrated a birthday, and D1 arranged for them to have a great weekend at a club hotel on the Beach. Then D1 said SHE would be attending lunch both days -- to snare sister time.
As it turned out, Wifey and I were invited along yesterday, and I begged off. I was way tired from the McCartney concert, and Dadber pick up of D2 at MIA. Plus, I had committed to attend a birthday brunch for my rabbi friend Yossi, at his shul and community center. So instead I drove D2 to her optician, and then took her to breakfast. I then handed her off to Wifey, who drove her to the hotel -- they had a sister AND Mom day together.
I came home from the shul, and took a terrific nap. I awoke to see a text from Mike -- he was barbecuing some of the prime meat he got from a client, who owned a restaurant on Brickell, but due to untoward circumstances, had to flee to Uruguay. Mike now has more than a year's supply of beef, as well as cases of Spanish wine. I went over, and had a great evening, with Mike, Loni, their kids, and old friends Paul and Darriel. We reminisced about Canes trips we had taken over the years -- including a last minute charter to Dallas to see the Cotton Bowl, on January 1, 1991.
But all day my soul was warmed, thinking about the Ds. They're very different in personality. D1 is the consummate bubbly extrovert; D2 is taciturn and likes fewer and fewer people as she meets more and more people. But their bond is unbreakable.
That makes me one happy Daddy in the USA.
Saturday, July 8, 2017
Mission Accomplished With the Best of All
Beginning in Spring, Wifey and I set out upon a pleasant and easy mission (except for the cost): seeing some great shows before the artists, or we, became unable to attend. First was Hall and Oats and Tears for Fears at the AAA -- which became a forever memorable night when Mike, Loni, Wifey, and I all won wet T shirt contests.
Next was U2 at Joe Robbie, which we did in limo style, with Deb and Norm bringing gourmet apps for our trip to Miami Gardens. The last of the shows was Sir Paul McCartney, in Miami at the AAA to kick off the final leg of what may be his final tour. Dude is 74, for Beatles's sakes...
I bought 4 tickets, and figured a few friends would want to join, but then D1 got word of this and told us her man Joey grew UP on Beatles music in Colombia -- they wanted in. They got priority.
So last night we reconvened at Toro Toro in the Intercontinental, a few blocks from the AAA. Mike was a last minute addition -- he scored two tix from our law school buddy Peter, and his girl Amanda, in from LA, got the invite. An old friend of mine, Ian, is assistant manager at the place, and we met there. It's a headquarter site for MLB's All Star game, and the place was packed -- plus TONS of security.
Wifey and I took a seat and Ian greeted us. He was an original bartender at Trulucks, and has moved his way up the hospitality ladder -- first at Michael's Genuine, and now this big job. The evening started out with a tad of tensosity, to use my friend Alan's neologism. In a chair next to the bar a black backpack sat alone, and soon 15 cops were surrounding it, trying to remain nonchalant but making me think we were about to make the news from some idiot's political message against the National Past time. No -- false alarm -- someone came by to claim it -- it contained a huge chocolate covered pretzel that was a party favor for one of the All Star events.
So we ate a bit -- Joey and I had a few martinis, Mike his Pisco sours, and Amanda and D1 some girlie drinks, and then we left for the nice walk to the AAA.
Sir Paul came on and blew us away. He played a full three hours -- Wifey heard her favorite song, Maybe I'm Amazed, which she has been telling me for 34 years was the song every girl wanted written about her...D1 loved "Let it Be" which was a childhood borrow from Sesame Street -- they made the song "Letter B." The hits just came on and on and on -- we swayed together to "Hey Jude" at Joey's initiation.
He and D1 left before the final song -- "Carry That Weight/Golden Slumbers/The End," which was the perfect finale to Sir Paul's opus night. We all left singing.
But the night was not over yet! D2 and her man Jonathan were due in around 10, from LGA. We're treating them to a few nights at SoHo House on the Beach, for Jonathan's birthday, and also to celebrate a new job he just took. Well, D2 has comically bad luck when it comes to flying -- it seems miraculous when she has a routine, on time flight. Last night was typical.
They boarded at LGA, and the crew realized the pilot wasn't there she was stuck in traffic. By the time she joined the crew, the weather had crapped out, and they left 2.5 hours late. So she arrived around 12:30 am, and Dadber was able to pick her up. We greeted Jonathan at MIA -- he was Ubering to Aventura and a night with his family. D2 came home and was smothered by dog love -- her little man Bo, Mads, and Vienna greeted her excitedly.
As I write, she's sleeping in, though has to get up soon for an eye doc appointment -- she keeps her docs Miami based, even though there are, I hear, a few decent practitioners in the Big Apple. I encourage this -- the 305 is her home -- this NY thing just an extended great experience -- one I wished I had at her age.
So the '17 music project is over, for now. I see that Guns N Roses is playing later this month at Marlins Park -- nah -- had enough for now.
After seeing the man from Liverpool, who, with his three buddies wrote the soundtrack of much of my life -- I'm satisfied for now.
Next was U2 at Joe Robbie, which we did in limo style, with Deb and Norm bringing gourmet apps for our trip to Miami Gardens. The last of the shows was Sir Paul McCartney, in Miami at the AAA to kick off the final leg of what may be his final tour. Dude is 74, for Beatles's sakes...
I bought 4 tickets, and figured a few friends would want to join, but then D1 got word of this and told us her man Joey grew UP on Beatles music in Colombia -- they wanted in. They got priority.
So last night we reconvened at Toro Toro in the Intercontinental, a few blocks from the AAA. Mike was a last minute addition -- he scored two tix from our law school buddy Peter, and his girl Amanda, in from LA, got the invite. An old friend of mine, Ian, is assistant manager at the place, and we met there. It's a headquarter site for MLB's All Star game, and the place was packed -- plus TONS of security.
Wifey and I took a seat and Ian greeted us. He was an original bartender at Trulucks, and has moved his way up the hospitality ladder -- first at Michael's Genuine, and now this big job. The evening started out with a tad of tensosity, to use my friend Alan's neologism. In a chair next to the bar a black backpack sat alone, and soon 15 cops were surrounding it, trying to remain nonchalant but making me think we were about to make the news from some idiot's political message against the National Past time. No -- false alarm -- someone came by to claim it -- it contained a huge chocolate covered pretzel that was a party favor for one of the All Star events.
So we ate a bit -- Joey and I had a few martinis, Mike his Pisco sours, and Amanda and D1 some girlie drinks, and then we left for the nice walk to the AAA.
Sir Paul came on and blew us away. He played a full three hours -- Wifey heard her favorite song, Maybe I'm Amazed, which she has been telling me for 34 years was the song every girl wanted written about her...D1 loved "Let it Be" which was a childhood borrow from Sesame Street -- they made the song "Letter B." The hits just came on and on and on -- we swayed together to "Hey Jude" at Joey's initiation.
He and D1 left before the final song -- "Carry That Weight/Golden Slumbers/The End," which was the perfect finale to Sir Paul's opus night. We all left singing.
But the night was not over yet! D2 and her man Jonathan were due in around 10, from LGA. We're treating them to a few nights at SoHo House on the Beach, for Jonathan's birthday, and also to celebrate a new job he just took. Well, D2 has comically bad luck when it comes to flying -- it seems miraculous when she has a routine, on time flight. Last night was typical.
They boarded at LGA, and the crew realized the pilot wasn't there she was stuck in traffic. By the time she joined the crew, the weather had crapped out, and they left 2.5 hours late. So she arrived around 12:30 am, and Dadber was able to pick her up. We greeted Jonathan at MIA -- he was Ubering to Aventura and a night with his family. D2 came home and was smothered by dog love -- her little man Bo, Mads, and Vienna greeted her excitedly.
As I write, she's sleeping in, though has to get up soon for an eye doc appointment -- she keeps her docs Miami based, even though there are, I hear, a few decent practitioners in the Big Apple. I encourage this -- the 305 is her home -- this NY thing just an extended great experience -- one I wished I had at her age.
So the '17 music project is over, for now. I see that Guns N Roses is playing later this month at Marlins Park -- nah -- had enough for now.
After seeing the man from Liverpool, who, with his three buddies wrote the soundtrack of much of my life -- I'm satisfied for now.
Friday, July 7, 2017
Frum Day at the Beach
So it occurred to my man Paul that he hadn't spoken to our rabbi friend Yossi in quite awhile, and asked me to set up a meeting. I called His Holiness -- sure enough he was free, and we agreed to meet at a glatt kosher spot (the only way Yossi rolls) on Miami Beach.
I drove there and found a lot behind the restaurant, Capri, which features Italian and sushi. Many glat places have unusual combinations -- the hard part is getting to that highest level of kashruth. I went to use one of my favorite apps -- "Park by Phone" -- but learned Miami Beach had a different system. I presume the infamously corrupt Beach government got a better deal from a competitor, and I spent time downloading the alternative app.
I went inside, with a gift for Yossi in tow. His birthday next week, and I bought him an enormous bottle of Stoli Elite. I sat down, and soon Paul joined me. A fellow at the next table complemented the size of my Stoli bottle -- he had never seen one so big. Since he was obviously religious, I refrained from the obvious double entendre...
Turned out he owned the restaurant, as well as another, as well as the glatt grocery and wine shop next door. Paul soon engaged him in a discussion about the relative merits of his place versus the Aventura kosher place where Paul buys his shabbos supplies -- and soon the two men went next door to buy some supposedly good kosher wine, which we sampled during lunch.
Soon Yossi joined us. He told us it was his Hebrew birthday -- since the Jewish and Gregorian calendars don't match -- dates often miss each other by a week or so. He took it as Diving Providence that we set the meeting -- in truth, he considers Paul and me his earliest Miami friends.
We talked and ate very good sushi. We mostly discussed life, and aging, and marriage -- Yossi will perform D1's ceremony in less than 2 months. He told me his very good feelings about Joey -- my future son in law.
Yossi left, and Paul and I wandered the 'hood. Paul needed a new set of tefillin boxes -- the covering for the sacred texts he puts on his forehead and arm 6 days per week. Sure enough, there was a shop that stocked them. Then we ended up at a kosher coffee place and had serviceable cappucinnos.
When Yossi first came to Miami, in 1995, we met when he was to become a tenant at a house we were renting. Wifey took one look at him, and his modestly dressed wife, and their baby boy, and said "You guys got the wrong part of town -- you need to go to Miami Beach!" They laughed -- they knew in fact they had the right part of town -- and in the ensuing 22 years have built a thriving shul and community center -- with awesome programs like the Friendship Circle, which helps scores of special needs kids.
It was lovely to mark the passage of time with our rabbi friend. He always teaches us something, and yesterday was no exception. He said that a great rabbi taught about being in prison, and his jailers said he could leave for one day. Which day should he pick? His birthday, or maybe a major holiday?
No -- the answer was TODAY. God gives each day as a gift, with no guarantee of further gifts. So if you have the chance to reach out, and improve yourself, the day is today -- not some uncertain time in the future.
In that regard, we have big plans for tonight. We're headed to see Paul McCartney at the AAA with D1 and Joey. And D2 and Jonathan are due in later -- Dadber can't fetch them, since we'll be at the show.
Today is Ringo Starr's 77th birthday, and the rumors are flying that he will join his fellow Beatle at the show. That would be pretty cool.
Regardless, we have another day to celebrate, and plan to do so. Thanks, Rabbi...
I drove there and found a lot behind the restaurant, Capri, which features Italian and sushi. Many glat places have unusual combinations -- the hard part is getting to that highest level of kashruth. I went to use one of my favorite apps -- "Park by Phone" -- but learned Miami Beach had a different system. I presume the infamously corrupt Beach government got a better deal from a competitor, and I spent time downloading the alternative app.
I went inside, with a gift for Yossi in tow. His birthday next week, and I bought him an enormous bottle of Stoli Elite. I sat down, and soon Paul joined me. A fellow at the next table complemented the size of my Stoli bottle -- he had never seen one so big. Since he was obviously religious, I refrained from the obvious double entendre...
Turned out he owned the restaurant, as well as another, as well as the glatt grocery and wine shop next door. Paul soon engaged him in a discussion about the relative merits of his place versus the Aventura kosher place where Paul buys his shabbos supplies -- and soon the two men went next door to buy some supposedly good kosher wine, which we sampled during lunch.
Soon Yossi joined us. He told us it was his Hebrew birthday -- since the Jewish and Gregorian calendars don't match -- dates often miss each other by a week or so. He took it as Diving Providence that we set the meeting -- in truth, he considers Paul and me his earliest Miami friends.
We talked and ate very good sushi. We mostly discussed life, and aging, and marriage -- Yossi will perform D1's ceremony in less than 2 months. He told me his very good feelings about Joey -- my future son in law.
Yossi left, and Paul and I wandered the 'hood. Paul needed a new set of tefillin boxes -- the covering for the sacred texts he puts on his forehead and arm 6 days per week. Sure enough, there was a shop that stocked them. Then we ended up at a kosher coffee place and had serviceable cappucinnos.
When Yossi first came to Miami, in 1995, we met when he was to become a tenant at a house we were renting. Wifey took one look at him, and his modestly dressed wife, and their baby boy, and said "You guys got the wrong part of town -- you need to go to Miami Beach!" They laughed -- they knew in fact they had the right part of town -- and in the ensuing 22 years have built a thriving shul and community center -- with awesome programs like the Friendship Circle, which helps scores of special needs kids.
It was lovely to mark the passage of time with our rabbi friend. He always teaches us something, and yesterday was no exception. He said that a great rabbi taught about being in prison, and his jailers said he could leave for one day. Which day should he pick? His birthday, or maybe a major holiday?
No -- the answer was TODAY. God gives each day as a gift, with no guarantee of further gifts. So if you have the chance to reach out, and improve yourself, the day is today -- not some uncertain time in the future.
In that regard, we have big plans for tonight. We're headed to see Paul McCartney at the AAA with D1 and Joey. And D2 and Jonathan are due in later -- Dadber can't fetch them, since we'll be at the show.
Today is Ringo Starr's 77th birthday, and the rumors are flying that he will join his fellow Beatle at the show. That would be pretty cool.
Regardless, we have another day to celebrate, and plan to do so. Thanks, Rabbi...
Tuesday, July 4, 2017
From the Mountains to the Fairies
July 4 is here, and it brings so many warm memories. Yesterday Wifey and I were driving home from a full day stay-cation, and we spoke with D2. We all recalled how that adorable little girl, now 25 and a business executive in NYC, used to mangle song lyrics, in the cutest way. "God Bless America" had fairies instead of prairies, and Alannis Morissette sang "You've Already RUN me over..."
When the Ds were small, their JCC Summer Camp sponsored an early day parade, through the Kendall neighborhood where we lived, and ending at the campus. There'd be floats, and a band, and the kids loved it. I remember clearly the Ds, probably about 8 and 5, shouting ebulliently, "Happy Birthday, America!"
Yesterday, erev Fourth, Wifey and I decided to play local tourist. I had seen that the History Museum had an exhibit about Hurricane Andrew, now 25 years in the past. It was a seminal event in our lives -- most South Dade folks still refer to "before or after" and we know they mean the storm. So we decided to go, and got into the girlie Caddy for the ride. Wifey checked the web site, and learned the Museum was CLOSED on Monday. Oh well -- plan B -- we figured we'd check out the new Frost Science Museum.
I parked in my office lot. One of my cheapness qualities is I avoid paying tons for parking, when I can, and the Frost lot charges probably $25 for a visit. Instead, we hopped MetroMover, the still cool to me driverless train, and it stopped right across the street from the Frost and its neighbor, the PAMM (Perez Art Museum of Miami).
We paid our discounted, for Miami folks, admission, and went inside. We started on the roof, which gives a top down view of the new huge fish tank, as well as awesome views of the city. Museum Park is at the very end of Government Cut, so you look down and get the view the cruise captains do as they go to sea.
A lot of the museum is sea and shoreline based, and we loved it. I've had fish tanks since I was a boy, and the ones there were world class -- at the bottom of the half million gallon tank there is an "oculus lens" which lets you see all the creatures like sharks and dolphin fish swimming right above you.
We then went to the new planetarium, and saw a Liam Neeson narrated film about the Earth. It brought back memories of laser shows with Pink Floyd and other Prog Rock group music in the old planetarium, back in the day. Apparently the Museum is bring these back -- we might have to visit after a few martinis or other intoxicant...
After a lovely 4 hours, we hopped back on the People Mover and headed back to Brickell. I watched them build the damn thing, and still don't fully know its route. But a helpful fellow directed us to a loop change, and sure enough, we headed back across the Miami River and got off at Brickell City Centre. You can now walk right into the place from the station.
As D1 noted, City Centre is like something you'd see in Tokyo -- huge and impressive. They have a climate ribbon which is supposed to direct Bay breezes onto the promenades, and it worked. It was most pleasant walking there. We headed to the new Lux movie theater and bought tickets for "Baby Driver" -- we both love Kevin Spacey. The movie was a two star for us, but the theater was something. I'll go along again and nap while Wifey gets her movie fix.
From there, we made our way across the street, to my office, and back into the girlie Caddy. It was a great way to spend the eve of the Fourth.
My righty friends defend Trump, and my lefty friends are convinced he's the second coming of Hitler. I find him to be a comic book like representation of all that's bad about the US -- starting with the ignorance of a large swath of our citizens. But Trump will pass, like Nixon did, and the US will be just fine.
My Ds are Fourth generation Americans. I'm glad my grandparents relatives, whoever they were, made the brave trip here from Romania and Russia around the turn of the 20th Century. This place has proven to be awesome for us -- bumps and wrinkles and all.
So today Wifey and I will head to Miami Beach, and watch the fireworks, and have great time. Inside, I'll be thankful for this glorious country -- all the way from the mountains to the fairies.
When the Ds were small, their JCC Summer Camp sponsored an early day parade, through the Kendall neighborhood where we lived, and ending at the campus. There'd be floats, and a band, and the kids loved it. I remember clearly the Ds, probably about 8 and 5, shouting ebulliently, "Happy Birthday, America!"
Yesterday, erev Fourth, Wifey and I decided to play local tourist. I had seen that the History Museum had an exhibit about Hurricane Andrew, now 25 years in the past. It was a seminal event in our lives -- most South Dade folks still refer to "before or after" and we know they mean the storm. So we decided to go, and got into the girlie Caddy for the ride. Wifey checked the web site, and learned the Museum was CLOSED on Monday. Oh well -- plan B -- we figured we'd check out the new Frost Science Museum.
I parked in my office lot. One of my cheapness qualities is I avoid paying tons for parking, when I can, and the Frost lot charges probably $25 for a visit. Instead, we hopped MetroMover, the still cool to me driverless train, and it stopped right across the street from the Frost and its neighbor, the PAMM (Perez Art Museum of Miami).
We paid our discounted, for Miami folks, admission, and went inside. We started on the roof, which gives a top down view of the new huge fish tank, as well as awesome views of the city. Museum Park is at the very end of Government Cut, so you look down and get the view the cruise captains do as they go to sea.
A lot of the museum is sea and shoreline based, and we loved it. I've had fish tanks since I was a boy, and the ones there were world class -- at the bottom of the half million gallon tank there is an "oculus lens" which lets you see all the creatures like sharks and dolphin fish swimming right above you.
We then went to the new planetarium, and saw a Liam Neeson narrated film about the Earth. It brought back memories of laser shows with Pink Floyd and other Prog Rock group music in the old planetarium, back in the day. Apparently the Museum is bring these back -- we might have to visit after a few martinis or other intoxicant...
After a lovely 4 hours, we hopped back on the People Mover and headed back to Brickell. I watched them build the damn thing, and still don't fully know its route. But a helpful fellow directed us to a loop change, and sure enough, we headed back across the Miami River and got off at Brickell City Centre. You can now walk right into the place from the station.
As D1 noted, City Centre is like something you'd see in Tokyo -- huge and impressive. They have a climate ribbon which is supposed to direct Bay breezes onto the promenades, and it worked. It was most pleasant walking there. We headed to the new Lux movie theater and bought tickets for "Baby Driver" -- we both love Kevin Spacey. The movie was a two star for us, but the theater was something. I'll go along again and nap while Wifey gets her movie fix.
From there, we made our way across the street, to my office, and back into the girlie Caddy. It was a great way to spend the eve of the Fourth.
My righty friends defend Trump, and my lefty friends are convinced he's the second coming of Hitler. I find him to be a comic book like representation of all that's bad about the US -- starting with the ignorance of a large swath of our citizens. But Trump will pass, like Nixon did, and the US will be just fine.
My Ds are Fourth generation Americans. I'm glad my grandparents relatives, whoever they were, made the brave trip here from Romania and Russia around the turn of the 20th Century. This place has proven to be awesome for us -- bumps and wrinkles and all.
So today Wifey and I will head to Miami Beach, and watch the fireworks, and have great time. Inside, I'll be thankful for this glorious country -- all the way from the mountains to the fairies.
Sunday, July 2, 2017
Fourths of Yore
When I was a kid, July 4th was my favorite holiday. First, it was summer on LI, which was the best time, and it meant to me that my birthday was two weeks away. Plus, to a baseball fan, it meant the All Star Game, even though that's not something I've followed for over 45 years now.
Christmas wasn't my holiday -- though it was nice to see Christian friends get their loot. As a kid T Day meant eating -- not something I cared too much about until adulthood. No -- the 4th was a great American holiday, and for my friends and me, the best.
As a small child, I remember going to Eisenhower Park. Actually, it started out as Salisbury Park, but they changed the name to honor Ike. My Mom would pack a picnic dinner of chicken and salads, and we'd throw a blanket on the grass and wait for the fireworks. My Dad loved to watch them, and I still do.
Years later, when my friends and I were 16, we decided to get away with going to Beefsteak Charlie's in the Nassau Mall. They advertised all the beer, wine, or sangria you could drink, with your steak and salad bar, and someone at school mentioned that since they were primarily a restaurant, they didn't ask for ID. So Mark, Mike, Eric, Fitz, and I dressed in our nice jeans and actual collared shirts, and walked over. It was true! They served us as much as we wanted, and then we staggered out onto Hempstead Turnpike for the few mile walk to the park. We figured we'd meet girls, but we ended up just laying in the grass watching the fireworks. I miss Beefsteak Charlie's.
Fast forwarding four more years, I recall well July 4, 1981. I was a college sophomore, and my then buddy Vince was house sitting for his parents in North Miami. His folks were at their place in the Keys. We planned a party to end all parties, and it was awesome. We had UM friends, and friends I had made working as a pharmacy tech at Boca Hospital. Vince's childhood friends were there - it was a scene out of an 80s teen/young adult movie, like Porky's.
Two of the guests were childhood sweethearts Al and Crissy -- married, but still partying hard. Crissy died a few years ago, and poor Al still can't get on with his life. We reconnected on FaceBook, and had lunch a few months ago in the Grove. He clearly recalls the party of '81, too.
When the Ds were small, we'd plan staycations for the 4th -- at the Biltmore Hotel in the Gables. The Ds loved swimming in the pool, just slightly smaller than the Gulf of Mexico, and I'd sip overpriced but delicious frozen drinks while watching them.
I remember one year the Miami Dade mayor Alex Peneles was there with his family, and we chatted -- he was a classmate of mine at the U. D1, maybe 10, was blown away that I knew someone so "famous." Funny -- I figured he was destined for greatness in politics, but he sort of faded away, while the pendejo Marco Rubio skied in his career. Go figure.
This year, Wifey and I will head to Miami Beach, to the Raleigh. D2 and Jonathan will be in NYC -- maybe watching the Macy's East River show from a rooftop somewhere. D1 and Joey plan to visit ancient Grandma, my suegra, early in the day, and then retire to their balcony, where they can see multiple displays, from the City of Miami, and the Beach, and maybe even Hollywood's display.
I tell the same joke to people each year, as I did to our dinner companions John and Rita last night. I tell them I feel bad for Wifey -- the 4th is no big deal for her, since being married to me she gets to see fireworks most nights. Wifey's eye rolls have been constant for nearly 31 July 4ths now.
I still love the holiday.
Christmas wasn't my holiday -- though it was nice to see Christian friends get their loot. As a kid T Day meant eating -- not something I cared too much about until adulthood. No -- the 4th was a great American holiday, and for my friends and me, the best.
As a small child, I remember going to Eisenhower Park. Actually, it started out as Salisbury Park, but they changed the name to honor Ike. My Mom would pack a picnic dinner of chicken and salads, and we'd throw a blanket on the grass and wait for the fireworks. My Dad loved to watch them, and I still do.
Years later, when my friends and I were 16, we decided to get away with going to Beefsteak Charlie's in the Nassau Mall. They advertised all the beer, wine, or sangria you could drink, with your steak and salad bar, and someone at school mentioned that since they were primarily a restaurant, they didn't ask for ID. So Mark, Mike, Eric, Fitz, and I dressed in our nice jeans and actual collared shirts, and walked over. It was true! They served us as much as we wanted, and then we staggered out onto Hempstead Turnpike for the few mile walk to the park. We figured we'd meet girls, but we ended up just laying in the grass watching the fireworks. I miss Beefsteak Charlie's.
Fast forwarding four more years, I recall well July 4, 1981. I was a college sophomore, and my then buddy Vince was house sitting for his parents in North Miami. His folks were at their place in the Keys. We planned a party to end all parties, and it was awesome. We had UM friends, and friends I had made working as a pharmacy tech at Boca Hospital. Vince's childhood friends were there - it was a scene out of an 80s teen/young adult movie, like Porky's.
Two of the guests were childhood sweethearts Al and Crissy -- married, but still partying hard. Crissy died a few years ago, and poor Al still can't get on with his life. We reconnected on FaceBook, and had lunch a few months ago in the Grove. He clearly recalls the party of '81, too.
When the Ds were small, we'd plan staycations for the 4th -- at the Biltmore Hotel in the Gables. The Ds loved swimming in the pool, just slightly smaller than the Gulf of Mexico, and I'd sip overpriced but delicious frozen drinks while watching them.
I remember one year the Miami Dade mayor Alex Peneles was there with his family, and we chatted -- he was a classmate of mine at the U. D1, maybe 10, was blown away that I knew someone so "famous." Funny -- I figured he was destined for greatness in politics, but he sort of faded away, while the pendejo Marco Rubio skied in his career. Go figure.
This year, Wifey and I will head to Miami Beach, to the Raleigh. D2 and Jonathan will be in NYC -- maybe watching the Macy's East River show from a rooftop somewhere. D1 and Joey plan to visit ancient Grandma, my suegra, early in the day, and then retire to their balcony, where they can see multiple displays, from the City of Miami, and the Beach, and maybe even Hollywood's display.
I tell the same joke to people each year, as I did to our dinner companions John and Rita last night. I tell them I feel bad for Wifey -- the 4th is no big deal for her, since being married to me she gets to see fireworks most nights. Wifey's eye rolls have been constant for nearly 31 July 4ths now.
I still love the holiday.
Saturday, July 1, 2017
A Quirk of the Calendar
So this year July 4 falls on a Tuesday. Edna is here for the weekend -- tomorrow she'll fetch her husband Marc and check into the Raleigh Hotel on Miami Beach, where Wifey and I plan to meet them. We're not staying over -- just spending the afternoon and evening, and hopefully seeing the fine Beach fireworks display.
This year's calendar quirk reminds me of the same one years ago, and how I used it to great advantage.
In June, Paul and I were hired by a young mother who had suffered a terrible tragedy: her sister had taken her 4 year old out for a car ride, and put her in the front passenger seat, right under the warning sign that said, essentially, "Idiot Aunt: don't put your adorable 4 year old niece in this seat, since the airbag might paralyze her if you get in a crash."
Awfully, that's precisely what happened -- the delightful child was left a quadriplegic from the crash. The aunt had only $10,000 of liability coverage, which was a drop in the bucket of this child's needs. So Paul and I set about trying to make a case against the car manufacturer -- maybe the sign wasn't enough. Several leading auto experts said it was, plus federal law essentially precluded us from suing. So we seemed stuck. Then I got an idea...
I would try to get the aunt's carrier to NOT settle for the small policy. In Florida we have something called bad faith, which, without getting into details, holds that if a carrier should settle a claim but doesn't, the coverage limit no longer applies.
It was late June. I realized that the coming July 3 was on a Monday, and NOT a legal holiday, but that Tuesday July 4 was, of course. I knew that NO ONE was going to work on that Monday, least of all overworked and underpaid insurance company adjusters.
So I wrote a simple letter to the carrier, that said, in effect, that their insured (the aunt) had caused millions in damage, but had only $10K in coverage. The demand was that they settle by Monday, July 3.
Paul, as was typical, said it would never work. He was wrong. On July 5, I came to the office (I took the 4 day weekend like everyone else) and immediately checked the mail. I prepared a lawsuit against the aunt and filed it.
I got a call soon after from a senior lawyer from the insurance company's lawyer -- laughing me off. "David -- I see what you're trying to do. Creative, young man, but it won't work. Heh heh..."
I answered with feigned naivete: "Dan (his real name) -- I don't know what you mean. I simply asked your client to settle, they didn't, and now I must forge ahead and get this poor 4 year old proper compensation."
Within a year, we received a multi million dollar settlement. We set up a trust for the little girl. Sadly, but probably thankfully, she died a few months later. Her parents inherited the money.
I say thankfully since she was not only a quadriplegic, but dependent on a ventilator. Her life would have been just awful.
But my job was to try to compensate her, and was able to do so -- thanks to a quirk of the holiday calendar.
And I rather DID enjoy running into Dan months later, outside the courthouse. He waved at me. I waved back, and winked.
This year's calendar quirk reminds me of the same one years ago, and how I used it to great advantage.
In June, Paul and I were hired by a young mother who had suffered a terrible tragedy: her sister had taken her 4 year old out for a car ride, and put her in the front passenger seat, right under the warning sign that said, essentially, "Idiot Aunt: don't put your adorable 4 year old niece in this seat, since the airbag might paralyze her if you get in a crash."
Awfully, that's precisely what happened -- the delightful child was left a quadriplegic from the crash. The aunt had only $10,000 of liability coverage, which was a drop in the bucket of this child's needs. So Paul and I set about trying to make a case against the car manufacturer -- maybe the sign wasn't enough. Several leading auto experts said it was, plus federal law essentially precluded us from suing. So we seemed stuck. Then I got an idea...
I would try to get the aunt's carrier to NOT settle for the small policy. In Florida we have something called bad faith, which, without getting into details, holds that if a carrier should settle a claim but doesn't, the coverage limit no longer applies.
It was late June. I realized that the coming July 3 was on a Monday, and NOT a legal holiday, but that Tuesday July 4 was, of course. I knew that NO ONE was going to work on that Monday, least of all overworked and underpaid insurance company adjusters.
So I wrote a simple letter to the carrier, that said, in effect, that their insured (the aunt) had caused millions in damage, but had only $10K in coverage. The demand was that they settle by Monday, July 3.
Paul, as was typical, said it would never work. He was wrong. On July 5, I came to the office (I took the 4 day weekend like everyone else) and immediately checked the mail. I prepared a lawsuit against the aunt and filed it.
I got a call soon after from a senior lawyer from the insurance company's lawyer -- laughing me off. "David -- I see what you're trying to do. Creative, young man, but it won't work. Heh heh..."
I answered with feigned naivete: "Dan (his real name) -- I don't know what you mean. I simply asked your client to settle, they didn't, and now I must forge ahead and get this poor 4 year old proper compensation."
Within a year, we received a multi million dollar settlement. We set up a trust for the little girl. Sadly, but probably thankfully, she died a few months later. Her parents inherited the money.
I say thankfully since she was not only a quadriplegic, but dependent on a ventilator. Her life would have been just awful.
But my job was to try to compensate her, and was able to do so -- thanks to a quirk of the holiday calendar.
And I rather DID enjoy running into Dan months later, outside the courthouse. He waved at me. I waved back, and winked.
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