Numbers

I was never a good math student, but I think about numbers all the time. Regarding finances, for example.  I check my investments too much, though not as often as a dear friend who is addicted to financial porn and its fellow travelers -- the wealth calculators that always conclude that no matter how much you have -- you really CAN'T afford to retire.

I check so often because I really, really enjoy not having to be a full time lawyer.  If the assets deplete too much, or my investments fail, I guess I'll have to revisit that.  Years ago, my Dad checked his retirement funds all the time.  After his third grandchild was born, and it was clear the baby would be getting virtually no support from his father, my Dad concluded he'd have to come out of retirement to support the kid.  Luckily, he died a few months later, without having to do that...

More than money, I think about numbers as they relate to age.  Here again -- my thoughts turn to my Dad, and where he was in life when he was at the stage I am now.

In the Spring of 1977, he was 58.  I was a high school sophomore.  I had a small dilemma.  I had developed a strong fear of flying -- mostly due to a rough flight we had the year before, returning to NY from Miami.  The turbulence was fierce -- I remember the stewardess (back then they were stewardesses, not "flight attendants") literally hitting the deck as the plane rocked, somewhere over the Carolinas.  It had an effect on me -- I figured I'd just drive everywhere, or take a train.

But there was an offer:  a high school trip to Europe.  As I recall, the cost was $500 all included -- airfare, a week's hotel fee, transfers.  I really, really wanted to go.  My Dad especially wanted me to as well -- even though I had the money saved from my lawn cutting business, he offered to pay.  But I didn't want to get on a plane -- especially for a long flight across the icy North Atlantic.

Dad talked me into it.  We flew to London.  My close friend Gerry was along -- we were both big Monty Python fans -- and for us there was nothing better than walking around England quoting our favorite show and movies.  Then we went to Amsterdam -- Van Gogh and Anne Frank.  I walked through the house, and was mildly interested -- the Holocaust was still an abstraction to me, as we had no family directly affected.  Years later, of course, I'd marry the daughter of a Survivor, and the Shoah would become all too real.

The trip ended with a day in Brussels.  And then we flew home.  The trip was a highlight for me -- I still think of it, though I've been back to Europe several times since -- twice more to London.  And I still remember Dad greeting me at JFK -- with a huge smile and a hug, and a knowing "Aren't you glad you overcame your fear and went?"  I was.

I guess I assumed that day I'd have him in my life for a good long time after. Fate would decide otherwise -- he was to die a short 5 years later.  Again, the numbers...

My deepest regret about my father is he never got to meet the products of my true life's calling -- D1 and D2.  He would have adored them , I know.  And they would have adored him, as well.

I never realized, when the Ds were little, how much I talked about him, until one quiet morning, at our old house.  D1 must have been about 5 or 6 -- matter of fact, she was, since it was after we had moved home following the Andrew required rebuild.  I was sitting on the couch, reading the Herald, and D1 was snuggled next to me, reading one of her picture books.  She looked up at me, with her doe eyes, and asked "Daddy --would Grandpa Hy have loved me?"  I lost it, and held her close, and assured her he absolutely would have.

And now, more numbers. 23 or so years have passed, and D1 is about to marry.  D2 is set to fly home tomorrow -- the sisters have planned a lot of bonding time together -- even though the non religious D2 would happily skip the "creepy" mikveh set for Wednesday night.

And on 9/3/17, we have a big party planned.  I hope I have many numbers of years left, to see what happens, and, if the Big Man so desires, to meet my grandchildren.  Hopefully plenty of numbers left.

Houston...Too Close to New Orleans

Those poor bastards in Houston.  25 years to the day Andrew nailed us, Texas us dealing with the worst storm to hit in 50 years. And it's name is Harvey -- the name of maybe a friendly CPA -- not a killer cyclone.

Harvey was a Cat 4 when it hit the coast, and destroyed a lot of Galveston and nearby cities.  In Houston it's a rain event -- already they're flooded with 30 inches of rain and may get another 25.

Fortunately, my only connection to Houston is a friend whose daughter moved there just last month, to start her first big girl job, with Amazon.  She's doing ok, but my buddy John is still way worried.  He knows it'll be a city under siege for quite awhile, and he's not happy having his recent grad daughter have to deal with all that entails.

I've only been to the airport in Houston.  I've had no real desire to go, either -- to most of Texas, for that matter.  I spent some time in Ft. Worth, and watched an awesome Canes game in Dallas.  I guess the only city that holds any appeal to me is Austin.  D2 had a girls' trip there last year and enjoyed the food and music scenes.

I've heard that Houston has the worst Miami qualities -- only on a larger scale -- awful traffic, and zoning for cars instead of people.  Plus, it's hot as hell in the summer.  No -- not a place I have any desire to visit, but I still feel for the people there.

After Andrew, it took us nearly two full years to rebuild our house, and resume life as it was the day before the storm.  We moved a LOT -- first to an apartment on Brickell, then to my in laws' house after we bought it and they decamped to Pembroke Pines, and finally back to our place west of the Falls, in March of '94.

D1 told people that Andrew "mistroyed" her house.  It's a word our family uses to this day.

So I send my good thoughts to the city Robert Hunter claimed was too close to New Orleans.  We have a trip to NOLA planned for November -- a friend's daughter's wedding.

After Katrina, tons of NOLA people, mostly very poor, moved to Houston.  I wonder whether Harvey will send them back the other way.

One of my mentors in life, my former friend Vince's Dad, used to say that Mother Nature was a spiteful bitch.  Harvey shows his wisdom...

The Dawn is Breaking

I've always been a morning person, a trait that nearly got me killed in college.  My three and a half year roommate and still closer than a brother friend Barry was NOT a morning person.  Barry is also a good deal larger than I.

I used to wake up, happy, and stroll though our apartment snapping my fingers and whistling at first light.  I guess this went on for awhile.  Finally, one day, Barry grabbed me by the neck, pushed me up against the wall, and said if I didn't stop snapping my fingers, he'd have to kill me.  This is the one act of true violence I observed from this normally gentle giant in the close to 4 decades I've known him.  As I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness, I promised to quit it with the snapping of fingers...

Despite my love of and obnoxious cheerfulness of mornings, only two actual dawns are memorable to me.  The first turned out to be a disappointment.  When I was about 5, I was going to be taken to my first NY Mets game.  But the night before, there was a snag.  We were at some family function -- maybe my cousin Jeff's bar mitzvah, and I became itchy.  My parents opened my shirt -- sure enough, chicken pox.  It looked like no Shea Stadium for me, but I was ever the optimistic little boy, and I went to sleep wearing my Mets uniform, and had my trusty baseball glove ready, in order to catch foul balls.

I remember laying in bed, feeling itchy and feverish, but waiting for the first light to come in my window, on Charles Lane.  It finally came.  I went in the bathroom and looked in the mirror -- sure enough -- my face was covered in pimples.  I know in my child's heart that there would be no game for me.  And -- it was batting helmet day!  My brother in law's younger sister Kathy went in my stead, and in an act of kindness I recall to this day, over a half century later, she came over after the game (she had already had chicken pox, and so was immune from catching them from me) -- handed me the batting helmet she was given.  I think I left it in my garage years later, when we moved out of the house, Florida bound.

The second dawn I recall well was precisely 25 years ago today.  Hurricane Andrew had spent the wee hours pounding our house.  It literally ripped off most of the roof, and imploded, scarily, a glass atrium that separated our living room from our master bedroom.  Since it originally appeared the storm was heading north of us, to Palm Beach County, we kept my elderly Mom -- (she was 72 -- younger than my oldest sister is now) with us.  As the ceilings filled with water and collapsed, I led us all to my car in the garage -- a Mitsubishi Diamante -- still one of my favorite all time vehicles.

I figured it the garage ceiling collapsed, at least we'd have the car roof to protect us.  So Mom got in the back with three year old D1, and Wifey got in the front seat with 6 month old D2.  I left the dogs outside, on the concrete floor.  And then, in a feat of dog gymnastics, both the 95 pound Lab Midnight, and 24 pound Spaniel Alfred, both leaped into the car with us, through the open windows.

That was some comic relief -- I still recall D1's adorable giggle as my Mom whooped in delight.  But it was still pre dawn dark, and we had a few flashlights and a battery operated TV -- we watched Bryan Norcross, who truly took us through it -- explaining what was coming to each of the South Dade neighborhoods.

And then came the Dawn, finally. I emerged from the car.  Wifey sought out a non soaked place for Grandma Sunny and the Ds to sit.  I think there were none.  And I went outside, though there were still tropical storm force winds blowing.  I couldn't believe what I saw.  Our block looked like it had been bombed -- truly.

I went to a few houses, and met neighbors.  My neighbor Manny was in tears -- he was one of the successful ones who had already paid off his mortgage.  But he neglected to pay his insurance bill a few months before -- his house was a total loss. (He was a mortgage broker, though, and made so much money with the flurry of post Andrew financing and refinancing he and his family ended up fine).  I saw Arnald and his family -- his wife and three girls were fine.

And then I got on my bicycle and pedaled north to check on my in laws.  I found them still huddled in a closet, but their 50s era house, built well with Dade County pine tongue and groove roof, was fine -- they had one broken window and what turned out to be about $5k in damage.  I made my way back home, through the wreckage of SW 107 Ave.

Later that morning, I somehow drove my family to my in laws' house -- we spent a hot, un airconditioned August night.  The next day we caravaned to my Mom's in Delray -- totally unaffected by Andrew.  After a few nights, we moved to an apartment alert friend Linda found for us on Brickell Key -- our home for the next three months.  My in laws toughed it out in their house -- my father in law cooking all meals on a hibachi -- they refused to move out.  After surviving the Holocaust, a few weeks without electricity weren't any big thing to them.

But the dawn was a memorable one for me -- I was blissfully thankful my family was ok.  Our house and most of our possessions were waterlogged and pink fiberglass insulation-logged -- ruined.  And we realized something -- we really didn't care about stuff.

When Wifey and I married, we wrote a few vows -- borrowing from our beloved Dylan's song -- we promised to be a shelter for each other from the storms of life.  We both thought it would mean metaphorically.  Andrew made it actual -- it made it real.    We fulfilled our vows that day.

And the dawn broke, and it was light, and a new chapter of our lives together.

Connections Across Time

So yesterday I was about my few miles, keep the cardiologist at bay walk, and I ran into our neighbor Alex.  He's a doc at UM, 10 years younger and 60 lbs lighter than I, and he was about to start his run.  We had both been at Titanic the evening before, but Wifey and I, on account of being old, left at 9:30 when we learned the singer, Nil Lara, wasn't coming on until 10.  Alex and his wife stayed, and enjoyed the music.  He asked about Steve, our mutual favorite UM professor, now retired and living in Virginia, to be close to his grandkids, and I said that by coincidence, Steve, Mary, his wife, and grandson were coming over tonight. Alex sent regards...

He ran off, and I walked, and Eric called me, from FLL.  He and Dana were on their way to Iceland via Boston, and my partner Paul and his lady were on the same flight (to stay in Boston for a wedding -- not en route to Iceland).  They caught up, and I told Eric I was seeing Steve in the evening.  He send regards, too.

I thought about the years. I met Steve when I was a sophomore at UM, and he was a new Religious Studies professor, with a newly minted doctorate from Duke.  He was southern, and I was as Yankee as they come.  He was Presbyterian, and I was a Jew, and we became friends in a friendship that remains 36 years later.

One summer, he and Mary asked me to house and kid sit, and I did, for their awesome little boys.  They must have been 8 and 5, and now they're two accomplished, married men.  The older, Eric, is a nationally known political analyst and strategist in D.C., and has a boy, 4, and girl, 2.  David the younger lives in Napa, and with his Duke college degree and Stanford Law degree, plus 2 federal clerkships, works for the governor overseeing human rights issues.  David and his wife don't plan on kids -- and so Steve and Mary moved to the same town as Eric and Julie live.

Last night they came over with their amazing grandson -- a mini me of his father.  He's 4, extremely smart, sweet (are your dogs hungry?) and ALL boy.  He played with the dogs, and swam in the pool while we all caught up.  It was delightful to have him over.

I took him to my man cave and gave him a primer on the Canes -- the team his Dad grew up adoring.  I have a small model of the beloved Orange Bowl, and I gave it to him -- he was thrilled.  I'm pretty sure his Dad Eric will like it, too.

Wifey asked Steve and Mary how often they see their grandkids.  Oh -- about 4 days per week, they answered.  These are two lucky kids.  Wifey and I hope to emulate Steve and Mary -- we're definitely ready for the grandparent gig.

The hours flew by, as we talked of days past, and the current political nightmare with the cartoonish president.  But Steve reminded us, we survived Nixon -- we'll get past the Donald, too.

I've always loved connections, and small world tales.  Yesterday's were exquisite.

The Ten Year City

There's a very old and very cool lady who lives here named Ruth Shack.  She used to be a County Commissioner, and I met her when her foundation was on the same floor as my first law job -- at the Southeast Center.  She recently said that Miami is a new city every 10 years.  She's dead on.

Yesterday I was at the office, helping move some cases along so that there might be a few shekels for Paul and me before the end of the year.  Stuart's boy Val had his last day as the office boy, and as Val is a gourmand, Stuart wanted to take him for a gourmet lunch.  I had a 2:30 appointment at the aforementioned Southeast building, so Stu, Val, Vince, and I walked across the Brickell Bridge to a restaurant at the JW Marriott -- DB Moderne.

Val is 14 and I don't think had ever made the walk before.  He's a classic Aventura kid -- his life is essentially his gated community and the enormous mall.  He's a great kid -- typical "been there, done that, bought the T shirt" teen -- and I could detect a tad of wonder as we reached the zenith of the bridge, and we pointed out the port and Miami Circle -- ancient site of Indian trading, currently covered by grass but with plans to make it an exhibit.

Lunch was great -- and the Downtown area was filled with out of towners, including a group of very well dressed African men -- speaking, I think, Swahili.  There was also a smattering of US accents -- NY, and Midwestern, as well as the typical South American visitors.

D1 had decided my face was far too blackhead marked for decent wedding pictures, and urged me to get a facial at her place, by her facialist Betsey.  So after lunch I walked to the two blocks, and met her.  She and her husband are French.  Almost comically so -- their accents reminded me of Peter Sellers playing Inspector Clousseau.  Turns out the husband was a war reporter, who decided to open a salon, and Betsey was a PhD in medicine.  She came here to work on the Miami Project to Cure Paralysis, but after she got pregnant 6 years ago, decided to train in facials to help the family business.  She was delightful -- and in an hour, took years off my life -- including a rather painful removal of ear hair...But hey -- the pictures await...

I left the salon and walked back to my office.  The Brickell drawbridge went up, and so I took some photos of the tall buildings.  That's when it hit me -- the city has changed enormously in the nearly 4 decades I've been here.

The streets were crammed -- with young people, many with dogs.  They spoke mostly English.  It was like being in Manhattan -- though much hotter, especially in August.  But the breeze off the Bay of Biscayne was lovely, and again, the view as you walk across the bridge is breathtaking.

NYC is probably the best city in the world -- at least among the cities of the world I've visited.  But I love living here -- and plan to, forever.

I went back to the office, and Val was finishing up.  He succeeded in cleaning out a LOT of detritus -- we can finally walk in the file room again -- the stack of boxes is gone.

Stuart, Val, and I cleared out another space together -- the liquor cabinet.  There were small, colorful bottles of spirits from Ecuador and Peru -- gifts to Paul and me from thankful clients.  I gave them to Val as room decorations -- he promised to not share the spirits with his friends until he was 21...

I drove home, and fetched Wifey -- after telling her she was looking fetching...we went to Titanic next to UM -- I wanted to see Nil Lara -- a local musician who went to UM a few years after I did.  I used to dig his music at the now demolished Tobacco Road.  We had a late (for us) dinner, and waited for the 9 pm show.  A nice crowd was there.

At 930, the band was just beginning to set up.  Wifey and I left -- sleep sounded better than the music.  She drove us home.

I went to sleep thinking of tall buildings -- buildings not in my city years ago.  We change.  The city changes.  It's a much more complete place than it was.  I hope that's true of us, too.

We All Need a Little College Football

The national mood is awful, thanks largely, in my opinion, to the polarizing nature of The Donald.  He's still spewing off about Confederate monuments, with all the wisdom of a guy from Queens, and meanwhile there was another terrorist attack today in Barcelona.  Really anxious times, or times filled with, to use my friend Alan's neologism, tensosity...

As if on cue, some happy mail came for me yesterday -- my Canes season's tickets.  Tailgate parties and college football are a real escape for me -- drink more than I should, go to the stadium and yell and scream -- all with no real effect on reality.  I love going so much -- though I have to miss the first game on account of D1's wedding.

When the tickets arrive, I always wax nostalgic.  Wifey claims I used to spread them all out on the bed and roll around on them.  That never happened.  Well, maybe once, after a national championship...

I recalled a time back in, I think, 1981.  The team was on the rise.  A seminal win was two seasons before, when our star QB Jim Kelly led a huge upset against powerhouse Penn State.  Kelly was the first national star for the Canes in a long time.  Everyone knew who he was -- sure enough, he went on to have a Hall of Fame with the Buffalo Bills, even though he never got them a Super Bowl ring.  Hey -- it's Buffalo...

Anyway, my friends and I were at a party on Building 22, the Honors Dorm.  The Canes had lost earlier that day to Notre Dame.  The party was hosted by some girls, including one I'll call Ileana, since that's her name.  Ileana was a real spitfire of a coed.  Cuban born, Miami raised, and smart as anything.  I think she went on to Harvard Law after UM.  But Ileana HATED the football team -- she thought they should disband it and use the money to hire better professors -- to make us the Stanford of the East, she used to say.

And worse -- the football team had their own dorm, like we Honors students did -- but theirs was carpeted and had microwaves...This annoyed Ileana no end.

I was standing with Eric and Vince, and in walked the very famous Jim Kelly, with his sidekick and running back, Mark Rush.  They had just gotten off the team plane from South Bend.  He sidled up to us, and said "Man -- we had a tough game.  I really need some (female companionship).  Who hear is a sure thing?"

Well, Vince, my former friend, liked the Canes well enough, but liked funny stuff more.  He pointed across the room to Ileana, and told Kelly that she was a real football groupie -- she would absolutely be thrilled to sleep with the famous one.  So Jim made a beeline to her.  We watched.

The music was blasting -- Ramones, I seem to recall.  We couldn't hear Jim give his proposition to Ileana, but we watched them in pantomime...Jim leaned in towards her, apparently expecting a passionate kiss that would lead to an immediate sexual encounter back in the football dorm, and instead he was greeted by a HUGE left hook by Ileana -- right to his jaw.  I still remember the cracking sound -- in my memory, the music stopped, and all the party goers looked on -- movie like.

All I know is, Jim came over to us, rubbing his jaw.  He wasn't known for his intellect, and said to Vince "I think you set me up, man."  Vince kept a straight face, and said "I don't know, Jim She sleeps with all of us -- you must have set her off the wrong way."  Kelly grabbed his sidekick Rush and said "Let's get out of here -- these guys are assholes," and off they went in search of more target rich environments...

I can't wait -- for the games, the tailgates, and the memories my dear friends and I all share.  Anything to divert our attention from these troubled times.

People Come; People Go...

So we're really into the dog days of Miami.  My friend Joel and I walked outside with a young immigration lawyer, Pablo, and the heat hit us in the face.  We walked across the street, though, and into Brickell City Centre, a new mixed use development.  They have a "climate ribbon," and indeed the temperature dropped 10 degrees.  We escalated to American Harvest and had excellent lunches.  And we chatted about long term friendships.

Joel is like me -- he keeps friends for a long, long time.  His closest guys date back to his junior high days -- and he's now 46.  But he's learned, like all wise men, that sometimes you just have to cut people loose -- when you realize they're far more a drag on your life than benefit.

Wifey and I talked about this the other day.  The big news is the BFCW (big, fat, Colombian wedding), and that returns our memories to our wedding.  Wifey had four women in her bridal party.  Two of them are gone from her life forever.  Two remain close -- they'll be attending D1's wedding.

I had seven men in my wedding party.  One of them is essentially dead to me, two are fellows I speak to rarely, and four remain friends -- three "inner circle" friends.  So I guess I'm a lucky guy in that way.

My suegra always told Wifey that friends would disappoint.  In Suegra's case, she simply outlived just about anyone she was close with -- except, thankfully, for Wifey.  The old woman will turn 93 in December.  She's finally losing it, weekly, mentally, but physically she's strong as an ox.  We took her to lunch the other day, and her voice was so powerful everyone in the restaurant turned to see.  It was a Cuban place -- hers was the only Yiddish accent.  I think attending D1's wedding is keeping her going.  And she'll be there without any of her contemporaries -- we're not inviting her sister and brother in law.

It feels great to de-clutter.  Wifey and I have a lot to do in that regard -- though we abhor collecting stuff, somehow things accrete over the years.  I've started a new thing -- when a visitor likes a book -- I give it to them and tell them it's for keeps.  I used to treasure my book collection -- now I just see it as so much junk

I guess we have to de-clutter with people, too.  Relationships, no matter how longstanding, can have natural lives -- and then die.

Sometimes you just have to let them go...

If I Had A Third Daughter, She'd Look Like

So yesterday was a quiet one at Villa Wifey...I put in treadmill time and a post sunset walk in my continuing efforts to keep the cardiologist at bay.  My sister of another mister Mirta called -- could she come over and drop off my late birthday gift?  She could -- Wifey and I and Mirta ended up talking for hours, and she kept me in high Middleton -- the premium Irish whiskey I always like to keep in supply for special toasts and other occasions.  It was a lovely day -- except for the news.  A confederacy of dunces met in Charlottesville, Va, ostensibly to protest the removal of a Civil War statue.  The local police were clownish in their handling of the protests, and counter protests, and a tragedy resulted -- a young nazi from Ohio gunned his car into a crowd of normal people -- hurting many and killing one.  Mirta, Wifey, and I watched the news.  This am they announced the murder victim -- a white, 32 year old paralegal who was protesting the racists.  Her name is Heather Heyer.

Of course, regardless of her identity, her death would be sickening -- the product of absurd hate from the ultra right.  But her photo showed something closer to me -- she looks like she could have been friends with the Ds -- same general appearance of the many girls I have had the privilege to know over the Ds' lifetimes.  And Heather was out protesting the hate in her city -- when her life was cut short, at 32.

I read a lot about the Mississippi murders of Chaney, Goodman, and Schwerner when I was in high school.  The latter two were NY Jews, like I was, and they were down South trying to end the segregationist laws that crippled our nation.  I was proud of them.  Years later, their deaths proved to be largely in vain -- huge swaths of the black nation turned against US Jews -- allying instead with Nation of Islam types instead.  Now, Black Lives Matter seems to have the loudest voice -- and their buddies are Palestinian terrorists -- Jews as fighters of black rights have become turned into Zionist bullies, in the minds of many.

Still -- I know little about Heather, except that she is a paralegal from Virginia.  And she was killed by an "alt right" terrorist.

I still can't take our president seriously.  To me, he'll always be a cartoon character -- at most a successful reality TV star.  But it sickens me that a large minority of our nation voted him in.

Mirta told us last night that Norma, my old secretary, and her balsero husband Raul, remain firmly in support of Trump.  And these two received more government aid than anyone I know!  They're immigrants who are now fiercely anti immigrant.  It embarrases me to remember I married these two.

Last month, I had dinner with my friend Kenny -- the smartest guy from my high school.  Kenny is also even more liberal politically than I .  He told me he's at the point now where he can't remain friends with Trump supporters.  He feels too much like Germans must have felt in the early years of Hitler -- plenty of people who knew better simply bit their lips and watched him gain power.  Kenny and his wife happen to be good friends with a member of Trump's cabinet -- Alex Acosta, Secretary of Labor.  I've met him many times -- brilliant young Cuban American lawyer - rose from Harvard Law to be US Attorney and then Dean of FIU Law, before Trump tapped him to be the token hispanic on his staff.  But is he now more, Kenny wonders, that the "good German" now?

All I know is, I've always had the naive notion that our nation evolves, positively.  We go from slavery to equal rights.  Hey -- we elected a half black man, right?  But yesterday reminded me, awfully, that there are plenty of morons here -- and hate filled morons, at that.

I hope the Big Man brings peace to Heather Heyer's family and friends.  I hope she is seen as a true hero -- like Chaney, Goodman, and Schwerner.  I really hope our nation transcends its current awful state -- minimizes the "base" that the fraud president used to get elected, and moves toward becoming that true city on the hill...

New Ride

I had five months left on the girlie Cadillac lease.  The car's been fine, but too small for me, and I had decided to either lease the Caddy crossover, or maybe their next biggest sedan.  Wifey was annoyed.  She knows my all time favorite car was my Lexus.  I had a LS 400, and it was stolen, and after the insurance company paid to replace it, it was stolen again.  This was back in the late 90s when a group of pros was stealing them and shipping them to South America.

After we moved to Pinecrest, I had a LS 460, which I thoroughly enjoyed, but that car now costs over $1000 per month to lease.  Not happening.  I leased Wifey a Lexus SUV which she had to have after riding in her friend Edna's car, and determining the seats were good for her back.  So the family joke became that I couldn't afford a Lexus for myself, since I had to lease one for Wifey.  I like to play the martyr card sometimes...

Anyway -- when we took Wifey's SUV in for service last month, she met Patty, the lovely Mexican Jewess who had leased the vehicle to me.  She told me that the mid sized Lexus sedan, the ES 350, was due for a major body change in '18, and they were heavily discounting the remaining 2017 models.  She claimed that Lexus would pay off my remaining Caddy payments, and get me the superior car for about what I was paying.  I told Patty I'd see her after vacation.

Sure enough -- I met with Patty yesterday, and the deal was true. I picked out a basic model, and told Patty that would be the one.  She ran my credit, and announced I had the highest score of anyone she had dealt with in over a year.  Yes, I replied, that's because I spend much less than I have, on things live cars!  She talked me into paying another $30 per month to get the fully loaded model -- with ventilated seats to keep my ample tuches cool in summer and toasty in winter, all kinds of alarms and buzzers, and a navigation system that could get me to the South Pole, if I chose.

I drove home with the girlie Caddy, and de -stuffed it in my garage.  I then took it to the dealer on 104 Street, and Carlos took possession.  He said he wasn't the "official" inspector, but the car looked in fine shape.  He saw my Canes license plate frame and we talked about the upcoming season.  From there, I walked across S. Dixie and to the Lexus dealer on 106 Street.  I was dripping in sweat, but they still did my final paperwork, and affixed my tag to the new car.

Then Patty took me through the technology of the car -- it is really remarkable. The main thing it has is voice recognition, so I just say "Call D2," and it does.

I drove the car home, and it truly is a magic carpet.  One of my old office roomies, Mark, was a real car buff.  He used to say that Lexus cars were "appliances."  They were solid, dependable, and boring.  That's perfect for me -- I don't plan on racing down Old Cutler Road too often.

So hopefully the next three years I get to glide smoothly by, listening to XM music, and having a nicely comfortable tuches...What more could one want from a new ride?

Back in the 305

So during the 9 days in the Pacific Northwest, I never adapted to Pacific time.  I stayed Eastern Daylight, baby -- going to sleep by 9 or so, up at 4am.  So jet lag wasn't much of an issue -- just needed a nice nap Friday, and I was good to go.

Wifey was another story.  There must have been tse tse flies around Crater Lake.  So while she rested, I met John at Town in South Miami, to get caught up on the office chisme.  After a few drinks, I decided to play bachelor gentleman, and walked over to No Name Chinese -- the gourmet place opened a few months back by some Ransom Everglades grads.  I sat at the food bar and ate deliciously spicy chicken -- served in great detail by a lovely young black waitress.  When the bill came, I paid with a $50, and left to go home.  As I was starting the car, I realized she had given me change as if I paid with a $100. I walked back inside to give her the money -- she nearly cried with gratitude.

I practice classic situational ethics.  If Verizon undercharged me, I'd let it pass.  But a local restaurant, where worse, a young girl would have to take the hit?  No way...

Saturday it was back to road work -- fast walking 3.3 miles to fit into my new tux for the wedding, and more importantly, to keep cardiologists at bay.  This am I got up early and put in another 2.2.  My friend Jeff had asked me to invite him on the walks.  I did last night, but he doesn't do well with last minute plans -- my walking will remain a solitary activity, except for the strange rescue dog who trots along for part of the way.

I met Barry and his family at LOL -- an early goodbye breakfast for Scott before he returns to College Park for his junior year.  Truly it seems like a few months past he left as a freshman.  Afterwards, the family came over -- Wifey had finally gotten out of bed, and D1 and Joey were over following their final pre wedding meeting with His Holiness, the Rabbi.  All is now ready to go.

D1 and Joey left, and Donna and Josh decamped to Florida City Outlet Center for some no tax bargains.  Barry and Scott and Wifey and I sat around and talked -- about life, days past, and days yet to come.  Between the two couples, only 2 grandmothers remain -- and we compared notes on the sacredness but difficulty of caring for failing parents...What are ya gonna do?

So the dog days in Miami continue -- hopefully no major storms to deal with -- and soon Labor Day will be upon us.  I've booked a room on the top of the world for that weekend -- and I look forward to staying at the lofty height...

Summer Vacation, Continued

So we went to Mt. Hood, quite a long drive, and climbed to the TimberLine Lodge, so named because it's at the timber line, a term Mike and I had to explain to our wives...It was a classic WPA project, that even Mike admired, even though he generally disdains stuff accomplished by Demorcratic presidents.

We walked around the place, admiring the gorgeous views of the mountain, and then went to the front desk.  Loni had read that they kept a replica of Jack Nicholson's infamous ax from "The Shining," and we took photos recreating the famous "Here's Johnny" scene.  Mike and I noticed that our wives brought the ax a bit too close to our heads...

From there we drove to Cannon Beach, on the coast, after a stop at the Tillamook Cheese factory.  Mike and Loni bought their famous ice cream.  Wifey declined, but then ate most of Mike's sample.  I was content with the smoked cheddar, which was delicious.

Every so often, I arrive at a place, and feel a sense of belonging there.  That's true of Asheville, Key West, and Greenwich Village, to name a few.  In California it is Santa Cruz.  Well -- it happened again, at Cannon Beach.

I immediately fell in love with the place.  Our hotel was gorgeous, and directly on the ocean, but the entire town was like a California coastal town 40 years before.  Sort of like Carmel before it went so upscale.  There were rustic restaurants, and shops -- and an amazing mix of people.  We had some sandwiches at a bagel place run by hippie types -- and then back to the hotel.  We walked along the amazing haystack rocks -- volcanic leftovers which were pushed there from present day Idaho.

In the evening, I opened the two bottles of wine I bought at the Willamette Valley winery we visited, and the 4 of us toasted our kids, ourselves, and the gorgeous hotel we were privileged to visit.  I met an enormous golden retriever, Chad, and watched him run joyously into and out of the ocean, chasing birds, and stopping next to strangers to get petted.  I sent the video I took to the Ds -- wishing us all to have days like Chad.

I went to the front desk clerk and learned that they sold fire kits, to build beach campfires after dark.  I bought a kit -- wood, fire starter, and s'more ingredients, and brought them to the porch.  Loni literally jumped up and down with happiness -- she had always wanted to sit by a beach fire, and never did before.

A couple from Canada were leaving as we arrived, and they invited us to take over their fire.  We did, and as the sun set, you could see many fires dotting the beach.  We sat for hours, as the cool winds blew off the ocean.  It was truly a magical night.

We wished we had planned to stay longer at Cannon Beach.  Like MacArthur, I SHALL return someday.

Next day we left for Seattle, with a stop in Astoria, Oregon, named after John Jacob Astor, who settled it to trade furs.  We had a nice lunch, and then I stepped into a legal marijuana shop and bought some "edibles" -gummy bears.  From there we drove to Seattle, and checked into the Alexa Hotel, near Pike's Market.

Wifey was tired, so Mike, Loni, and I walked the city.  I got back to the room and tried my first gummy -- little effect, even when supplemented by a couple of martinis at a seafood place.

Next day we toured the Paul Allen funded museum of Pop Culture, and all enjoyed it.  There were Star Trek exhibits, as well as one about Jim Henson and his muppets.  I enjoyed the Jimi Hendrix and David Bowie collections, as well.  From there, we walked to the Space Needle, waited for the elevator, and enjoyed the view of the city.

That night, Mike and Loni went off to look for the first Starbucks, and Wifey and I went to a local restaurant.  I ate 2 gummies.  An hour later, they kicked in, and it wasn't pleasant.  I was unsteady and irritable.  I became mildly aphasic.  I knew the feelings would pass, and they did.  Nah -- not for me -- I'll stick to vodkas.

The following night Wifey took another pass, and Mike, Loni and I took the underground tour.  It was a highlight -- a very entertaining fellow taught us about early Seattle, including that a major force in its development was a madam named Lou Gramm -- she took a man's name to be treated better by bankers, which she was, especially since many were her clients.  She died and left an equivalent of $6M to the Seattle schools -- yet none are named for her.

Our final day we got up early, and found a place named Cone and Steiner for breakfast.  They had just opened.  The blonde proprietress, with tatoos and dreads, greeted us.  I asked if there was a Cone or Steiner.  Sure enough, she was Cone's great granddaughter, and had continued the family business.  The coffee, like all in Seattle, was awesome.

We drove to the Boeing factory, and took a terrific tour -- seeing how they manufacture 767, 777, 747, and 787 jets.  It was fascinating, and all the more cool since we would be flying home on a Boeing jet, although a 737 -- manufactured in the original Boeing plant, 30 miles to the South, in Tacoma plant.

We had hours to kill before our redeye flight home, so we stopped at U Washington, to tour their campus.  It was surprisingly not very picturesque -- some cool early 1900 buildings, but a huge paved plaza instead of rolling lawns.  Plus, it was hot as hell -- turned out it was a historic Seattle heat wave -- felt just like home.

From there, we went to a mall near Sea-Tac airport, and took in a movie, "A Ghost Story."  It had gotten sterling revues.  All four of us agreed it might have been the worst, or nearly the worst, movie we had ever seen.  It was comically horrible.  But it DID kill some time.

We then went to a place called Joey's , and had a fine final lunch.  From there it was adios to our trusty enormous SUV at the Hertz lot, and some drinks at the tiny Seattle Centurion Lounge.

The plane left, and then came back to the gate.  Some type of medical emergency.  Then it was into the skies, and a smooth ride back to MIA.

Chris was there to greet us, and dropped us home, to an intact house, and 2 live dogs.

We were away 9 days -- quite a long time for us, and very happy we took the trip.  Now nothing on the itinerary except the Big, Fat, Colombian wedding -- just 4 weeks from tomorrow.

Maybe next summer I'll rent a house on Cannon Beach...you never know.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation

And so it began, VERY early last Wednesday.  Mike and Loni's boy Chris drove them over in a massive SUV to our house -- it was 5 am.  I call Chris the "indentured servant," as he now serves at the pleasure of his parents.  He's an awesome kid -- starting UM Law in a few weeks on a scholarship -- a 3rd generation UM Law Cane.  But for now, he does chores for his parents -- including waking up absurdly early for a MIA trip.  He did well -- dropped us off at the airport, and we headed to the Centurion Lounge for breakfast.  We reminisced -- the first couples'  trip we took together was in '85 -- Cancun, when it was STILL Cancun and not Fort Lauderdale with dangerous drinking water.  It was a lifetime ago -- we were single, and Mike and I were slogging through law school.  Now, the first of our combined 4 kids is getting married in less than a month.  The years fly...

Anyway, our plane stopped in Phoenix, where I waxed Jimmy Webb, and Mike did better, with a Steve Miller reference:  we'd be going from Phoenix, Arizona all the way to Tacoma...

We arrived in Portland, and took the light rail to Downtown.  Wifey pushed her wheeled suitcase a few blocks and was down for the count.  I thought the trip would be ending there -- I actually checked into flights home the next day -- she was in bed, unable to move.  But, the Oregon spirits kicked in, and by the next day she was better and able to continue the trip -- though she missed our first evening out, to a Tiki bar called Halle Pele -- hipster place where Mike, Loni, and I were the only straight folks there -- and a stop at Powell's Books -- legendary block sized store that may be the biggest in the land.

We immediately got a sense of Portland -- it IS very casual.  We saw ZERO men in suits -- and the women were heavily inked and dressed, well, frumpy.  Wifey liked that immediately -- Miami is a glitter town -- everyone dresses nicely out and about.  She figures in Portland she's be Jackie O.  And I, famous schlumpy guy with my uniform of jeans and untucked shirt?  I'm GQ in Portland...

After a few days, including a dinner at the top steak place, Ringside, we fired up the huge Toyota Sequoia and drove to Crater Lake, with a stop, per Dr. Eric, Oregon maven, at Multnomah Falls, and then the town of Bend.  We got to Crater Lake late in the afternoon, and checked into the rustic cabins -- the main lodge was sold out.  But the lake -- Caramba!  It may well be the most beautiful sight I have seen in nature.  We learned about its geology, and saw it from different angles.  We had cocktails on the Crater Lodge deck, and after dinner, sat out back and looked at the sky.

It was Flooded with stars.  We talked about how when we were kids, the night sky was darker and you could see tons of stars.  Now, with all the light pollution, the sky is a different thing, unless  you're out far from cities, or on the ocean...

We made it back the scary road to the cabin, seeing a herd of deer, and a fix scampering across the pavement, and were in for the night.  The next day would be Mt. Hood, and the famous Skyline Lodge, where the filmed the exteriors of "The Shining..."