It's that time of year where families decide where their kids are going to college. In our circle, that was a major decision -- so many, it seemed the parents cared far more where their kids studied than they did who their kids chose to marry. I never got it.
I guess college names never impressed me much, other than to be able to say "Haaaahvaaaad" like Winchester used to in "MASH." As an empiricist, I look at my peers, from high school and college. The ones who attended Ivy League places did no better in life than those of us who didn't. And then there's the tale of Chuck...
Chuck was my partner Paul's buddy from law school. His daughter, who must now be pushing 40, was a top student at Palmetto High. Chuck's then wife was very into education -- she was a SUNY girl, and I think cared a lot that her daughter attended a more prestigious college.
Chuck was upper middle class, and I remember talking at length with him about his daughter's choices. She was offered a full ride at Florida, but then got into Duke. The girl was going to study journalism. Chuck and his wife took out a second mortgage to sent the daughter to the Ivy-lite college, even though they had 2 more kids in the college pipeline -- both ended up having to "settle: for state schools.
The daughter did well at Duke -- at lunch, Chuck would regale us with tales of her covering major events with the school paper. We lost touch for awhile, and then Paul said the girl was graduated and moved back to Miami. She wanted to have lunch with us.
I remember this like it was yesterday. We went to Tobacco Road. Chuck's girl was hired as a cub reporter at Miami Today, a local biz paper. She brought her fellow new hire with her -- a stunning young woman, originally from Brazil, product of working class immigrants here in town. She and Chuck's girl were excited for their first job -- in journalism. Someone was paying them to report and write. I asked the Brazilian girl where she had attended college. It was FIU.
So I have this prejudice. It's politically incorrect, but I think only families that can afford it should send their kids to the private colleges. Another example is the real super stars who get scholarships. But to put a family into new hock to be able to hang a name on a wall?
Sure enough, there's an essay in yesterday's Times from a Cuban girl from Miami entitled "Did I Choose the Wrong College?" The choices for her working class parents were free tuition at Florida versus a struggle to afford Cornell. The writer did fine -- she is not teaching writing in the Midwest. But she bemoaned the struggle she put her parents thought -- her folks were sold a vision from the Cornell people that the choice was a ticket to a sweet life for their first in the family to attend college girl. Turns out, the writer compares herself with peers who in fact DID go to Hogtown and did just fine.
We were privileged to give the Ds a choice -- go wherever you want. They both chose UF, lived like queens during college, and still enjoy the stock accounts I funded for each of them with the savings of NOT spending half a million on private school tuition.
And Wifey and I DID stick to our philosophy -- much more teaching and guidance about choosing life partners than where they chose to study. I joked I was in favor of arranged marriages. And the Ds' choices fill us with huge pride -- they're both with awesome young men, who treat them wonderfully and share their life's vision and goals.
D1 has an older friend whose daughter is off to Stanford. I'm sure she'll soar. And her parents are both rich, so the tuition will be no big deal for them.
But for the struggling, working class families who think their kids have to go to New England -- I wish they'd rethink their choices.
Monday, April 30, 2018
Sunday, April 29, 2018
Neighbors
So yesterday I was walking the last part of my 2.2 miles around the 'hood, and I was literally cut off by a neighbor who wanted to talk. I avoid this woman, as she is a world class bore and braggart, but she pulled in front of me like a cop arresting someone, and next thing I know I was an audience to all her private tour trips around the world, and upcoming weddings for her kids that were going to be the finest of all time. It was like being with a female Trump.
Thankfully D2 called, and I had my excuse to escape. But my dealings with the annoying one were not to end. She complained to the HOA that, and this is for real, that fellow neighbors were ADDING trash to her trash pile! She even knew the time it happened -- like a good witness would be able to report when a murder happened.
She said she had already called to report the "illegal dumping," but this "appalling behavior" must stop. As the neighborhood wise ass, I was compelled to answer to Gloria, our president, and my response was to quote the English nursery rhyme "Fish and Chips with Vinegar," since there is a line about not putting your dust in my full dust bin...
What have we overfed, overprivileged wrought? I know the answer, of course -- people with too much free time and entitlement have no shame about complaining about trash piles, which get picked up, for free, twice a year.
Wifey avoids this woman, too -- she once DEMANDED that a security sign that was placed telling would be bad guys be removed, as the woman had guests coming soon and didn't want them greeted by the signs. Wifey thinks she is mentally ill. She may be right.
We live on an acre property. I can avoid neighbors easily. I like it that way. Wifey and I talk about maybe moving into a condo. I think I'm getting too crochety for that to work. I probably need my space.
Meanwhile, D1 and Dr. Kenny and I attended a lovely charity event in the Design District last night -- an art auction that raised money for a local adoption agency. We had a terrific time -- D1's man Joey begged off, as did Wifey.
There were a bunch of young judges there, and one asked me why I never considered becoming a member of the Bench. I responded right away -- I've become too politically incorrect for that job. You really can't say to a party "You may just be the stupidest litigant in the history of Miami Dade." If I had to keep those thoughts inside, I might burst. Better to stay off the Bench.
As for my 'hood, it's clear I have to start jogging more. Folks in cars tend to leave joggers alone. That will be my new strategy.
Thankfully D2 called, and I had my excuse to escape. But my dealings with the annoying one were not to end. She complained to the HOA that, and this is for real, that fellow neighbors were ADDING trash to her trash pile! She even knew the time it happened -- like a good witness would be able to report when a murder happened.
She said she had already called to report the "illegal dumping," but this "appalling behavior" must stop. As the neighborhood wise ass, I was compelled to answer to Gloria, our president, and my response was to quote the English nursery rhyme "Fish and Chips with Vinegar," since there is a line about not putting your dust in my full dust bin...
What have we overfed, overprivileged wrought? I know the answer, of course -- people with too much free time and entitlement have no shame about complaining about trash piles, which get picked up, for free, twice a year.
Wifey avoids this woman, too -- she once DEMANDED that a security sign that was placed telling would be bad guys be removed, as the woman had guests coming soon and didn't want them greeted by the signs. Wifey thinks she is mentally ill. She may be right.
We live on an acre property. I can avoid neighbors easily. I like it that way. Wifey and I talk about maybe moving into a condo. I think I'm getting too crochety for that to work. I probably need my space.
Meanwhile, D1 and Dr. Kenny and I attended a lovely charity event in the Design District last night -- an art auction that raised money for a local adoption agency. We had a terrific time -- D1's man Joey begged off, as did Wifey.
There were a bunch of young judges there, and one asked me why I never considered becoming a member of the Bench. I responded right away -- I've become too politically incorrect for that job. You really can't say to a party "You may just be the stupidest litigant in the history of Miami Dade." If I had to keep those thoughts inside, I might burst. Better to stay off the Bench.
As for my 'hood, it's clear I have to start jogging more. Folks in cars tend to leave joggers alone. That will be my new strategy.
Friday, April 27, 2018
Graduation Time/Living in the Past
So FaceBook (tm) and other social media is chock full of happy thoughts these days, of kids about to graduate from college, or high school, or grad school. I enjoy reading these posts, and it makes me think of the total of 6 the Ds gave us over the years -- two at the U, for Palmetto High, three at UF, and a final one at FIU.
It's a milestone, and I love marking life that way. And last night I spent a wonderful evening with one of my college brothers, Dr. Barry, and that brought me back in time, as our meetings always do.
Next year will mark 40 years since I sat outside on a warm June day and said goodbye to MacArthur High in Levittown. Several folks who still live in the NY area are already planning the reunion -- for October of '19, and my friend Kenny has asked me to go. We attended the 20th together, and that was it for me -- I realized those I wish to keep in touch with, I do, and social media has quenched whatever curiosity I have about other classmates. Still -- I guess 4 decades is a big deal, and we agreed that Kenny and I would take his wife Joelle and Wifey to NY -- maybe plan a fun weekend, and Kenny and I would attend the reunion alone, lest we bore the hell out of the women.
The reunion will probably be in some Central Nassau County Marriott, and no nice affair -- I'll go, share some tales, and then head out.
Barry and I shared drinks with Stuart, and then headed to Brickell City Centre, to try out Centale. We stood waiting for a host at a seafood place, and after a few moments, I invoked the Dad rule: if you're not well greeted at a restaurant, things rarely get better from there. Instead, we walked over to Casa Tua, another food hall, and got some delicious Caesar salads and a swordfish steak to share. My Ds would have approved.
We talked mostly about the present, and future. His oldest is 3/4 done with college, and has an awesome internship set for NBC in NYC this summer. His youngest is late getting on the education train, but plans to rejoin it this summer as well. Both are wonderful young men -- I'm proud to call them my nephews.
Barry had taken the train, since the Miami Corporate run had clogged the Downtown streets, and after a post dinner coffee at the Centre, and a post coffee tea at Trulucks, while we watched some of the NFL draft and Barry enjoyed my making fun of the Fins' boring pick, I drove him to the med school, and headed home myself.
I reflected on the day after I graduated college. The graduation itself was on a scorching day, held outside in the days before the on campus arena. Afterwards, Eric and his family, and Jeff Goodman and his family, and my Mom and her friend went to Steak and Ale. We were not at all upscale in those days.
My Mom had begun seeing a fellow, whose name I think was Bernie, and I was miffed -- who was this guy to share in a day like this -- my Dad should have been there, to see his son fulfill his unmet dream -- college graduation. But I got over it, and everyone spread to the winds after dinner. I had a final night, alone, in my apartment, 22 Z, before leaving for the last time.
My friend Jean came by, and we drank some beers. She was a cool Minnesota girl, who was headed to UCLA for law school. I remember talking with her about our futures in law school, and lawyers, and the awesome parties we had in Building 22. I reconnected with Jean years later -- she married a federal agent and moved back to S Fla -- Weston or Coral Springs -- I always confuse those two. She had kids later in life -- and strangely, home schools them. She came to a Building 22 reunion party Wifey and I hosted several years back -- and Jean well remember that last evening in the building, too.
Jean left. I sat on the naugahyde couch -- for a long while. I was about to turn 22. Dad had died the past Summer. I had responsibility to take care of Mom. During my time living in 22Z, I had truly transitioned from adolescent to a man.
I knew, as I sat there, everything had changed. I wasn't all happy about it -- I missed Dad terribly. Why did I have to be the one who lost his beloved father? I came to understand, years later, the question is really why NOT me?
The next morning, I loaded up my Pontiac, and drove up to Delray for the last time I would live outside of Dade County. I had a great summer job -- pharmacy tech at Boca Hospital, when Boca was still snowbird capital, and there was a shortage of young men --especially at the hospital.
I made good money, and got Mom set up with lessons we learned together about balancing check books, paying taxes to the County, paying utility bills. Fortunately my brother in law Dennis was her CPA, and so did all of the federal stuff for her.
It was a really fun time -- hanging with the mostly Gator grad pharm staff at the hospital, and seeing my Miami friends.
At the end of the time there, Eric and Barry and I were to meet at Eric's parents' in Kendall -- to sign a lease on a 3 bedroom apartment where we would live -- Eric in med school, me in law, and Barry a college senior. At the last minute, Barry bailed, and Eric and I scrambled to find an alternative.
I wanted to move to the Grove. Eric was afraid it would be "too crazy" there, and advocated to stay in Kendall. We did, and the following month I met a fellow tenant at Les Chalet who wold become Wifey. One thing leads to another.
I hope the graduates really savor the event. It is such a wonderful mark in a young person's life. All these years later, I still reflect on mine.
It's a milestone, and I love marking life that way. And last night I spent a wonderful evening with one of my college brothers, Dr. Barry, and that brought me back in time, as our meetings always do.
Next year will mark 40 years since I sat outside on a warm June day and said goodbye to MacArthur High in Levittown. Several folks who still live in the NY area are already planning the reunion -- for October of '19, and my friend Kenny has asked me to go. We attended the 20th together, and that was it for me -- I realized those I wish to keep in touch with, I do, and social media has quenched whatever curiosity I have about other classmates. Still -- I guess 4 decades is a big deal, and we agreed that Kenny and I would take his wife Joelle and Wifey to NY -- maybe plan a fun weekend, and Kenny and I would attend the reunion alone, lest we bore the hell out of the women.
The reunion will probably be in some Central Nassau County Marriott, and no nice affair -- I'll go, share some tales, and then head out.
Barry and I shared drinks with Stuart, and then headed to Brickell City Centre, to try out Centale. We stood waiting for a host at a seafood place, and after a few moments, I invoked the Dad rule: if you're not well greeted at a restaurant, things rarely get better from there. Instead, we walked over to Casa Tua, another food hall, and got some delicious Caesar salads and a swordfish steak to share. My Ds would have approved.
We talked mostly about the present, and future. His oldest is 3/4 done with college, and has an awesome internship set for NBC in NYC this summer. His youngest is late getting on the education train, but plans to rejoin it this summer as well. Both are wonderful young men -- I'm proud to call them my nephews.
Barry had taken the train, since the Miami Corporate run had clogged the Downtown streets, and after a post dinner coffee at the Centre, and a post coffee tea at Trulucks, while we watched some of the NFL draft and Barry enjoyed my making fun of the Fins' boring pick, I drove him to the med school, and headed home myself.
I reflected on the day after I graduated college. The graduation itself was on a scorching day, held outside in the days before the on campus arena. Afterwards, Eric and his family, and Jeff Goodman and his family, and my Mom and her friend went to Steak and Ale. We were not at all upscale in those days.
My Mom had begun seeing a fellow, whose name I think was Bernie, and I was miffed -- who was this guy to share in a day like this -- my Dad should have been there, to see his son fulfill his unmet dream -- college graduation. But I got over it, and everyone spread to the winds after dinner. I had a final night, alone, in my apartment, 22 Z, before leaving for the last time.
My friend Jean came by, and we drank some beers. She was a cool Minnesota girl, who was headed to UCLA for law school. I remember talking with her about our futures in law school, and lawyers, and the awesome parties we had in Building 22. I reconnected with Jean years later -- she married a federal agent and moved back to S Fla -- Weston or Coral Springs -- I always confuse those two. She had kids later in life -- and strangely, home schools them. She came to a Building 22 reunion party Wifey and I hosted several years back -- and Jean well remember that last evening in the building, too.
Jean left. I sat on the naugahyde couch -- for a long while. I was about to turn 22. Dad had died the past Summer. I had responsibility to take care of Mom. During my time living in 22Z, I had truly transitioned from adolescent to a man.
I knew, as I sat there, everything had changed. I wasn't all happy about it -- I missed Dad terribly. Why did I have to be the one who lost his beloved father? I came to understand, years later, the question is really why NOT me?
The next morning, I loaded up my Pontiac, and drove up to Delray for the last time I would live outside of Dade County. I had a great summer job -- pharmacy tech at Boca Hospital, when Boca was still snowbird capital, and there was a shortage of young men --especially at the hospital.
I made good money, and got Mom set up with lessons we learned together about balancing check books, paying taxes to the County, paying utility bills. Fortunately my brother in law Dennis was her CPA, and so did all of the federal stuff for her.
It was a really fun time -- hanging with the mostly Gator grad pharm staff at the hospital, and seeing my Miami friends.
At the end of the time there, Eric and Barry and I were to meet at Eric's parents' in Kendall -- to sign a lease on a 3 bedroom apartment where we would live -- Eric in med school, me in law, and Barry a college senior. At the last minute, Barry bailed, and Eric and I scrambled to find an alternative.
I wanted to move to the Grove. Eric was afraid it would be "too crazy" there, and advocated to stay in Kendall. We did, and the following month I met a fellow tenant at Les Chalet who wold become Wifey. One thing leads to another.
I hope the graduates really savor the event. It is such a wonderful mark in a young person's life. All these years later, I still reflect on mine.
Thursday, April 26, 2018
Tomorrow is Yahrzeit for Mom
The time really and truly does fly. Tomorrow marks half a decade since Sunny left us -- exactly two weeks after she had her 93rd birthday.
As I age, one year seems a short time, but half a decade? I guess that amount of time enters the time compression perception, too.
Mom's end was mercifully short. A few days before, she was in and out of consciousness, and having some trouble breathing. The social worker met with Wifey and I and we discussed hospice, which the Seasons Company (I loved their happy name even as we went through the tough decision) could provide right at Mom's bedside. But there was a problem, the worker said...
Mom's attending, Dr. Levine, as a frum Jew, and opposed to hospice, the worker said. He believed life should be prolonged with feeding tubes and ventilators for as long as possible. This is exactly opposed to Mom's wishes -- she was, like me, in favor of knowing when it's time to bow out. So I called Dr. Levine, and he tried to talk me out of it, in his comical Jackie Mason accent, which I had always thought strange, since he was Israeli and not Brooklynite.
I politely told him I understood and respected his wishes, but they were not ours, and if he preferred, I could have him replaced with another attending doc who would comply. Reluctantly, he signed the hospice order. Who knows? Maybe he's right, and I cut off Mom's ticket to heaven. I guess I'll have an eternity to deal with that...
The hospice team started her on morphine, and the breathing difficulties stopped. She slept peacefully. Wifey and I were with her most of that final Friday. Mirta, our angel friend, came later on, after we had left to get some sleep.
I remember being home and in bed late Friday and Mirta called -- they were late in a morphine dose, and she, in her tough ass Cubana way, made sure they brought it. Sunny got the morphine again, and rested.
Edna was in town, visiting her parents, and planned Saturday to go with Wifey to the home. Richard, my father in law was there, too, and loved to visit Sunny.
I got up early Saturday, April 27, 2013, and headed to MJH. I stopped for gas at the station right next door. While I was pumping, they called -- Sunny had just passed.
Coincidentally, Dr. Barry had planned to visit. With my dark sense of humor, I told him he could see her, but it would be a quiet visit. He met me at her room. She was gone, and the staff had already cleaned up, leaving the sickeningly sweet smell of the disinfectant.
One has to wonder if the Big Man sent Barry that day. He and Eric were my rocks when my Dad died -- and now Barry was there for me again for Mom's death.
As we were in the room, I heard Wifey and Edna coming up the hall, pushing Richard. I went out, and tried to sign them to turn around -- my late father in law was childlike when it came to death, and I wanted to spare him the sight. I had tried calling Wifey, but her phone was unanswered in her back pocket. She took Richard back to his room, and returned with Edna.
The strapping young man from Neptune Society came pretty fast. He needed no help lifting Mom into the blue velvet bag, and placing her on the gurney. By then, Wifey and Edna were back, and the women wept as they took her out of the room. Barry hugged me, hard.
I took us all to Soyka. D1 and her friend joined us. I knew there would be no funeral, so we treated that lunch as a memorial. I had a few martinis, and toasted Sunny and her wonderful, loving life.
She had thought her life was over in 1982 when Dad died. Instead, she was given 31 additional years -- most of them awesome.
I knew her ashes would be sent in several days, and sure enough they arrived the Saturday before Mother's Day. D2 was home from UF. I placed the box with her ashes on a shelf, and when Wifey and the Ds came in, asked how they rudely ignored their Grandma Sunny. They looked puzzled, and then gasped. It was their first time being near cremains -- another great word.
The next day, Sunday, we put Mom into the Bay, so be with her beloved Hy, whose cremains were placed in the Atlantic up the coast, off Pompano Beach. It's nice to think of them together again.
But has it really been 5 years? It has. Time flows so, so fast.
As I age, one year seems a short time, but half a decade? I guess that amount of time enters the time compression perception, too.
Mom's end was mercifully short. A few days before, she was in and out of consciousness, and having some trouble breathing. The social worker met with Wifey and I and we discussed hospice, which the Seasons Company (I loved their happy name even as we went through the tough decision) could provide right at Mom's bedside. But there was a problem, the worker said...
Mom's attending, Dr. Levine, as a frum Jew, and opposed to hospice, the worker said. He believed life should be prolonged with feeding tubes and ventilators for as long as possible. This is exactly opposed to Mom's wishes -- she was, like me, in favor of knowing when it's time to bow out. So I called Dr. Levine, and he tried to talk me out of it, in his comical Jackie Mason accent, which I had always thought strange, since he was Israeli and not Brooklynite.
I politely told him I understood and respected his wishes, but they were not ours, and if he preferred, I could have him replaced with another attending doc who would comply. Reluctantly, he signed the hospice order. Who knows? Maybe he's right, and I cut off Mom's ticket to heaven. I guess I'll have an eternity to deal with that...
The hospice team started her on morphine, and the breathing difficulties stopped. She slept peacefully. Wifey and I were with her most of that final Friday. Mirta, our angel friend, came later on, after we had left to get some sleep.
I remember being home and in bed late Friday and Mirta called -- they were late in a morphine dose, and she, in her tough ass Cubana way, made sure they brought it. Sunny got the morphine again, and rested.
Edna was in town, visiting her parents, and planned Saturday to go with Wifey to the home. Richard, my father in law was there, too, and loved to visit Sunny.
I got up early Saturday, April 27, 2013, and headed to MJH. I stopped for gas at the station right next door. While I was pumping, they called -- Sunny had just passed.
Coincidentally, Dr. Barry had planned to visit. With my dark sense of humor, I told him he could see her, but it would be a quiet visit. He met me at her room. She was gone, and the staff had already cleaned up, leaving the sickeningly sweet smell of the disinfectant.
One has to wonder if the Big Man sent Barry that day. He and Eric were my rocks when my Dad died -- and now Barry was there for me again for Mom's death.
As we were in the room, I heard Wifey and Edna coming up the hall, pushing Richard. I went out, and tried to sign them to turn around -- my late father in law was childlike when it came to death, and I wanted to spare him the sight. I had tried calling Wifey, but her phone was unanswered in her back pocket. She took Richard back to his room, and returned with Edna.
The strapping young man from Neptune Society came pretty fast. He needed no help lifting Mom into the blue velvet bag, and placing her on the gurney. By then, Wifey and Edna were back, and the women wept as they took her out of the room. Barry hugged me, hard.
I took us all to Soyka. D1 and her friend joined us. I knew there would be no funeral, so we treated that lunch as a memorial. I had a few martinis, and toasted Sunny and her wonderful, loving life.
She had thought her life was over in 1982 when Dad died. Instead, she was given 31 additional years -- most of them awesome.
I knew her ashes would be sent in several days, and sure enough they arrived the Saturday before Mother's Day. D2 was home from UF. I placed the box with her ashes on a shelf, and when Wifey and the Ds came in, asked how they rudely ignored their Grandma Sunny. They looked puzzled, and then gasped. It was their first time being near cremains -- another great word.
The next day, Sunday, we put Mom into the Bay, so be with her beloved Hy, whose cremains were placed in the Atlantic up the coast, off Pompano Beach. It's nice to think of them together again.
But has it really been 5 years? It has. Time flows so, so fast.
Tuesday, April 24, 2018
Unsocial Media
As a foot note to my Ds intervention, D2 added "... And get off FaceBook!" She figures the less time I spend there perusing the musings of my friends, the more time I'll be moving. She's probably right.
But for now, that addiction continues, since I'm a frustrated comedy writer, like several of my dear friends (Norman) and FB gives me an outlet. And, last weekend it cost me a FB friend.
This is the tale of a closeted lesbian I'll call Raquel, since that's her name. We go way back -- all the way to college, where we entered the U in the same class, though she was always "pre law" and I was pre med. She is a Miami Cuban girl out of central casting for "Que Pasa, USA" -- smart, attentive, very Catholic, and politically VERY conservative.
She skipped a college grade and started the U law school one year ahead of me, was on law review, and graduated and joined a top Miami firm. She soared, as this firm demanded tons of hours from its associates, and she seemed to have nothing but time for her career. She was SO dedicated to the firm, that hilarity ensued -- she would invite all of the Jewish associates to her home for Noche Buena -- they had nowhere else to go, and according to a friend of mine who attended one year, it became known as the firm's Jewish Christmas -- more Jews standing around eating roasted pork than any respectable rabbi would ever like to know about.
Anyway -- we were never close, but ran into each other over the years. She went to Europe for awhile, and became somewhat of a big shot in Republican politics. I was actually kind of proud of her accomplishments, as a fellow Cane, even though she professed the staunch Catholicism and resulting hypocrisy that comes from being closeted.
No one ever knew her to be in a relationship, but there were two events that confirmed my suspicions. One time, in the Grove, I was out to lunch with fellow friends of hers. We spotted her eating at a table with a VERY butch looking woman. She noticed us, and came over -- her companion disappeared. My friend inquired about her dining companion, and Raquel said "What? I'm here alone!"
Another time I saw her cannoodling, if that's the word, with a woman in a local bar. I went to say hello, and same drill -- the companion bolted.
So I guess gays trying to be staunch Republicans have issues. But still -- Raquel friended me on FB, and we'd comment on each other's posts. Hers all revered all things Bush, Reagan, and Rubio. She even went to the absurd length of commenting how classy Melania Trump was -- to me, the living version of Natasha Fatale from Bullwinkle.
Barbara Bush died last week, and Raquel posted glowing terms about the woman GOP maven Roger Stone called a "vindictive drunk." I'd never take shots about a dead FLOTUS.
Raquel posted a picture of the George Bush Library. I didn't know it was where they buried the old broad, and commented with a tired, making fun of anti intellectual libraries joke I heard years ago -- : "There was a fire there last night, and BOTH books burned. Worse -- one hadn't even been colored in yet." The first time I heard it, my professor and friend Steve told it about the UF Library in Gville.
Sophomoric, I know, but I AM a wise ass on FB. Well, Raquel was outraged, and said I was Ignorant and Cruel. I apologized for offending her, said I thought it was just humor directed at a library, but realized now that closeted lesbians can't appreciate humor. Nah -- I left that last part out.
And then I "unfriended" her -- she can't call me names, even if those names are accurate, and I indeed AM ignorant and cruel. I guess when it comes to understanding how great a president Bush was, I remain ignorant.
So it's adios Raquel. D2 is correct -- I ought to get off FB. At least now, my settings are not public, so I don't invite the kind of perfidy I received when someone published a post of mine about anti-circumcision protesters. Now I have to know who you are before you can see my stuff.
I wish Raquel well. I hope she comes out of the closet -- we're both near 57, and living that way must take a toll on one's soul. If she comes out, she can freely display bikini shots of Ann Coulter in her office. Now that would be something.
But for now, that addiction continues, since I'm a frustrated comedy writer, like several of my dear friends (Norman) and FB gives me an outlet. And, last weekend it cost me a FB friend.
This is the tale of a closeted lesbian I'll call Raquel, since that's her name. We go way back -- all the way to college, where we entered the U in the same class, though she was always "pre law" and I was pre med. She is a Miami Cuban girl out of central casting for "Que Pasa, USA" -- smart, attentive, very Catholic, and politically VERY conservative.
She skipped a college grade and started the U law school one year ahead of me, was on law review, and graduated and joined a top Miami firm. She soared, as this firm demanded tons of hours from its associates, and she seemed to have nothing but time for her career. She was SO dedicated to the firm, that hilarity ensued -- she would invite all of the Jewish associates to her home for Noche Buena -- they had nowhere else to go, and according to a friend of mine who attended one year, it became known as the firm's Jewish Christmas -- more Jews standing around eating roasted pork than any respectable rabbi would ever like to know about.
Anyway -- we were never close, but ran into each other over the years. She went to Europe for awhile, and became somewhat of a big shot in Republican politics. I was actually kind of proud of her accomplishments, as a fellow Cane, even though she professed the staunch Catholicism and resulting hypocrisy that comes from being closeted.
No one ever knew her to be in a relationship, but there were two events that confirmed my suspicions. One time, in the Grove, I was out to lunch with fellow friends of hers. We spotted her eating at a table with a VERY butch looking woman. She noticed us, and came over -- her companion disappeared. My friend inquired about her dining companion, and Raquel said "What? I'm here alone!"
Another time I saw her cannoodling, if that's the word, with a woman in a local bar. I went to say hello, and same drill -- the companion bolted.
So I guess gays trying to be staunch Republicans have issues. But still -- Raquel friended me on FB, and we'd comment on each other's posts. Hers all revered all things Bush, Reagan, and Rubio. She even went to the absurd length of commenting how classy Melania Trump was -- to me, the living version of Natasha Fatale from Bullwinkle.
Barbara Bush died last week, and Raquel posted glowing terms about the woman GOP maven Roger Stone called a "vindictive drunk." I'd never take shots about a dead FLOTUS.
Raquel posted a picture of the George Bush Library. I didn't know it was where they buried the old broad, and commented with a tired, making fun of anti intellectual libraries joke I heard years ago -- : "There was a fire there last night, and BOTH books burned. Worse -- one hadn't even been colored in yet." The first time I heard it, my professor and friend Steve told it about the UF Library in Gville.
Sophomoric, I know, but I AM a wise ass on FB. Well, Raquel was outraged, and said I was Ignorant and Cruel. I apologized for offending her, said I thought it was just humor directed at a library, but realized now that closeted lesbians can't appreciate humor. Nah -- I left that last part out.
And then I "unfriended" her -- she can't call me names, even if those names are accurate, and I indeed AM ignorant and cruel. I guess when it comes to understanding how great a president Bush was, I remain ignorant.
So it's adios Raquel. D2 is correct -- I ought to get off FB. At least now, my settings are not public, so I don't invite the kind of perfidy I received when someone published a post of mine about anti-circumcision protesters. Now I have to know who you are before you can see my stuff.
I wish Raquel well. I hope she comes out of the closet -- we're both near 57, and living that way must take a toll on one's soul. If she comes out, she can freely display bikini shots of Ann Coulter in her office. Now that would be something.
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Title Shot
So I just read that the oldest person in the world died in Japan, at 117. The woman was believed to have been the last person born in the 19th century, in 1900 (the 20th began in 1901). After last night, I'm thinking my mother in law may be shooting for the title.
The first part of the day was spent with the young. Paul and Alex met Mirta and me at Deli Lane, where we had a lovely lunch -- with special appearance by old friend Diane, who was dining nearby. Afterwards, we walked to Sunset Place, for the Barnes and Noble Children's section.
My sister of another mister Mirta is really something -- she is a true child's whisperer -- calming the kids and being such a terrific aunt. I told Alex Mirta likes about 8 regular aged people, but all kids and old people. Mirta said I overestimated on the number 8.
Alex and Paul left with kids in tow, and Mirta and I returned to Deli Lane for a cold drink -- and watching the first half of the Heat game, which they ended up blowing. I will shortly have more time as the Heat will be eliminated, and I no longer have to watch any NBA games.
I came home, and found Wifey, who was having a lazy Saturday and didn't make it out yet. I roused her, and we went to dinner at Cheese Course -- having healthier versions of our usual selections, under the D imposed intervention.
And then we went to the Palace, and fetched Rachel from her bed, where she was watching TV. I wheeled her outside, to the gazebo, and we sat with her. I hadn't seen her for the last few weeks. She had improved greatly -- moving well, not complaining of pain, not acting depressed. One of the property's cats joined us, and Wifey found it a water bowl and chicken to eat.
I wondered whether it was one of those death cats I read about that hang around old age homes, and jump into the resident's bed right before they leave for the hereafter. Nah -- this one hung around simply enjoying our company.
I know 90 somethings can porpoise -- and my suegra is definitely surfacing. She has short term memory loss -- asks about the Ds multiple times, and forgot that she had a spill just the day before. But she sure doesn't appear as if she will be joining her beloved husband in that quiet spot off the Palmetto any time soon.
She looks like she is giving that Japanese champ a run for her yen. Who knows?
The first part of the day was spent with the young. Paul and Alex met Mirta and me at Deli Lane, where we had a lovely lunch -- with special appearance by old friend Diane, who was dining nearby. Afterwards, we walked to Sunset Place, for the Barnes and Noble Children's section.
My sister of another mister Mirta is really something -- she is a true child's whisperer -- calming the kids and being such a terrific aunt. I told Alex Mirta likes about 8 regular aged people, but all kids and old people. Mirta said I overestimated on the number 8.
Alex and Paul left with kids in tow, and Mirta and I returned to Deli Lane for a cold drink -- and watching the first half of the Heat game, which they ended up blowing. I will shortly have more time as the Heat will be eliminated, and I no longer have to watch any NBA games.
I came home, and found Wifey, who was having a lazy Saturday and didn't make it out yet. I roused her, and we went to dinner at Cheese Course -- having healthier versions of our usual selections, under the D imposed intervention.
And then we went to the Palace, and fetched Rachel from her bed, where she was watching TV. I wheeled her outside, to the gazebo, and we sat with her. I hadn't seen her for the last few weeks. She had improved greatly -- moving well, not complaining of pain, not acting depressed. One of the property's cats joined us, and Wifey found it a water bowl and chicken to eat.
I wondered whether it was one of those death cats I read about that hang around old age homes, and jump into the resident's bed right before they leave for the hereafter. Nah -- this one hung around simply enjoying our company.
I know 90 somethings can porpoise -- and my suegra is definitely surfacing. She has short term memory loss -- asks about the Ds multiple times, and forgot that she had a spill just the day before. But she sure doesn't appear as if she will be joining her beloved husband in that quiet spot off the Palmetto any time soon.
She looks like she is giving that Japanese champ a run for her yen. Who knows?
Saturday, April 21, 2018
Political Party
So Wifey and I fetched Dr. Kenny, who is my most lefty of friends, and we headed to Joel and Courtney's stately home in the Grove for a fundraiser last night. They promised to put the fun in fundraiser, and they did.
Joel is close with Bill, a criminal defense lawyer, and Bill's sister Mary is running for Congress. I first met Mary when she was a Circuit judge presiding over a pretty big case Paul and I had. She was sharp, and smart, and ruled right down the middle. Turns out she and my buddy Norman have known each other since high school, and then there was the Joel connection.
We arrived and I saw Bill outside -- I've always liked him a lot. Years ago, he wanted to get into civil law, and offered to buy our firm. We declined. I wonder whether we should have said yes. I asked Bill if he were the car valet, and we laughed together. He's a big shot lawyer, and enjoys being taken down a few notches.
We parked, and I caught up with Bill. He married 2 years ago, and has a toddler daughter. I was thrilled for him -- he was a confirmed bachelor.
We got some cocktails, and that gave me a chance to make fun of Joel. In his multi million dollar house, he had the bartender serving Smirnoff vodka. I asked him if despite being Jay Gatsby, he still thought he was in his fraternity at Loyola in NOLA.
Kenny enjoyed meeting many of our old friends -- Michelle, who worked for us and left for the medical marijuana biz, and Liangy, a very young friend of Allison's now somehow 40 and a mother of two. The years fly.
The candidate arrived, and Bill introduced her. She has a hell of a tale -- middle class Irish family in Miami, and then Dad got sick and they slipped into poverty. Mary became the head of three kids -- washing dishes, waitress, doing whatever she could to get the family through. She won a scholarship to the U, and studied Music, but then went to law school, where she soared. She spoke about how she knows what it's like to suffer without universal health coverage, and to starve on minimum wage.
Mary faces a tough opponent, Donna Shalala. The former U president, and Clintonite, has name recognition and has raised tons of money. She's also old as fuh, as the Ds would say, and to me represents what's wrong with our Democratic party. If Donna really cared about the future, she'd work to elect someone like Mary, but instead her own enormous ego says SHE should be in D.C. -- even though she'd be nearly 80 if she was sworn in.
We'll find out in August, when the primary election takes place. I'll support and vote for Mary.
The candidates left, and we continued drinking and chatting. Vince and Stu showed up -- as well as Victor, another office mate, and his lovely wife, a social worker. The two met at Brown, and they have a daughter starting there in the Fall. We compared notes about being empty nesters.
Joel's old friend Eddie was there -- I really dig him. He's also a criminal defense lawyer, Irish guy, and lives in Miami Shores. I told him where D1 and Joey are building a house -- he knew it well -- drives by each day to get to his office on Biscayne, and says they'll love it there. Wifey told him she wants to move close by, and he and his wife invited us to be regular guests at their place if we do. We'll see...
So indeed it was a fundraiser with fun. I hope Mary pulls it off -- it'd be neat to have a friend in D. C. We know the current one, Ileana, but whenever I chat with her, I have to listen for thunder rumbling, since I fear my parents criticizing me from the Great Beyond for helping a Republican. The good news is, whoever wins the primary ought to win in November -- so I can live in a Dem district again.
Joel is close with Bill, a criminal defense lawyer, and Bill's sister Mary is running for Congress. I first met Mary when she was a Circuit judge presiding over a pretty big case Paul and I had. She was sharp, and smart, and ruled right down the middle. Turns out she and my buddy Norman have known each other since high school, and then there was the Joel connection.
We arrived and I saw Bill outside -- I've always liked him a lot. Years ago, he wanted to get into civil law, and offered to buy our firm. We declined. I wonder whether we should have said yes. I asked Bill if he were the car valet, and we laughed together. He's a big shot lawyer, and enjoys being taken down a few notches.
We parked, and I caught up with Bill. He married 2 years ago, and has a toddler daughter. I was thrilled for him -- he was a confirmed bachelor.
We got some cocktails, and that gave me a chance to make fun of Joel. In his multi million dollar house, he had the bartender serving Smirnoff vodka. I asked him if despite being Jay Gatsby, he still thought he was in his fraternity at Loyola in NOLA.
Kenny enjoyed meeting many of our old friends -- Michelle, who worked for us and left for the medical marijuana biz, and Liangy, a very young friend of Allison's now somehow 40 and a mother of two. The years fly.
The candidate arrived, and Bill introduced her. She has a hell of a tale -- middle class Irish family in Miami, and then Dad got sick and they slipped into poverty. Mary became the head of three kids -- washing dishes, waitress, doing whatever she could to get the family through. She won a scholarship to the U, and studied Music, but then went to law school, where she soared. She spoke about how she knows what it's like to suffer without universal health coverage, and to starve on minimum wage.
Mary faces a tough opponent, Donna Shalala. The former U president, and Clintonite, has name recognition and has raised tons of money. She's also old as fuh, as the Ds would say, and to me represents what's wrong with our Democratic party. If Donna really cared about the future, she'd work to elect someone like Mary, but instead her own enormous ego says SHE should be in D.C. -- even though she'd be nearly 80 if she was sworn in.
We'll find out in August, when the primary election takes place. I'll support and vote for Mary.
The candidates left, and we continued drinking and chatting. Vince and Stu showed up -- as well as Victor, another office mate, and his lovely wife, a social worker. The two met at Brown, and they have a daughter starting there in the Fall. We compared notes about being empty nesters.
Joel's old friend Eddie was there -- I really dig him. He's also a criminal defense lawyer, Irish guy, and lives in Miami Shores. I told him where D1 and Joey are building a house -- he knew it well -- drives by each day to get to his office on Biscayne, and says they'll love it there. Wifey told him she wants to move close by, and he and his wife invited us to be regular guests at their place if we do. We'll see...
So indeed it was a fundraiser with fun. I hope Mary pulls it off -- it'd be neat to have a friend in D. C. We know the current one, Ileana, but whenever I chat with her, I have to listen for thunder rumbling, since I fear my parents criticizing me from the Great Beyond for helping a Republican. The good news is, whoever wins the primary ought to win in November -- so I can live in a Dem district again.
Thursday, April 19, 2018
All In for Fitness
So really since I've been out of law school I've been physically lazy. Like comically so. There were a few periods during the early years of my law firm where Paul, who is NOT lazy, convinced me to work out with a trainer, and I did. Gil became a friend, and for a time he worked out Dr. Barry and me. But Barry, one of the best people I know, shares my lazy gene, and eventually we'd slouch away from physical exercise and revert to our sloth-like states.
I tried the trainer route several years ago at Pinecrest gym, with Susan. It got me moving, but Susan and I are both great raconteurs, and I'd steer our meetings to talk as much as action. I'm really, really being good at lazy.
When I decided I had to move, I'd walk, and recently was going 2.2 miles at a clip, around my 'hood. I have despised running since high school, when I was on the baseball team and forced to run, and I never got "past the wall." No, I figured, walking was enough for this sedentary almost 57 year old.
My friend Kenny is a model. He and I met in junior high. We look alike -- often mistaken for brothers over the years. Kenny is also one of my smartest friends. We weighed the same in high school and through college, and probably grad school as well, but then he joined the Navy while I joined the tailgater's club, and Kenny has kept his weight the same.
He's not an athlete, but just makes sure he moves a lot. He reads his radiology studies while standing up. He watches TV on a bike or treadmill. And he goes to a gym called Sensory Fitness. Finally, after resisting, I agreed to meet him there yesterday.
It was a further revelation about what a fat, out of shape pig I am. The owner, a nice Cuban guy who grew up in Miami and was a professional artist before finding his passion in fitness, put me on a futuristic machine that had me do three squats, and then analyzed my balance and musculature, like one of those things you see on "Nova." Turns out I lean to my left -- a lot. And I have the weak back muscles of someone who slumps over his computer all day, instead of moving and stretching.
Then came the class -- which consisted of Kenny, me, and 4 young women. It lasted an hour -- alternated between weights and jumping jacks. I was the manatee among dolphins, but that was ok -- I moved more in that hour than I have in years. I got a rush. It was terrific.
I signed up for a month's worth of unlimited classes, and am going back tonight for a stretch class. I dig the place -- in the warehouse district near the Falls. The clients aren't huge steroid dudes like at some gyms. They seem like normal folks wanting to avoid becoming fat slugs who sigh and moan every time they have to bend over to pick up something that has fallen. That was happening to me.
The Ds are thrilled. They both work out a lot, too. D1 explained that she was the worst in her fitness classes until she wasn't. D2 got sore all the time until she didn't.
In college, and when I married Wifey, I weighed about 175. My weight yesterday was a whopping 264. I'd have guessed maybe 250. It really went farther than I thought.
I don't really have a weight goal in mind, but years ago I got "down" to 200, and that seemed to suit me. I was energetic and looked fly in clothes. I actually bought lots of clothes then -- including some suits I'd like to be able to wear again.
The truth is, I'm not vain. I have no problem cruising around looking, as D1 noted, like I was just realeased from the homeless shelter. But I've noticed that being fat, I avoid stuff -- like dressing up. Clothes feeling tight, even "fat clothes," puts a damper on stuff, and I wasn't ready for stretch pants.
I plan to hit sensory 2-3 times per week, plus keep up my walking. Kenny explained about interval training -- told me to do a few sprints during my walks -- it has major benefit, according to research. I think the strange rescue dog might be ready to accompany me. Poor Bo, the special needs Spaniel, can't run. Neither can Wifey, on account of fear of hurting her back. She can walk Bo.
So we'll see -- next year, at this time, I hope to be a much healthier, lighter, version of an aging dude. Of course, I could get hit by the proverbial truck before then, but maybe after the gym, I'll have a better chance of jumping out of the way.
I tried the trainer route several years ago at Pinecrest gym, with Susan. It got me moving, but Susan and I are both great raconteurs, and I'd steer our meetings to talk as much as action. I'm really, really being good at lazy.
When I decided I had to move, I'd walk, and recently was going 2.2 miles at a clip, around my 'hood. I have despised running since high school, when I was on the baseball team and forced to run, and I never got "past the wall." No, I figured, walking was enough for this sedentary almost 57 year old.
My friend Kenny is a model. He and I met in junior high. We look alike -- often mistaken for brothers over the years. Kenny is also one of my smartest friends. We weighed the same in high school and through college, and probably grad school as well, but then he joined the Navy while I joined the tailgater's club, and Kenny has kept his weight the same.
He's not an athlete, but just makes sure he moves a lot. He reads his radiology studies while standing up. He watches TV on a bike or treadmill. And he goes to a gym called Sensory Fitness. Finally, after resisting, I agreed to meet him there yesterday.
It was a further revelation about what a fat, out of shape pig I am. The owner, a nice Cuban guy who grew up in Miami and was a professional artist before finding his passion in fitness, put me on a futuristic machine that had me do three squats, and then analyzed my balance and musculature, like one of those things you see on "Nova." Turns out I lean to my left -- a lot. And I have the weak back muscles of someone who slumps over his computer all day, instead of moving and stretching.
Then came the class -- which consisted of Kenny, me, and 4 young women. It lasted an hour -- alternated between weights and jumping jacks. I was the manatee among dolphins, but that was ok -- I moved more in that hour than I have in years. I got a rush. It was terrific.
I signed up for a month's worth of unlimited classes, and am going back tonight for a stretch class. I dig the place -- in the warehouse district near the Falls. The clients aren't huge steroid dudes like at some gyms. They seem like normal folks wanting to avoid becoming fat slugs who sigh and moan every time they have to bend over to pick up something that has fallen. That was happening to me.
The Ds are thrilled. They both work out a lot, too. D1 explained that she was the worst in her fitness classes until she wasn't. D2 got sore all the time until she didn't.
In college, and when I married Wifey, I weighed about 175. My weight yesterday was a whopping 264. I'd have guessed maybe 250. It really went farther than I thought.
I don't really have a weight goal in mind, but years ago I got "down" to 200, and that seemed to suit me. I was energetic and looked fly in clothes. I actually bought lots of clothes then -- including some suits I'd like to be able to wear again.
The truth is, I'm not vain. I have no problem cruising around looking, as D1 noted, like I was just realeased from the homeless shelter. But I've noticed that being fat, I avoid stuff -- like dressing up. Clothes feeling tight, even "fat clothes," puts a damper on stuff, and I wasn't ready for stretch pants.
I plan to hit sensory 2-3 times per week, plus keep up my walking. Kenny explained about interval training -- told me to do a few sprints during my walks -- it has major benefit, according to research. I think the strange rescue dog might be ready to accompany me. Poor Bo, the special needs Spaniel, can't run. Neither can Wifey, on account of fear of hurting her back. She can walk Bo.
So we'll see -- next year, at this time, I hope to be a much healthier, lighter, version of an aging dude. Of course, I could get hit by the proverbial truck before then, but maybe after the gym, I'll have a better chance of jumping out of the way.
Tuesday, April 17, 2018
Final Cool Front
So the news hyped a storm of nasty weather coming through Sunday night. Turned out it was just some rain -- not much at all. But it did bring in some lovely cool -- last night we were blessed to sleep sans A/C -- maybe tonight, too. Then it will likely be A/c from now on as the heat returns.
D2 would trade places in a moment. She called this am -- walking in Hoboken, it was 30 degrees. She thought Spring would finally come in the Northeast -- hasn't happened yet. She's totally over this winter.
Meanwhile, I did my 2.2 miles, as promised to the Ds. I plan to walk it each day, PLUS start formally exercising as well. I've been lucky -- normal blood pressure, and after a heart scare last summer learning no buildup in the arteries. But as the Ds noticed, I DO move more and more like an old man -- getting out of a chair and making sounds like my Dad used to. As the Ds have pointed out, at 56 there's really no reason for that -- exercise can return some flexible movement. That's my goal.
My friend Kenny and I have always had very similar physiques. We look related. But as he has aged, he put in place some things I should have. He watches sports and movies, but always in motion -- his TV is in front of a bike and treadmill. Also, he installed a stand up desk at work -- he's a radiologist and reads his studies standing up. These changes have kept him 65 pounds lighter than I am,and in better shape -- and he doesn't diet. He will be my model -- I plan to move more.
They opened an awesome food hall next to my office -- in Brickell Citi Centre. It has three floors of fine restaurants and bars. Yesterday Paul, Vince, and I actually ate at the vegetarian place, and it was awesome. Fresh mozzarella, eggplant, a some risotto. I skipped the bread, and had cauliflower instead. It was delicious -- and a step for me. I can do this.
And then, I visited D1's friend Jennah, who has a custom clothing place. I bought new slacks, a shirt, and blazer, and tried them on. Jennah sent pictures to the Ds and Wifey -- they approved. So who knows -- brand new Dave, as I glide into 57? Why not?
So Spring is supposed to be a time for new beginnings. I'm in. Eating better, and less, and moving more. Like chicken soup for a cold -- couldn't hurt.
D2 would trade places in a moment. She called this am -- walking in Hoboken, it was 30 degrees. She thought Spring would finally come in the Northeast -- hasn't happened yet. She's totally over this winter.
Meanwhile, I did my 2.2 miles, as promised to the Ds. I plan to walk it each day, PLUS start formally exercising as well. I've been lucky -- normal blood pressure, and after a heart scare last summer learning no buildup in the arteries. But as the Ds noticed, I DO move more and more like an old man -- getting out of a chair and making sounds like my Dad used to. As the Ds have pointed out, at 56 there's really no reason for that -- exercise can return some flexible movement. That's my goal.
My friend Kenny and I have always had very similar physiques. We look related. But as he has aged, he put in place some things I should have. He watches sports and movies, but always in motion -- his TV is in front of a bike and treadmill. Also, he installed a stand up desk at work -- he's a radiologist and reads his studies standing up. These changes have kept him 65 pounds lighter than I am,and in better shape -- and he doesn't diet. He will be my model -- I plan to move more.
They opened an awesome food hall next to my office -- in Brickell Citi Centre. It has three floors of fine restaurants and bars. Yesterday Paul, Vince, and I actually ate at the vegetarian place, and it was awesome. Fresh mozzarella, eggplant, a some risotto. I skipped the bread, and had cauliflower instead. It was delicious -- and a step for me. I can do this.
And then, I visited D1's friend Jennah, who has a custom clothing place. I bought new slacks, a shirt, and blazer, and tried them on. Jennah sent pictures to the Ds and Wifey -- they approved. So who knows -- brand new Dave, as I glide into 57? Why not?
So Spring is supposed to be a time for new beginnings. I'm in. Eating better, and less, and moving more. Like chicken soup for a cold -- couldn't hurt.
Sunday, April 15, 2018
April Football
So it's April, which means...football? Yesterday was a lovely one -- sans Wifey. She had decamped to Hallandale to spend the night at Edna's condo, with Linda, since they had tickets to see "The Waitress", a musical that does not allow men to attend.
Mirta came by early, and we went to LOL for breakfast -- joking with Lori, my long term waitress, and Risa, my pretty long term waitress, that Mirta was really Wifey. We then came home, and were soon joined by D1, who was here for a food-ter-vention.
She and D2 decided they really do love their parents and want us around for awhile, so D1 has started a weekly Publix delivery to our house, with only healthy foods. D2 joined us on FaceTime, and told us how to eat better, and since Wifey refuses to cook, they also ordered a new dinner service that will deliver daily dinners. I agreed to their terms.
They also hired a trainer. I have not agreed to those terms, but WILL move more. It's warm and terrific to be valued so by the Ds -- they don't need us anymore, as children, but truly want us around. I plan to comply.
Next over were Paul and Alex and Alex's two delightful kids. D1 and Mirta helped chase them around the house -- I poured a martini for Paul and I, as a pre game for the coming tailgate.
Everyone left, and I drove to Mike's, where he had the huge SUV ready to roll. Chris, Mike, and I headed to Joe Robbie Stadium, no longer its name but the one we old timers still use, and Mike set up a new battery rig that powered his Margaritaville blender, which soon rendered a nice frozen concoction. He also barbecued, and we were joined by Chris's USC buddy, who has moved to S Fla for a startup job. Jordan is from Arizona, and plans to move back there in another few years.
Also attending were Alex and Hilit, our neighbors and UM Med faculty -- they sampled Mike's creation. I took a photo of us and sent to Barry, to give him some FOMO, as he stayed home to do taxes.
As we strolled in, we met Eric, Dana, and their boy Josh, who is an engineer at Pratt and Whitney and about to move in with his girlfriend to a new apartment. We sat with them, and I got to catch up with Dana.
We went into the stadium, and two teams named Carol and Soffer played. They were named after the rich lady who have millions to build the new practice facility. Eric and I debated whether the new $80 million facility was really a good thing -- traditionally the Canes beat northern teams in our tropical heat, as the northern teams wilt late in the game. Now the Canes will train often indoors -- will we lose that advantage?
The game was silly, but it was great to see orange and green on the field. We left after the 3rd quarter -- Soffer had a big lead, and it looked like football menopause for Carol...
We drove home to Mike's, and I saw Loni. I then drove Chris to his buddy's house in Gables by the Sea, and we shared intimate talk about our Canes addiction -- when they lose on Saturday, it really wrecks our mood for most of the week. But, we agreed, after the huge Notre Dame win, well, that sustained us for weeks. You really have to either get being a true fan or not. We get it.
So the preview took place.In less than 5 months, the first real game takes place -- we play LSU in Dallas. Mike and Norman each bought tickets, as did Paul. Wifey actually wants to go -- she's never been to Dallas. The Days of Awe will return. Yesterday was a nice tease for the days ahead...
Mirta came by early, and we went to LOL for breakfast -- joking with Lori, my long term waitress, and Risa, my pretty long term waitress, that Mirta was really Wifey. We then came home, and were soon joined by D1, who was here for a food-ter-vention.
She and D2 decided they really do love their parents and want us around for awhile, so D1 has started a weekly Publix delivery to our house, with only healthy foods. D2 joined us on FaceTime, and told us how to eat better, and since Wifey refuses to cook, they also ordered a new dinner service that will deliver daily dinners. I agreed to their terms.
They also hired a trainer. I have not agreed to those terms, but WILL move more. It's warm and terrific to be valued so by the Ds -- they don't need us anymore, as children, but truly want us around. I plan to comply.
Next over were Paul and Alex and Alex's two delightful kids. D1 and Mirta helped chase them around the house -- I poured a martini for Paul and I, as a pre game for the coming tailgate.
Everyone left, and I drove to Mike's, where he had the huge SUV ready to roll. Chris, Mike, and I headed to Joe Robbie Stadium, no longer its name but the one we old timers still use, and Mike set up a new battery rig that powered his Margaritaville blender, which soon rendered a nice frozen concoction. He also barbecued, and we were joined by Chris's USC buddy, who has moved to S Fla for a startup job. Jordan is from Arizona, and plans to move back there in another few years.
Also attending were Alex and Hilit, our neighbors and UM Med faculty -- they sampled Mike's creation. I took a photo of us and sent to Barry, to give him some FOMO, as he stayed home to do taxes.
As we strolled in, we met Eric, Dana, and their boy Josh, who is an engineer at Pratt and Whitney and about to move in with his girlfriend to a new apartment. We sat with them, and I got to catch up with Dana.
We went into the stadium, and two teams named Carol and Soffer played. They were named after the rich lady who have millions to build the new practice facility. Eric and I debated whether the new $80 million facility was really a good thing -- traditionally the Canes beat northern teams in our tropical heat, as the northern teams wilt late in the game. Now the Canes will train often indoors -- will we lose that advantage?
The game was silly, but it was great to see orange and green on the field. We left after the 3rd quarter -- Soffer had a big lead, and it looked like football menopause for Carol...
We drove home to Mike's, and I saw Loni. I then drove Chris to his buddy's house in Gables by the Sea, and we shared intimate talk about our Canes addiction -- when they lose on Saturday, it really wrecks our mood for most of the week. But, we agreed, after the huge Notre Dame win, well, that sustained us for weeks. You really have to either get being a true fan or not. We get it.
So the preview took place.In less than 5 months, the first real game takes place -- we play LSU in Dallas. Mike and Norman each bought tickets, as did Paul. Wifey actually wants to go -- she's never been to Dallas. The Days of Awe will return. Yesterday was a nice tease for the days ahead...
Friday, April 13, 2018
Happy Birthday, Mom
My Mom Sunny was born on April 13, 1920...or was she? We always celebrated her birthday on the 13th, but years later, when Wifey and I took her to a doctor's appointment, her Medicare card showed a different date -- I think it was April 12. When I asked Mom she said "Well, I always consider it April 13." Mom was never one for details.
We celebrated her last birthday on April 13, 2013 -- 5 years ago today. She was mostly out of it mentally -- we gathered at Miami Jewish, and over cake she raised her cup and toasted "Happy Anniversary." Still, she was happy and pain free for the next week, and then began a precipitous decline -- losing consciousness and needing morphine -- and dying 2 weeks later, on April 27.
It sure doesn't seem like 5 years have passed, and yet much has happened. D1 started her own practice, and married Joey, our beloved son in law. D2 got her Master's at UF and moved to NYC with hopefully another future son in law, Jonathan.
Sadly, Sunny's death would mark the effective end of any extended family relationships. Of my three nephews and one niece, we only have contact with one nephew and his lovely wife. One sister and I no longer speak, and if I had to bet, would wager we won't again, and the other sister and I speak once or twice a month on a completely non intimate basis. Sometimes the death of a matriarch brings a family closer -- Sunny's passing had the opposite effect. As Tony S said, yeah, but what are ya gonna do?
The Ds and Wifey realized it was Grandma Sunny's birthday -- we shared text messages this am. Wifey and I will travel to Matheson Hammock, where we placed her ashes, and tell loving stories about an awesome woman.
My suegra, now 93 herself, always brings up her fellow mother in law, and recalls what a fine woman she was -- "never butting in to anyone's business." Wifey and I always laugh at the irony that Rachel is exactly the opposite. But it was so true of Sunny -- she only wanted to know her kids and grandkids and great grandkids were happy and doing well -- she asked virtually nothing of them.
During her final 11 months in a nursing home, she'd ask me about her oldest grandson. For reasons between him and his Maker, if he believes in a Maker, he never once visited her. At first, I'd make up white lies about his absence, and then realized it wasn't my place to do so, and would just shrug my shoulders. Sunny wouldn't complain, or whine -- she'd just say "Well I'm SO happy his business and duties as a father keep him so busy!"
Sunny represented the brighter side of human nature -- sunny, like her name. As I age and have less patience for the foibles of others, I try to summon her spirit -- they know not what they do.
And, when she was finally fed up with someone, she'd call them a piece of shit. Wifey has adopted that, too -- we always laugh when she says it, recalling Sunny...
So happy birthday, Mom. I don't really believe in an afterlife, but I hope I'm wrong. I like to think you found Dad somewhere in eternity, and the two of you are dancing as he croons a 40s song. You're both young -- you a true beauty, and Dad a dark and handsome man. And he pulls you close, and says "Happy birthday, Sweetheart." That'd be nice.
We celebrated her last birthday on April 13, 2013 -- 5 years ago today. She was mostly out of it mentally -- we gathered at Miami Jewish, and over cake she raised her cup and toasted "Happy Anniversary." Still, she was happy and pain free for the next week, and then began a precipitous decline -- losing consciousness and needing morphine -- and dying 2 weeks later, on April 27.
It sure doesn't seem like 5 years have passed, and yet much has happened. D1 started her own practice, and married Joey, our beloved son in law. D2 got her Master's at UF and moved to NYC with hopefully another future son in law, Jonathan.
Sadly, Sunny's death would mark the effective end of any extended family relationships. Of my three nephews and one niece, we only have contact with one nephew and his lovely wife. One sister and I no longer speak, and if I had to bet, would wager we won't again, and the other sister and I speak once or twice a month on a completely non intimate basis. Sometimes the death of a matriarch brings a family closer -- Sunny's passing had the opposite effect. As Tony S said, yeah, but what are ya gonna do?
The Ds and Wifey realized it was Grandma Sunny's birthday -- we shared text messages this am. Wifey and I will travel to Matheson Hammock, where we placed her ashes, and tell loving stories about an awesome woman.
My suegra, now 93 herself, always brings up her fellow mother in law, and recalls what a fine woman she was -- "never butting in to anyone's business." Wifey and I always laugh at the irony that Rachel is exactly the opposite. But it was so true of Sunny -- she only wanted to know her kids and grandkids and great grandkids were happy and doing well -- she asked virtually nothing of them.
During her final 11 months in a nursing home, she'd ask me about her oldest grandson. For reasons between him and his Maker, if he believes in a Maker, he never once visited her. At first, I'd make up white lies about his absence, and then realized it wasn't my place to do so, and would just shrug my shoulders. Sunny wouldn't complain, or whine -- she'd just say "Well I'm SO happy his business and duties as a father keep him so busy!"
Sunny represented the brighter side of human nature -- sunny, like her name. As I age and have less patience for the foibles of others, I try to summon her spirit -- they know not what they do.
And, when she was finally fed up with someone, she'd call them a piece of shit. Wifey has adopted that, too -- we always laugh when she says it, recalling Sunny...
So happy birthday, Mom. I don't really believe in an afterlife, but I hope I'm wrong. I like to think you found Dad somewhere in eternity, and the two of you are dancing as he croons a 40s song. You're both young -- you a true beauty, and Dad a dark and handsome man. And he pulls you close, and says "Happy birthday, Sweetheart." That'd be nice.
Thursday, April 12, 2018
The Day of Remembrance
Today is Yom Hashoah, the newest and probably most tragic of Jewish Holidays. It was created to remember and honor those who died in the Holocaust.
Several of my friends are in Poland, for the March of the Living, where they visit death camps, followed by a trip to Israel, to celebrate the creation of the Jewish State. This year is Israel's 70th birthday, and record numbers are taking the trip.
I joked on my rabbi friend Yossi's FaceBook (tm) page that I needn't attend March of the Living, since Wifey is the only child of Survivors, and that means I have the Marriage of the Living. He thanked me for bringing a bit of levity to a somber part of his trip.
I make fun of my mother in law. Lots. She often exhibits behavior that's out of central casting for a manipulative, selfish Jewish mother in law. Over the nearly 32 years of our marriage, though she has been an awesome grandmother, or Sabta to the Ds, she has caused us a good deal of pain with her difficult ways.
Still, I never forget the awful life she lived, suffering immeasurably. She adored her parents and siblings and lived through the deaths of parents, grandparents, and most of her siblings. Only one brother, Alter, and my mother in law survived. At a time in her life when it was just beginning, young teenage years, she became a slave laborer, suffering unspeakable physical and mental torture. Years ago, an ultra liberal friend went on and on on FB about how blacks can't be blamed for stuff, after "enduring slavery." When I dared remind him my in laws were slaves, he got all indignant -- somehow that was "different." No, it wasn't.
Israel always shows way cool video of the expressways shutting down, and people exiting their cars when the YH siren sounds. In the US, it's easier to blow past the day. When your country was built following this hugest human tragedy, it's in the forefront.
My father in law died a few years ago. He, too, was a Survivor, and damaged greatly by his youthful experiences. I never had a normal conversation with him -- he'd bark out words, and I'd roll my eyes, but always remain respectful of him and his past. He ADORED Wifey and the Ds -- would have died for them.
After he arrived in pre Israel following his time in Displaced Persons camps in Germany, the IDF recruiters asked him about his parents or children. No, he said, he was single and orphaned. Great, they said, no one really cares if you die, so you're in Special Forces. He served, and always kept close to the vest his wartime activities.
I hope I told him enough how proud of him I was. My parents were fiercely Zionist. Mom always admired Richard -- Dad never got to meet him.
So today, no mother in law jokes. I'll reflect on my suegra, and what she endured. Whenever I complain about her, Dr. Barry always takes her side -- how CAN she act normally, he asks, given how damaged a person she is from the Holocaust. He's right.
My family has had it good here in the USA. Last Saturday we all visited the Tenement Museum, in the neighborhood all 4 of my grandparents lived when they came to the US. Within a few years, they made enough to move on up -- to the relative affluence of The Bronx. Economic times were tough, but no one was putting relatives into gas chambers. My family was lucky.
Today, I pause to remember all those who weren't, especially my 93 year old mother in law.
Several of my friends are in Poland, for the March of the Living, where they visit death camps, followed by a trip to Israel, to celebrate the creation of the Jewish State. This year is Israel's 70th birthday, and record numbers are taking the trip.
I joked on my rabbi friend Yossi's FaceBook (tm) page that I needn't attend March of the Living, since Wifey is the only child of Survivors, and that means I have the Marriage of the Living. He thanked me for bringing a bit of levity to a somber part of his trip.
I make fun of my mother in law. Lots. She often exhibits behavior that's out of central casting for a manipulative, selfish Jewish mother in law. Over the nearly 32 years of our marriage, though she has been an awesome grandmother, or Sabta to the Ds, she has caused us a good deal of pain with her difficult ways.
Still, I never forget the awful life she lived, suffering immeasurably. She adored her parents and siblings and lived through the deaths of parents, grandparents, and most of her siblings. Only one brother, Alter, and my mother in law survived. At a time in her life when it was just beginning, young teenage years, she became a slave laborer, suffering unspeakable physical and mental torture. Years ago, an ultra liberal friend went on and on on FB about how blacks can't be blamed for stuff, after "enduring slavery." When I dared remind him my in laws were slaves, he got all indignant -- somehow that was "different." No, it wasn't.
Israel always shows way cool video of the expressways shutting down, and people exiting their cars when the YH siren sounds. In the US, it's easier to blow past the day. When your country was built following this hugest human tragedy, it's in the forefront.
My father in law died a few years ago. He, too, was a Survivor, and damaged greatly by his youthful experiences. I never had a normal conversation with him -- he'd bark out words, and I'd roll my eyes, but always remain respectful of him and his past. He ADORED Wifey and the Ds -- would have died for them.
After he arrived in pre Israel following his time in Displaced Persons camps in Germany, the IDF recruiters asked him about his parents or children. No, he said, he was single and orphaned. Great, they said, no one really cares if you die, so you're in Special Forces. He served, and always kept close to the vest his wartime activities.
I hope I told him enough how proud of him I was. My parents were fiercely Zionist. Mom always admired Richard -- Dad never got to meet him.
So today, no mother in law jokes. I'll reflect on my suegra, and what she endured. Whenever I complain about her, Dr. Barry always takes her side -- how CAN she act normally, he asks, given how damaged a person she is from the Holocaust. He's right.
My family has had it good here in the USA. Last Saturday we all visited the Tenement Museum, in the neighborhood all 4 of my grandparents lived when they came to the US. Within a few years, they made enough to move on up -- to the relative affluence of The Bronx. Economic times were tough, but no one was putting relatives into gas chambers. My family was lucky.
Today, I pause to remember all those who weren't, especially my 93 year old mother in law.
Monday, April 9, 2018
A Cold, Cold Spring
I have a need to see my NYC D2 at least every other month, and as the last time was Colombia in February, I planned a trip to see her in April. Wifey HATES cold weather, and figured April was a decent bet, as it was Spring. Well, not so fast...
It was still downright cold in the City. But we still had a very warm time...
We had probably the smoothest trip ever. Elizabeth, our Kato Kaelin, was here, and she was watching the dogs from Friday until Saturday, when Miriam took over. Miriam enjoys the occasional trip away from her family, and agreed to stay Saturday through Sunday.
Our Uber driver pulled up, and even though we left at 8:30 am, there was virtually no traffic. The flight left on time, after breakfast at the Centurion, and cruised into LGA early. Strangely, no line at the cab station, and the trip to Flatiron took less than half an hour. Hmm...travel should always go this way.
We checked into the Edition, and then found some quick Middle Eastern food, as dinner wasn't until 9:30. We did walk the half mile to D2 and Jonathan's, where we met them and D1 and Joey. We had a terrific pre game -- I had stopped for a new supply of vodka, Scotch, and tequila. Then we walked to Carbone.
What a great time. Best veal parm I ever had, as promised. The place looked like the restaurant in Godfather I -- we jokingly asked who was going to the bathroom to retrieve the gun. We ate family style, and had a tremendous dinner -- catching up on D2 and Jonathan's NYC lives. From there, we all Ubered back to our hotel -- it was to D1 and Joey's major approval.
Saturday we reconvened, and had brunch at a place called Jack's Wife Freda -- packed, but we got right in. To me, one of the nicest things about NYC is that when you have a reservation, it gets honored -- none of this "wait a half hour because we can't really figure out this seating thing." The place was packed, and each time a person of above average heft passed me, I had to squeeze into the table, but since it seems most young Greenwich Village types are svelte, it happened just a few times...
From there, we walked to my family's ancestral land -- the Lower East Side. We had a tour at the Tenement Museum -- a place Wifey and I had visited, but wished to share with the Ds and their men. Like last time, there was a funny caveat. The tour guides are very nice gay men NOT from NYC. Sure enough, ours was from Austin, Texas, and was terrific, as he told tales of the Jewish family followed by the Sicilian one that lived in the building.
D2 noted that the apartments were bigger than hers -- though the rent at the time, $10 per month, was much lower than what she and Jonathan pay.
Jonathan and Joey repaired to J's apartment to watch golf, and we took D1's Miami friend now doing real estate management to coffee.
After afternoon naps, we met again, this time at an Israeli themed place, where we ate great food, again family style. Eating was a major them of the trip.
We plopped on the sofa and chairs of the apartment, and talked some more, and then Ubered back to the Edition. It was a fine Saturday.
Sunday we walked to ABC Kitchen, and were joined by D1's friend Sidney, who is finishing her MBA at NYU. We ate what we all agreed were the best eggs we had ever had, and shared some French toast as well.
We then walked to the Madison Square Park dog park, and the Ds met a dashing Cavalier Spaniel , and compared Cavalier tales with his dog Daddy. Jonathan had said goodbye -- needed to do some work -- and Wifey and I had our goodbye hugs with D2. I really, really wish she lived in Miami...
We cabbed it to LGA, and hit the LGA Centurion as well. We then walked to the gate, and I got a huge laugh. The incoming flight was from MIA, and was FILLED with mostly Orthodox Jews -- they often spend Passover in South Florida. The plane was easily 75% of them, many looking freshly tanned, at least on the skin you could see...
We boarded, and I noticed a few black hatted guys get on. In my mind I named them "Wrong Way Goldbergs."
I napped prodigiously. I awoke as the plane was descending above the gorgeous Miami skyline. I really love coming home here. I never tire of the beauty of our city.
If only D2 and Jonathan would join us here full time...
It was still downright cold in the City. But we still had a very warm time...
We had probably the smoothest trip ever. Elizabeth, our Kato Kaelin, was here, and she was watching the dogs from Friday until Saturday, when Miriam took over. Miriam enjoys the occasional trip away from her family, and agreed to stay Saturday through Sunday.
Our Uber driver pulled up, and even though we left at 8:30 am, there was virtually no traffic. The flight left on time, after breakfast at the Centurion, and cruised into LGA early. Strangely, no line at the cab station, and the trip to Flatiron took less than half an hour. Hmm...travel should always go this way.
We checked into the Edition, and then found some quick Middle Eastern food, as dinner wasn't until 9:30. We did walk the half mile to D2 and Jonathan's, where we met them and D1 and Joey. We had a terrific pre game -- I had stopped for a new supply of vodka, Scotch, and tequila. Then we walked to Carbone.
What a great time. Best veal parm I ever had, as promised. The place looked like the restaurant in Godfather I -- we jokingly asked who was going to the bathroom to retrieve the gun. We ate family style, and had a tremendous dinner -- catching up on D2 and Jonathan's NYC lives. From there, we all Ubered back to our hotel -- it was to D1 and Joey's major approval.
Saturday we reconvened, and had brunch at a place called Jack's Wife Freda -- packed, but we got right in. To me, one of the nicest things about NYC is that when you have a reservation, it gets honored -- none of this "wait a half hour because we can't really figure out this seating thing." The place was packed, and each time a person of above average heft passed me, I had to squeeze into the table, but since it seems most young Greenwich Village types are svelte, it happened just a few times...
From there, we walked to my family's ancestral land -- the Lower East Side. We had a tour at the Tenement Museum -- a place Wifey and I had visited, but wished to share with the Ds and their men. Like last time, there was a funny caveat. The tour guides are very nice gay men NOT from NYC. Sure enough, ours was from Austin, Texas, and was terrific, as he told tales of the Jewish family followed by the Sicilian one that lived in the building.
D2 noted that the apartments were bigger than hers -- though the rent at the time, $10 per month, was much lower than what she and Jonathan pay.
Jonathan and Joey repaired to J's apartment to watch golf, and we took D1's Miami friend now doing real estate management to coffee.
After afternoon naps, we met again, this time at an Israeli themed place, where we ate great food, again family style. Eating was a major them of the trip.
We plopped on the sofa and chairs of the apartment, and talked some more, and then Ubered back to the Edition. It was a fine Saturday.
Sunday we walked to ABC Kitchen, and were joined by D1's friend Sidney, who is finishing her MBA at NYU. We ate what we all agreed were the best eggs we had ever had, and shared some French toast as well.
We then walked to the Madison Square Park dog park, and the Ds met a dashing Cavalier Spaniel , and compared Cavalier tales with his dog Daddy. Jonathan had said goodbye -- needed to do some work -- and Wifey and I had our goodbye hugs with D2. I really, really wish she lived in Miami...
We cabbed it to LGA, and hit the LGA Centurion as well. We then walked to the gate, and I got a huge laugh. The incoming flight was from MIA, and was FILLED with mostly Orthodox Jews -- they often spend Passover in South Florida. The plane was easily 75% of them, many looking freshly tanned, at least on the skin you could see...
We boarded, and I noticed a few black hatted guys get on. In my mind I named them "Wrong Way Goldbergs."
I napped prodigiously. I awoke as the plane was descending above the gorgeous Miami skyline. I really love coming home here. I never tire of the beauty of our city.
If only D2 and Jonathan would join us here full time...
Tuesday, April 3, 2018
Strike One in the House Search
I do a lot of dumb things, and am proud of myself when I do a smart one. I have learned over nearly 32 years of marriage that Wifey and I don't shop well together, particularly for big stuff. So we've evolved -- she LOVES it when I lease her cars for her -- take away all of the stress of deciding on options, colors, etc...
When it comes to houses, we both fell in love with our first one in October of '86 -- a small place in Kendall that looked like it was in the Grove, and well within our budget, especially after my Mom gifted us and my two sisters each $10K. We used $8650 of that money as our down payment, and we were ecstatic in our first place.
After D1 was born, and we needed more room, I stepped back. Wifey and our friend/realtor Sandy found a place 2 miles west, and to tell the truth, I never much liked it. I went along, though, after being told the $175K price was a steal, and it was perfect. The house's poor construction nearly got us killed in Hurricane Andrew, and when it was rebuilt, I kept out of all decisions. I remember at the time Paul told me I was making a mistake -- it was my house and I should "invest myself in it," but I told Paul he was metro and I was a regular guy and if I got a big screen TV it was all I cared about.
Paul was completely correct. I never liked the place -- I always felt it was my wife and Ds house that I just paid for and slept in. And then, when the bucks started flowing, and it was time for the big upgrade to the 7 figure house, I went looking without Wifey, and found our current place.
I fell in love. I saw myself as Hemingway in the lush tropical setting -- stone walls and a huge fish pond. The house was built by a husband and wife architect team, and patterned after an Italian villa they had seen. It was THE house. Wifey hesitated --if I was ready to make such a purchase , we needed to see EVERY 7 figure house available in Pinecrest in 2000, and then decide.
Nope. I vetoed that. Villa Wifey was THE house -- if Wifey didn't want it, that was fine -- we'd happily stay where we were. After sleeping on it, she decided she could rough it -- and we moved in in February of '01. To this very day, when I go out to fetch the paper, I can't believe I live in such a gorgeous place. I keep waiting to hear a voice saying "Hey kid -- get the hell out of there -- who do you think you are?"
But still, we decided, that time may have come to give it up, and so yesterday Wifey met our friend and realtor Allison to look at a 1928 place in Morningside. They spent a few hours together there. Wifey told me all the details, but one floored me.
The pictures showed a lovely pool area. Turns out that was on a SEPARATE lot -- the house for sale didn't include it -- it was for sale for an EXTRA $500K.
Had I been there, I would have had a few choice words for the owner. As in, thanks for wasting my time, asshole. But Wifey and Allison let it slide, and involved themselves in discussions about other house details.
But the point is -- I'm glad I didn't go along. I'm glad I get to stay here, for now. I'm proud of my marital strategy...
It may turn out that in the areas that interest us, a condo will be the answer, given my price constraints. I told Wifey so over dinner at Trulucks. All of this change surrounds, as D1 calls it, a mythical grandchild. If we're blessed to have the mythical turn into the real -- well, everything can change.
But for now, I'm looking out my windows and seeing no neighbors -- just our gorgeous property. The sun is streaming through the gumbo limbo trees. I love saying that name. The strange rescue dog and special needs Spaniel are happily snoring behind me.
And John Denver is playing in my head -- hey, it's good to be back home again...
When it comes to houses, we both fell in love with our first one in October of '86 -- a small place in Kendall that looked like it was in the Grove, and well within our budget, especially after my Mom gifted us and my two sisters each $10K. We used $8650 of that money as our down payment, and we were ecstatic in our first place.
After D1 was born, and we needed more room, I stepped back. Wifey and our friend/realtor Sandy found a place 2 miles west, and to tell the truth, I never much liked it. I went along, though, after being told the $175K price was a steal, and it was perfect. The house's poor construction nearly got us killed in Hurricane Andrew, and when it was rebuilt, I kept out of all decisions. I remember at the time Paul told me I was making a mistake -- it was my house and I should "invest myself in it," but I told Paul he was metro and I was a regular guy and if I got a big screen TV it was all I cared about.
Paul was completely correct. I never liked the place -- I always felt it was my wife and Ds house that I just paid for and slept in. And then, when the bucks started flowing, and it was time for the big upgrade to the 7 figure house, I went looking without Wifey, and found our current place.
I fell in love. I saw myself as Hemingway in the lush tropical setting -- stone walls and a huge fish pond. The house was built by a husband and wife architect team, and patterned after an Italian villa they had seen. It was THE house. Wifey hesitated --if I was ready to make such a purchase , we needed to see EVERY 7 figure house available in Pinecrest in 2000, and then decide.
Nope. I vetoed that. Villa Wifey was THE house -- if Wifey didn't want it, that was fine -- we'd happily stay where we were. After sleeping on it, she decided she could rough it -- and we moved in in February of '01. To this very day, when I go out to fetch the paper, I can't believe I live in such a gorgeous place. I keep waiting to hear a voice saying "Hey kid -- get the hell out of there -- who do you think you are?"
But still, we decided, that time may have come to give it up, and so yesterday Wifey met our friend and realtor Allison to look at a 1928 place in Morningside. They spent a few hours together there. Wifey told me all the details, but one floored me.
The pictures showed a lovely pool area. Turns out that was on a SEPARATE lot -- the house for sale didn't include it -- it was for sale for an EXTRA $500K.
Had I been there, I would have had a few choice words for the owner. As in, thanks for wasting my time, asshole. But Wifey and Allison let it slide, and involved themselves in discussions about other house details.
But the point is -- I'm glad I didn't go along. I'm glad I get to stay here, for now. I'm proud of my marital strategy...
It may turn out that in the areas that interest us, a condo will be the answer, given my price constraints. I told Wifey so over dinner at Trulucks. All of this change surrounds, as D1 calls it, a mythical grandchild. If we're blessed to have the mythical turn into the real -- well, everything can change.
But for now, I'm looking out my windows and seeing no neighbors -- just our gorgeous property. The sun is streaming through the gumbo limbo trees. I love saying that name. The strange rescue dog and special needs Spaniel are happily snoring behind me.
And John Denver is playing in my head -- hey, it's good to be back home again...
Sunday, April 1, 2018
Seder 2.0
So after a lazy day at home, Wifey and I fired up the SUV and headed north again, for another seder. We were invited to our adopted extended family -- the Frankels, for seder 2.0
They have a gorgeous house, on La Gorce Island in Miami Beach. They have a huge waterfront lot, and we drank cocktails looking across the water at North Bay Village. D1 and Joey were there -- to D1, Danielle is a big sister and mentor.
The mood was light. I FaceTimed D2, and she got to see her old friend Grant, who was visiting from NYC. I panned the camera around the beautiful bay -- further enticing D2 to come on home. I think she needs less and less enticing.
The catered meal was delicious. Paul tried to lead the service -- many of the guests focused on their catching up talks, but Paul did get the message across about the meaning of Passover.
I ran into a family friend, Brian, who has lived in Morningside for 18 years, and we talked about his 'hood. He loves how central it is, and the fact that he, a trainer, can easily bike to Miami Beach. I don't think that'll be important to me, and he reminded me that, unlike Pinecrest, the surrounding neighborhoods are still pretty dicey, so you have to pay attention lest crime find you. Ah - decisions, decisions...
So now Passover is done for us. We attended two seders -- the second pretty secular. The holiday goes the whole week, but there will be zero following the no bread rule on Friday -- we have reservations at one of the best Italian places in NYC -- Carbone's in the Village. I'm pretty sure they won't have matzah there...
Wifey is happy -- her BFF Edna is driving down tomorrow from ATL, and will meet Wifey at an event D1 is putting on in Wynwood -- some health fair thing. Edna's Dad is in hospice, and this may be the beginning of the end for him, but, as we learned from my Mom and Wifey's Dad, there is a lot of porpoising at the end -- death comes when death wants to come.
And Wednesday, Wifey's other great friend Elizabeth is coming from Orlando. She has a family reunion, and will be watching our pups when we leave Friday for NYC. I invited her to dinner at Shula's Wednesday night -- Elizabeth told me she has become vegan, and also eats fish. I told her I was sorry to hear, but that with therapy and other interventions, she might get back to attending the Palm in no time...
So it's a busy week here, and a true family reunion in NYC at the end of it. The weather in NYC might be a bit rough, but we'll be thrilled to be together. A fine, fine time of the year...
They have a gorgeous house, on La Gorce Island in Miami Beach. They have a huge waterfront lot, and we drank cocktails looking across the water at North Bay Village. D1 and Joey were there -- to D1, Danielle is a big sister and mentor.
The mood was light. I FaceTimed D2, and she got to see her old friend Grant, who was visiting from NYC. I panned the camera around the beautiful bay -- further enticing D2 to come on home. I think she needs less and less enticing.
The catered meal was delicious. Paul tried to lead the service -- many of the guests focused on their catching up talks, but Paul did get the message across about the meaning of Passover.
I ran into a family friend, Brian, who has lived in Morningside for 18 years, and we talked about his 'hood. He loves how central it is, and the fact that he, a trainer, can easily bike to Miami Beach. I don't think that'll be important to me, and he reminded me that, unlike Pinecrest, the surrounding neighborhoods are still pretty dicey, so you have to pay attention lest crime find you. Ah - decisions, decisions...
So now Passover is done for us. We attended two seders -- the second pretty secular. The holiday goes the whole week, but there will be zero following the no bread rule on Friday -- we have reservations at one of the best Italian places in NYC -- Carbone's in the Village. I'm pretty sure they won't have matzah there...
Wifey is happy -- her BFF Edna is driving down tomorrow from ATL, and will meet Wifey at an event D1 is putting on in Wynwood -- some health fair thing. Edna's Dad is in hospice, and this may be the beginning of the end for him, but, as we learned from my Mom and Wifey's Dad, there is a lot of porpoising at the end -- death comes when death wants to come.
And Wednesday, Wifey's other great friend Elizabeth is coming from Orlando. She has a family reunion, and will be watching our pups when we leave Friday for NYC. I invited her to dinner at Shula's Wednesday night -- Elizabeth told me she has become vegan, and also eats fish. I told her I was sorry to hear, but that with therapy and other interventions, she might get back to attending the Palm in no time...
So it's a busy week here, and a true family reunion in NYC at the end of it. The weather in NYC might be a bit rough, but we'll be thrilled to be together. A fine, fine time of the year...
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