Competing Funerals

So I went to a great tailgate and game Thursday night -- Canes walloped North Carolina - and then came home to some sad news: Wifey's Uncle Lou had died. We think he was either 95 or 96.

Lou was my father in law Richard's older brother. I always liked him. I could, and did, have actual conversations with him -- unlike my father in law, who always talked AT me.

Lou had two fine sons, Mark and Sandy, who each gave him three grandchildren. He was married to Sally -- a tough lady -- and she's now his widow. When Wifey spoke to her aunt, and asked if there was anything she needed, Sally said immediately: "Yes -- come to the shiva and bring a large bowl of fruit." Wifey complied and bought it last night.

Lou's funeral is noon Sunday, and Dr. Michael's is at 10. I had planned to attend the doctor's service, but Uncle Lou trumps him.

We haven't told my mother in law yet -- no point, but tomorrow we'll go to the Palace and fetch her and bring her to the service. Wifey will have to sit in the back of the car with her writing out all the details. My job will be wheelchair schlepper and pusher.

Lou and my father in law Richard and their older brother Harry survived the Holocaust with tales of derring do that was the stuff of action and caper movies.  They escaped a work camp, and were caught, and only avoided execution because a Nazi guard knew they were good carpenters, and needed to make office furniture for the staff.

After the War, Lou came right to the US, instead of my father in law's initial move to Israel (actually still Palestine before he helped found the place).  Lou built a wonderful life here -- first in Miami, and then Brooklyn.

He moved back to South Florida three decades ago, and lived in South Broward with Sally -- swimming and playing tennis and enjoying a great retirement.  He never had to go to an ALF or nursing home -- he and Sally eked things out as they aged in their condo, until 6 days ago when Lou was hospitalized with what turned out to be a fatal lung infection. He died after less than a day of hospice care.

So tomorrow we'll pay our respects, and catch up with his sons and their families.

D1 will be at a much sadder event, I believe -- a 61 year old still active surgeon who takes his own life leaves a lot more unanswered than a 95 year old retiree who slips away.

Still -- there are far better ways to spend a Sunday than a funeral. Maybe the Dolphins will win...

Tragic News

So D1 and I were happily chatting on the phone last night -- she was waiting for her man Joey to return from playing soccer with his boys, when all of a sudden D1 gasped "Oh my God" and went silent. After a long pause, she said she just got news that Dr. Michael had killed himself.

I had the privilege of meeting him about 10 years ago when he did a minor procedure on D1 -- cyst removal. I had vetted him first, of course, and learned he was a LI guy like me, but finished high school at Phillips, and then, as I joked with him, couldn't get into Miami, so instead attended Harvard. And then Harvard Med School, and similar elite surgical training -- Cornell, I think.

He was so calm, and nice -- very atypical for a surgeon. After the procedure, D1 went back to college, and Dr. Michael FaceTimed with her, to make sure the healing went well. It did, as it typically did with his patients -- the man was a master. My old friend Vince was an anesthesiologist who worked with Dr. Michael, and reported that his patients rarely needed the ICU after surgery -- the man was so amazing.

D1 was friends with Dr. Michael's daughter, and was just with her at a wedding in Utah. The daughter is delightful -- she has a brother who is accomplished like she is.

Just two weeks ago, a friend of Wifey's asked me to recommend a surgeon -- I told her about Dr. Michael. She saw him and loved him, though he begged off doing her elective procedure since it would leave a big scar, and thought the friend would be better served by someone who focused more on the cosmetic aspect of things. Still, the friend loved him...

There are no more details. Maybe they'll come out; maybe they won't.

All I know is we lost a true healer -- a man who relieved suffering with his skill and training -- and comforted his patients with his delightful manner.

I typically avoid funerals for those I don't know well. Often people attend because they think it right to "make an appearance." Not me. But if there is a service for Dr. Michael, I will indeed attend. I want to pay respects to a truly great man here in town.

I wish peace for his children and the rest of his family.

Meanwhile, tonight we have a Thursday night Canes game. Dr/Captain Kenny is my date -- he knew Dr. Michael, too, as a colleague. He always found him affable and helpful.

Today is also my brother Paul's birthday. So we'll raise a few L'Chaims at the tailgate -- to celebrate a great man's birthday, and also, sadly, the too soon passing of another.

The Football Times

Nice weekend in the 305. Friday night Wifey and I went to Joelle and Ken's, and had a cocktail. Well, except for Wifey, as she was the DD. Then we drove to Mandolin, a fine Greek place in Midtown.

Mandolin was a regular stop for us when my Mom and then father in law lived at Miami Jewish Home -- it's just a few blocks down 2nd Avenue. But we hadn't been in awhile -- it was delicious. The fans and misters were going, and we enjoyed a delightful meal and company in the garden there.

Saturday, Mirta came early, and we left for Joe Robbie. The Canes were playing FIU at 3:30, and Mike and Norman's groups parked, finally, next to each other, which made for a great combined tailgate.  The game was uneventful, as expected -- Miami far outmatches FIU, but we got to see a lot of our new star quarterback, N'Kosi Perry. Norman was so impressed, he decided to change his name to N' orman. I love that...

Mirta and I picked up some Canton, and came home and ate it with Wifey. We caught up about Mirta's boys and grandkids -- somehow Karen, a delightful little girl, is graduating high school soon. Mirta is an awesome grandma -- got Karen a car, and involved in her daily life. She's a lucky girl.

Sunday Wifey left to go back to Mandolin's 'hood -- this time to Soyka, to meet her friend Jeannette for a birthday lunch. I drove to the land of my people, Miami Beach, for a get together hosted by Alex and Danielle -- sort of for Paul's birthday, which is this Thursday.

They're renting a huge, warm house -- reminded me of Hyman Roth's place in II, so I liked it right away. We wanted to watch some Dolphins, but Alex has a TV but no cable. Luckily his bro in law Derek came to the rescue -- he got us on Apple TV, and we watched what turned out to be a great second half.

D1 and Joey came by, and later Wifey as well. We all had a lovely time, watching Enid and Roger play and swim.

This week Canes play Thursday night. Kenny is my date -- he's leaving Baptist early, and we'll drive up to Joe Robbie to tailgate.  We made Kenny an honorary Cane -- he attended the holy night -- January of '84 when we beat Nebraska for our first title. Kenny was in med school in Philly then. It's great having him in town.

Yes -- it's still hot as hell, but these are the best times to be here.

At the game, my friend Steve the cop sat with us -- Paul had some extra seats for him. We talked about our mutual friend John, who is happily moving to Ponte Vedra next month.  Steve asked if I ever considered moving.

Nah -- if I couldn't live in Miami, there'd be, for me, no point in living in Florida. A possible exception might be Key West -- if I ever decide to pursue my Hemingway fantasy. But there's too many things I love to do here -- like Canes, and Marlins, and restaurants, and, well, youth.

Steve agreed. He owns his house outright in Kendall, and never wants to leave either. His brother lives in Boca, and that's only an hour drive.

So as for this week -- another party coming in the lot. And toasting my brother's 68th. I met him when he was turning 38 -- and he seemed old to me then.  We really need to drink heavily at the party...

She's Just Like Me

Sometimes I wish I could just let slights go...especially in business. Alas, I can't.

Years ago, D1 had a school friend whose Dad was a TV lawyer. I met him at a party, and told him my firm received cases from TV guys and made the TV guys lots of money. The fellow, who I'll call Neal, since that's his name, was interested. I invited him to meet Paul and me for lunch Downtown.  He agreed.

Neal was a tall, good looking guy, but very nerdy. His partner Jack was the shorter brains of the outfit -- he appeared in the TV ads trying to sound like a tough aggressive lawyer but coming off more like an insurance salesman.

Anyway -- we took Neal out, and gave him the full press. He was from Philly, like my partner, and they shared tales of growing up as Boomers there. And then...nothing.

I guess they just didn't like the cut of our jib, as the saying goes. I followed up several times, but no cases came. That should have been that.

But it wasn't. Another pair of TV lawyers had sent a case where a young child drowned at a family pool. They were going to settle it for the $100 K of homeowner's coverage, but asked us to give a second opinion. I figured out the case, without going into details, and won a multi million dollar settlement. The co counsel fee to our TV guys was, as I recall, nearly half a million.

I took a copy of the check, blacked out the payees, and sent it to Neal with a note saying "Your name could be here!" Send us business!  I never heard from him again.

Well, D1 is her father's daughter. She recently submitted a proposal to an expensive private school. The parents pay $30K per year for their kids to attend, and they have zero nutrition education. So D1 met with the principal, explained how it was critical these days (the school probably has scores of kids with eating disorders -- it's an epidemic among, especially, rich girls). The principal said while D1 was welcome to volunteer, hiring a dietitian to consult "wasn't in the budget."

Now, later on in the telling, D1 shared with me that the principal was, to say it nicely, morbidly obese -- so to me that might have something to do with her philosophy about hiring nutrition experts. D1 never fat shames, unlike her beloved, late Grandma Sunny, who, despite being zaftig much of her life, really had a problem with overweight people. When D1 said she was going into Dietetics, Grandma said "Oh -- she'll be great. I mean, she's thin. Who's going to take food advice from some big, fat horse?"  I really miss Mom...

Anyway, D1's reaction was exactly the same mine was with TV Neal.  "The NOIVE of 'dem!" as Curly might say.

I convinced her though, to refrain from the snarky letter like I sent. Instead, it was a polite "thanks for your time" and "I'm here for you if the budget changes...or you hire a less corpulent principal."  I made up the last part...

D1 is learning more and more about baseball, since her biggest client is a local team. She will soon get that even the finest hitters fail 2/3 of the time. It's just the way it goes.

I still see Jack on TV shilling for cases. He and Neal really should have done business with us...

Fast Breaking

So I stayed on plan and eschewed, not chewed, food all day. Around the time of day where it gets tough -- 2 pm --Wifey and I headed to the Palace to visit her mother.

It didn't appear that Yom Kippur was being observed. They had several aging belly dancers performing, and the music was loud. Wifey fetched my suegra from her room, and told me I ought to join the belly dancers -- reprising my move from a birthday party she threw for me when I was 24. I declined -- it was the Day of Atonement -- no dancing was allowed.

My suegra, who always observed YK, had no idea about the holiday. She kept pressuring us to join us for lunch, so I repeatedly showed her the typed message on my phone saying I was fasting. Her short term memory is gone forever -- she'd ask again every few minutes.

We left her, and I dropped Wifey at the body shop to retrieve her repaired SUV, and then headed to the wine store for my Billy Joel purchase -- bottle of red; bottle of white.

At 7, it was off to Grove Isle, to Rick and Susie's condo for break fast. I've always loved Grove Isle -- ever since I was in college and my friend Tere worked there as a fitness instructor -- she'd sneak us into the clubhouse, and we'd walk around. Their apartment had stunning views -- we watched the last bit of the sun's light from over the Biltmore.

We gathered at the table -- D1, Joey, Joey's two brothers and sister in law, and Rick and Susie. Susie is Ashkenazi, like us, and Rick is a Southern Jew, from Virginia, so the food was classic fast breaking -- bagels, lox, whitefish, egg, and tuna salad, and veggies. Also, Susie is a baker, and made probably the best noodle kugel I ever had. The joke was that the Sephardim find the concept of kugel gross -- Susie told them it was a type of bread pudding.

We caught up, in Spanish and English. Rick and I were the two gringos -- D1 does a passable job in Spanish. Vera, Joey and D1's sister in law, was glowing -- she had just given birth to a gorgeous girl -- she was home sleeping with the nanny, though. Vera talked about how she totally gets D2 -- the two are very similar.

As if on cue, D2 Facetimed in, from her break fast in NYC. It was a glorious coincidence.

We left, and I gave thanks to the Big Man. D1 married into a wonderful family -- so warm and welcoming, and funny, and smart.

We talked of Thanksgiving, which we'll host this year, though many of them will be in Peru celebrating Susie's father's 90th.

So another YK has come and gone, I reflected, and contemplated, and gave thanks -- one very fortunate Daddy in the USA...

Atonement

So I'm home today, instead of in shul, where my religion says I should be.  I went for many years, but stopped about 4 years ago -- my heart wasn't in it.

I was raised culturally, but not religiously, Jewish. When I came to college and met Eric, and later Barry, I honored the religion a bit more. Eric's family took me to services at Temple Beth Am, the very rich Reform place. I had never been to High Holy Day services before, and I was taken aback by Beth Am. I had never been around so many rich folks before -- the women were dressed like they were going to a Broadway premiere, and the cars in the parking lot were very upscale. Eric's family were probably the poorest members of the congregation -- they lived "west of the highway," which I soon learned meant middle class, and not upper class like "east of the highway."  I appreciated their taking me, but it never resonated -- I spent the time listening to the rabbi with my mind wandering...

I did fast, though. It became a simple self test -- could I, who so loved to eat, go without for 24 hours?

Later in college, I became friendly with the Hillel Rabbi, Mark. We taught a class together to incoming freshman. Years later, when Wifey and I were to be married, I went to Mark and asked him to perform the service. He agreed, but said that the Reform folks had followed the Catholics -- they required "religious pre marital counseling," in an effort to keep young Jewish couples together.

Wifey and I were game -- we actually enjoyed the classes, where his comically named wife Mindy participated. Her name was comical given the success of the show "Mork and Mindy." They were Mark and Mindy. We actually became friendly, and Wifey and I decided there WOULD be religion in our home -- sort of the fun, Reform kind of stuff -- nothing kosher, but lighting candles and singing.

And then -- Mark called me a week before the wedding to say he had bad news -- he was offered a free trip to Israel, and didn't want to miss out -- he was begging off our wedding. I peppered him with questions -- had he never been to Israel? He had -- many times, but really liked it, and the trip was worth thousands, and he was going for free. Did he have a replacement for us? He did that.

I remember thinking, "But I thought we was partners!"  We were not. Eric's Mom Norma knew a young Rabbi, Lipson, who was available on short notice, and he did a serviceable job. But Wifey and were fully turned off by this bullshitting, fake rabbi. 

So I ignored the High Holidays, and even worked. And then one night we went out with Wifey's work friend Kathy, and her husband Ronnie, an Ecuadorean Jew. He asked where I attended services. I told him I wasn't at all religious, and even worked on Yom Kippur. Ronnie said "You know, you shouldn't. If you don't want to go to shul, that's fine, but don't disrespect the essence of your people by treating it as any other day."

His words resonated, and I haven't worked on the Holidays for the past 30 years.

When I met my friend Rabbi Yossi, he guilted me into attending shul. I went -- for many years. A few times I enjoyed Kol Nidre, the service before Yom Kippur, since it has awesome, creepy music.

But I stopped going.

Several years ago, Norman invited me to his shul, and I went to services. His place, Beth David, is historic -- his father Max helped found the place, and it sits in a gorgeous building on Coral Way.

I enjoyed being with Norman and his family, but same thing -- no real connection for me. That was the last time I attended services.

So today, as it has been for the last years, I honor the Holiday at home. I fast. It's only 10 am and I'm already hungry.

I think Wifey and I may go visit her mother. I'm not sure she has any idea it's Yom Kippur, and she'll probably insist we have lunch with her. I'll type out "But it's Yom Kippur!" on my phone -- show it to her, and she'll leave us alone for a few minutes.

Tonight, we're invited to a break the fast at Grove Isle -- D1's sister and brother in law's mother Susie is hosting, along with her husband Rick. Rick and I are the two gringos in the group -- he's a tax lawyer from Richmond, Va, and super nice fellow.

Susie is a skilled baker, so the break fast will be sumptuous -- I know.  And we'll be with D1 and Joey.

In Greenwich Village, D2 is following her Dad's path. She is home from work, but not attending services. I think her man Jonathan is -- and they have a big break fast planned with D2's deal friend Ali and her fiance Blake.

It warms me to think of her with her dear friends, while we're here with loved ones, too.

So I have apologized to the Big Man repeatedly today -- for the sins I have committed, and will commit.

I told Him I hope to be a better person -- and hope He has sealed my family and me in the Book of Life for another good year.

We need to take stock of our lives, and Yom Kippur is the perfect holiday for that. And maybe someday I'll find my way back to shul...

Football Weekend

So Saturday our Canes played up in Toledo, no powerhouse, but still winners of their conference. Apparently it was the biggest home game in their history -- having Miami come to town. Wifey's car is in the body shop on account of another of those pesky light poles that continue to jump out as she backs up, so she dropped me off at Mike's for a watch party.

Norman brought wings, and Peter came by -- we three UM Law, Class of '86 friends had a fine time. I brought some new type of vodka on the advice of a Total Wine guy, and Mike and I acquitted ourselves nicely in that area. Norman drove me home -- Wifey was out doing errands.

Sunday she got picked up by her old friend Jackie -- they were meeting two Palm Beach County friends in Lauderdale for a lunch reunion. So I was blissfully alone to nap and watch the Fins play -- they beat my childhood team, the Jets, and looked better than I thought they would.

It was a lovely Sunday -- just me and the dogs -- and I savored the quiet time, though I did yell at the TV a few times when the Fins QB did something stupid.

Wifey came home, and we watched a new Starz series, "Warriors of Liberty City," about an inner city team here in the 305. The league was founded by Luther Campbell -- former raunchy rapper and now legit community leader -- he helped persuade the Miami schools chief to stay here rather than take the job in NYC.  Several years ago, D2 and I attended a lecture by Uncle Luke, in support of his autobiography. I really dug him -- the guy has a lot to say and says it well.

Then we watched "The Deuce," a show about decayed 70s NYC and the birth of the porn industry. We like it a lot -- it's season 2, and has become our Sunday night ritual -- one we started when the "Sopranos" was on -- the best show in history.

Today I'm avoiding the office -- flu shot first, and then meeting Mirta at a local bank -- she's asked me to go with her to open an investment account with the local guy I met, Frank.  I'm so proud of her -- single Mom, who got her college degree while raising two sons, and put herself in a very comfortable financial situation.  She's asked me to teach her investing, and I will -- buy low, and sell high. That's essentially all there is to know.

It'll be a truncated week -- Wednesday is Yom Kippur. I know Stuart turns that into a three day stay away from the office, and I plan to follow his lead and do the same.

No shul for me, though. The past years I have honored the holiday by indeed fasting and reflecting, but I find I do it better on my own than in a shul where I tried, repeatedly, to connect with the Big Man, but somehow it doesn't happen. I hope He forgives me...

So the Book of Life has been written, and Wednesday it is sealed. Who shall live, and who shall die. Who shall die by fire, and who by ice. I hope to be on the right side of the ledger...

Too much football to keep watching to miss out...

The Warehouse

I get asked all the time to store stuff for people -- we have a 2 car garage with extra storage space on both sides.  I politely but firmly say NYET -- I have too much of our own crap -- last thing I want is to be the repository for the crap of others...

As with most rules in life, there are exceptions. In my case, those exceptions are the Ds and their men. Beginning last year, our garage became the storage spot for the many gifts from the big, fat, Colombian wedding.  A few months later, after D1 and Joey bought their house, D1 learned of a designer couch, for sale from a local woman rabbi who was moving from Pinecrest to the Grove. Apparently it was a $5K couch for sale for a fraction of that -- and D1 pounced. The couch has been crowding our living room for many months.

They thought the house would be finished in June, and so began ordering stuff -- which came to my garage. After a while, the garage became packed from floor to ceiling -- just barely enough room for Wifey's vehicle.

Well today, the exquisite purge took place. The movers fetched the couch and the many, many boxes -- as I write, they're en route to D1 and Joey's new house up in Shorecrest -- NE Miami.  One exception remains. Joey's folks had a beautiful round glass table on a metal base -- it's in the side of our garage, and was to become the new D1 and Joey table, but D1 decided against it.

I offered it to the moving crew -- the thing was probably thousands of dollars when it was new. The crew leader thanked me, but said the table was too big for any of their abodes. So I took pix of it and offered it to Rabbi Yossi. Chabad rabbis have a listserve -- we gave away a breakfront that my in laws had bought in NYC in the early 60s that way -- it was fetched by a newlywed rabbi and his wife from Coral Springs. I assume the glass table will find a new home.

I so admire my nephew Henry and his wife Val. They are extreme non clutter people.  They have one or two tchotchkes, but that's it. If someone buys them a gift, they politely accept it, and the next day either donate or return it. When we were all at a winery in Napa together, I spotted a cool wooden sign from the place, and offered to buy it for them as a memoir of our visit. Henry thanked me but said it would most assuredly NOT be there for more than a day. I thought that way cool.

Joey and D1's place has no garage. They're happy about that -- they'll put in a carport, for bad weather, but realize garages are only gathering places for crap -- collections of stuff that either have to be moved, or trashed eventually. They want to follow Henry and Val's lead.

Wifey and I are headed to the new place tonight for the first shabbat dinner. We'll bring in food, and sit on folding chairs, but we will toast the new life they'll share together in that new place.

We saw it Sunday -- every window looks out on a view of gorgeous ancient oak trees. Many of the trees are over 100 years old -- the city told the developer they'd be fined six figures if they took them down.  Maybe someday grandkids can climb them...

But for now, there is a bit less clutter here, and I love that. But more importantly -- the stuff is in the new house, where it belongs.

The Hype Before the Storm

So a few days ago the media fueled frenzy was telling us to say goodbye to the South and North Carolina coasts. One of the reverends -- Swaggert maybe -- said he would pray the storm away. Meanwhile, I was just thankful we weren't in the cone of death again -- like last year, where we fled Irma to Atlanta, only to have the storm follow us up I-75 and knock out the power in Dunwoody, where we were staying.

The media loves it. People watch and read news when a disaster is coming, and hurricanes, unlike earthquakes and volcanoes, take a looooong time to get here. My friend Jeannine posted a meme on Facebook that preparing for a hurricane was like being stalked by a tortoise.

It's a major hassle. TV showed stores in the Carolinas with people scrambling to buy supplies and generators, and throngs were driving away from the coast to escape. This one was a "monster." "Worst in 100 years." A "waiting catastrophe."

Well, sure enough, this am is appears to have largely fizzled -- to a CAT 2. I've been through CAT 2s -- you lose power, but there's no need to evacuate. Wilma came through here as a CAT 2, and I watched most of it through non impact glass. No big whoop.

We went through Andrew, which was a Cat 5, and that was no laughing matter. I truly feared for the lives of the Ds in that one.  But weaker storms are glorified thunderstorms -- with some more rain and wind.

The media truly does love to scare. Even though Florence has fizzled, a report this am points out that there have never before been so many active storms at the same time. Who cares?

Life is filled with inconveniences, and bad weather is one.  I'm happy for the folks in the Carolinas -- they'll be without power for a bit, and that will be essentially it.

Maybe they DO owe that minister a debt of thanks...

Cat's In The Cradle

One of the best things about FaceBook (tm) to me, other than how much money the stock has made D2, is when friends post videos of old song performances. This am, and old high school acquaintance posted Harry Chapin singing "Cat's in the Cradle," and it took me back in time.

I remember buying the album, "Verities and Balderdash," and knowing each song. "Cats" was a hit for Harry, who was from Long Island. One afternoon, my Dad and I sat in our den watching the Mike Douglas show -- we both liked it, as he had on guests from my  Dad's WW II years as well as new guests appealing to Boomers. Harry Chapin came on and sang his song.

My Dad liked Chapin immediately. After the song, he turned to me, wistfully, and said "That doesn't describe us, right?" I laughed -- no, Dad, you are the exact OPPOSITE of the father in the song. I mean, here we were on a weekday afternoon, spending time together. Some Dads attended Little League games -- my Dad attended practices.  No -- the concept of the father too busy for his son, until it was too late, was thankfully very foreign to me.

A big part of that was the luck of timing. I came along when my Dad was 42, and down to working one normal job from the three he worked after the war to support my Mom and two older sisters. As the 60s turned to the 70s, my father found financial success -- he was a top salesman for his company, Toscany, and many of his earned commissions came in without him having to actually go out and sell. A few big clients, like Alexander's stores, and Al's Pottery, paid him handsomely.

And most importantly, it gave him free time -- more than my other friends' Dads, who had to work regular hours. And my father spent that time with his family -- my Mom, Long Island sister and brother in law and their kids, and California sister when she would visit, or we would travel to the left coast to see her.

So I dug the song, for its story, like all of Chapin's stuff, but it didn't reflect my life.

I met Harry at my high school. We had a benefit night for the kids of Willowbrook, following a Geraldo Rivera investigative piece on them. Rivera and Chapin played in a charity basketball game in my school's gym, and as some kind of student representative, I met them both.

Years later, Chapin played at UM -- in the Spring of '80. I went to see him on the Patio, holding my freshman Bio test in hand -- I had received an A for the class. After the concert, he sat on a bench and signed autographs.

I handed him my exam, and said "Harry -- I'm a fellow Islander, and I got an A on my final. Would you sign it?" He smiled and said "I will if you contribute a buck to help feed the hungry in Miami. I mean, literally a buck." I took out a dollar (I probably had $10 all together) and slid it into the bucket. He signed the test -- I think I still have it somewhere among the detritus of my college days, stored in a container, probably getting moldy in the garage.

Of course, soon after that, Harry Chapin was dead -- killed in a crash on the Long Island Expressway -- or maybe of a heart attack that preceeded the crash. Either way -- he was gone too young.

But today he played on my computer's speakers, and for that and the warm memories, I am thankful.

Our Generation's Pearl Harbor Day

I was driving up Dixie Highway on a bright September morning, and Wifey called. "Good thing your office is on the ground floor," she said. "Someone just crashed a plane into a high floor at the World Trade Center." We both assumed it was some errant private pilot. I immediately thought of the historical crash of an Air Force bomber into the Empire State Building -- my Dad told me about that one.

By the time I got to Brickell, we knew more was going on. Wifey fetched the Ds from school, and called to confirm they were safe at home.

Paul and I had a case closing -- with our old boss Ed. Some folks from a trailer with a failed smoke detector were coming to the office to get their check -- a huge one -- and we were going to get paid, too. Ed and Paul met with the parents of the little girl -- her name was Cheyenne, as I recall -- and closed the case. I watched on an office TV as the second tower crumbled.

The clients left, and we let the staff leave, too. I was going to head home. Paul was already an empty nester -- his kids were both off at college. Ed said, in his famous way "Well, we gotta eat," and so we drove over to Morton's on Brickell, for a lunch of steaks and martinis.

The place was mostly empty, and we knew Florida's only involvement in the affair was that President W had been in Tampa reading to grade school kids when word of the attack came in -- I still remember his goofy expression as he learned the information.

Ed and Paul and I talked -- I happened to know the most about Arab terrorists, and I shared my information with Paul and Ed. And it struck us -- we had all made 7 figures of money that day, our nation was under attack, and we were eating steaks and drinking martinis. There was really nothing else to do.

Of course, so much changed that day. Air travel became more of a hassle. We attacked Iraq -- as it turned out, for nothing at all.  We ended up getting the mastermind of the terror stunt, Bin Ladin, years later after the loss of many more military lives.

But life goes on.

My father used to recall how he knew, while listening to the radio broadcast from FDR, that his life would change, and indeed it did -- over 4 years in the army. It ended with 2 atomic bombs. By the time I was a kid, lots of people were buying Japanese cars. My Dad taught me the absurdity in that -- mortal enemies became trading partners a few decades down the road.

It's different with the Islamic terrorists -- they continue very much to want us all dead. Thankfully they don't have the wherewithal to win.

Happily, I didn't know anyone killed in the 9/11 attacks. I was worried about the husband of one old friend -- he was a NYC cop, but he was out of harm's way.

But it still resonates. D2's man Jonathan works in finance -- he could have been one of the people in the Towers.

We're all very connected -- even if we think that staying safe in our houses immunizes us from the world's ills.

I pray we don't have another day like 9/11 -- at least not in our lifetimes.

Guava Filled Challah

So we drove to Midtown and fetched D1 and Joey, and drove to Shorecrest to see their brand new house. I loved it -- every window has a view of ancient oak trees, and the layout of the place is terrific -- a gorgeous pool deck which you can see well from the second story master balcony. I joked that it's surely no "starter house," and D1 is a bit overwhelmed. But they'll settle in just wonderfully -- the mover's are coming to my house Wednesday, and I get my garage back from it's current state as a packed storage unit.

From there we drove the three minutes to Joey's parents -- they were hosting RH dinner. Jackie invited some cousins, and the house was filled with laughter and good will. Ricardo joked that we'd say the pre meal prayers in Hebrew, English, and "Mexican" -- a loving poke at the cousins who had moved from Bogota to Mexico City,and had their accents changed.

It being RH, the tradition is to eat sweet things, heralding a sweet year. They had the traditional apples dipped in honey, but they had something else -- something so awesome, I was, well, awed. Challah filled with guava. It was delicious.

The last time a food got to me like this, it was at Sammy's in the Lower East Side, where they served deep fried kreplach. That's Ashkenazi, of course, and the guava challah is Sephardic. The Sephardic food is better, I have to admit, and according to D1, healthier, too -- much more Middle Eastern than Eastern European.

We joked about the differences. Joey took a DNA test and is 15% Ashkenazi. Cousin Ernesto was dismayed -- apparently the Sephardim lampoon us as "gefilte fish eaters." They have a point -- gefilte fish might be one of the worst foods ever invented -- edible to me only when smothered in horseradish. 

The cousins told tales of childhoods in Bogota -- featuring "Ibrahim," the Palestinian spice merchant who visited, comically. I loved watching Ricardo -- laughing to the point of tears. Apparently one of the cousins' fathers was once outraged when a Shabbat meal included quesadillas -- "The house doesn't smell like shabbat!"  Everyone laughed at that memory.

As we left, we hugged Jackie and Ricardo tightly. I told them that I always considered myself a lucky man, but that level of blessedness soared when D1 married into their family. They said they felt the same way.

So we got to ring in 5779 in the right style -- surrounded by love, and warmth, and sweetness. And I have to find out where one buys this guava filled challah...

Home Opener

A lovely Saturday...Paul and Alex stopped by with Roger and Enid, and Wifey and I got some future grandparent practice, with those gorgeous and active kids. It reminded us we'd better get in better shape if we're going to be involved grandparents of young kids...we welcome the challenge.

The Canes had their home opener, and both my legal (Wifey) and football (Mirta) wives were busy, so I headed up the Palmetto myself. My friend Steve the Cop wanted to go, and he met me there after his shift keeping MIA safe from terrorists and drunk tourists -- luckily many more of the latter.

Mike and Chris and Chris's lady were already in the Blue lot, and while Mike set up his frozen drink machine, I sampled some of the gluten free Stoli I brought. I couldn't taste the absence of gluten. Barry and his boys joined us -- Scott flew down for the Jewish New Year, and got to see 2 straight Canes games.

Then I ambled over to Norman and Maria's tailgate, where Maria was putting out her delicious kosher style pork sandwiches. I caught up with 2/3 of Norman's son brigade -- Michael is headed back to Israel this week. Old friend Jim was there with his young man Jake -- they were double dipping -- Canes Saturday, and Fins today.

After a few more Stoli shots, Steve and our mutual friend Darren, a former Cane, wanted to see Mike's set up, so we walked back over there. Darren knew Mike's sister from the days where Ed used to host freshman who didn't travel -- these days the NCAA doesn't allow that stuff.  Then we headed into the stadium.

The game, as expected, was a joke. The Canes won 77-0 -- their largest margin of victory ever, against a Savannah State team that would have lost to many local high school teams. Still -- we enjoyed watching our boys bounce back from their awful first game -- and we got to see the better, younger quarterbacks who will take over from our current mediocre one.

Steve and Darren left in the third quarter, to go to a rib place in Perrine owned by Darren's friend. They invited me, but ribs at 930 pm didn't seem like a good idea. Instead, I caught up with Scott -- he's thoroughly enjoying his senior year at Maryland.

An old man was in front -- asking about Eric, who used to sit near him in the Orange Bowl.  He was a nice enough fellow -- I figured he was about 70 -- and then he told us he graduated UM in '81, He was only two years older than I am!  Caramba. Scott and Josh assured us that Barry and I looked much younger. I didn't believe them...

I listened to the post game on the way home -- I flew -- took me less than half an hour. Canes games are such an important part of my happy leisure time -- being close is terrific for me.

Right after I pulled in, Wifey was behind me -- she had gone to a movie at the Tower Theater in Little Havana with her friend Maureen and some of her crew.

I turned on the TV and watched the Gators lose to Kentucky for the first time in 32 years. I really wish I could get over that schadenfreude -- both Ds attended UF -- a total of three degrees between them. But I still love watching them lose.

Speaking of schadenfreude -- Fredo -- the betraying lawyer, went to both UVA and UF. They BOTH lost yesterday. I enjoyed that immensely.

Of course, tonight starts Rosh Hashonah, the Jewish New Year, and a major theme of these days is forgiveness.  I forgive all other trespasses, but Fredo -- well, he's nothing to me -- not a brother, not a friend, as Michael said in II.

We have a dinner planned at Joey's parents' house -- near D1 and Joey's new house. So we'll stop there first, and then meet the awesome suegros.

Tomorrow I don't plan on attending services, but I will stay home. D2 and I discussed this earlier -- in 1987 Wifey and I were out with our friends Kathy and Ronnie. Ronnie is an Ecuadorean Jew, and he asked where we attended services. I told him we didn't, and in fact I worked on the High Holidays. Ronnie admonished me -- don't disrespect your own people, even if you don't go to services. His words resonated with me -- so I will stay away from the office. I may even drive over to Matheson Hammock and symbolically toss my sins into the water.

D2 will do the same -- no work tomorrow, but also skipping services.

Regardless -- I ask the Big Man for a healthy and sweet new year. I savor all of the days -- and hope there are plenty more to come...

First Closing

So yesterday I was treated to one of those pleasures lucky parents of adult children get: D1 and Joey's first house closing.

It was held at the developer's office on 72 Ave, just North of Miller Road. I took the Spoiled Spaniel, who has been bunking here since D1 went to a wedding in Utah, but was needed for a therapy dog session this am. The Spaniel attracted the attention of the not appearance challenged receptionist -- she asked if she could have her. No -- D1 wouldn't have liked that.

Salome (her real name) came, from the developer, followed by Joey's cousin Isaac, who is the realtor, and finally Jose, the real estate attorney. Salome kept the papers in order, and all went smoothly.

The Spaniel snored loudly on the floor. She found the legal stuff boring.

At the end, Salome handed D1 and Joey the keys to their new house. I snapped a photo. It was grand. I told them this "starter house" cost 10 times what Wifey and I paid for our first place. Times have changed.


I remembered our first closing -- also in September, but the year was 1986. My Mom had given each of her three kids a $10K gift, and we used $8650 of that for our down payment. We were so thankful to her. We still are.

When we walked into our 1400 square foot, tree covered house on SW 125 Terrace, we felt like true grown ups. I was 25 and Wifey was 29. We have lived double those years since...

Unlike me, Joey is very handy. He really looks forward to DIY projects. I found them daunting. He installed two Nest thermostats for us in about 10 minutes. I wouldn't even have attempted the feat. I can tell he's way excited to have his first house -- DIY projects in a high rise, his current place, are limited.

Sunday night begins the Jewish New Year. We're invited to Joey's parents for Rosh Hashonah dinner. They live just a few blocks from D1 and Joey. The plan is for us to go early -- Wifey is very good at helping to pack and unpack.

I figure moving into a new house during the New Year period must be a good sign. New beginnings all around.

D1 and Joey laughed at the note they signed. It said the note would be paid off in 2048 -- 30 years into the future.  They know it's not likely they'll still be living in the house then. We've been in Villa Wifey 18 years -- by far the longest stretch in one place I've ever had.

Still, three decades have a way of flying by. It seems like a few years have passed since I took the Florida Bar. That was 32 years ago.

It's a blessing to mark the wonderful milestones -- and first house together is surely one of those. I thanked the Big Man on the way home, and asked that D1 and Joey's home be one of good health, love, and dare I hope ??? -- children.

Let it be so...

Deep In The Heart of Texas

So on Saturday am, Wifey and I ubered to MIA and had breakfast at the Centurion, where we met Paul and Patricia. And then we boarded the 7-3 for the flight to DFW.  Mike and Loni had rented a SUV, but had to meet their girl Amanda, and so we Ubered to the hotel -- in a place called South Lake.

SouthLake was nice -- sort of like Weston.  The hotel was abutting a Trulucks, so I felt right at home. We dropped our bags and then Mike fetched us -- he had the line on a bbq place called "Meat U Anywhere." Indeed, we had some of the best brisket we ever had. And then we learned something about Texas -- some counties have only wine and beer stores -- no liquor. So we drove to an abutting town and stocked up for Sunday.

That night Paul and Patricia stayed and ate at Trulucks, and we drove to Fort Worth, to the Stockyards, which used to be where the cows came home. Now it's South Beach in Western Gear -- packed with restaurants and bars.

We gathered in the basement of the Lone Star Bistro -- there were 20 of us at two tables -- and plenty of LSU fans. The waiter said he was "Switzerland." As we drank more, the "Let's Go Canes" cheers started, followed by "Tiger Bait." One fellow had an actual felt purple tiger tail attached to his jeans. Loni asked him if he realized that. He said, in perfect La drawl "Sure do, darlin' -- why don't you show us YOUR tail?"

There was another group, from Arkansas, and they were hilarious -- saying they only had 6th grade educations, and while they married their cousins, some of them looked like Melania Trump.  Darriel ordered shots for them, and the waiter brought shots for ALL of us -- some kind of vanilla tasting stuff. We left the place very happy.

We walked around the corner and went to the White Elephant, which had an awesome outlaw country group. I really like Outlaw country, and the band was excellent. We two stepped, or maybe 5 stepped -- Wifey had a blast, and was shocked to see that the men really wore cowboy hats, and the women boots and hot pants. She decided it was an easier look than the skimpy clothing of South Beach.

Sunday we drove to the stadium -- Jerry's World -- and found great parking. Barry and his family saved the day -- no one of us remembered to buy food, and Donna provided for us wonderfully -- wraps, shrimp, ribs, and chicken. We did have plenty of alcohol, and had a fine tailgate.

We found our seats -- I had the best I ever had -- 30 yard line, 10 rows from the field. But the Canes sucked early and often -- the game was essentially lost by the second quarter. The "other than THAT, Mrs. Kennedy, how did you enjoy Dallas?" jokes started right away.

Monday we were true tourists. Mike took us to the 6th Floor Museum, where JFK was shot. They had a fascinating exhibit -- all about the JFK years, and a recreation of Oswald's perch. We spent a good few hours there -- very well done museum.

Tragedy made us hungry, so we found a great pizza place called Piggies, in the SMU campus. We ate heartily, and then headed to the George W Bush Library, also on the SMU campus. I'm no W fan, though the current idiot in the White House makes me long for his administration. Still, the library was gorgeous and well done -- especially the 9/11 exhibit. We all enjoyed ourselves.

That evening, Becky rejoined us, along with my my school friend Alison, who now lives in Keller. We compared our lives since we last saw each other -- in the late 80s. She had kids older -- a daughter is a college sophomore, and her son still in high school. They suffered a tragedy -- her husband was killed crossing a street near their house. But Alison has soldiered on -- no depression for her.

Tuesday we had breakfast at the hotel, and then off to DFW. I thought Tropical Storm Gordon might affect us, but only delayed our departure by a half hour.

We had left the dry heat of Dallas for the wet heat of Miami. It was lovely to get home.

Ain't It Funny How Time Slips Away

I've always dug Willie Nelson, and in a few hours Wifey and I are off to his native land, Texas. We're going with many friends to watch the Canes open up the season against LSU, alma mater of David Duke, at Jerry's World, which is supposedly the finest sports stadium in America.

We're staying in SouthLake, which is somewhere between Dallas and its poorer sister, Fort Worth. A bunch of us are booked into the Hilton there, on the recommendation of Becky, and old Miami friend who ditched her husband Rob and Miami, and is now living in Fort Worth.

I've been to Texas twice. The first time was a college conference, in the Fall of '81. I was active in something called NCHC, which was a national council of honors' programs, and in that year it was hosted by Texas Christian U.

I remember the trip well. It was near Halloween, and the TCU kids invited us to their big bash -- a showing of the then 5 year old movie, "Halloween."  I was used to a bit more racy fun back at UM -- parties in the Grove and all, but I remember thinking how exotic Fort Worth was to this LI born and raised guy.  We went to a country bar, of course, and everyone kept yelling "Dallas sucks!"  I guess there was a rivalry...

The second trip was for less than 24 hours. The Canes were playing in the Cotton Bowl, and on NYE my boss Frank called -- his travel agent friend had, last minute, package trips to leave early on the First, see the game, have a barbecue, and then fly home. I think they had sold for $600 or so, but the friend was unloading them for $150. Some friends were over at our pre-Andrew house, and we decided to pack it in early and leave .

We got on the charter 727 and Captain Cane, who always dressed for the games, refused to remove his shoulder pads -- the stewardess said we wouldn't leave until he did. After we all yelled at him -- grumpy on New Year's Day at 530 am, he relented, but warned the Canes might now well lose since he NEVER removed sacred Canes garments on game day.

Well, superstition was damned -- the Canes blew out the Longhorns in a game famous for the amount of penalties we got. We loved each minute of the game -- I was surprised how freezing cold Dallas could be.

This trip we get to see more of the place. Tonight we have a reservation for nearly 30 of us at a place called Lonesome Dove Bistro, in the Stockyards 'hood, which I'm told is now their Williamsburg -- lots of cool bars and galleries.

Sunday is game day, and Mike rented a van for us to tailgate -- I have a feeling he'll buy a barbecue and do it up, like we did in Lincoln, Nebraska a few years back.

College games have the best atmosphere, though given LSU's size and proximity to Texas, I'm guessing they'll outnumber Canes fanes like 70-30.

But that's ok -- we ALWAYS have a blast.

Wifey's no big football fan at all, but she has memories of huge belly laughs from our trips to Tennessee, New Jersey, South Bend, and Atlanta.  When you convene a fun group of fun loving folks -- well, that's my kind of trip.

So we're off to DFW. Hopefully the Canes win. Regardless of the game's outcome, I'm fairly certain we'll have a terrific time.