Boo -- Dammit!

It's Halloween, and for some reason I have Eddie Murphy in my head, playing the grizzled old Jewish man version of Gumby. Maybe it's because he's a native Long Islander, like I am, and on this day my thoughts go back to childhood.

I loved Halloween as a kid, on Charles Lane. Autumn nights seemed truly spooky, and it was great to be scared and scare others. An early bad memory was being sick on Halloween, and one of the neighbor kids carried my plastic pumpkin for me, with the words "David is sick -- trick or treat" and then brought me back the candy.

In about 4th grade, my father bought me a truly chilling rubber mask --it was a darkened green version of a very ugly man, and I loved that thing. Neighbors would open the door and truly gasp. I think I kept it through high school.

My memory also triggered thoughts of the East Broadway Elementary School Music teacher, Mr. Lutri. He was a lovely, kind man, and taught us Saint-Sanse "Danse Macabre." I remember the story behind the sound poem -- on Halloween, all the spirits would be summoned by the death god for a night of dancing and revelry, until the bell of All Saints' Day would send them back to another year of mordant death.

I imagine Mr. Lutri must be long gone. I was in his band, and was the most talented flute player. He really encouraged me. But when I got older, I picked baseball over flute playing. I chose wrong.

We've lived here at Villa Wifey for nearly 18 years. Some Halloweens we get lots of kids trick or treating -- some fewer than 25. Wifey and I enjoy sitting on our front porch with the dogs and watching the kids.

D1 and Joey will have their first Halloween in their new house. They live in a gated development of 18 houses in NE Miami, and I noticed each one has decorations. I told them to be ready for a nice onslaught of trick or treaters...

D2 and Jonathan live in a national capital of Halloween -- Greenwich Village. The gay folks who still make up the foundation of the population there have an enormous parade -- D2 and Jonathan actually have to strategize their commutes so as not to get shut out of their tree lines street. But the costumes will be the best there, I'm sure -- particularly the ones for the many dogs of their 'hood.

When the Ds were little, we'd decorate the house. In our last place, we'd set up a haunted house in the garage. Last weekend, we were reminiscing about some folks -- the first renters we had in my in laws' house -- a place we kept as a rental property after moving back into our restored home following Hurricane Andrew.

Mike lived across the street, and together we set up a great thing for the kids. Our tenants were delightful folks from Texas -- Baptist missionaries. Their kids came dressed as Mary and Joseph, and I remember the Mom, Nell, sort of freaking out at all the satanic displays Mike had created. They sort of quickly left the party -- Mike and I felt bad about not realizing that maybe we went a bit far with the Devil and Witch stuff...

Our decoration the past years has become very lazy -- a 2/3 lifesize Frankenstein monster gets pulled out of storage and posed in a plastic chair by the front gate -- to let kids know we do give out candy.

I remember one year, I guess it must have been '08 or '09, D1 surprised us by driving home from college in Gainesville. She loved giving out candy with us.  This year she gets to do it as her own homeowner.

So may the day and night pass safely, with some laughter. And here's to Mr. Lutri, wherever he is...

Wonderful Family Weekend

So the friendly Uber driver came to the house, still in darkness, and dropped us at MIA and a breeze through security. Wifey LOVES the Centurion Lounge, and so we went for breakfast -- I begged off, since I knew there'd be breakfast on the plane. Then we were off, and in no time, landed at LGA.

I haven't rented a car in NYC for probably 15 years. It was a major hassle -- especially as they're building a new LGA while the third world one still operates. We had to take a bus to Terminal 3, and only there got picked up for a trip to the Budget office. It took a full hour. But, alas, we got into a Ford Explorer, and were soon making our way to Greenwich Village.

We packed in the Millennials, who were in great spirits, and brought the spirits from a local liquor store, and we crawled through the City to the Lincoln Tunnel and Jersey. From there, it was a trip up the Thruway to New Paltz. We passed Sloatsburg, a town of family lore, as my father used to tell my sisters, and later me, to look out for Sloats. It was a great distraction as we peeled our eyes looking for the mythical, slow moving tree dwellers.

Mohonk was stately as ever, at the top of a hill, and we checked in, unpacked, and regrouped on the lovely patio behind Wifey and my room. We toasted our family against the gorgeous Fall backdrop -- it was chilly but lovely. Then we went for dinner, which was delicious, but I was falling into my soup -- I headed to an early sleep, while the rest walked to a bonfire and s'mores.

Saturday morning we had a feast of a breakfast, but our hopes for walks in the Fall splendor were dashed -- it was a cold, steady rain. Instead, we read, and chatted, and had a family game room session where Wifey pretended to be Bob Costas as she called the progress of foosball round robins -- we laughed a lot and had an awesome time.

Mohonk is like a huge stationary cruise ship -- with much better food. But eating is paramount -- and we had dinner at the smaller, more formal setting than in the main dining room. Afterwards, we sat in the bar while a trio played old Fleetwood Mac and Paul Simon songs -- Wifey and I stayed up the longest.

Sunday it was still damp, but the rain had stopped, and after a quick breakfast, we did a decent hike -- up the mountain to the observation tower. The Ds were impressed at my new found cardio abilities -- I scaled the hike and steps of the tower rather well -- sweating, but not feeling like I was dying. And the view was amazing -- like an old American folk artists view of the lovely village below our vantage point -- the Mohonk House looking majestic across the lake from the tower.

We descended, and walked -- including an ill informed stroll across a soaked lawn that left us all with cold, wet feet. But -- warming them by the fireplace cured that problem quickly.

It was 11:30 and so time again for -- eating. We had our farewell brunch. The smoked salmon, we all agreed, was as good as Russ and Daughters -- our benchmark for fine lox and nova. And then we repacked ourselves into the Explorer, for a longer trip home -- City leaf peepers were clogging the quaint town of New Paltz, and we had to wend our way through them.

It took 2 hours, but we were soon back into the gridlock of City traffic -- even on a Sunday afternoon. I was reminded of how miserable it is to drive in the City -- but soon we made our way South on 9th Avenue, and found a spot to sort of safely park and let out D2 and Jonathan.

Then it was the reverse schlep to return the rental car, though this time it went a bit smoother, and we were soon at LGA in the packed terminal waiting for our flight. I remarked to Joey that El Dorado Airport in Bogota is far superior to Laguardia. I guess if they ever finish the new terminal, things can improve, but the place is tightly packed and filthy.

We arrived back to the heat, and a friendly Cuban Uber driver trip later, were back home.

It had been, outside of our sacred family, an awful weekend. A loser psycho in Pittsburgh killed 11 in a synagogue. Then, we read that a 737 Max, the same model plane we were on, crashed in Indonesia, killing all on board.

I thanked the Big Man for keeping us all safe. And more importantly, for giving us the ability to celebrate our lives together.

The Ds have chosen their men very well. D2 finds it hilarious when she catches them reverting to their native Spanish when talking alone. "Latin men time," she notes.

We all truly enjoy each other's company.

And best of all, D2 and Jonathan are due home in just over three weeks -- for a packed November. First, D1 is turning 30, and hosting a party at her and Joey's new house in Shorecrest. The next day is Thanksgiving here -- we're having a party of 14. Saturday night, both Ds and their men are going to a friend's wedding at a local shul -- we're hosting one of D2's best friends, Ashley, and her boyfriend.

So we have a good deal of more sacred family time coming.

As Wifey enjoys it when I summon the Boss -- I am one lucky, rockin' Daddy in the USA...

Leavin' On A Jet Plane

John Denver was my guilty pleasure -- his music considered so lightweight that listening to him made you uncool, but I always enjoyed it. And his "Leavin'" always struck me -- so simple and poignant, especially when covered by the harmonious Peter, Paul, and Mary.

And so it is for us today -- though I'm not leaving my girlfriend behind. As I write, she's upstairs getting ready -- I'll be summoning Uber in about 45 minutes.

Wifey has taught me many lessons about personal comfort, and one is taking later flights. Yes -- there's a greater chance of delay as the day burns on, but being able to leave leisurely sets the tone for vacation trips. Alas, today it was not to be. D2 correctly pointed out that if we left NYC too late on a Friday afternoon, traffic would crawl as we made our way Upstate -- so our flight is due in noon, I fetch a rental car and then 4 Millennials, and we should be on the GW Bridge no later than 2.



In my nearly 40 years living in the Tropics, the only season I miss from living in the Northeast is Fall. Winter -- you can keep it. Spring is nice, but Miami Winter weather is the same. Summer can be just as hot and humid as it is here. But Fall, with cool, crisp temperatures and changing leaves -- now that's something.

We always try to get away for a Fall trip. Sometimes it's an out of state Canes game. But this year it's a Full Squad, as Joey has named the six of us, Fall weekend escape.


So soon the Uber driver will be arriving, but not blowing his horn, as I plan to greet him or her on rhe street. And we already wear each other's wedding rings -- it'll be 32 years this coming January. And we hopefully know when we will be back again -- Sunday night.

Still, I enjoy hearing Denver's song in my head as we prepare for the trip. And I enjoy his "Back Home Again" as well, as we re-enter Villa Wifey.

Dadber Classic

I really, really don't like picking up people at the airport, and have given up that job, mostly. In the age of Uber and Lyft, I think it's unnecessary for anyone to ask for a ride anymore. An exception is some of my friends and their kids -- the kids are still living at home while in grad school, and so are called upon to do "man Friday" chores -- like when we travel with Mike and Loni, and Chris is our personal driver.

I also provide what I call Dadber service to the Ds and their men, and to Wifey, too. They're on my very select list of customers.

D1 and Joey were headed to NYC a few days before we come up, and the spoiled Spaniel needed boarding, so I told D1 I'd get her. But then, it occurred to me -- their outbound flight was close in time to Wifey's inbound flight from ATL. So I undertook a complicated pick.

I left Brickell, and drove up Biscayne, to see first hand all of the gentrification taking place. It truly is -- areas that were gritty and promenades for hookers now had young folks walking in and out of hair salons and restaurants.

I turned east on 82 street and made my way to D1 and Joey's place -- they're now totally unpacked and moved in, and the place looked terrific. It warmed me.

We loaded their carry ons and Spaniel into my car, and left for MIA. Even with evening traffic, it's only a 25 minute ride. I kissed them goodbye. As I entered the car, a text came: Wifey had landed. She had a bag, so I knew it'd be a bit, and so I drove to the cell phone waiting lot on LeJeune. Soon enough, another text came -- she had her bag, and so I drove back to the Delta area to fetch her.

She was overjoyed to see the granddog in the car, and shrieked happily. A lady waiting for a ride cracked up -- she must have been a fellow dog lover.

We drove home, and the three dogs cavorted and jumped around the house -- they have a long weekend together, under the care of Mirta.

A few hours later came another happy text --D1 and Joey had landed. But alas -- no Dadber at LGA -- they took a taxi to D2 and Jonathan's, in Greenwich Village.

But Dadber shall drive again! We have an early flight tomorrow, to LGA, and I will pick up a minivan from Budget. I shall then fetch the 4 millennials and head up to New Paltz for a Fall weekend.

The pay for Dadber is nonexistent, but the joy it brings to me, still being able to hang with my grown kids, is very high.

Old School Company

So Sears is bankrupt. I always liked their stores -- they had EVERYTHING. And for me, there's a very warm memory -- my Dad won a lottery promotion back in the 70s, for I think a few thousand dollars. The prize was credit at Sears. Two of the things we bought were a beige down coat for me, and one for him that looked just like it. We'd wear them together on cold days on LI -- I remember one in particular where we walked the Jones Beach Boardwalk, talking of future times.

I kept that down coat for many years -- I think I finally gave it to Goodwill just a few years back. So Sears to our family represented quality.

Today's Times has an article comparing Sears' generous benefits program to today's monster retailer, Amazon. Apparently many long time Sears employees retired with very generous profit sharing benefits. Amazon just cut off giving stock shares to employees. The article contrasted the philosophy of the old school company, which truly cared about employees, to Amazon, which cares only about shareholders.

When Paul and I started our firm, 24 years ago next month, we definitely believed in the old school approach. Our employees were paid above average, but as the firm did well, we generously bonused them -- according to our CPA, absurdly so given their lack of work product. But we believed it was the right thing to do -- we also set up nice pension plans for the full time employees.

Some years, our two lawyer firm paid the secretaries salary, bonuses, and pension contributions over $100K. I always was proud of that, and in fact, the secretaries left in good shape -- one used her savings to start a business with her husband, after losing a ton of money trying to flip real estate during Miami's turbulent aughts...

My sister of another mister, Mirta, always reminds me of how our generosity helped her -- she bought her beloved townhouse with generous bonus money we gave her one year. I feel good about that.

But I also learned that our longest, and highest paid employee, has said that she was paid "eh -- average."  This was laughable -- while she was good with clients, this secretary couldn't write a three sentence letter in decent English. But, to Paul and me, she was part of our team, and was to be compensated accordingly.

As the Who well sang...people forget. While we were paying the big money, we were princes. Years later, with that money long gone, we were, eh -- ok.

So I say -- bravo Amazon. I own a good deal of stock -- keep those share prices going up. Pay the employees decently, which they do, and give them health insurance, which they do. Let them buy their own stock, if they live frugally and save money.

Time really have changed. My father was a loyal and hardworking employee, and when he retired, after 17 years with his company, he received a lump sum profit sharing payout -- $200,000.00.  That would be about $730K today. Since bank savings rates were over 15% in the early 80s, that money lasted and lasted -- my Mom had money left when she went into the nursing home 34 years later.

My father was very grateful for what his company did for him -- he helped them do well, and they rewarded him when he retired.

But those days are long gone. We have to make things on our own, in this economy.

And, as I learned, employer generosity is probably unappreciated, anyway. So rock on, Amazon. You're soaring, and Sears is out. That's just the way it is...

The Finer Things

So yesterday my only plans were to watch the crappy Dolphins play, but my friend Kenny had a better offer: go with him and Joelle to see Seraphic Fire at the South Dade Cultural Center. I was in.

Kenny always had a taste for finer things. When we were in high school, we actually drove to NY Tech to see a Shakespeare play. He is a music fan, and has catholic tastes.

I had seen Seraphic Fire before. They're a nationally recognized choral group based here in Miami. We saw them at an old church on Coral Way, and liked them immensely.  So I drove to the theater next to the old Cutler Ridge Mall, and met my friends.

The group was appearing with the American Brass Quintet, and they were terrific, too. The concert was some very old songs, from the times of the Crusades, when pilgrims would go through Europe on their way to the Holy Land, and stop along the way at local churches, where these songs were performed.

Of course, as I am low brow, I kept thinking about a spoof of this music I heard years ago -- Gregorian chanting of "Hey hey we're the monks."  But as the concert played, I was truly transported by the beautiful harmonies.

There was some unintentional comic relief, too. One of the singers is an enormous black fellow. He looked like he had a VERY deep voice. But he was a soprano. He sang beautifully, too.

After the concert, we drove to Black Point Marina, which was buzzing with people. They had live music there, too, a guitar playing singer. His first song was the Dead's "Ripple," so we knew we'd like him. We did.

The heat is still here, but there was a lovely breeze blowing off the water. Kenny, Joelle, and I toasted how lucky we are with our 4 kids. Lately we've been hearing tales of misery. We got very lucky with the Ds and their 2 sons.

I came home, and took the crippled Spaniel and strange rescue dog outside. I drank some tea while the dogs sniffed around. I heard some scurrying -- we have a pair of large iguanas living on our property lately -- the dogs made sure the big lizards knew they were NOT welcome.

There was a 3/4 beautiful moon. I thanked the Big Man. It was a lovely night.

This am I spoke to the Ds -- D2 conferenced in D1 and we caught up. There'll be some chilly temps for our upcoming NY state weekend, and D1 is non too happy about it. I look forward to actually needing a sweater to wear for a change.

We joked that Wifey might not join us -- she is having too great a time with her "Gem Tones" friends. D1 calls them that -- apparently after a certain age, women look better wearing gem tones as clothing, and sure enough, the photos show them all in sapphire and ruby colors. Who knew?

I think Wifey will indeed come home, and it should be a lovely family weekend.

Maybe I'll play some Seraphic Fire...

Short Lived Charity

So I have an acquaintance who has worked for government agencies his whole career, but has made a LOT of money doing consulting work as a side hustle. I mean a lot. Plus, he married above himself, financially, and is about to inherit millions when his O to Q suegra dies.

What is O to Q? Years ago, my friend doing medical residency training taught me the terms. An O is an elderly patient, who lies back with a mouth open like an O. They have a few months to go. Nearer to the end, the tongue hangs out, making a Q. They're near goners...

Anyway, this acquaintance retired from his government job, and thought he'd receive disability right away. Due to clerical problems, he learned there would be a delay -- maybe a month or so between his salary ending, and his disability payments begin. Plus, he'd have to pay for his own health insurance for a month -- for him, his soon to be wealthy wife, and failure to launch son, who still lives at home with no real job at 26.

They moved to their $2M house upstate. Really. $2M. I figure a $2M house upstate is probably a $3.5M house here -- at least. So they're surely not poor.

The dude called me, and asked me to look over something he had written for him. I agreed. I was shocked.

He had put up a page on one of these internet charity sites -- Go Pay Me or something. He posted pictures and asked the general public to send him money because of the delay from his regular salary to disability status.

I should probably have said -- good luck, dude, but I'm too old for inauthenticity when someone asks my opinion. I told the fellow that if his clients learned he was begging for charity, it would be fatal to his consulting business. Who would ever retain someone, who is supposed to project strength and competence, if they were out publicly begging?

He started to argue with me -- his public persona had nothing to do with his private "struggles." I wouldn't engage -- I wished him well.

He called me later and thanked me -- he had taken down the page.

What awful karma. Charity is a sacred thing. We help each other in need. But when people of serious means beg, because they choose not to move assets around to pay for stuff -- well, that gets my gourd.

A few years ago, the kids of some other acqaintances put up one of these pages, to pay for medical treatments. I wanted to call the folks I knew to ask if this was some kind of joke, but they were off on a European cruise. Really? You're cruising the world and your kids are asking strangers for money?

I don't get it -- I really don't.

I feel so uncomfortable being the taker in life. I guess it came from my Dad's pride -- you need something, you do it yourself.

Living in a multi million house, awaiting an inheritance of millions, and asking strangers to give you thousands, because you're annoyed about a bureaucratic mixup?

I guess I AM getting crankier as I age, but this latest really got my goat. On the other hand, as I age, I tend to cynically think I've seen it all. When something like this happens, it teaches me I really haven't.

Bachelerhood Again

So yesterday Wifey left on another hen trip, as the Brits call them. I dropped her at MIA, and she was off for ATL, where Elizabeth would join her and Edna and 2 nights at Edna's house. From there, they head to Robbinsville, NC, and three nights at an Inn.

Jeff and I spoke -- he was off to his youngest girl's parents' weekend at Duke. Boy, he said , your wife sure takes a lot of trips without you. Yes, I agreed -- if you're married to me, you need to get away as often as possible.

I had a vigorous workout with Enrique -- I did something unknown since 1978 -- I ran a mile. It was on the treadmill, to cushion my aged knees, but I did it. I HATE running, and still do, but when I started working out, the thought of making a mile was akin to my dunking a basketball. The latter remains out of touch.

I headed to Canton for lunch, as I did when I was in law school. The owner and I chatted -- I've been a patron since they opened in 1979, and she said "Where's your wife?" Left me, I said, and she looked sad. But only for 6 days...and she laughed. "Oh, so you lucky, but not THAT lucky?"

As I was leaving, a SUV pulled into the lot and nearly hit me. It was intentional -- Mike's boy Chris was pulling in for a smoothie before a job interview at UM. That little boy is a 2L, and was wearing a tie -- looked all grown up. We lamented about the Canes, and I wished him luck.

I put in a few hours at the office, strategizing with Stu and Vince, and then left for my first bachelor night. Gentlemen bachelors with sisters often dine with them, and so I did -- met Mirta at Titanic. We caught up and ate -- it was a lively atmosphere, as always. She had a big weekend coming up -- headed to her boyfriend's house in Daytona for BikeTober -- they love their motorcycles. And Sunday her granddaughter Karen, a lovely girl, turns 18. I gave Mirta some cash as a gift for her, and asked her to fake remove it from the girl's ear -- a trick I pulled when she was a girl. Mirta was touched.

The house is quiet, and the dogs are resting post breakfast. I'm going to bathe them -- it's been months, and they smell, as D2 once pointed out, like the schmutz you remove from a vacuum cleaner bin. Wifey no longer gets around to bathing them, so this bachelor will do the job.

I have a haircut at 11, lunch with my nephew of another mister Josh at noon, and then another office stint.

I think tomorrow I may treat myself and head to Deep South Dade to buy a few fish for my pond. Hurricane season seems to be over, and I know there'll likely be no power outages, which stops the aeration pump, and kills the fish. So the ones swimming newly in my pond for a year can use some new friends, I figure.

Yes -- being a bachelor for a week is lovely. I try to make the best of it.

The Little Girls

So back in the salad days of our law firm, from the mid 90s to the early aughts, we hired a squad of high school girls to help out in clerical tasks. The first was our secretary Norma's daughter Monica, who attended Braddock High in West Kendall, a school that was about 150% Latin.

Monica did some filing, but then asked if we could hire some of her friends, and we did -- Janet and Ellie were the two who worked the longest. We called them "the little girls," as in "Let's order out for lunch -- ask one of the little girls."

They were delightful young women. Monica also had a friend named Vivi, and another named Arlette.  But Janet and Ellie stayed the longest.

Ellie got a scholarship to UM, and we were very proud of her. Janet attended FIU. Both studied Education. Janet stayed with us, part time, all through graduate school. She married a Miami paramedic and had two sons. She is now a school psychologist for Miami Dade Schools.

I lost touch with Ellie, other than on FaceBook, and she rarely posts, but she called yesterday to refer a client. It wasn't a case for us, but it gave me the chance to call Ellie back, and catch up. It was a delightful conversation.

Ellie has been a school PRINCIPAL for 5 years! And, her oldest is a sophomore in college! How is this possible, I asked, when she shared this news -- Ellie is all of 17 herself.

The truth was, she had her son at 22. She's now 43, and has another boy just starting high school.

It was so wonderful to hear about Ellie's life. I last talked to her when we realized we had another connection -- she worked as a teacher at a school with Barry's sister Phyllis. But she told me she left the school 6 years before, and hasn't kept in contact with her old friends.

I know what a big job being a principal is. It's a lesser paid CEO. Ellie called me from Orlando -- she was attending a national teacher training seminar.

She excitedly asked me about MY little girls -- she remembers the Ds when they were in elementary school. She was shocked to learn that D1 is nearing 30, and is married and thinking about having kids, too.  She remembered adorable and mischievous D2 as well -- now living with her boyfriend in NYC.

Ellie said hearing about them made her feel old.  She also asked about Wifey -- she always liked and admired her, she said. Wifey worked with Ellie for several months -- getting us medical records and bills. I told her Wifey was well -- looking forward to being an abuela. Ellie laughed.

So if there's something better than hearing about lovely young folks evolving into accomplished adults -- well, I don't know what it is.

Today gave me that opportunity.

Deflated Hurricanes

Ah, our men in orange and green. My closest friends and I shared their triumphs, beginning in January of '84, and lasting until '02. They won 5 (should have been 6 but for a historically bad call) championships, and we cheered them on.

We watched through 2 coaches, Shannon and Golden, who we thought would bring the program back, and instead pushed further into mediocrity. And then, three years ago, came another return of the native -- Mark Richt -- and we KNEW he'd be the one, even though he always produced good, solid, but never great teams at Georgia. And, this, his third year, might be the one. We were pre season ranked in the Top 10, other than a tough opener, which we lost in Texas, we would be favored to win every regular season game in a weak schedule. We just might slip back into the elite.

Well, last night those hopes fell with a thud. We played a mediocre team, Virginia, and played terribly. Richt, who calls the plays, seemed clueless. We scored all of two field goals until a late TD, but a quarterback Richt had benched, and then brought back.

No -- our beloved Canes are nowhere near elite. Another second tier bowl awaits. National championships? No way.

And you know what? It's ok.

As I age, the important part of college football is the bonding with friends. Last night, Mike came over, with a new type of vodka he found at Total Wine. His boy Chris came, too -- a second year law student at UM. I made martinis, and Chris had never tried one. I served him one, and told him the story that his late grandfather Ed bought me my first martini -- at Fox's Lounge, in about 1985. It became my drink then, and still is.

Chris didn't like the taste -- he's more of a beer guy. And that was the importance of the evening -- three Canes, and three good friends, talking of times past and to be.

Chris's girlfriend Rachel joined us -- she's an Emory grad, and getting a MPH degree from UM -- set to graduate in May.

Wifey made an appearance, and ate one slice (ha!) of pizza from Big Cheese, a Canes hangout that used to be a funeral home, and still good fodder for the fact that the pizza dough chills where corpses used to. And then Wifey went back upstairs.

The Canes had a chance to come back, but blew it on two stupid penalties. It struck me how absurd it is to let one's good mood rely on the actions of 19 year old inner city kids, and their often less than gifted coaches.

So we lost, and Mike, Chris, and Rachel left. Wifey was falling asleep, and I told her we lost.

I had a restless night -- maybe pizza and vodka after 9 pm isn't a good sleep inducer for this late 50s guy. This am Wifey asked if I slept poorly because the Canes lost. No, I laughed, that wasn't it at all.

So the season continues -- the next game is away at Boston College on the Friday I'm taking my family to a resort in the Hudson River Valley. I'll check the score at the hotel.

No rings this year, and if I'm honest --not likely under Mark Richt. We'll have a solid, above average team -- like they had at Athens, Georgia.

Maybe in our lifetimes we'll get another truly great coach -- like Alabama's Saban, or Ohio State's Meyer -- and we'll rejoin the elites.

But regardless, the fun comes in the cameraderie.  Tailgates and game watching together -- fans over the generations -- that's what makes the times so special.

And if we get to play and beat the Gators in a bowl this year , well, that would be pretty awesome, too.

Fellow Exes

So we had some business with a lawyer I'll call Rey, since that's his name, and had a long talk with him the other afternoon. Rey is a fellow ex with Fredo, the former friend who left us and is engaged in attempting to screw us out of money.

I really, really, really (that's 3 reallys) should have talked to Rey before inviting Fredo into our operation. Rey's wife, who I'll call Kim, since that's her name, met Fredo on some Bar business, around the time Kim and Rey were forming their firm. They had heard that Fredo had a bad breakup from a former partner named Ted, but chalked it up to the usual drama surrounding law firm divorces. They invited Fredo in as a full partner.

Months passed. Fredo was always present and charming, but did little actual work. At six months, Rey's office manager urged Rey to fire Fredo. Rey protested -- poor guy's wife was dying -- give him more time. They did, and still no work.

At the year mark, the manager was adamant -- Fredo was taking salary and doing no work. He demanded Rey and Kim fire the bum. Fredo was near tears -- no, please, he pleaded -- let me stay until I find a new spot. Against his better sense, Rey agreed -- four months, but, of course, no more salary.

Fredo left in three, taking some cases which Rey agreed to be paid on later. And then -- Rey and Kim got SUED by Fredo. He came up with a bullshit case -- Rey and Kim MADE Fredo stay at the firm without paying him! Rey felt murderous, but listened to his mentor Arno, who advised to just let Fredo go -- Rey and Kim were too busy building up their firm. Fredo had sued as an offensive tactic to Rey would simply let him keep about $35K in fees. It worked.

I told Rey Fredo was a crappy fraudster -- he was broke ass -- owed on his mortgage, and Amex sued him for $85K. Rey said Fredo was dead to him. He saw him in a local restaurant, Captain's Tavern, and had to change seats -- lest the sight of Fredo cause him nausea.

Rey also spoke to Ted -- same story. Fredo screwed him, too.

So the lesson is, of course, to always vet business associates -- even though you think you know them. Rey and Kim were burned. Ted was burned. Curtis, the boss after Rey, was burned. So we're the latest victims of this POS.

His current boss, who I call Better Call Saul, since his firm apes that great, sleazy character, is next.

As John Lennon said when asked if he wanted revenge against the jerks who hurt him -- "Nah -- time wounds all heels."  And so it will be with Fredo...

No Getting Past It

I'm an unabashed news junkie, and check the headlines several times per day. The running joke is that when Wifey shares something she's seen or read, my reply is "I know already." Well, yesterday am, she was checking the news and told me about a tragic story from Upstate NY -- a limo carrying 18 people crashed, killing all the occupants as well as 2 leaf peepers in a parking lot by a country restaurant.

I was stunned -- we plan to be leaf peepers in Upstate NY in just a few weeks. It could have been us. This am, I read more details -- four lovely sisters were in the limo -- celebrating the 30th birthday of one who was recently married. D1 was married last year and celebrates her 30th next month. Again -- this tragedy resonates.

I started wondering about the surviving family members. There's never getting past anything like this.  I lost my Dad four days before I turned 21, and never "got past" it. I've lived a wonderful and full life, of course, but losing a loved one never goes away from your heart.

I'm FaceBook (tm) friends with Richard, the man who built our house. He and his wife Jennifer met at UM and married, and built their dream home here in the 'hood where Richard grew up. Jennifer was a former local beauty queen, and smart and talented. They visited Italy and fell in love with a villa there, and returned determined to recreate what they saw here in the tropics of Miami.

They did -- they bought, cheap, an Andrew destroyed house, and knocked it down, and spent two years. Richard told me they even set up a wood mill on the property, to custom cut all of the roof rafters.  The finished product was lovely -- Wifey and I joke that maybe only 2 people who ever visited here didn't like the house -- many people say it's the nicest they ever visited.

And Jennifer and Richard weren't planning on kids, but were blessed with 2 -- a boy and a girl -- lovely blondes like their pretty Mom.  We got to know the family pretty well -- Wifey would call Jennifer to ask questions about why she decorated certain ways, and Richard always answered my questions about sprinkler timers, and the fish pond out front. And then they moved to West Palm Beach, and we mostly lost touch.

Until...this model family became the subject of international  scandal. Jennifer lost her mind, and shot and killed the then high school aged kids -- both musical prodigies -- and then herself. Richard, who was divorced from her -- discovered the grisly scene.

I saw him a few months afterward. He was visiting his parents, who lived in nearby Deering Bay, and was driving his childhood 'hood. We greeted, and he knew immediately I knew of what happened, and he saved me with "Dave -- there is nothing to say. I just always really liked you, and was glad you and your wife bought this house -- to make your own memories."

I see on FaceBook he stays involved with his kids' high school -- endowing a scholarship in their memory. He also posts daily photos of sunrises -- I guess his way of showing that even in the darkest tragedy, the Big Man gives us all a new day.

I just don't see how one suffers such a profound loss and keeps going on.

In my law career, one family, from Ecuador, always haunts my thoughts. Betty lost her daughter, a superstar, in an apartment fire, and her middle son was horribly burned. The boy recovered nicely, though, only to die years later from leukemia. I remember meeting with Betty, a trained psychologist in her native country, after the second child's death.

I complemented her strength, and told her how much I always admired her. She shrugged, and her eyes had an empty look. "Who can understand the plans of Dios?"

I guess that's the only answer -- the Big Man decides if you go on after a tragedy, or not.  All I know is my soul hurts this am for those folks near Albany. May they find peace.

One For The Ages

So my sister of another mister/football wife Mirta arrived right on time, and we left for the stadium formerly known as Joe Robbie. Kickoff was 3:30 -- we got there a bit after 11:30 and cars were already lined up to get in the tailgating lots. It was FSU day!

We play them every year, alternating in Tally and Miami. Unlike the Gators, who dropped the Canes from their schedule on account of the fact that they got tired of losing to us, the Noles never have. Truth is -- they've always been my second favorite team. When the Canes are down, I cheer for them --while cheering against the Gators and Notre Dame is part of my college football DNA. But not yesterday...

We parked, and Norman and Maria and Ramon were setting up. Everyone brought classic tailgate food -- Publix subs, chicken tenders, meatballs. Eric and Dana brought the greatest appetizer in the history of apps -- pigs in blankets. We ate, and drank, and I got the perfect buzz.

Alex came -- he was celebrating his 40th. He wanted it low key, but Donna and Barry brought him a birthday cookie, and we sang to him. He really appreciated it -- I could tell. We talked about the need to stay in the moment -- leaving anxiety behind whenever possible. Alcohol helps with that very well...

We wandered over to Mike's tailgate, and said hello. Florida Supreme Court justice Fred was there, and we caught up with him. I asked Alex if he wanted to have me ask His Honor to sing happy birthday, as he did for Paul a few weeks ago. He did not.

We went into the stadium, and it was electric. But the Canes were flat -- looked bad all around. It was 20-7 at half, and I gave up on them. The Canes were favored to win big, and I figured they believed the press and figured they didn't have to play hard.

But then the worm turned. We got a huge turnover. The defense started to dominate. By the 4th quarter, Canes went up 28-27, and we kept the pressure on and won. It was a comeback for the ages.

We celebrated. There's nothing like leaving a packed stadium when the home team wins big. There were random high fives. Shouts of the team cheer. It was awesome.

We got back to the parking lot, and rehydrated.  Eventually we left -- and sat in some traffic trying to get on the Palmetto for the ride home. Mirta, who loves to say "I told you so," got to say it to me -- she never lost faith in our team, while I did. I was thrilled she was right.

We pulled into the driveway, and went in with Wifey, who had watched on TV and wanted to know what she missed.

On some level, I wish other things excited me as much as college football. Like maybe opera -- or theater.

But being with my oldest and best friends in a parking lot, sharing our memories and future hopes for our teams -- well, that's as good as it gets for me.

And yesterday was truly one for our Canes ages...

House For Sale

So over a year ago, I drove D2 to the house on Long Island where I grew up. We were parked out front, and the nice old lady who owned it came out -- we talked. It was the woman my parents SOLD the place to in 1979.  We talked -- she was such a sweetheart -- she had heard my Mom passed away and said a "prayer for huh" in perfect LI accent.  She told me she planned to sell, finally, to be closer to her grandkids in Suffolk County. She also told me to look up her son, Mark, on Facebook. Mark was a toddler when they moved in -- he was now a grown man, with kids of his own.

I indeed friended Mark, and over the years we've traded tales of growing up on Charles Lane. He went to Catholic school, so no East Broadway/Salk Junior High/MacArthur High experience for him. But he also had a great childhood there -- the saddest part being his father dropping dead of a heart attack, as mine did.

Well, the other day Mark posted a cheer for the Yankees -- they made the playoffs. I commented that the house was a Mets house, even though my parents both grew up in the Bronx, but indeed we shifted to the Bombers in the late 70s when the Mets were unwatcheable and the Yanks had Reggie Jackson. I have warm memories of watching games with my Dad -- he called a famous Graig Nettles home run right before it happened.  Mark thanked me for the warm sharing, but said, alas, his mother was putting the house up for sale this weekend. I saw the Zillow posting.

Charles Lane was the only address I knew from childhood. We moved there when I was 2, and left a month before I turned 18. It seemed we lived there FOREVER, but in fact we've now been in Villa Wifey longer. And Mark's family has lived there nearly 40 years! Talk about a legacy address...

I was so fortunate to have a wonderful childhood. I played with neighbor kids -- baseball and football in the yards, and basketball in a half court my Dad had put in for me in the back yard. I knew every neighbor on the street. Mel, a Grumman engineer, who helped build the Lunar Landing Module, and had such bad arthritis he walked completely bent over. The Perotas across the street -- classic Italian family, with Big Jimmy working as a paper distributor for the Times, but reading only the News. Still, early Sunday am he'd drop off the huge paper to several of us, and Dad would always thank him by leaving bagels or crumb cakes on his doorstep.

Next door the kindly old Larkins, who sold to the power couple the Cunninghams. The Dad Tom looked like a Kennedy, and had a pretty blonde wife and 2 pretty blonde daughters. Tom worked on Wall Street, and became a big shot and his wife found out he was tapping into talent at work -- they divorced. They had a black cat named Tabitha, after the girl on Bewitched, and while I was petting it scratched me and opened a gash on my forearm, forever planting in me a distrust and dislike of cats. To this day I avoid them.

Across the street, next to the Perotas were the Schonbergs, with a weird son who was a CPA and never left home. He bought the block's first Mercedes -- and told us all it cost $28K. My friends started calling him "28 Bonzo."

As I aged, my friends and I spent countless hours in my 12 x 15 room, listening to records and talking endlessly about life. Eric became a computer engineer in California, but not a wealthy one -- but still did well enough that he only works half a year and travels the rest. Mark also got an electronics degree and has worked for the same scanning company since the 80s. He married Rita, a classmate early who got sent to Catholic school later. Mike became a printer, and hurt his back in his early 30s -- been living off the fat of the state all these years. He fishes in the Great South Bay daily -- lives with his fellow bachelor brother Bobby, a retired FDNY guy, and they're like the Ed Norton movie "Brothers McMullen." And John, the smartest but without good grades, started at community college, caught fire academically, and ended up in the CIA, where he captured and interrogated Saddam Hussein and wrote a best seller about it. And, now they're making a movie about his book, and we all joke on FaceBook that he needs to be played by some dashing young actor, like Armie Hammer...

Years ago, we had neighbors who were Jamaican Chinese. They told us that they believed that houses have souls, and an owner must insure that whoever buys the house after them sells it to appropriate people. They gave our friends Mike and Loni a great price because they knew there'd be a fine family moving into a house that had brought much luck to them -- until Hurricane Andrew smashed it up.

Maybe they're right. If so, we sure sold to a great family, who got 4 decades of joy on Charles Lane. I hope the next stewards likewise find happiness.

My dream was to give the Ds the same security in a home I had. We moved to Villa Wifey when they were 12 and 9.   This house has always meant sanctuary to them, wherever in life they have roamed. It's a lovely thing, I think.

So farewell, Charles Lane split level. And thanks for the memories...

Lovely Memories

Sometimes just sitting around drinking coffee on a quiet Friday morning, your brain can treat you to a pleasant memory. It happened to me today.

For some, or no particular reason, as Forrest Gump would say, I got a vision of a little guy named Vinnie. He was really short -- probably just over 5 feet, and I worked with him during the summer of '81.

I was home from UM, and still pre med, and had applied to work at the nearest hospital, which was Boca Raton. At first there were no openings, and I accepted a job at the newly opening Bennigan's on Federal Highway. I was going to be a host -- I went to two training sessions, and learned the Bennigan's birthday song, which remains embedded in my brain to this day. But the day before I was to start, Boca Hospital called -- they DID have an opening -- so I called Bennigans and begged off.

They put me in the pharmacy, and I met some great and colorful characters. The pharmacists were all Gators, and we kidded each other about our football rivalry. And the techs, like me, were undergrads -- I was the only Cane -- most of the rest went to FAU which they called "Find Another University."

Vinnie and I worked side by side. He appreciated that I would happily reach the higher shelves for him, and never take shots at his diminutive size.  Among the men there was good natured busting of balls -- they loved talking to me in the Yiddish accent of many of the old patients, as I was the only young Jew -- but I could tell right away Vinnie was sensitive about his height, and I kept that out of the game.

We'd all get together at apartments the staff had rented, and one night Vinnie hosted a party. There were a lot of beers, and some weed, and then Vinnie took out an old Martin guitar. He sang -- he had an amazing voice, and was very talented. And his favorite band to cover was Aztec Two-Step, an acoustic duo from his native Boston.

Everyone listened, and raptly so. Vinnie was good. He'd also play stuff more familiar to us, like Neil Young, and we'd sing along. These were lovely get togethers, and a delightful summer for me.

My college friend Vince, also Italian, hosted an epic July 4th party, and many of my co workers made the trek from Palm Beach County. Vince lived in North Miami , and the Boca folks thought it was a big deal to go to tough Miami. In fact, it was rough then -- we had just had the McDuffie riots, and were dealing with the Mariel Boat lift.

I can't recall if Vinnie came to that party -- I don't think he did.

The Summer ended, and we all moved on.  My life would change radically the following summer -- Dad died. By then, I was no longer pre med, and my summer job was a salesman at Jordan Marsh in the Town Center Mall.

I sort of slept walked through my senior year, and at the beginning of the summer of '83 Boca Hospital called -- would I come back and be a tech again? I would -- the pay was great, especially compared to Jordan Marsh, and I wanted to save some money for law school, which would begin that September.

Vinnie wasn't there, though. One of the other techs said he had moved back to Boston.  I never heard from or saw Vinnie again. 

I hope he's fine, and had a good life. I also hope he still shares his music -- maybe by now with grown kids and even grandkids.

All I know is, the memory of his playing brought me warmth today -- in my mind, I guess I went back to Boca...

Getting Fit to Get Fit

For those who don't exercise, which describes me most of the time, few topics are as insufferable as the exercise habits and routines of others. So today I shall describe my situation.


In the Spring, the Ds had an intervention with Wifey and me. They tearfully begged us to get in shape, and reminded us that round was not the correct shape. They knew well how my beloved Dad died at 63, and wanted to avoid that. I felt like Sally Field at the Oscars: they really, really LIKE me.

The message resonated with me. I joined a gym. Wifey is refractory. She's so afraid of her bad back rearing its ugly head, that she hasn't succumbed to the intervention.

So I joined, and Enrique has become my guru. I really dig him -- he's a quiet but smart young guy. He lets me talk a lot, but always leads me back to the routine. 

Today, we realized I was nearing the end of the first phase: I was nearly fit to get fit. That is, I can handle a full, strenuous workout -- both cardio and strength. I have walked up the equivalent of 100 flights of stairs. I did 30 real pushups. I sweat like the proverbial pig, and don't run away from it.

I tried running on the treadmill, but that led to a lot of knee pain. So no more running for this still 50 lbs too heavy 57 year old. We stick to fast walking and bike.  I plan to start swimming soon, too -- might as well use the long pool the house's builder designed for laps. The dogs enjoy the company outside.

So I plan to keep it up.  I notice that even walking around Brickell, I'm not winded like I used to be. When I park kind of far from the tailgate party, I don't sigh and curse like I would have last year -- I just hoof it more.

As the weather cools, I'll power walk more around my 'hood -- and maybe bike, too. D2 is coming for Thanksgiving -- last year we spent a beautiful day riding to Deering Estate, drinking coffee at the nearby Starbucks, and figuring out life. I want to do that again.

So I plan to continue sweating, for now. There's lots to savor in this life -- might as well try to stick around as long as I can...

Is That A Hint Of Less Humidity?

So it's October, and still hot and humid as hell. This is the time of year where I'm ready for some cooler temperatures. I almost felt the smallest of breezes at lunch today, as we walked to the cafeteria in the next building. I checked my phone thermometer -- it was 85, and "felt like" 92. Yesterday the "felt like" value was high 90s -- maybe there is a change in the air.

Wifey is making plans to head out of the heat. She's heading to Atlanta on the 15th for three days with bff Edna, and then Elizabeth will join them, from Orlando. The three ladies will then drive to western North Carolina for some leaf peeping. I will watch the dogs.

It seems that about every fifth year, there is lovely weather around Halloween. After Hurricane Wilma, in '04, it was lovely. We were without power for awhile, and the sleeping sans A/C was just fine. I'm guessing we won't get that this year.

Wifey is due home on the 25th, and then we leave the next day for LGA. D1 and Joey will go before us, to stay with D2 and Jonathan, and I'll fetch everyone and drive up to the Hudson River Valley. We booked a family trip to Mohonk Mountain House, a resort I've been to and loved. There'll be hiking, and eating, and drinking, and time on the huge porch rocking chairs for some Fall reading.  I guess I'll get my cooler weather then.

Mean time, the tree trimmers are hard at work. Every two years or so they come for a few days and cut back the growth -- I like to keep stuff from our roof, lest animals find a way into the attic. Also, the pool man appreciates when the oak stops dropping many leaves into the pool.  It's the joy of homeownership...

Big game week for the Canes -- we play FSU Saturday afternoon. The Canes are heavily favored, but somehow those games are always close. Mirta is due over Saturday at 11, and we'll head to the stadium early for a major tailgate party. Paul's boy Alex is turning 40, and we plan to celebrate that major milestone there. A Canes victory would be nice, too...

So Fall is here in the Tropics. It's a nice time -- the cooler temps will come and make it it better...

Two Funerals, No Weddings

So D1 came to our local rich, reform synagogue and attended the memorial service of Dr. Michael. We spoke later in the day -- she said it was so horrible, she didn't want to talk about it. Some of her close friends flew in from California and Chicago -- to support the doc's daughter Caroline. I'm guessing that seeing the loss of a father hit too close to home for D1. I get it.

Meanwhile, Wifey and I drove to the Palace, and Wifey helped my suegra get ready. She typed out "Lou died -- we're going to his funeral" and Rachel understood, at first. She peppered us with questions -- her short term memory is mostly gone. But we wrestled her still sizeable body into the car, the wheelchair fought me going into the trunk, but I won..and we were off.

I so rarely drive to Broward anymore, but this trip was to a cemetery off Sheridan -- where our friend Edna's father was buried a few months back. We were early, and I stopped for gas. My mother in law awoke, and bellowed that she needed the bathroom. So Wifey took her. This turned out to be a mistake.

The walk through the convenience store knocked the old lady out. She slumped, dramatically, next to a car parked next to mine, "unable" to get back into our vehicle. I grabbed her and led her in. Miraculously, she perked up again as we drove to the cemetery. But Wifey and I concluded she probably didn't need to leave the Palace in the future. She's fine in the wheelchair -- any walking at all is too much for her and us.

I unloaded her, and we went inside. Lou's family was gathered. His widow Sally came over in her walker and greeted us. My mother in law didn't recognize her sister in law, and didn't hide her disgust when we told her it was Sally.

Inside the chapel, she started loudly explaining how old and terrible Sally looked, and we shushed her. My mother in law thinks she and her contemporaries have frozen in time in their 60s or 70s. They have not.

Lou was 95, and his sons and 2 grandkids spoke lovingly about him. The rental rabbi was the same one who had performed Edna's father's service, and the guy has skills. He did a great job speaking lovingly about men he had never met. I was impressed -- I complimented him afterwards.

The coffin was no plain pine box -- it was a piece of polished furniture befitting a carpenter like Lou. The coffin was wheeled to a mausoleum -- the industrialist Victor Posner had a prominent place, so I knew this was an expensive piece of final real estate. The elevated Lou to the third floor, and pushed in the coffin. I noticed the space was left for another coffin. I could tell Sally was thinking the same thing.

We drove to Sally's condo for a shiva. I caught up with Lou's boys Mark and Sandy -- two great guys I always liked a lot. Mark has three awesome sons and they were there, with Sandy's son and twin girls.

All 5 kids are terrific -- loving, accomplished, wonderful young people.

As Sandy said about his father, many people say they had a tough life, but compared to Lou, they're minor league sufferers. Lou made it though the Holocaust.  But he built a loving family, and the grandkids are the proof.

So no, no tears for a 95 year old who lived such a wonderful life.  Wifey and I came home repeating my favorite Lou story -- one I wasn't present for.

Barry went to a Barnes and Noble in the late 90s. At the cafe, he saw my father in law Richard loudly arguing with another older guy. They were gesticulating wildly, and Barry went into protective mode -- he used to be a bouncer at the UM Rathskellar, and he was remembering the technique for breaking up a fight without getting hurt yourself. He figured my father in law and the smaller, wiry man were about to come to blows. He went in...

No, my father in law explained, this was his brother Lou!  They were just debating some point -- probably the name of some long dead person from Lodz, Poland. The loud talking and gesturing was just how they spoke.

RIP, Lou -- a life well lived.