So That's A Wrap on the First 2 Decades of the 21st Century

Wow -- THAT was fast. The first  2 decades of the 21st century just really flew by. Satchel Paige advised to never look back, since something might be gaining on you, but I can't help it. A lot has gone down. 

Ten years ago, D1 was a senior in college, and D2 a senior in high school, at the end of the 21st century's first decade.  We would get to attend graduations from Palmetto High and UF in Gainesville in May of '10. D1 would move home to Miami to start her grad studies at FIU, and D2 would follow her sister's path to UF.

Now, D1 and Joey have been married over 2 years, and D2 and Jonathan will stand under the chuppah later this month. My Ds have selected outstanding men. Wifey and I feel our cup hath runneth over...

I was still a full time lawyer back in '09, paying a staff and paying rent. Now, 10 years later, I still consult in the law business, but put on a suit and tie exactly twice during the last year. It's just the way I want it.

I still took on a great deal of tensosity, to use the neologism of my late friend Alan, of the law practice. I plan to shed a great deal of that in the coming year. Often I was the only schmuck in the office -- and my Daddy didn't raise a schmuck. So I will follow the advice of the movie "Frozen," which I never saw, but know has a song called "Let it Go."

And maybe a new opportunity will pop up. I'm still waiting to be asked to be the host at an upscale restaurant. Or maybe fill in as a local tour guide.

Just this past Sunday, Mirta and I were attending the King Mango Strut in the Grove, and having lunch at a nice cafe. At the next table there was a stunningly attractive Dutch couple. The young woman asked what was happening in the street. Mirta told her "You asked the right guy," and I proceeded to share the history of the parody parade, and the fact that the object of its parody, the stiff King Orange Parade, was long ago consigned to the dustbin of history...It occurred to me I really DO enjoy that stuff...

Wifey also needs some new focus. 10 years ago, her parents were still living independently, more or less, in Pembroke Pines. He father has since passed, and her mother just turned 95 -- now living in the Palace. Wifey was an awesome caregiver and case manager, but now has her mother well situated for the final years...

I have a feeling that this coming year, Wifey will have a new purpose, and she will soar in it...

10 years ago, my mother Sunny was alive and living in Kings Point, in Delray. She had stopped driving, at 89, and that coincided with a slow descent. In 2012, she had her final fall at home, and her doctor, who happens to be one of my closest friends, said her blood chemistry showed she was in near starvation mode. Despite her claims that she was fine -- she wasn't eating.

So -- it was no more monkeys jumping on the bed -- and I moved her to Miami Jewish home in May of '12. I had D2 with me -- returning home from UF, and I placed her Grandma into the front seat of her car (I had flown to GNV to drive home with her) while we drove from Delray Hospital to Miami Jewish. 

My Mom fell into a very deep sleep, as D2 napped in the back. I thought to myself that maybe Sunny had died -- and I had therefore visited upon my daughter the same awful thing I went through with my father. But, thankfully, Sunny was just sleeping, and we got her situated into her final home.

Sunny had a nice final 11 months. I would visit and take her to the gazebo under the ancient and huge oak trees, and buy her an ice cream chipwich, which she said was the most delicious ice cream she had ever eaten. We celebrated her 93rd birthday on April 13, 2013, with 2/3 of her children and 3/6 of her grandkids in attendance. She would die 2 weeks later, on April 27, 2013, peacefully, in her sleep.

I still clearly remember thinking the year 2000 was THE FUTURE. My Dad corrected me -- I would be younger than 40 when it came. And now -- 19 years of that new millennium have passed.

So here's to a great 2020. 20/20 is, of course, perfect vision. I know we won't have that -- nationally we're more divided than ever. 

But I hope for those closest to me, there is only great health and laughter. And some more shekels would be nice, too.

I am certain there will be uncertainty.  Dr. Barry and I were just waxing philosophic on the phone last night -- about his wonderful son, Scott. Scott is a journalist in D.C. He would like to clearly plan out the coming decade of his life. Barry told him that simply doesn't work. We plan and the Big Man laughs.

A life can truly only be understood looking backwards. What if...I had moved to another city? Married someone else? Done better in Organic Chemistry and stayed on a different career path?

All I know is, I have savored each day, and plan to do so in 2020. Feliz ano nuevo. I wish I knew how to hit the enyay key -- I just wished a happy new anus.

So instead, I'll just type it regular style: happy new year!

Confederacy of Distinguished Gentlemen

So my nephew of another mister, Scott, is in town, and turned 23 the day post Xmas. He's headed back to D.C. tomorrow, and I wanted to celebrate his birthday. Fortunately, he and his Dad, Norman, and Kenny and his fine second son Nathan were all available. Scott's brother Josh, who badly wished to attend, had to work -- he's in retail part time, and this IS the season...

I suggested Kon Chau, and old school dim sum place in Westchester. Westchester is in West Miami, and the local Cubans pronounce it Weh Chest AAAA. For years, I thought they were referring to some Indian village out in the Glades...

But Kon Chau has been there a long time, and still has the same formica tables and old carpet. As a result, many of the lady folk prefer to avoid it. Norman's wife Deb was there once and said she'd never go again. But for aesthetically challenged guys who just want dim sum -- it's the place to be.

I've only been at dinner time, and while usually crowded, is never packed. Today, at noon, there were people waiting to get in -- many of them Chinese -- a great sign for a dim sum place. We waited about 10 minutes.

We feasted. It was terrific. Nathan is finishing his senior year at Swarthmore, and will have a pick of jobs waiting for him -- he's studying Engineering. Scott is living in D.C. and working in radio journalism -- with a lovely girlfriend, Samantha, in the same field.

Norman, Barry, and I are at the enviable stage of life where our kids are all grown. I'm the only one with married kids, or 1/2 of them for the time being, but I have a feeling Scott will join that club sooner than later...

After lunch, we drove a mile East, to a new craft brewery called Unseen Creatures. As Wynwood has gotten too expensive, the warehouse district off Bird Road, East of the Palmetto, has developed an arts district -- a few breweries , and some galleries.

We got a table, got some stouts and IPAs, and toasted again.  I didn't want to talk too long, but wanted Nathan and Scott to get a crucial message:  you really need to go through this journey called life with dear friends.

I met Kenny when we were 12, Barry when I was 19, and Norman when I was 22. We're all amazingly blessed -- and we love it when the other guy soars ever higher.

Years ago, my dear Rabbi friend Yossi taught that is the true measure of friendship. Most people say a good friend is one who is there for you when you're down. No -- that's a decent person. A real friend is truly happy when you soar -- the way you feel when your kids do better than you. And these guys all fit that bill.

We said our goodbyes. Norman's wife is out of the country, and Norman has been catching up with work and watching football. Tonight he's off with his youngest, Ben, to watch the Panthers. Kenny and Nathan were dining with their main woman -- Joelle -- and Barry and Scott were hosting Barry's mom, sister, and brother in law for a birthday/adios Scott dinner.

I'm home with a quiet night with Wifey and the dogs.  I'm trying to convince D2 and Jonathan to attend the King Mango Strut in the Grove -- and invite me along!  If not -- there's plenty of football to watch.

So I'm blessed to share time with this fine confederacy...not a dunce in the group.

Someone to Watch Over

So I really don't like stuff, but over the years get sucked into the idea that I SHOULD have some nice stuff. An exception, of course, is our big ass house. I REALLY like this place -- daily waking up to fetch the paper, under a tropical canopy, and thinking some older, richer neighbor is going to say "Hey kid -- what do you think you're doing here? Get out!"

I've always sort of liked watches, since they have a function, and look really cool. For years, I wore the Seiko my father's company gave him when he retired. It was nothing much -- not gold or anything, but it was his, and when he died it let me think of him each time I checked the time. But in the early aughts, it started to get some green corrosion spots on its side, and really wasn't appropriate to wear in Court, or with clients.

Around that time, my partner's friend, now passed on, needed an emergency loan from us, to get sprung from jail because of a Vegas gambling debt. Really. We loaned him the money, and Tony Soprano-like, Paul ordered him to take off his gold Omega, and hand it to me, as collateral. He did, and I wore the thing for the several months it took Alan to pay us back. When the debt was satisfied, I went to a local jeweler and bought myself a thin, gold Omega for about $3K, and wore it.

After she finished grad school, D1 mentioned that she always liked the watch, and the style was for women now to wear men's watches. That's all it took -- the Omega became D1's -- and I bought myself a used Tag stainless steel job for about $400. It became my every day watch...

Then, about 10 years ago, another watch came into my life. My friend Joel was sitting at his desk one day with a big, clunky Breitling. Turns out he had found it at the lawyers' locker at the Criminal Court -- probably left there by an out of town lawyer visiting a client, who forgot to retrieve it before leaving the building. Joel told the CO he would hold it, and to report if anyone claimed it. No one did, and it became Joel's.  I mentioned I liked it -- Joel handed it to me and said it was mine -- he already had truly exquisite watches from Colombian drug dealer clients. I thanked Joel, and bought him a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue to say thanks. I wore the big, clunky Breitling, and even researched it -- it was made between '95-'97 and was a Navitimer. It sold online for about $3K.

About 5 years ago, the firm made a nice hit or two, and I noticed another lawyer wearing a watch that got my attention -- a blue faced Rolex, that was half gold and half steel. Wifey and the Ds hit me with "You never buy anything for yourself," and so Andy, a realtor and part time watch dealer I know, came over. He had the model I liked -- used, of course. I paid about $4K for it, and I wore it sometimes, but it usually slept, along with the Breitling, in an electric watch winder I was told to buy. You need to keep self winding watches active, it turns out...

Well, this year I got a Chanukah inspiration. I decided to give away my good watches to my sons in law, Joey and Jonathan. The problem was -- the Rolex is worth at least 5 times what the Breitling is. But D1 solved it -- Joey cares far less about watches than Jonathan. Jonathan ought to get the Rolex. And last night he did.

We met at D2 and Jonathan's place, and lit the menorah, and had some cocktails. I gave Jonathan the Rolex. Well -- he really was taken aback -- it was the nicest gift anyone ever gave him -- except for D2, he quickly corrected. I was so happy. He really appreciates it. I appreciate how he cares for my precious D2.

I FaceTimed with Joey, and showed him the Breitling. He'll get it later this Chanukah.

The watch winder can have Wifey's Cartier. She wanted the exact same watch as her BFF Edna, and I bought it for her online. She rarely wears it, and I told her it needs to be kept active, too - and so into the winder. Wifey likes having a nice watch, which is fine. Someday it'll go to the Ds, anyway.

It's a cliche, of course, but definitely applies to me: giving is far superior to receiving. I want to experiences. The stuff -- well, not for me.

And now I gave some nice watches to the men who watch over my Ds. What could be better than that?

One of My Better Ideas

Young people are adventurous. They do funny, silly things those of us of more advanced age are reluctant to try. I just had a nice memory of that -- courtesy of one of Wifey's birthday FaceBook posts.

Today is her (          ) birthday! She has asked that I refrain from mentioning the number anymore, or even bringing up references to it, like the fact that when she was born in Israel, Eisenhower was president of the US...I was born under Camelot...

Anyway, my old Moot Court partner Donna shared a photo Wifey had posted -- of my groomsmen and I crashing Wifey's bridal shower. Looking back, it was one of the better ideas I ever had.

It was the Sunday before Christmas of '86. I got the idea a few weeks before, and asked Eric, Mike, Jeff, and Mark to dress in drag and go crash the shower -- held at Victoria Station, a restaurant in Dadeland Mall. Barry got a pass - he was at UF Med School, and couldn't make it back from Gainesville to participate.

The prep work was hilarious. Mike and I, newly minted lawyers in Downtown Miami, walked to McCrory's one lunchtime. We asked where ladies underwear was sold. An older Cuban saleswoman was on duty, and I said that Mike and I were looking for pantyhose and bras. Without changing her expression, she said in a classic Spanglish accent: "Oh -- you need Queen Size."  Mike and I bought our supplies, and wondered how many straight looking guys in gray suits come in and ask for bras and pantyhose for themselves. We reminded ourselves we DID live in Miami. Probably more guys than we cared to think about.

I told Donna about my plans, and she lent me her shirt from college, which said "A Wellesley Woman is MORE than Just a Woman." It was perfect.

Wifey left for the shower, and my boys came over, ostensibly to watch football. Instead, like a drag show, we got into our duds. Eric had a dress his Mom wore in the 50s. For reasons I still don't understand, Mark put on all the women's clothes, but refused to wear a wig. He's since become a very successful neurosurgeon on Long Island. He's completely bald. He could have used the wig.

I thought Mike, Jeff, and I were fairly attractive as women. Eric -- not so much. Together, we were all hilarious.

We drove to Dadeland, getting horn honks from passing cars. We played it up -- like Lou Jacoby's character in "Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex."

We parked, and made our way through the packed mall. Some people doubled over in laughter. One guy slipped me a piece of paper with his phone number. Pig!

We went to the outside courtyard of the packed restaurant, and here another very funny thing happened. There were three groups of guests: Wifey's friends, my mother's friends, and my mother in law's friends. The American groups got it immediately, and some laughed so hard they peed their pants.

My mother in law's friends had never met me or my friends, and thought we were truly transvestites. They started chatting nervously and rapidly in Yiddish -- "Oy -- this is who she is marrying???? I knew he was a LOI-YEAH, but a faygellah, too?"

We stayed a bit, toasted Wifey and her bridesmaids, and made a retreat -- back to my house, on SW 125 Terrace, where we did in fact watch football.

It was a wonderful stunt, and Wifey loved it.  And all these years later, this "more than just a Wellesley woman" gets to celebrate Wifey's birthday -- headed out later to the Grove for cocktails with D2 and Jonathan, and then to a Greek place on Main Highway, open at Christmas, luckily.

And in 9 days, Wifey and I will celebrate our 33rd wedding anniversary. No drag this year, though.

They Said There'd Be Snow This Christmas

And so this is Christmas (Eve) and what have you done?  Even though I'm not Christian, the holiday brings back so many memories.

The earliest ones I have are of my parents lighting a menorah, and placing an electric one in the window, but seeing the far brighter and more colorful Christmas lights some of our neighbors had, and asking about that. I got a simple answer: "We're Jewish and we celebrate Chanukah, but our Christian friends celebrate Christmas." I'd get a nice gift, but it always seemed Christmas was much more of a big deal.

In grade school, all the decorations were Christmas ones, and the songs we sang in chorus had no Chanukah tunes, even though I guess my school was about 1/4 Jewish. My friend Eric Grossman's father Buddy and MY Dad went to see the school principal -- a man with a name straight out of Dickens -- Vernon M. Gridley.

Mr. Gridley always looked like Eisenhower to me, but in a more skinny and Caspar Milquetoast sort of way. Mr. G and my Dad said he sort of stuttered that he was just continuing the way things always were, and coughed, but the Jewish WW II and Korean War vet said it was time for a change -- it was the late 60s!  Sure enough, there were a few paper menorahs up the next week, and the chorus director added a Chanukah song or two, though we all realized, even as kids, that the Christmas songs were much better. My Dad comforted me with the understanding that all good Christmas music was written by Jews.

Later, my sister dated and then married an Irish Catholic guy, and Christmas was a holiday we spent at his parents' house. There was a HUGE pile of gifts under the tree, and always a small one for me. My Mom tried to explain it away, saying that "Every day is like Christmas for you -- you get what you want no matter the time of year."  I knew she was right, of course, but still had some envy for the kids who got to open all those boxes and put together all those new toys...

When I was a teen, I became close with a girl named Debbie, whose Dad was Italian, and Mom was Irish. Debbie was just like Virginia in the Billy Joel song. He paternal grandparents were right out of a Scorcese movie -- in a positive way. They had a lovely Christmas Eve, and I was always invited to the amazing feast of fish and cold cuts, before the family left for Midnight Mass. I went with them one year, and fell asleep. Debbie nudged me awake. Served her right for bringing an infidel to St. James...

We moved to Florida the day after I graduated high school, and I was always home with my parents in Delray for the holidays. My Mom's family always went out for dinner Christmas -- a large group of older Jews looking for an open restaurant. The place always had a salad bar, and I was the youngest one there.  Years later, when SNL came out with a great claymation skit, "Christmastime for the Jews," it resonated with me.

And then, in '83, I met Wifey, who was born on Christmas Day. It was also her parents' anniversary -- my in laws were married after the War in Haifa -- Christmas was just another day there. Wifey would pout, still does, if there was no birthday card, so each year I'd have to remember to buy one BEFORE her birthday -- back in the day, wasn't nothing open on Xmas Day.

The Ds came around, and for years we'd go to my sister and brother in law's for the day. My sister, a Bronx born Jewess, out Christmased EVERY Christian I knew. I suspected this, and it was confirmed one year by my friend Darriel, who grew up VERY Polish Catholic, to a mother who decorated for the holiday in the Keys, where they lived. Darriel was a guest at a huge Christmas party my sister and brother in law hosted. Darriel said they NEVER had two trees, and various Christmas scenes like my sister did.

When the Ds got older, Wifey put her foot down, and said enough with the Christmas thing -- it was her birthday, and she wanted to spend the day with her family seeing a movie, and eating Chinese food -- like most Jews do.

One year, we went away, to Atlantis in the Bahamas. D2 was 8 or so, and years later, when we went again following her graduation from high school, she admitted that on the first visit, she thought it was the REAL Atlantis -- rescued from the sea. We still find that unbelievably cute

This year, D2 and Jonathan are back home in Miami permanently. I think tomorrow night we're going for dinner at a Greek place in the Grove that's open. Wifey will read the emails she treasures from her Ds and me. Actually, I typed and printed hers out -- we got a new computer yesterday,and I wanted to give the printer a test run...

2019 draws to a close. I think we're staying in for New Year's this time around -- the better to rest up for the coming big, fat, Venezuelan wedding at the end of January.

And to all who celebrate Noche Buena y Navidad -- may it be a happy one.

The Tribe

So D2 and Jonathan are back from NYC, and yesterday we met up in Shorecrest, at D1 and Joey's house. We all just sat around, and talked. It was exquisite.

I had an "evil plan" regarding the Ds -- wanting them very much to settle in Miami after college. I strongly encouraged them to attend UF -- knowing just about no one stays there after college,and figuring they'd likely meet South Florida guys.

Well -- it worked, but circuitously. D1 came home for grad school, and ended up with her besheret -- Joey, who was a UM grad. Joey's wonderful and loving family all lives here -- so check, regarding my first born.

My plan worked VERY well for D2 -- her college boyfriend, now fiance, graduated high school in Miami Dade -- but then the two Master grads moved to NYC, to begin their careers. I thought we'd lose them to the Big Apple for at least a decade, but then fate and the Big Man smiled sooner than expected -- they moved home last Fall.

And yesterday was just a lovely example of the togetherness I so savor -- the Ds are so close, and their men, from similar, Latin Jewish backgrounds, also have a LOT in common. Jonathan loves basketball, while Joey is a soccer and golf man -- that's ok.

Jonathan announced he was going to this year's Orange Bowl, with a lot of his Gator friends. D2 doesn't much care for football anymore.  I encouraged her to go -- it's a blast to tailgate. Jonathan suggested maybe I take D2's ticket -- I told him he didn't want me going and cheering against the Gators, which is reflexive for me...

So 2019 draws to a close. Tonight is the first night of Chanukah. I already installed the old electric menorah in the window. Probably one of the nights, we'll go back to D1's and light an actual menorah.

Wifey's birthday is Xmas Day -- not sure if we're doing the annual movie day. She always jokes that I'm a great husband and romantic -- I'd be great regardless of who I married. So I found her a mug and ordered it. It says "Dear Wifey . I'm glad you're my wife. If I had a different wife, I'd punch her in the face and go find you."  Wifey is actually looking forward to receiving this gift...

Her REAL gift (in other words expensive) was the Madonna concert. Oh well. I'll do better next year.

All I know is, I'm most thankful for our tribe. And I hope and pray for a wonderful 2020 -- the year of clear vision.

If something is better than that...I don't know what it is.

And This One Time, At Band Camp...

My beloved late father left me many wonderful gifts -- looks, smarter than the average bear intelligence, and a very unusual and rapier sense of humor. He also left me a rather unpleasant, though funny inheritance: very bad hemorrhoids.

I remember them being an issue for him always -- memories of him in a sitz bath for relief, and a house never without tubes of Preparation H.  One time, when my now ex-nephew was a small boy, we were driving, and my father was complaining about his condition -- he had one "the size of a golf ball." The little boy hear this, and started to laugh -- his grandpa had a golf ball in his tuches.  Later on, my Dad reached back, and took out a random golf ball from his pants, as if it were a 'rroid. Hilarity ensued...

So I have had them since my late 20s, though typically of the bleeding, and not painful variety. Like me, the Ds have memories of being told by Wifey that "Daddy has his period again," whenever there would be red stained pants or shorts. I RARELY if eve wear light colored pants for this reason -- especially after a vacation with Wifey when we returned from a tour of Ephesus and my tan shorts had a red bull's eye on the back...

About 20 years ago, I saw a colon surgeon, a Venezuelan Jewish guy named Marcos, whose parents are friends with my future son in law's parents. Nice we have this in common. Dr. Marcos said I could have surgery, but I opted out. My father had had a hemorrhoidectomy when he was in his 30s, and said it was awful. Any time I spoke to a surgeon -- they said the same thing: avoid the surgery if you possibly can -- it "cures" the problem, but it comes back, and the surgery is miserable.

So I told Dr. Marcos no thanks, but he said there was an alternative: banding. He places a rubber band around the base of the 'rrhoid, it dies from lack of blood supply, and passes silently away. I decided to join band camp, and I was a happy camper -- I had no symptoms for about 5 years.

I went back to Dr. Marcos, and he had bad news: my condition had progressed beyond allowing me back into band camp -- he said, in his elegantly accented English, "If I try a band, you will hit the ceiling."  No problem, I said -- just back slowly away from my backside, and we'll stat friendly.

And that was it. I deal with the issue, and it's tolerable, but recently I read there's a new form of Band Camp -- the O'Regan method. Apparently they've developed a new tool that allows banding for even worse 'rrhoids. Maybe I would be a candidate for this.

Turns out only 4 or 5 docs in Miami -Dade do the procedure. I chose on online -- a Dr. Shah, who went to Northwestern Med School, Wash U for Residency, and the U for Fellowship. I figured that was more than elite training for my tuches.

I called to make an appointment, and his NY Rican sounding scheduler at first said no. I was already a patient of GastroHealth, and they didn't allow "doctor switching." I had to patiently explain, though she kept cutting me off, that Dr. Neil is my REGULAR GI, but he doesn't do banding.

Finally, Jenny from the Block got it, and scheduled me for a visit. I saw him last Wednesday.

He was a very nice young man -- born and raised in Ft. Lauderdale. I told him my long, sad, tale of hemorrhoidal woe. He had me lie on my left side, and then his assistant. a young Cubana with one of those young Cubana names like Jesleiny, walked around to my front. I was a bit taken, um , a-front. But she reached across my belly, the better to get leverage as she lifted my right butt cheek. It all made sense.

Dr. Shah began his exploration. Was there sharp pain? There was not -- just a LOT of unpleasantness. I immediately regretted every time I told the joke about how life would be easier if I was a gay man. Not really...

After he finished with the anascope, the best named medical tool there is, he said indeed I WAS a candidate for new fangled Band Camp. But (butt?), alas, he only had one band -- someone had forgotten to order more. So he placed the band, which was painless, and told me I was all set -- come back January 22 and he would place three more -- and I should be fine for another few years.

I'm not running out to buy seersucker pants just yet -- though I always dug that look.  But at least it was a positive experience.

I was blessed to have an awesome week. And then, as if to automatically keep me on an even keel, the Big Man thought  I should have, quite literally, a substantial pain in the ass.  That's ok.

Band camp -- I'm here again.

Like A Sucker...

So Wifey's birthday is coming up 12/25, and a few months back I heard Madonna was doing a "residency" in Miami. Apparently, the superstar picked a few significant cities, and, rather than appearing in a stadium or arena, would play 7 or so nights at a more intimate theater. Wifey always liked Madonna, so I went online on Ticketmaster, and got into the electronic line.

It was a VERY hot ticket -- people coming from all over the world for these events. But I scored us some tickets, which, with Ticketmaster fees, neared $500 each.

My theory is I never buy stuff, so when I go for an experience, I happily pay top dollar. And so we were set for a show on a Wednesday night -- right in the middle of her "residency."

And then, the press started. First, she changed the start time from 8:30 until 10:30, since the 61 year old prefers to rehab her aging legs most of the day. And, reports came from LA that she really only started WELL after midnight. One guy even sued her and Ticketmaster in some class action -- claiming he bought a bunch of tickets, and now with the changed time, they were worth much less.

Also, reviews said her performance was an art piece -- she played one, or none, of her hits.

No problem -- I went back on the Ticketmaster site to sell the tickets -- listing them for what I paid. No takers. As the weeks came by, I reduced the price -- but the site never let me ask LESS than face value. So Wifey and I said -- let's just go.

So last night, we met a few other friends at D1 and Joey's place, and drove to the Beach. We got a good spot, and walked to Lincoln Road. The barkers for the restaurants were pretty aggressive, but we settled on one with a Mid Eastern flavor -- 7 Spices. It was pretty good, and they had burners on to fight the chill of the 65 degree evening. We drank. And ate. And laughed.

Then we walked across the New World Theater Sound Wall area -- we REALLY need to attend one of those -- the venue is splendid. And the Director, Michael Tilson Thomas, is now a Kennedy Center Honoree...

We got to the theater, and they took my cell phone. I actually like this new thing -- they put it in a soundproof canvas sack, and unlock it for you at the show's end. They did this on Broadway, too, when D2 and I recently saw a show. It forces you to be in the moment.

Our seats were, in fact, terrific. And the Diva came on at 11 pm -- not too bad.

It wasn't a pop concert. It was a true art performance -- James Baldwin's words flashed on a screen as a dancer played out getting shot -- like at a Parkland. Each song was amazingly choreagraphed.

She sang, and moved a bit, but never danced.

It reminded me of going to an Art Basel event -- I know it's deep and significant -- I just miss most of it.

There were a few songs I really liked -- like one she wrote with a Colombian guy about Medellin. But there was an extended vanity piece with her daughter dancing on a big screen. Yawn. Literally -- it was getting very late.

At one point, all 4 of us were asleep.

But not the rest of her true fans -- they were packed in, a very gay crowd, and stood most of the time, dancing and cheering.  Whatever.

We left around 1 -- even though there were some more songs coming. I did the old man thing and wanted to beat the traffic. I succeeded.

So --Wifey still enjoyed it. She slept the whole drive home. I wanted to. But I piloted the SUV back to quiet Pinecrest, and some dogs with surprised expressions -- we rarely come home after 2 am.

We're MOSTLY done with concerts for awhile. We saw Barbra, Paul McCartney, ELO, The Who, Hall and Oats, and the Stones. We also had a fun trip to Key West to see Hot Tuna.

I couldn't resist one final trip to see the classics before they, or we , die. And in February we're going up to Broward Arts to see Willie Nelson.

We actually opened that theater. I had clients who were friends with Bernadette Peters, the first performer there, and we got to go back stage and meet her and her friends Gloria and Emilio Estefan. It was a lovely night. We also saw John Fogarty there.

It's a nice venue -- less glitzy than the Miami theaters. So we'll make a night of it -- maybe dinner at Anthony's Runway first, and then to the show.

And that should be it for awhile...unless some Ticketmaster ad grabs me again. I've only seen Springsteen about 10 times...

Prickly People

So recently I offended two FaceBook (tm) "friends," which is more proof that the Ds are right -- I ought to get off FaceBook! But I enjoy catching up with old friends, and simply can't help myself when I see hypocrisy or other things that need to be called out.

The first example involves someone I'll call Cynthia, since that's her name. We went to law school together, and I didn't know her well, but she bore a striking resemblance to Wifey. In fact, a few times my friend Mike saw her and asked if Wifey were on campus for some reason. Well -- we lost touch after law school, and she friended me a few years back.

Best as I can tell, she never married, never had kids, and no longer practices law. After the incident where I was accused of being a bastard (I wasn't sufficiently liberal in something I wrote), Mike checked out our profile, and said she was a combination of Elizabeth Warren and a crazy cat lady. I no longer post on her page.

The second example is someone I'll call Donna, since that's her name. Donna is very smart, and was my moot court partner in school. She is also VERY liberal, and a stickler for things like grammar rules. In other words -- emblematic of her Wellesley education.

She is very much a populist, and hates elites, and sent both daughters to expensive private schools in Broward, and one is now at, I think, Wesleyan, the better to live the life of the oppressed people. Am I smarmy here?

Well yesterday, I posted Dave Barry's annual gift giving guide, and noticed Donna had shared it. Now -- when I share something from another's page, I always "like" it first, and often say I am stealing the item. Well -- Donna did neither -- just shared the Dave Barry article as if she had found it.

I pointed out this breach of etiquette, in, I thought, an overly formal, meant to be funny, manner. She reacted as if I accused her of being a Republican.  I told her I was kidding, and she, like Cynthia, was being sensitive. She said she was sensitive when something wasn't funny. Of course, this makes it even funnier to me.

Ah -- to have silliness like this --I'm a lucky dude.

Anyway -- last night Wifey and I drove across Old Cutler Road to Gables by the Sea -- her friend Nancy was hosting a party to watch the neighborhood boat parade. It's lovely -- only about 10 boats, but they cruise by with flashing lights and carolers.

Nancy and Wifey met in Mommy and Me -- D1 and her boy Victor were just a few months old. Now both are married -- and Victor is a lawyer in town.

I caught up with Ed -- a long time defense lawyer who defended some of my firm's cases. His youngest son, D2's age, now practices law with him. Ed is an old "Miamuh" guy -- very WASPy, and married to a Cubana. He loves the city like I do -- we shared a few out of the way sandwich places we each knew about.

Also there was a lovely young neighbor of Nancy's -- she is D1's age, and they know each other from Junior League.Haley started two local magazines, and is lovely. Her Dad is a radiologist at Baptist, and I texted Dr. Kenny about him. Sure enough -- Kenny was with her Dad at their group's holiday party. Miami is truly the smallest town/big city there is.

Later today, Wifey and I are headed to the Palace -- it's my ancient suegra's 95th birthday. Wifey is bringing her a cake -- we'll sit with her outside, in the gazebo, and reflect on a very, very long life. My mother in law is the definition of Survivor -- the Holocaust, the foundation of Israel, and now, the many decades of her life.

Thankfully, she's happy these days -- forgetting the pain and tough things she goes through . She had a fall recently, which required a few stitches at the ER. She has no recollection of it, but now requires bed rails to keep her from wandering during the night.

D2 and Jonathan are due in tonight from NYC. I offered DadBer, but Jonathan left a car at MIA. Friday we had dinner with D1 and Joey.

The Ds are right -- I have too much going on in real life to mess with FaceBook.  But the lure of chisme is just so strong...

Getting Rid of Stuff

So we're in the midst of a Wifey major redecorating job, and I learned an interesting lesson: it's not so easy to give stuff away!

Exhibit A is a huge wall unit Barry and I named the Great Wall of Wifey. We bought it in 2010, for what at the time seemed like a ton of money: over $6000.00. Wifey said it would be a "forever" piece, but it turns out forever is 9 years -- the thing had to go.  So Wifey asked everyone she knew on FaceBook, called all the local charities, and finally used an app called Pinecrest Marketplace. Turns out, no one wants large wall units any more.

Wifey's friend Maureen suggested a junk dealer. He came to the house, measured the Great Wall, and said he would take it away -- if we paid HIM $600! I told Wifey no way -- I would have the lawn guys schlep it first and pay them $100. But then our housekeeper Miriam said she would take it -- she has a family house in Nicaragua, and it needs furnishings. Miriam learned that one of these off brand shipping companies give you a half container from Miami to Managua for a total charge of $500! Miriam took the Great Wall, and next week the guys are coming back for a huge armoire, which we bought when D2 was a baby from our OB's wife -- she was closing up a baby clothing store in South Miami and we paid her $500 for the piece -- in furniture stores they were over $1000. Now, at least, it's being taken away for free.

It's funny -- our old dining room chairs also went to Nicaragua. Our painter Errico likewise has a house there -- and he shipped them, too. If I ever visit that Central American country, I guess I'll feel very much at home.

Wifey has promised the crazy clutter caused by the removal of the Great Wall is being addressed. Apparently she's moving the stuff from one area where we never saw it to another area where we'll never see it -- I thing under a staircase.

Yesterday I had breakfast with my friend Kenny. He said he and his wife had finished de-cluttering. He gave away most of his books, and told his boys they had 30 days to fetch any stuff they wished to keep -- of have shipped to their Maine house, if it had use there, like warm clothes. I actually had neatness envy. I yearn to live in a neat, orderly place.

Poor Wifey. She married a man who had very few cares -- everything rolled off my back. I've morphed into a cranky old guy who now has crazy demands -- like no clutter in his house. She has to deal with that sea change.

Next to go, for me, is my extensive CD collection. 50 of them are stored in a player -- I used to enjoy playing them throughout the house, on speakers in the living room and front porch. Apparently we're getting a new "sound bar," so adios to my old Bose subwoofer and surround sound speakers. That's ok -- time for a change -- the stuff was state of the art in 1998. I just hope I can learn how to use the new stuff coming -- or else my music enjoyment will be limited to my car.

With Miami traffic, I spend more and more time there, anyway...

Oil Change Adventure

So my boring but comfortable leased Lexus was due for it's final oil change. Final for me, anyway -- I turn the car in 8000 miles from now. I brought it to our local Firestone last month, and came back 3 hours later -- hadn't been done. The nice Indian manager apologized -- they had a "complicated order," as Bon Qui Qui used to say, and I told him I would come back another time. That time was this am.

I left the car at 7, and he promised it would be done by 9. I doubted him, but walked the few blocks to Roasters, one of my Pinecrest breakfast haunts, but one I had stopped attending, on account of the fact that you need to take out a home mortgage to pay for an omelette. It's as if they took NYC prices as a challenge, and tried to meet or exceed them, and the wealthy denizens of the surrounding 'hood took it as a sign of honor to pay them. Not me. But then, they started an early bird special -- 7-9:30 -- two eggs, oatmeal, bagel, and "free" coffee, for $7.99. That is reasonable, and I ordered my food, and the world weary waitress said she calls the special "Free Bird" since she loves Skynnerd, and I told her to watch the documentary "If I Leave Here Tomorrow," and it turned out she was from Jacksonville, and I told her I had a waitress in the Upper West Side of NYC from JVille last weekend, and she said, hilariously, that JVille is a leading exporter of trashy white women who become waitresses everywhere, and I told her she was clearly NOT trashy, and we laughed, and I gave her a 50 % tip.

And then I decided to take the Pinecrest FreeBee home, to continue to wait for my car. The FreeBee is a boondoggle that comes from "extra" tax money collected by Miami Dade County -- trying to encourage people to not drive their cars in car dependent Miami, and it is a free Uber pool-type service. I requested my ride, and 5 minutes later the 7 passenger electric golf cart pulled up. I was greeted with a hearty hello by Alvaro -- a young man with a Lenny Kravitz meets Queer Eye appearance.

We chatted as his music played -- a female singer I liked but couldn't identify. He told me it was Liz Phair. We started towards Villa Wifey, at most 10 minutes away, but then Alvaro said he had a pickup at the local Dairy Queen. The DQ is across US 1 from the MetroRail stop, and 4 nice ladies got in, happily chatting in Spanish.

Alvaro told me he was in FIU part time, seeking a career in the fashion industry. He said he wanted to do an internship, but had VERY specific requirements about what he would do as an intern -- "I mean, like, I'm not there to fetch coffee for people." I decided to have an "OK, Boomer" moment, and I told him about my partner Paul, whose first day on the job as a law clerk ended with his being handed a plunger, and being told to go unclog the toilet after a more senior lawyer had a copious bowel movement. Paul did it, as I would have, as low men on the Totem Pole.

I told Alvaro that the toilet plunging job made my partner a multi millionaire, with invaluable lessons learned, and amazing career experiences, and tons of money. So maybe be more flexible in your intern demands...

Alvaro didn't seem too interested. He started speaking to the ladies in Spanish. And then, to passively aggressively get back at me for being a pedantic old so and so -- proceeded to drop off each of the ladies ALL over Pinecrest.

When he finally pulled in front of my house, I saw the trip had taken 36 minutes.

Still, as I exited, I smiled. I was going into a big ass house I LIVED in. My fellow passengers were being dropped off to clean -- and then have to take the ride share back to MetroRail and Lord knows where to after that.

It's now 2.5 hours since I dropped off the car. That's ok -- my morning's lesson is how privileged I am to HAVE a car.  I'm about to go wake late sleeping Wifey, and tell her she has to pull a bit of WifeBer duty -- drive me back to 98th Street.

I think when Wifey's SUV is due for service, I'll go over to Jiffy Lube...

A Nice, Short Trip

So Wifey and I drove to the Grove and fetched D2, who had with her luggage suitable for a 5 month voyage at sea. D2 is amazingly awesome, but has one flaw: an inability to pack well. We got to MIA, and the helpful steward told us her bag was WAY overweight, and would cost $80 to send. He had her remove stuff from it, put it into her carry on, which became another checked bag, and, since I'm a AA Gold Member, the only additional charge was $20. D2 is going to look into therapy modalities after her wedding. Ha. It's really a good problem to have.

We jetted to LGA, still a Third World airport, and got an Uber to Greenwich Village. We left our bags, and walked to lunch. D2 picked a place with communal tables, and warned me against talking to our fellow diners, so of course I said "Hi -- I'm not allowed to talk to you, but hope you're enjoying your lunch." They were 2 young ladies, who clearly had similar embarrasing Dads, and they laughed.

We then walked around some more, checked in to the nice but tiny room, where I happily only tripped over D2's suitcase one time, and headed to dinner. We were joined by a friend of D2 and Jonathan -- and greatly enjoyed our time with him.

It was a clear, cold night, and I was in the mood to sit in front of a fire, listen to jazz, and maybe have an Irish coffee. The Walker had ALL those things -- a talented pianist and singer -- and D2 and I toasted our lives and families as the sultry singer sang Christmas tunes...especially the best ones, which were all written by Jews.

Sunday we Ubered up to the Upper West Side, and met Ali and Blake at a place called Jake's pickles. The place was PACKED with millennials, and the stray visiting parent, like me. After we ate, we walked back to Ali and Blake's apartment, on 79th Street, and greeted Professor, Ali's work partner at Sinai Children's Hospital. Professor was very happy to see D2 -- he lay his huge head in her lap and looked at her with his soulful eyes.

I took leave, and Ubered to Saks 5th Avenue -- the one really on 5th Avenue, and met my old friends Mark and Rita. I last saw them over 4 years ago, and we walked to the Rockefeller tree, and talked about our lives. Mark's Mom Grace died a few months back, and we talked about the dynamics of losing parents, and caring for them at the end. Their boy Joe is a 1L at St. John's, and hopes to become a patent lawyer. He has a nice girlfriend. Mark and Rita, like me, think life is grand.

Rita had us walk -- a LOT. We hoofed it all the way to Hudson Yards, the new luxury development on the Hudson at 34th Street. I was unimpressed -- it was a crappier version of Brickell City Centre. They have a "vessel," some artistic stairway you have to get a ticket to to walk up 14 stories and take selfies. I thought it was silly.

But we had a nice lunch at the Hudson Grille, talking of times going back to Mark and me in the 2nd grade. Mark never travels -- his last time on a plane was two decades ago. I invited them to Miami, as I always do. Rita said maybe she and Joe and his girlfriend would come to Key West in March, and stop to see us along the way.

I walked them back to Penn Station, and they LIRRed home to Suffolk.  Next -- I walked North to Times Square, and D2 found a nice place to meet -- the Lamb's Club, in 44th. It was an old hotel and restaurant, with a fireplace imported from France in 1904. It was delightful. They had carolers -- dressed like Victorian Brits, and wonderful harmony singers. They went table to table and sang requests.

I had two martinis, and asked for Adam Sandler's "Chanukah Song." They knew it, but it wasn't in their repertoire. Instead, D2 asked for "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," and they sang it so beautifully I thought of my Dad singing it to my Mom during WW II and got teary eyed..."...if the Fates allow..." I overtipped them, which D2 snitched to my family about, and Wifey reminded D2 that when I drink, I need to be reminded of boundaries...Whatever.

We then went to the Booth Theater, for "Freestyle Love Supreme." It was creative, and the performers very talented, but I'm a traditional guy and prefer a musical with a plot, characters, and great songs. My favorite is "Book of Mormon," which is anything BUT a traditional show, but the songs, like "I Believe," are Rogers and Hammerstein quality.  We did laugh , though, as a very stereotypical housewife from Merrick, LI, was the subject of the hip hop songs.

D2 thought we should walk back to the hotel, and we stopped for a late dinner of turkey burgers on the way. Back at the room, I saw I had walked 8 miles! I was pretty proud of myself.

Yesterday am we checked out of the Walker, in pissing rain, as the Brits say, and went to the Henri, the hotel D2 will stay in for her work week. We planned to just store bags, but the tough, NY Rican desk clerk said she had a room available. so we schlepped the bags there and went down for breakfast.

I said goodbye to D2, and she reminded me that, unlike our typical NYC goodbyes, she would be back home in Miami in a week. I still missed her.  I went to the room and napped, and read the Times. The weather was so awful, I decided to stay in, until I left at noon for East Elmhurst.

I met my cousin Steve at an old school Chinese place for lunch. He had some health issues recently, and we last saw each other years ago when he came off a cruise in Miami.

I was happy to see him doing pretty well despite the health issues -- he's 67, and has lived in Jackson Heights his entire life. After lunch, he drove me to LGA. The 1 mile trip took a half hour.

As I figured, the bad weather delayed my flight, so I went to the Centurion Lounge to hang. The plane left an hour late.

Wifey fetched me from MIA. I joked that Wife-ber was now a thing. We came home, and the dogs wanted to know all about Professor. I told them.

So it was a grand few days -- plenty of time for me in NYC late Fall, with cold and gray skies. I always say, NYC is the greatest city in the world, and I love to visit, but am very happy to not live there.

Off to NYC on Pearl Harbor Day

So we closed out a case at the office, and then D2 had a request -- would I stop by her place in the Grove, and fetch a jacket to take in my carry on? D2 is an amazing young woman, but maybe her clearest flaw (we should all have flaws as silly as this) is she simply cannot pack well. She's staying in NYC for 9 days, and is checking a bag, but STILL is short on space. So I came by, went up for some nice balcony time, and took the auxiliary coat -- to take up much of my carry on space -- which is fine, as I take LITTLE for a 2 night trip.

From there, I drove to the Gables to meet Norman and Barry for a men's night at Ruth's Chris -- we caught up nicely, and toasted the end of '19 and hopes for a great "year of clear vision -- 20/20."

And I only slept 3 hours -- which often happens the night before I travel. That's ok -- I won't be taking the controls of the 737 today.

It occurs to me I'm going to my family's ancestral homeland on Pearl Harbor Day -- really a Date that, while it lives in infamy, per FDR, is also the beginning of my family's history.

Dad was pushing dress carts on the Lower East Side, as he told me the tale, when the city stopped -- movie-like. Everyone listened to FDR on radios. Dad knew he would soon be drafted, and he was -- the coming April. While stationed in Pasadena, he married Mom, and she became pregnant with my oldest sister -- born in January of '45. Wait! I have a SISTER turning 75???? WTF?????

Anyway, that was the start of my nuclear family -- my younger sister came in June of '48, and I came a bit later, in July of '61. We were all born in NYC -- my sisters in The Bronx, and I in Queens.

D2 and Jonathan lived in the City for over 4 years -- always in Manhattan. D2 loved to dismiss Wifey and my NY experience as "B and T" -- Wifey was a bridge and tunnel person -- not a real NYC resident. For me -- I was a Long Island guy -- even LESS of a city guy.

Big Man and AA willing, D2 and I will be in the City by lunch time. We have no plans except dinner tonight. We're staying in Greenwich Village -- D2's old 'hood.

Sunday I may see my old friends Mark and Rita -- if they're willing to come into the City. And Sunday night D2 and I have tickets for a Broadway show.

Monday, we check out of our hotel, and D2 moves to another one -- right next to her office in the Flatiron District. Jonathan is due up Wednesday, and they can catch up with their friends and Jonathan's sister and brother in law.

I'm going to reach out to my cousin Steve, who lives in Jackson Heights, near LGA. If he's free Monday, maybe we can have lunch near his house. I haven't seen him in quite awhile -- since he visited Miami following a cruise.

But I plan to feel my Dad's spirit -- imagining him at 22 -- pushing the carts, singing out loud as he worked. His future was set by HIS tough, immigrant father -- staying at the same schmata company, and maybe working his way up. WW II changed all that -- my Dad returned to NYC and worked three jobs to support his growing family.  By the time I came, he had the luxury of a single job -- tri state salesman for Toscany, a giftware imported. The other day, I noticed a Toscany knit hat on my shelf -- some of the swag I have from that long closed company.

D2 is health conscious, and along with her sister is on a mission to keep me around, so our meals tend towards the lower cholesterol and lower carb. But I just may have one corned beef on rye -- Dad's favorite -- if the opportunity presents itself.

He's gone more than 37 years -- and I still miss him daily.

See you soon, NYC...

Some Folks Like To Get Away...

I haven't left the 305 in several months -- completely by choice. I really have no strong desire to travel away from the oasis I have been privileged to create for myself. Wifey feels differently -- and we have reached a nice accommodation -- she travels with her friends. She took a lovely Fall trip to Asheville with Edna and Elizabeth. I was happy to stay home with the dogs.

Tomorrow, I'm set to be, as John Denver sang, leavin' on a jet plane. D2 found out in October that her company wanted her back in NYC for a week in December -- including attendance at their holiday party. So I thought -- maybe I'll go with her the weekend leading into it -- and we can play NYC tourists at Holiday time -- something I always enjoy. Wifey begged off on account of the rough December weather -- she hates the cold -- especially cold rain often happening in NYC post T Day...

So the plan is, D2 and I will fly up tomorrow -- I'll stay until Monday -- and then Jonathan will join her there Wednesday, attend her holiday party with her, and then the two will catch up with NYC friends and Jonathan's sister and brother in law through the following Sunday.  D2 has a couple of dudes who really adore her...

We have no real plans for tomorrow -- but there WILL be some eating, of course. We're staying at the Walker Hotel in Greenwich Village -- D2 and Jonathan's old hood, and walking distance to D2's company. Poor D2 came down with a bad cold, as did Jonathan, but hopefully both are well on the mend and ready for a trip to the place they started their adult lives...

Sunday I may see some old LI friends -- Mark and Rita -- they're planning to come to the City for lunch. If I'm reluctant to travel -- Mark is the king of staying put -- I think, other than camping trips within a short drive, Mark hasn't left LI and NY state for decades.  Their boy Joe is a 1L now -- graduated SUNY with an Engineering degree -- and I look forward to hearing about his experiences in that forum.

And Sunday night -- we have tickets to see "Freestyle Love Supreme," a Broadway show by the Hamilton guy Miranda. It's on a short run -- just through January -- and D2's heard it's a lot of fun. She and I shared "Book of Mormon" when it first came out -- and still quote lyrics from the songs.

I told D2 we could see the Rockefeller Center tree -- she said that's what tourists do. I reminded her that she's a tourist now, too -- having reclaimed her tropical birthright.

Meanwhile, our house is upside down -- all boxes and piles of stuff -- as Wifey is still at the redecorating thing. The great wall of Wifey has been emptied.

The Great Wall of Wifey is the name Dr. Barry and I came up with 9 years ago, when Wifey insisted on buying it. We had a plain wall unit for the TV and stereo, and Wifey went to Blackwelders and ordered a semi custom, beautiful oak piece made up of 4 separate book cases/ storage areas. It cost over $9000, and Barry and I were taken aback at the cost, and so gave it the nickname. Wifey said it would be worth the money as the thing would last forever.

Well, forever turned into 9 years, as Wifey "Can't stand to look at it anymore." and is replacing it with some shelves and a desk a carpenter is building.  The problem is -- you can't even give away the Great Wall -- no charities take wall units, and Wifey's attempts on social media to give it away have failed.

Yesterday a "junk dealer" came by and said his company would haul it away for the modest sum of $600. I politely told Wifey that was NOT happening -- she could hire the lawn guys to schlep it away for $50 and let it become firewood down in Homestead.  Wifey can deal with this -- as well as her plaintive request "What should I do with all these photo albums now????" -- they had happily slept in the Great Wall of Wifey's storage shelves for 9 years and now sit piled up next to the make shift table where I insisted my desk top remain -- Carlos the computer guy sent an assistant to give me a temporary set up yesterday -- I have a feeling I'll be here for several months or so -- which is fine.

But tomorrow -- I leave the mess of my home for a nice, clean, ordered hotel room -- with D2.

Wifey very much wants to go to China. I have approximately zero desire to visit that country. Edna was going to take the trip with her, but Edna's husband Marc decided she wasn't allowed to go without him. So that's not in the cards.

So NYC for a few nights is plenty for me.  For now, at least...

Crunch, Crunch , Crunch

I really thought my life would follow the advice of a bumper sticker I saw years ago: Life Begins When The Kids Move Away and the Dog Dies. Nah -- wasn't to be. Wifey is far too dog -philic -- she's made it clear that having a dog or dogs is non negotiable. And so it is.

We currently have two: Vienna, a very strange looking rescue dog that is, as far as we can tell, part long haired Dachshund, part Shepherd, and part Chow. Years ago one of Wifey's friends said we should say she is a Hialeah Mountain Dog, and I kind of like that description. Vienna, who we also call Sausage, on account of her shape, was to be fostered here in '11 after she jumped into some of D2's friends' car, and her original home couldn't be located. That foster relationship has turned into permanence, although Vienna always tries to escape whenever she has the opportunity -- and is by far the smartest dog we've ever had.

The other canine, sort of, is Bo, a special needs Cavalier King Charles Spaniel whose owners, an older Cuban couple, gave up for adoption when he was one year old. His original name was Principe, Spanish for Prince, and he is. He was born with twisted rear legs, which could have been surgically corrected, but the couple didn't have the money to do it. So instead he grew up walking like a raccoon, which makes him even cuter looking.

One of D1's friends saw him for adoption at Pet Smart, called D1, and Wifey flew over and got him.  The plan was that he was to become D2's dog, and indeed she took him to UF for her first semester of grad school, where he was treated, more or less, like a normal dog. But her second semester apartment was dog-free, and so Bo stayed with us, where he became spoiled to absurd lengths.

Wifey started bringing him his food to the couch, where he eats lying down. Somehow this has become normal.

And I, well, sort of fell in love with him. His nickname is Little Man. He whines when he is alone. He whines when one of his pillows is in the wrong place, or is occupied by Vienna.

But he is the most loving, little companion of all time.

I usually feed him, as I'm up before Wifey. I bring him his food to the couch, which is behind me as I sit at my computer desk. He sniffs the food for awhile, and then slowly begins to eat, in the softest way -- crunch....crunch...crunch.

It's become my favorite morning sound.

Sometimes he gets up and walks away before the food is gone, and then Vienna, the opportunist, sweeps in to gobble it up. We then replace Bo's food later, while keeping a stern eye of the smarter dog.

The other family dog belongs to D1 and Joey -- Madeleine, another Cavalier. D1 bought Mads before her senior year at UF, and has been D1's loving companion through college, grad school, and first work years. She is the sweetest -- also just wants to be close to people.

She joined us T Day, and the three dogs had their own Dogsgiving -- put away in D2's old bedroom so as not to get tripped over by the guests.

So I'm resigned, and actually happy, about a dog filled future. And -- today -- Bo finished his kibble. There'll be more crunching tomorrow morning.

Debbie Downer Was Wrong

So I knew we were having a party of 18 for T Day, and a few weeks before, I started thinking it might be a problem. Wifey had decided to redecorate the house, and old furniture like dining room chairs was given away, while new stuff seemed slow to arrive. Also, she had the chandelier taken down, and the new one, a heavy, bulky one, defied easy installation -- 2 guys said they needed help to do it, lest it come crashing down, Marx Brothers-like...

Also, a week before, Wifey decided that bringing in food would be too much work -- she wanted it catered. I thought it was too close to the holiday to arrange that, and we'd have a bunch of loving family here waiting for pizza to arrive.

Well -- happily I was wrong. The electricians got the chandelier up Wednesday, and we had plenty of chairs. The living room was sparse, but guests congregated all around as they arrived.  The caterer sent Jesus, a VERY large and friendly man from Peru, and he was terrific. The food was awesome -- turkey, brisket, stuffing, veggies, mashed potatoes, and terrific apps. Plus, Jesus took over my bartending duties, and kept everyone happy and hydrated.

Jonathan's Venezuelan crew arrived first -- and we chatted excitedly about the wedding, less than 2 months away. Jonathan's grandmother Judy was visiting us for the first time -- a true matriarch of her family -- powerful and loving. The kind of grandparent I hope to someday be.

Joey's crew arrived next -- with a few Peruanas, and my fellow gringo, Rick -- married to Joey's brother's suegra. We joked that at the table, out of 18, the only native born Americans were Rick, the Ds, and me. And it was glorious.

We ate early, and then sat for coffee and dessert. One of our guests is a master baker, and brought a fruit cheesecake she made which was simply the best anyone ever had.

Late in the afternoon, we began the "after party." Jonathan's mother Liz played piano for us. We all agreed we were absurdly lucky to have our kids find and be with each other -- families on the completely same page in all the important aspects.

Jesus left, and Wifey and I cleaned up together -- I lifted the chairs back, and she cleared the table. There was a record low amount of tensosity, to use my late friend Alan's neologism. That was largely because we paid folks to do the work that would have kept us from enjoying the party.

I don't like stuff. Everyone joked that Black Friday was my anti-holiday. But I'm happy to pay for experiences -- and yesterday's was grand.

We also sang happy birthday to D1 -- in English, and Spanish -- twice. There are traditional Venezuelan AND Colombian songs -- D1 was celebrated in all three.

And so my family's high season is in full swing. T Day marks my favorite holiday, AND D1's birthday. December brings Chanukah, and a big day December 25th which we celebrate as Wifey's birthday. New Year's, of course, and our anniversary January 3. We joke that by the end of the year's first week, we're all partied out. But wait! There's more, as the old Ron Popeil commercials used to shout. We then have a big, fat, Venezuelan wedding at the end of January. I guess our high season of celebration is now being extended several weeks.

I'm up early, and waiting for the sun. I'll take the strange rescue dog for a mile trek in the cool morning. The Special Needs Spaniel will wait back on the couch.

My wish today is that friends far and near enjoyed their TDays as well. And if not -- change them next time around. Life's too short for holiday tensosity...

If THIS Guy Can Be Thankful

So today is Sangsgiving, as they say in Miami. Wifey has set a beautiful table in the newly renovated dining room -- now painted royal blue, under an impressive new modern chandelier. We'll be 18 strong later -- a very lucky number -- and Wifey decided to have the feast fully catered this year. I agreed, of course, lest there be any tensosity involved in preparing for our people to arrive. All I had to do is schlep in a few chairs and prepare to write a check...

Yesterday was D1's 31st birthday, and she celebrated with a "Sibs-giving" -- D2 and all local siblings of Joey and Jonathan went to Shorecrest for pizza and drinks. I had ordered some nice wine from California, and on my way home dropped off a bottle at D2 and Jonathan's in the Grove -- I left it with the friendly doorman, and then called D2 to say that the "wine phantom" had visited. She giggled, in that giggle I love.

It occurred to me that our number today was born all over. Jonathan's wonderful grandmother, Judy, was born in Hungary. His father David, like Wifey, was born in Israel. The rest of the guests were born in Colombia and Venezuela, with the Ds being the native Miamians. Turns out -- I'm the only NY native. Whaddya know?

Wifey grew up in a home where Thanksgiving wasn't really celebrated -- it was an "American thing." Same with her best friends Edna and Jeannette -- Edna's parents were Holocaust Survivors, like my in laws, and Jeannette's parents born in Honduras and Cuba. So I imagine the three of them in Canarsie -- thinking the holiday was no big deal.

It was for me -- there was always turkey and all the traditional foods -- and when my sister and brother in law moved to South Florida in 1990, they would host each year. My Ds grew up also loving T Day -- gringas they are.

Our friend Elizabeth drove down from Orlando -- she always celebrates with her sister and brother in law in Grove Isle. Elizabeth is coming to stay with us tomorrow through the weekend -- the better to avoid post T Day tensosity with HER sister. We spoke last night -- and she let on how Wifey told her T Day is "really my holiday" and she does it for me.  Well -- I'm thankful for that!

It's so easy to lose our ability to give gratitude -- not just today, but each day. Annoyances flood in, and we focus on them. Anxieties are even worse -- worry over our health, and those we love. These are great gratitude blockers.  In my case, constant reminders of "what if?" serve to kick my ample tuches back to reality. I had one today on FaceBook.

We bought our beloved house in 2000. The architects and builders were Richard and Jennifer -- two Miami kids who grew up in Pinecrest and Miami Lakes (one Jewish, one very WASP) and met at UM where they became architects. They bought a Hurricane Andrew damaged house where Richard grew up, in Pinecrest, and set about building a replica of an Italian villa they had seen and visited.  The result was the house I fell in love with at first sight, and, coming off a pretty fat year at work, was able to buy for my family.

Richard and Jennifer and their two kids moved to West Palm, and their beautiful, blonde little kids grew to be musical prodigies. They attended the West Palm equivalent of our New World School of the Arts. But, alas, the marriage failed, and there were money problems, and I guess Jennifer, classically, lost it. She shot her two kids to death, and then herself, and Richard discovered the scene. It was, of course, beyond any nightmare he could have had.

And today, on FaceBook, he posted a beautiful picture of a sunrise, from the Breakers Hotel, where he daily has breakfast, with an inspirational note of how thankful he is for his friends, work colleagues, and his life. Wow.

It slapped my face, metaphorically. If I EVER fail to show gratitude, despite the small things that annoy me -- I ought to receive a huge metaphorical kick in that aforementioned ample tuches. If Richard can be thankful -- I can be amazingly and awesomely thankful.

And I am.

So in a few hours, our "chai" group will be here. We'll eat, and we'll toast. My consuegro, despite being born and raised in Colombia, loves American football. We'll watch some together.  I'm sure there'll be talk of D2 and Jonathan's upcoming wedding -- less than 2 months away.

And I'll look skyward, and thank the Big Man. He has blessed me so much. Today, and each day, I'll thank Him.

Thirty One-derful

Today my oldest, D1, turns 31. I reflect on that, and it makes me happy that I was a child groom when I married Wifey. Otherwise, having a 31 year old child would mean I am old, indeed...

Wifey and I did something forgettable for Thanksgiving in November of '88. Maybe we brought in food with my Mom and in laws. I do know that one of my cousins hosted a party the following Saturday, and Wifey thought she ought to stay in Dade County, rather than travel to North Broward. I went alone, and returned to her in our first house, the 1400 square foot ranch in what is now called East Kendall...

Wifey woke me before sunrise on that Sunday, and told me her water had broken. I thought of all the movie and sit com scenes where the panicked husband does stupid things rushing to get his wife to the hospital, but we calmly said goodbye to our Lab, Midnight, and his assistant, the Cocker Spaniel Alfred, and drove the '82 Buick Century to South Miami Hospital.

They checked Wifey in, and labor began. And went on. And on. And on...

One of her OBs, Dr. Strassberg, a laconic Wisconsin Jewish guy, like me was a big football fan, and we watched the 1 pm Dolphin Jets game. It was one of those late 80s duels between Dan Marino and Ken O'Brien, and the Jets won. Then we watched the 4 pm game -- Bengals, I think. And after the 1st quarter, he called in Dr. Kenward, the Miami Jewish woman OB, and began prep for the C -section, which I called the baby-ectomy.

They plopped D1 out, and I swear she looked deeply into my eyes, like a puppy does. I fell in love. Wifey held her, and looked her up and down the way mothers do, and she loved her as well, but was soon overcome by post surgical pain. Nursing D1 was painful. Wifey shuffled around the hospital corridor, in a sad but funny parade of post C-section Moms a nurse said was "the parade of the Section Moms," and slowly recovered. And then she fell in love with D1 -- deeply.  So much so that when it was time to go back to work when D1 was three months old, Wifey said no -- can't leave my baby girl. And right there and then we went from 80s family to 50s family -- I became Bob Anderson of "Father Knows Best," and never relinquished the role...

I kvell often about D1 and the joy she has given us. Just the other day, I asked how she was spending her birthday, and she mentioned a volunteering opportunity after she finished a task for her Dietetics practice. What can I say? My father cup runneth over.

Raising this unusually precocious child has been a joy. She sailed through school. She worked hard to get a MS, and then worked hard learning her craft at JMH -- the top hospital in the South East, under the watch of her uncle of another family, Dr. Barry.

And most importantly, she took to heart the biggest lesson Wifey and I tried to impart -- who you choose as your life partner is everything. And she chose Joey, a man so wonderful, and accomplished, and loving our our precious D1 -- well, as I said -- my father cup runneth over.

Tomorrow we'll gather at our house -- 19 of us. It was to be 18, but Jonathan's cousin Gabriel is a welcome late addition -- terrific young man, a junior at Carnegie Mellon in Pittsburgh. And we will feast. And we will give thanks to the Big Man for all the bounty He has bestowed upon us.

And we will sing happy birthday to D1, to acknowledge and celebrate thirty WONDERFUL years.

Half A Great Day

So the weather was fine, and I had plans for a great Fall Miami day. I drove up to Shorecrest to fetch D1 ...early as usual.  I rang her new fangled doorbell, and she called ...would I fetch her from a brunch with friends in nearby Miami Shores? Of course I would.

Her longtime friend Hillary was there, with husband and new baby. They’re here from Chicago for TDay. Also present was Nicole ...back in Miami after long stints in SF and Austin.  She’s married and looking to start a family, too...and realizes there’s no place like home. It was great to catch up with the happy younguns...and then D1 and I were off to Downtown for the Book Fair. We parked by the former AAA and were warned: have your car out by 5. Mark Anthony was playing ...parking was going to be real high for that.

We walked the few blocks and got on the long line for entry to Dave Barry and Carl Hiassen. It was packed ...I figured we’d sit in the back...but then D1 spotted a friend who is an exec with the Baptist Hospital Foundation... the sponsor. We got upgraded to second row!

As bad as Debbie Harry was Wednesday, Dave and Carl were excellent. Dave
 Might be as funny a speaker as Ray Romano ...had us all laughing, and crying a bit as he told of his daughters scary medical episode. She is fine now!

We thanked D1’s friend, and then drove to a coffee place in Overtown. The former ghetto is gentrifying like the rest of the city. I had my first Nitro coffee. The caffeine blast lasted a full 12 hours.

I dropped off D1 and greeted her husband the Lorax, as she calls him. Joey loves being in his yard among the trees.

Then it was off to Marlins Park, to see the Canes easily defeat FIU. Wifey had begged off and Mirta begged in. The Canes were awful...and lost probably the worst loss in school history.

Oh well. I dropped Mirta at a house on the Miami River, where her boyfriend Jay was waiting for a motorcycle ride home.

Mirta and I enjoyed catching up. But the game...

So it was still a fine day. Great friends. Lovely weather. Just historically bad football.

A Mental Snapshot

I am truly one of the luckiest sons of bitches I know. Whenever I call myself that, I recall Jack Nicholson's observation that his mother never got the irony when she called HIM that. Sunny was surely no bitch...but I still love the term. Bastard, too, and it's great Yiddish twin, momzer...

Anyway -- years ago, Paul and I sued a locally based manufacturing company, over our idiot client's blatant misuse of one of its products which terribly hurt her child. Such is my business -- car runs into a tree -- if the tree has insurance, we sue the tree. The case ended up settling, but Paul took a long deposition of the CEO -- a power-type Jewish guy who ran a tight ship, and totally got the absurdity of our claim -- his company was hugely insured, and so he was philosophical about the loss.

During breaks, I would pull my "good cop" routine, and chat him up in a friendly way. I asked him about his family -- he said he had two grown kids. I asked where they lived, and he replied, matter of fact, "in South Florida, of course. They are REQUIRED to live no farther North than Palm Beach County."

That resonated with me. Here was a powerful guy -- patriarch of his family, clearly -- and that was a rule apparently his kids followed -- they would damn sure live close to him.

Well -- I never felt I had that power, but through some confluence of luck and maybe intervention of the Big Man, my Ds and their men are all living together in the 305. And Wifey and I love and savor it.

Joey has instituted a great tradition -- Friday night dinners every other week. And last night was one of them.  Wifey and I met at D2 and Jonathan's in the Grove, and drove up to NE Miami -- the "Upper Eastside," as it is now called. We met D1 and Joey at Cafe Roval, a place Wifey and I had only been to for lunch. It's owned by Mark Soyka, a Hungarian Israeli American guy who is a pioneer in gentrifying the 'hood. Roval is gorgeous -- coral rock former water pump station and a beautiful garden. The outside seats were packed, and so we were seated inside -- a rustic room with open beam, high ceilings, and industrial accents.

We ordered drinks and apps. We toasted. I sat at the end of the table, and keenly observed the two Latin Jewish sons in law happily chatting, and the Ds laughing with Wifey about a childhood memory -- or some charming faus pax Wifey had committed during a recent get together.

And I took a good, long, mental picture of the scene. It was exquisite.

As Carly Simon sang, these ARE the good old days. Changes will come -- there will be difficulties and challenges. There will be loss -- though my mother in law, chronologically next in line to slip the surly bonds of earthly existence, looks nowhere near ready to leave -- even though she's a few weeks from 95. But there will be tears -- always are.

Not last night. I looked over my family -- my Ds the proudest accomplishment, by far, I have had in this life. And their wonderful life partners. And Wifey -- who has endured my foibles and difficulties over three and a half decades -- and stays happily by my side.

I felt like the richest man in the world, because I am.  Or, at least, the luckiest son of a bitch I know.

One Way Or Another...It Sucked

I used to really dig Blondie's music in high school and college, and Debbie Harry, the lead singer, always seemed to be a pretty cool chick. She recently wrote a memoir called "The 1000 people I had Sex With in NYC in the 70s," and is on tour promoting it. Actually, that's not the title of the book -- it's instead about, apparently, art work her fans did of her over the years.

The Miami Book Fair is going on now, and Harry was a featured speaker. I really enjoy the Fair -- it's grown into the main book fair in the entire country. People travel from all over to hear writers speak, and there is a lovely street festival where you can find anything you wish.

Over the years, I've seen hundreds of great speakers. Highlights were Saul Bellow, who I actually got to ask a question to (and he said it was a GOOD question -- my Dad would have been proud), Gene Roddenberry, Joe Biden, and Patti Smith. Patti was terrific -- she explained a book she had written about Greenwich Village in the 70s, when it was sleazy and creative, and she even sang the great song she wrote with the Boss, "Because the Night."

So it was with nice anticipation that I got tickets for Debbie Harry -- along with Wifey, and friends Kenny and Joelle.  We pre gamed at their house, and then slogged up to MiMo, to a great restaurant D1 had taken me to: Osteria Baiocco, in an old house in Morningside. Indeed, the meal was amazing -- the place is owned by a Milanese man, and his first restaurant outside of Italy. The food is wonderful, and in contrast to Il Gabbiano, the great Italian place Downtown, does not require one take out a mortgage to eat there...

Given the awful traffic -- the Heat were playing at the same time the Book Fair was going on -- we Ubered to Miami Dade Wolfson campus. The main room was packed -- probably 1000 people inside. We took our seats, and Debbie Harry, her longtime boyfriend and bandmate Chris Stein, and some gay artist guy acting as mediator took the stage.

And then...womp, womp. It was awful. Questions went nowhere. The former beauty, now looking grotesque with a platinum wig and plastic surgery face, had a terrible personality. She acted as if we were lucky to be in her presence. The banter was akin to an inside joke -- and we were all outside. "Oh -- that party at Jerry's -- Bob and Candy were there, right?"  Who were Jerry, Bob, and Candy?

The audience all seemed anxious to hear talk about her music career -- or even NYC in the 70s, or quirky facts about her many, many lovers. Nah. Stupid anecdotes about cable TV shows no one watched. Photos of parties 45 years old.

Finally, I turned to Kenny and Joelle. We were on the same wavelength -- let's make like trees and leaf. Wifey thought it MUST be getting better. It didn't. We made our way to Biscayne Boulevard, and UBered back to the restaurant -- laughing about how absurdly bad the lecture, as it wanted to be called, was.

I guess one clunker since 1984 is a good track record. Indeed -- Saturday I'm going back, with D1. Great pals Dave Barry and Carl Hiassen are speaking. There was a great tale in the news this week -- a U Miami professor who is an expert on international money laundering, was arrested for international money laundering. I'm sure Hiassen will bring that up -- he famously said the toughest part of being a Miami novelist was that nothing you could conjure up is as strange as what actually happens here.

After I drop D1 off, I'm going to fetch Wifey for another classic event -- our alma maters play each other in football -- Canes versus Golden Panthers, at Marlins Park. It'll be great to see my boys play on hallowed ground -- the site of the now demolished Orange Bowl.

So it's a great time to be in the 305. Debbie Harry was actually born here, and then given up for adoption and taken to New Jersey. I hope she stays there. She wasted a lot of peoples' time last night -- but made a memory for us nonetheless.

Here Comes The Cool

Little darling -- it's been a hot, wet, sloggy Summer...I barely remember the last time the temperature dipped below 70 degrees -- even in the wee small hours. But last night it did -- finally! And it was delightful.

We turned off the A/C for the first time since, I think, last April. We opened the windows last night, and slept in the cool breezes of our tropical neighborhood. Ah...My father used to joke that the Yiddish word, machaya, which means pleasure, was really the word for a peaceful, Japanese lake. He said he always saw such a lake in his mind's eye -- even when he would enter the warm waters of the ocean in South Florida. He would say "What a machaya -- like a Japanese lake." Well, last night was a machaya...

So we ended up celebrating the silver anniversary of my law firm in a wonderfully impromptu way. Paul was in the Gables for a meeting, and he had his lady Patricia Uber down . They then drove to our house, where Wifey was home from physical therapy for a trick knee. I poured Stoli Elit for Paul and me, a nice California blend for Patricia, and water in a wine glass for Wifey. We toasted the two and a half decades of our business.

Then Patricia drove us to the Grove, to a gourmet Cuban place called Ariete. And I had a surprise -- D2 and Jonathan had previously planned to have dinner there with their friend Scott, home from a long out of Miami sabbatical, like D2 and Jonathan. And -- their other friends, Tara and Robbie ran into them, so we put a big table together, and partied well.

Robbie's Dad is a lawyer a little older than I am. He just joined his Dad's firm, after a stint at the State Attorney's Office. He told Paul and I his father was never able to have a successful partnership for more than a few years -- how lucky WE are to have lasted together so long. Robbie was indeed correct, and it was nice to celebrate that accomplishment.

Wifey and I Ubered home, and reflected on the lovely evening.

Yesterday we were to have a meeting with my mother in law's doctor, but that fizzled out. Turned out she only needed a chest X ray -- he heard some fluid. She probably has what is going around -- URI time in Miami. A lot of the Heat players were out with it last night, and poor D1 was in bed much of the week, too -- she missed an appointment down in Ocean Reef because of it.

Wifey headed to the family's jeweler - Ha! - with her pal Susan. Jonathan and D2 were there, coincidentally -- picking out wedding bands.

I hosted two nice young installer men. I bought a new washer and dryer from Home Depot, and it was to be installed Friday. Alas, the valves on the water lines were bad -- so another crew had to come to change them out. To my surprise -- it was free. Turns out many people have that problem, since the valves stay open always, and after enough shoppers refused the installation, not wanting to pay the plumbing fee -- Home Depot just decided to make it part of the install, when needed.

So they pulled out the nearly 15 year old machines, let me clean out some serious accumulation of dog fur, and then put in the washer. The original crew will come back Tuesday, to take away the old machines, and install the dryer. Still -- I was impressed -- they got this done with Switzerland-like efficiency. And the new washer plays a happy electronic tune when the cycle is finished...

Today Wifey is meeting the Ds and some of their friends for an ice cream social in Wynwood. And I have reserved seats to the first movie I've been excited to see in years:: Scorcese's "The Irishman." It's only playing in one theater in Miami -- Merrick Park -- and I'm going with Mike and some other friends. The movie is three and a half hours. But Mob movies are my favorites. I guess that 5% of Italian DNA I seem to have expresses itself that way.

I also have to do what Wifey has been after me to do for awhile -- buy a new fire pit. The last one rusted out after a few seasons. Maybe I'll hit Home Depot before the movie, and prepare for the coming cool nights - I love sitting outside by a fire on those chilly evenings.

Hopefully the cool weather will stay. We're hosting T Day this year, like last, and it's terrific when we can open the 6 dining room doors and enjoy the feast that way. If not-- it'll be A/C again -- either way, we have tons to be thankful for, as we do each year.

Another breeze just blew in my open door. It's 57 degrees this am, and "feels like" 55. I hear a second cup of coffee calling...

Silver Anniversary

It was 25 years ago today, my partner Paul and I brought the band together to play...

On November 15, 1994, Paul and I had just left our old firm, and decided to strike out on our own -- I was 33 and Paul was 44. My previous experience in owning and running a business consisted of a 10 house lawn mowing business when I was 14. But, we called upon the experience of our brothers in law, Dennis and Geoff, and incorporated and started paying taxes and being, well, a real law firm.

Where to locate? We flirted with the idea of opening on Lincoln Road -- since I lived in Kendall and Paul in Aventura, that seemed in the middle. But we both realized it might be too distracting to be there. We walked along the Road, however, and I thought we were a better dressed and straight version of Ratso and the Cowboy in "Midnight Cowboy." Plus -- we were already IN Miami...

We got a call from Jeannie, a divorce lawyer friend. She had been to an office share suite in the top building in Miami, the Centrust Tower -- the IM Pei designed skyscraper that was lit different colors at night. They had a corner office and one next to it, and work space for secretaries. We thought it could work, and went to sign our first lease.

There was a glitch: the office between the two we wanted had just been rented -- to a labor lawyer named Don Ryce. We went ahead and rented the two with Don's in the middle. The poor man was rarely there -- his young son was kidnapped by a caretaker on the Ryce property in the Redland, and brutally murdered. Don, caught up in that horrific tragedy, rarely appeared. A child protection law came about as a result of his case -- the Jimmy Ryce Act. It was a sad ingredient to our new venture...

Anyway -- they were heady times for us. We'd get to work early, put in a full day, and then spend evenings networking for business.  D2 recently complained about the hours her fiance works -- saying "Dad -- you never did that." Indeed I did, but D2 was 2 years old, and has no memory of the workaholic period of her father's life. By the time she was old enough to process things -- she was 10 or so, and my hours were more normal.  But success generally requires putting in a lot of time -- and we were no exception.

We really had some awesome experiences. We got to help people at their lowest point in life -- burn injuries, the loss of a parent. I would make light of our specialty -- telling people they only became our client if they lost a relative or part of their body -- but it was essentially accurate.

And we celebrated well our victories. We settled a huge case against a rental car company, in early '96. We paid for a total of 12 people to enjoy a long weekend in Vegas -- complete with limos, hotel stay at the then top Mirage hotel, meals, shows, side trips to the Grand Canyon, etc...

It's funny -- Paul and I always assumed our guests might someday return those favors. It never happened. But that's ok -- we were making nice money, and sharing it with those close to us.

We were able to fund the beginning of a new Chabad Center -- we gave our rabbi friend an interest free loan to buy the property where a major center now sits. The Rabbi is in the midst of raising $6 million now to build a state of the art facility to service special needs children from all over Miami -- using high school volunteers to train and become companions. Our current secretary Carla's daughter is in the program. I try to be self deprecating, but I a VERY proud of Paul and I for essentially being the birth of a program that has wonderfully impacted thousands and will do even more in the future.

We were able to give generously to our alma mater, the U. For years, I was the biggest donor to the Religious Studies Department. Just recently a friend guest lectured there, and sent me a photo of a bookcase holding a major encylopedia that I had paid for. Truthfully, I had forgotten about it.

We took two working class, Cuban women, and trained them to become legal secretaries. We bonused them, probably too generously.

One started with us in huge credit card debt. Paul had her present all her cards. He gave her one. He cut up the others with a scissor, and we paid off all of her debt. This was at the beginning of our firm. That is who Paul is -- if you're in his life, he wants to take care of you -- solve your problems. That secretary ended up saving so much, she retired from law in '06, and started a business with her husband.

It's funny -- the next year I asked her for a favor -- we needed a temporary assistant when one quit suddenly. The secretary said no -- she was enjoying not working too much. I thank her for a great lesson in human nature: never be generous to expect something in return. Often people are very good at accepting, but not so good at giving. That's ok.

Meanwhile, Paul and I grew up together. His pre teen kids went through grad school, got married, and blessed him with 4 grandkids -- the oldest now nearing her teen years herself.

My little girls also grew up, with a supportive and loving Uncle Paul. Both got grad degrees, too, and D1 married two years ago. D2 is getting married in just over two months.

We buried both of our mothers. I was a devoted son. Paul was a devoted son on steroids. Like a true excellent big brother, he taught me to be a better son to my failing Mom -- taking the lead as she descended to her end.

I was at his former mother and father in laws' funeral. He was at Wifey's father's funeral. Wifey told everyone not to come -- she didn't want the stress of hosting a shiva. Paul wasn't having it. He was there, at graveside, and there afterwards.

The biggest blessing of our partnership has been the sharing of our close friends and family. Paul's kids and kids in law have become siblings to the Ds. My friends have become very close with Paul and his family -- particularly Barry, who is very involved in Paul's son's life.

Paul's best college friend, Frank, has become my friend, and I love the time I spend with Paul's Philly buddies, Steve and Lou.

We share that, Paul and I. We keep friends for a lifetime. He and Steve have been friends since kindergarten -- and they're now approaching 70. My friends and I go back 40 years.

So somehow a quarter of a century has gone by, since two Miami lawyers started a firm. I have to think lasting 25 years is a pretty rare thing.

We just renewed our malpractice coverage for a year -- so we'll be in business at least until year 26. Truthfully, I thought I would find another career and be out of law by now. It wasn't to be.  As for the future, well, que sera sera...

But today, I remember my partner, and will borrow a Neil Young line about him, especially since he likes racehorses: long may you run...

School Issues

So this morning the Times carried an article about a progressive suburb of Baltimore, founded on the principle of integration by the late developer Rouse. It was to be a "new America" -- and fittingly the first child born there was biracial. Ah -- that it could have worked out.

Turns out the suburb developed two parts: the older part grew mostly minority and poor, and the new part richer and whiter and Asian. And now the school board is trying to make things fairer -- by busing kids from the rich high school to the poor one. The rich school parents are just about all Democrats -- liberal, in fact, but they aren't having it. It seems integration is fine -- for other kids. They want things as they are -- their very high performing high school to get their kids into name colleges are paramount. And they're full of crap in their opposition -- claiming spending time on buses will drive kids to suicide, and make them miss extra curricular activities. It's an ugly fight.

Wifey and I were always firm believers in public education for the Ds -- and we're proud of their experiences with all public education -- even including college and grad school.

But there were some very politically incorrect truths at their high school -- which was, I think, about 20% black -- with most of those kids from poorer parts of Miami Dade. First, the AP classes were almost totally white and Asian. I remember one of D2's friends, Spencer, telling me the high school was "basically South Africa" -- with the high performing enclaves of kids essentially separate from the general population -- except at things like lunch, and after school activities.

There were exceptions, of course. One girl, a classmate of D2's, was indeed on the AP track. She happened to be the daughter of a MLB Hall of famer -- she went on to UF, and joined the mostly Jewish sorority. But largely, where the students came from determined where they ended up...

I guess the reasons are manifold. I observed one very unsettling thing. Wifey and I NEVER missed a back to school night -- we would race from class to class, meeting the Ds' teachers, and learning about the curricula.  On a typical back to school night, judging by the complexion of the parents attending, you wouldn't know the school was 20% black. Maybe 1-2% of the parents attending were black.

I know there are reasons for this. Perhaps the black parents had work hours that didn't allow them to attend -- or they had kids in other schools as well as the Ds'.  But it used to bother me a lot -- we knew well what was going on academically with the Ds, and their school offered a lot -- it seemed a shame to not take advantage of it, and, of course, it all begins at home.

D2 graduated 9 years ago, so we haven't had direct concerns with the schools. But if we're blessed with grandchildren, these matters will become front and center again.

D1 and Joey live in a gentrifying part of Miami. Their home high school is Miami Edison -- one of the lowest performing schools in the County. D1 is adamant that private school will be the only available option.

I get it. Safety was always paramount -- Wifey and I always pledged that the moment we sensed any safety issues in the Ds' schools -- it would be hello Ransom Everglades. And, indeed, it almost happened.

In D2's sophomore year, there were some scary incidents -- seemingly racial in nature. As the information made it to us, there was a fight between two students -- one white and one black,and one of the kids was airlifted to the hospital. That was it.  We had D2 apply to transfer into Ransom, the top private high school in the state. They rarely took transfers.

D2 took the exam and excelled. She was accepted. It appeared she would finish her high school career at the exclusive private high school. I stopped by her regular school to fetch her records, and the principal asked me into his office. He was a dead ringer for the actor and writer Ben Stein. He was an old school Brooklyn born Miami Dade educator -- nice man.

He was sad to see D2 leave -- she was a top student -- a student leader. He asked me why we were pulling her out. I told him that I was a believer in public education, but how could I leave my daughter in an unsafe environment. He then proceeded to tell me details about the troubling event -- in fact, it was horseplay between two friends -- one accidentally fell and hit his head -- there was no "racial fight." Some other things the parents were chittering about were also false.

So I asked D2 her preference -- she had close friends, was excelling where she was, and decided to stay. I called the Ransom administrator to say thanks, but no thanks -- D2 was staying. The woman was incredulous -- NO ONE allowed to transfer in to Ransom EVER rejected the opportunity. Well -- D2 would be a first. I kind of liked that -- being accepted into a snooty place and telling them no thanks...

And D2 in fact flourished -- as her sister had 4 years before.

It's a balance -- wanting your kids to get real world experience -- true diversity, like they'll see in the real world -- but also giving them the best education they can.

I hope things in the Rouse suburb end peacefully -- like Rodney King hoped -- everyone "just gets along."

If we're so blessed, with another generation of kids to educate -- we'll be back in the thick of things like this sooner than later.