Bizarre Questions

So I was talking with an old friend the other day, and the topic turned to the strangest questions we've ever been asked. In his case, it was when he was in his late 20s. He had dated a girl a few times, and her mother asked him if he planned on asking her daughter to get married. He was taken aback, stuttered no, and stopped seeing her.

The experience must have chilled him -- he ended up staying single until he was 40.

I thought long and hard, and my response was when a relative, who I wasn't very close to, asked me to give her $200,000.00. This really happened.

I guess it was the late 90s, and this lady, an aunt, was living in Palm Beach County. I now assume she must have gotten the idea that my law practice, though successful, had turned me into a Bill Gates type.

I still recall the conversation like it was yesterday. She called, and said she had a question. Now, that used to be common among my aunts, uncles, and cousins -- I was the only lawyer in the family, and got requests for free advice all the time. There's a funny story about that, too.

Cousins I'll call Linda and Steve, since that's their names, would call the most often, with varied and numerous questions, about real estate matters, tax matters, simple criminal matters, and family law matters. Each time I would tell them I was really a one trick pony -- I only did PI work, but would share with them what I knew.

We were at a family event, and Steve came up to me, holding a paper. Could I look it over, and tell him if it seemed correct. It was a closing statement -- Linda had been rear ended by another driver, they had hired a lawyer, and the case settled for $100,000.00. The lawyer had charged 1/3 of the recovery. The issue was whether I thought the costs were reasonable.

I was flabbergasted. Who had they hired? Oh -- some lawyer who advertised in their teacher's union newspaper. Why had they not come to me with something I could actually help them with? Shrugs. I told them I never got between a lawyer and his client. Steve persisted. I finally got very stern with him and walked away.  My family...

But back to Aunt M. She told me her wealthy brother, who had always given her money to subsidize her lifestyle, had finally cut her off. She owned a house in Boca, as well as one on Long Island, where her daughter and son in law lived. She needed $200,000 to pay off the mortgage, so she could own both houses free and clear.

I guess at first I wasn't processing the request. Did she want a loan? A mortgage? No -- could I simply give her the money?

Instead of hanging up, like a schmuck, I stayed on the phone to try to help. Maybe she could sell the Long Island home, or get a reverse mortgage?  No -- she was smart, she reminded me, and had thought of all that. She wanted the Florida house free and clear so she could leave it to her family when she died.

Nah. I told her it wasn't even close to going to happen.

Thereafter, we had little contact. Her husband, my uncle, did call for a medical referral. His doctor in Delray had told him he was dying of liver cancer. I sent him to the top guy at UM, who agreed -- he did have liver cancer, but it was so slow growing, he would die WITH it, not from it.

The UM guy was correct -- he died of a heart attack at nearly 90 --years ago.

Aunt M is still alive. She is the final member of that generation. My Mom was one of 5 siblings, who were all married, and 9 are gone. Aunt M remains. I guess she managed to do it without the major gift she sought from me.

But I owe her thanks. I had the better story than my buddy in the little contest we had.

SoBe Journey

We very rarely go to South Beach, probably because, as Yoggi Berra once noted, it's too crowded and nobody goes there anymore. But yesterday was a happy exception.

Saturday, Mike picked me up and we went to watch some Canes roundball. We sat in a breezeway outside of the 100 Club, and ate the pregame chicken lunch. We were joined by Norman and his Dad, the amazing Max, who is doing great at 91. Max is such an outlier among the older folks I know -- he's still able to walk from the car to the arena, and is sharp as ever. We talked about our shared beloved Canes, and the fact that my favorite pharmacist, his granddaughter, is still missed by us all.

The Canes won, and I caught up with Mike's boy Chris, and his lady Rachel. Chris had driven Mike's new sports car to the game, and we switched vehicles so I could be squired home in the new Jaguar two seater. It's a gorgeous car -- top speed of 185 mph, and Mike will enjoy it without, probably, reaching its top speed.

Yesterday I thought about driving to my office and then Ubering to the Loew's Hotel, but opted to drive instead. It was fine -- we passed my grandma's old hotel, the Edward, and dodged the South Beach drivers, all of whom seem to bring every bad driving habit from around the world with them when they vacation here.

The event was the Trisha Yearwood barbecue brunch. We were invited by FIU's Public Health School, where we established a family scholarship program. Years ago, D1 was deciding where to get her MS in Dietetics. She was going to go to an expensive private program, which would have cost me big. Instead, she chose FIU, and I figured I ought to give something back, so we donated money for another student to get her MS -- presumably for someone financially struggling.

Well, the School instead decided to use the money to help MS students when they do their internships -- they have to work at them, full time and without pay, and this is a major hardship for the kids working their way through the program.  We donated more, and the FIU investment folks did well growing the money, and now each year two students get healthy stipends to get them through.

D1 sits on the committee awarding the funds, which happens each May. And now we get invited to cool stuff like the South Beach festival.

We sat with the Dean, Tomas Guilarte, who I admire greatly. He's a local Cuban guy -- Gables High, and then BS and MS at UF. He got a PhD from Hopkins, and enjoyed a stellar career there and at Columbia.

He told me he came home to finish his career since he figured he'd do more good teaching the kids of working immigrants, like he was, instead of the kids of hedge fund managers, which he was doing at Hopkins and Columbia. I really dig him.

The food was, of course, terrific -- Wifey and I sampled all of it, and Trisha Yearwood sang three songs.  I'm not a country fan, but I became one of hers. Her voice was wonderful, and she is, well, not of the body type usually associated with South Beach. Clearly, she enjoys her own cooking quite a bit.

It was a truly diverse event -- typically Miami Latin crowd, with many tables filled with the very Southern barbecue types -- the table next to me had the folks who owned a bourbon company, and they looked like they were from "Duck Dynasty." They seemed to really enjoy the music, and the bourbon.

After we said our goodbyes, we walked to the beach behind the hotel. It was gorgeous. We stood by the water, and I said my greetings to my Dad and Mom. Dad wanted that -- he preferred the idea of having us remember him at a beautiful beach instead of a sad cemetery, and I fulfilled his wishes.

The line to fetch our car only took 20 minutes, and with tip, it cost $40 to park. I knew it would. But I justified it by remembering we were guests at an event that cost $175 per person -- I handled the parking well.

Plus, there was humor. One guest had a top of the line Maserati, and no cash to pay for parking, and a credit card that kept getting declines. They had him pull to the side and await further inspection. He had a gorgeous, much younger woman in the car with him. He didn't look happy. It gave me a chuckle.

So it was a lovely weekend, even though the weather is unseasonably hot. Last night Wifey and I walked the dogs around the 'hood, and I sweated like it was Miami summer.

D2 Facetimed us during the Oscars, and she said she hoped it would stay that way for her visit -- in 2 1/2 weeks. She's already tired of NYC's cold, dreary Winter.  So one man's meat...

D2 is thinking about having her wedding at a South Beach property. That'd be fine -- we have a family history there -- many vacations in the 70s, and where I asked Wifey to marry me.

Plus, the high parking costs and traffic will give guests plenty to gripe about...

Huge Turnout for the Funeral

So our neighbor Ben had his funeral today, and Wifey and I attended. It was at St. Thomas Episcopal, a parish just East of Pinecrest. I checked them out on the web, and concluded right away they weren't a very conservative outfit. The Rector of the church's bio mentioned he lived with his spouse Paul...and Paul had a Jewish sounding last name!

I drove to the church about 20 minutes before the service, and it was packed -- cars were being parked on the grass athletic field. I walked in, and two young men were greeting people. One was the spitting image of Ben, and I asked if they were his sons. They were -- I said my condolences, and told them I was in my 20s when I lost my Dad -- I felt for them. They nodded appreciatively.

The church was at capacity -- there had to be nearly 1000 people there. Ben ran a life long business, and was one of 4 siblings. Many of our neighbors were there -- I sat next to Lili and Jeff, and Monica and John. Wifey came just in time.

The Rector started with the prayers, but when the family spoke, the microphone was out. No one said a word. 2 speakers went on, totally unheard. Jeff and I joked that had this been a Jewish service, people would have said "CAN'T HEAR!" immediately. But the WASPs just sat politely. Eventually, the minister noticed, and brought a new microphone.

Ben's sons spoke, movingly, about their Dad, and one of his 4 sisters spoke tearfully about how Ben was the best. And then, surprisingly, Gloria spoke -- about how lucky she was to have met her life partner. I whispered to Wifey that I fully expect her to be far too emotional to speak at any memorial service for me. She agreed.

They got to the homilies, and it was noon. Wifey and I excused ourselves, and retired to Bagel Emporium.

Wifey noticed no one said anything about Ben being generous or charitable. I guess that's because he wasn't. I could never see him being the guy who picked up a check at a dinner. That's ok -- he was giving of himself to his family and his business -- that made him quite a winner, in my book.

My friend Joel was in the office. He's on a major exercise and diet kick lately. He's 48 and wants to live much longer. I told him about Ben, how he ate only healthy and organic, and was a dedicated runner. Joel frowned.

But the truth is, when the Big Man calls, nothing about diet or exercise matters. My mother NEVER exercised. She hated to even walk very much. Her diet staples included Costco hot dogs, and Burger King Whoppers. She lived until 93.

My Dad, always a bit overweight, was in the best shape of his life after he retired. He was told he had developed Type II diabetes, and lost, I think, about 50 lbs. He began fast walking each night. He cut out sugars. He dropped at 63.

So the only real lesson from my neighbor's death is to savor each day. I do my best in that regard. I am thankful for everything. I tell my loved ones how I love them several times per day.

I turn down invitations that don't thrill me. I accept those that do.

Rest in peace, neighbor Ben. We'll miss you. But you were blessed with a very full life.

Fame

So Sunday we were fetched by Deb and Norm, and drove up to North Beach -- off the 79th Street Causeway, for a great dinner at a small place Norman found called Spring Lake Bistro. The owner and cook was very French, and the food great. From there we drove across the bridge to the old Byron Carlysle Theater, now called O Cinema, to see "The Last Resort," a documentary about South Beach during the time it was the schtetl in the sun.

We enjoyed the first part of the movie -- it brought back memories of the time my grandmother Goldie lived there. It was a true slice of history -- the place was entirely Jewish, and old. Mitch Kaplan, the book store maven, who grew up there, was interviewed, and he was wise and insightful, as always. But then the movie veered to a tale of a photographer, Andy Sweet, who chronicled the days of South Beach, and his life was, well, less interesting.

Still, we had a great time -- Deb bought the silly old style bathing caps our grandmothers wore, and we took pix with her and Wifey wearing them under the movie sign. It was a lovely night.

Yesterday was President's Day, and I celebrated by exercising my right to be a lazy bum, other than an hour exercise class in the am. I actually watched Trump arrive and speak at FIU, and wasn't repulsed by him for a change. He was pandering to local Venezuelans, and as a political move, it may be brilliant. Florida races tend to be comically close, and if Trump gets Venezuelans on the side of the GOP, it might well be the difference in the next election, particularly if the dictator Maduro actually is gone by then.

And then it was time for my 15 minutes of fame -- the premiere of "Check Please, South Florida," which is the show on public tv Wifey encouraged me to appear on. Jeff and Lili came over, and we brought in some Canton apps for the watch party.

The show played well, I thought, though the fellow purported to be me was a very old man version of the guy I think I still am -- grey haired and all. But my aged avatar at least didn't sound like a moron, and got in some plugs for his beloved U Miami, so it went ok.

Eric called right after to congratulate me, as did my Florida sister and brother in law. D1 watched and told Wifey I appeared "serene." She picked up on the fact that the producer had us all drink 2-3 glasses of wine before the taping -- at 10 in the morning. The hostess, Michelle Bernstein, found it makes for easier banter. She was correct.

Wifey sent the show to D2, and she sent back a nice screen capture of me toasting the camera with a glass of red wine. I really liked it -- and posted it on FaceBook (tm).

And now I can quietly revert to my anonymous life in stately Wifey Villa...

It's funny -- in the 90s I was on local TV news, being interviewed about the difference between the criminal and civil trials of OJ. The next day I got about 10 calls from old friends living in South Florida. That was before social media, when EVERYONE watched local news, I guess.

I have a feeling this TV appearance will generate less friend buzz, and that's ok.

D1's episode airs in March -- I look far more forward to that one. D1 is bubbly and adorable. Few days pass without someone saying she is like the star of a cult hit "The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel," and she is -- very quick witted and cute. Her show will be a bigger deal to me.

As for today -- back to the office for awhile, and then a sad morning tomorrow -- the funeral for our neighbor Ben, who dropped dead at 60. As Ben's obit read, he was the picture of health and vitality, showing again that when the Big Man says it's time to go, cholesterol numbers, blood sugar numbers, and extra or perfect poundage don't amount to a hill of beans.

But for today, it's great to be vertical, and enjoying the time. Autographed posters of me are available at a very reasonable price...

Miami's Biggest Weekend

Every other Friday, Wifey and I meet D1 and Joey for our "restaurant Shabbat." Joey's Mom Jacqui hosts actual shabbat dinners each week, and we have been privileged to attend several. But we've now started a pattern where the young couple alternate: one Friday with Joey's family, and the next with us. D1 picks the restaurant.

Last night we met at a quirky, great restaurant -- El Carajo. It's a former mini mart attached to a gas station that has evolved into the best tapas place in town. We first went 10 years ago -- my friend Kenny, new to town, found the place. Kenny always does that -- finds the coolest places before anyone else. We had a great time -- you can buy a bottle of wine from the store and they open it for you.  Last night Joey and I had beer, and D1 and Wifey each had a glass of vino...

The young folks complained that the traffic was worse than usual, which in Miami is saying something. I told them it was because this is President's Day Weekend -- the biggest tourist time all year -- bigger than 2 Super Bowls.

First, the Boat Show brings in tons of folks. Also, the Coconut Grove Arts Festival is a huge draw. Hotels are sold out each President's Day Weekend, and you can't dream of getting a rental car. And of course they all clog the roads...

The weather is typically the best now, and indeed last night it was beautiful. After dinner, we chatted with the young couple -- Joey was excited about his job. He gets to work with his brother and best childhood friends, and appreciates how awesome that is.

We missed D2 and Jonathan, but they'll be here in several weeks -- to scout out venues for their wedding. One possibility is the Betsy Hotel, on South Beach. We told D2 that I asked Wifey to marry me by the ocean in front of that Art Deco hotel, and that we celebrated our 10th anniversary there, in January of '97, so that property has sentimental meaning to us.

Wifey reminded me of that weekend. We fell asleep on some lounge chairs the hotel staff set up. It was a delightful nap. When I awoke, as if in a dream, we were surrounded by gorgeous naked Italian women, all sunbathing in our area. I kept quiet and took in the scenery, and then Wifey awoke and wondered why I was so quiet. She saw, and she felt it appropriate we leave the beach. Ah, South Beach can indeed be a magical place...

Today we have plans to visit Gulfstream. Paul is hosting his oldest Philly friends, Steve and Rose, and we plan to meet for lunch at the track, and maybe win enough to pay off the car leases. Ha. As if.

And then tomorrow night, we're going to North Beach with Norman and Deb, so have dinner and see "The Last Resort," a documentary about South Beach from the time my Grandmother Goldie lived there -- the 60s and 70s. Back then, it was "Schtetl in the Sun," and "God's Waiting Room." I remember visiting in those days, and Norman, a Miami native, also knew it well.

I suggested we dress for the movie: Deb and Wifey would get those bathing caps with all the plastic ruffles, and Norman and I would wear shorts with long black socks and shoes.

Probably we won't, but it's still awesome to be here this weekend. The traffic is bad. It's well worth it.

RIP, Dear Neighbor

So last Friday we had our annual Devonwood Party, hosted by Daria and Rod. The mostly empty nester crowd had a fine time, drinking and sharing apps. We have a development of 81 houses, each built by its owners -- no developers were allowed to buy more than one 1/2 acre or acre parcel. Some of our residents have lived here since the beginning -- in the 50s.

I LOVE living here. We have a tropical garden to call home. No house looks like any other . I never tire of walking the 1.1 mile circle around the 'hood. When I compare this place to the 1/5 acre tract house where I grew up, I can't believe it. I plan to resist Wifey's desire to move somewhere else as long as I can.

Anyway -- at the party, I noticed or President and VP were missing. Ben and Gloria take turns being each office -- no one wishes to supplant them. We joke that they're like  Juan and Eva Peron. Gloria is Italian -- raised in NY. Ben is a Miami native, in the bicycle industry. They have 2 grown sons living out of state.

Ann, another Board member, told Wifey about the absence. Ben, a fitness buff, was out for his daily run, when he collapsed. A neighbor, Bruny, who is a AA flight attendant and wife of a prominent local ENT doc, gave him CPR. The paramedics took Ben to Baptist, and put him into a medically induced coma, and chilled his body.

As of that Friday, he wasn't doing well. Gloria didn't wish news to spread.

Well, each day since Friday, we checked in. Ben has a large and loving family, who gathered at Baptist Hospital in vigil. We left a dessert platter at the house -- relatives were going there to sleep and shower. We checked in with Gloria.

Within a few days, with no change, I knew the prognosis was poor. My brothers Barry and Eric have taught me that someone not breathing "in the field" generally doesn't do well. Who knew how long Ben was without oxygen?

Yesterday, I spoke to Eric. He said my neighbor would be lucky if he passed. Tonight, at Valentine's Day dinner, at Amara on the Bay, Wifey got the text -- Ben had died just after midnight this am.

We were by no means close, but lived in the same 'hood for 18 years. His death has still struck me.

I checked online, and it turns out Ben is a giant in the world of bicycles. He is co-CEO of the largest bike importer in the US. It's another of those Miami companies, like World Fuel, which exists under local radar.

Gloria told us Ben's funeral will be Wednesday, at St. Thomas Episcopal, just outside of Pinecrest. We will attend, of course.

Wifey is creeped out by the death. She noted that probably just last Thursday, he and his wife were discussing the party we would attend. And then...gone. That's how it is.

I texted Barry, Eric, and Paul, and admonished them to put nothing off. Tomorrow is never guaranteed. We must, as Warren Zevon said, enjoy every sandwich.

So RIP, my sweet neighbor. 60 is not, by any means, old. May his memory be as a blessing...

Everything's Quiet on Valentine's Day

Ah -- February 14...El Dia de Amor.  Wifey and I typically spend this day of love with Loni and Mike -- who have been married as long as we have, and are happy empty nesters. Actually, they are incompletely so -- their boy Chris is a 2L at UM Law, and still lives at home, but he's rarely there...

Last year, the four of us went to Christy's. Mike handed Loni a box -- it had a piece of David Yurman jewelry -- Loni's favorite. I just sort of looked ceiling -ward and whistled.


Actually, I gave up buying jewelry for Wifey long ago. I somehow always pick wrong...Wifey feigns liking my choices, but then exchanges them. But no longer...

Our family jeweler is Phillips House. So yesterday I drove to Miami Beach, and met Danielle. She asked what I wanted to spend, and if I had any ideas. I told her...and Jenna, the saleswoman, was wearing a rainbow colored necklace. Did Danielle think Wifey would like that? Definitely. So I bought the trinket, and left, after catching up with Alex.

I've never been good at waiting for actual holidays -- a trait I picked up from my parents. They'd buy me stuff without waiting for my birthday, and on my birthday -- no big deal.

So last night, Wifey and I met Captain/Doctor Kenny for dinner, in South Miami, at a new Southern place called Root and Bone. I had the best fried chicken of my life. I reported this to Mike, my true fried chicken maven friend. Mike has driven hours out of his way, all across the US, in search of great fried chicken.

He is going to Root and Bone tonight, and will report on my choice. I defer to him...he would defer to me about good deli.

Anyway, I got home in a fine mood, and left the necklace out. Wifey saw it and asked what it was. I told her someone had bought her a Valentine's Day gift. Indeed, she loved it -- Danielle had chosen well.

The Ds also love the necklace -- they plan to reposition it over the coming months, when Wifey won't notice. The three of them always do that -- D2 especially raids Wifey's stash when she's in town. Wifey notices about half the time. Ah -- my life with women...

So I won't be outdone tomorrow night. We're going to Amara, a place on the Bay. Mike and I will toast the women who have put up with us for a combined 64 years. We are indeed lucky.

You HAVE to keep romance alive. If not, you just become roommates, and that doesn't cut it for me. So here's to the Day of Love -- jewelry, romantic dinner, the whole nine yards. It's nice to celebrate it...

The Wife From the Pond

So Wifey spends a LOT of time cleaning out the garden beds. I mean a LOT. She says it relaxes her to be outside, picking leaves and branches from the rock beds. She is eccentric.

Yesterday, I was upstairs on the phone. The windows were open. I was listening to the screeching of our local peafowl -- they've been very loud lately. I thought I heard a scream, but dismissed it as a particularly loud avian screech. But then I heard VERY loud coughing -- definitely human.

I came outside to the terrace, and saw Wifey -- attempting to climb out of the pond. She had fallen in.

By the time I ran downstairs and outside, I saw the dogs looking towards the pond, with quizzical looks on their faces. Wifey was on the bank of the pond -- still coughing. She had lost her footing, slid down the bank, and gone in -- all the way. She swallowed a few gulps of water. But she was ok.

More happily, her phone, which was in a plastic sleeve, still worked. I asked her what happened, and she told me in detail. Since she was ok, I was allowed to laugh -- a lot. She even told the Ds herself.

I had her take a hot, scrubbing shower, to remove all the manner of pond life. We looked up issues that arise from swallowing pond water -- the consensus was Wifey would be just fine.

Later that night, we had a neighborhood party. Wifey is on a committee, so she went early to help set up. By the time I arrived, everyone knew about the pond adventure. I told the neighbors it was my fault -- I had the pond moved, and Wifey fell because she didn't expect to find it where it was. A few neighbors actually believed me -- proving that not all rich people are quick on the draw...

It was a very nice party -- drinking and eating apps. Dorothy was there -- a very cool, elderly, South African Jewish lady, who is a world known expert on antique map restoration. It was nice catching up with her.

Our neighbor across the street, Monica, had the best time. She's a very funny blonde woman, originally from D.C. Her husband is a Miami native, and Monica loves to always claim that Northerners are smarter than homegrown folks. The two of them are funny about that.

We left around 10. Our FHP trooper was there -- I shared with him the old line from our law school Torts professor: "I'm far too drunk to walk -- I'd better DRIVE home." He laughed -- hadn't heard that one.

We got home, and Wifey gave the pond a wide berth. We agreed that all future rock cleaning would be done away from any bodies of water.

Send Not To Know For Whom The Bell Tolls...

So just yesterday I was in the office chatting with Stuart -- his Infiniti car was coming up for lease renewal, and he badly wanted to lease a Benz. Money wasn't flowing -- he just bought a car for his son -- and he was thinking about settling for an inferior car. I told him I always considered the words of my wise old boss Ed -- you can't afford NOT to get what you desire...

As if on cue, I came home and learned on FaceBook that a friend, Tom, had died suddenly. I was shocked and saddened, even though we had only met once. But his death was a loud AMEN to my message to Stu.

When D2 first moved to Greenwich Village, Wifey and I took turns visiting her and Jonathan -- Wifey to help her unpack, which I am bad at and loathe, and me to help her get a feel for her new 'hood by going to top restaurants and taking a literary pub crawl -- things I am good at and enjoy.

I was staying at the Walker Hotel a block from their apartment, and awoke one am to wait for D2. Coffee was served at the bar. A fellow was sitting there, already drinking a screwdriver. He wasn't drunk, but I joked that I envied him -- I rarely drank until later in the day, and he was a pro.

He laughed, and said he was "preparing" for his day ahead -- he was squiring his elderly mother around the City -- seeing a matinee on Broadway -- and he needed a little help from vodka before embarking on that task.

I got it. When I used to take my inlaws for lunch, I would order martinis as SOON as we sat -- the better to endure my father in law's onslaught -- may he rest in peace.

We continued to talk, and had an immediate connection. We were about the same age -- he had grown up in Jersey, and I on LI -- but he recently returned from a long stay in Colorado -- he had become a successful realtor, and was returning to the NE to care for his aging parents. Dad was in a nursing home, but Tom was going to spring him, and live with and care for both parents.

We talked nonstop for an hour about growing up in the 70s -- about NYC, Miami, and the West. We talked politics -- his and mine were the same -- socially liberal but conservative in other ways. We talked religion -- he was raised Catholic, but had lapsed -- I was raised socially Jewish, and was still searching.

I was married for a long time. He had recently reconnected with his boyfriend -- a Latin guy 10 years younger than he -- handsome -- we exchanged pictures on our phones.

And then D2 arrived, and we three continued our talk. The Ds always correctly point out that I'm a terrible dresser, and I took exception: Tom and I were both wearing jeans with untucked shirts. But D2 and Tom pointed out that his jeans were very cool ones, well pressed, and my clothes looked like I had pulled them from my overnight bag -- this was true.

We all laughed about the playing out of the classic Queer eye for the straight guy.

We said our goodbyes, and became FaceBook friends. And we'd comment often on our pages. I invited Tom to visit in Miami, and I really meant it. I could tell from his FB posts that he had many and varied friends, and they were close. I also followed on his journey of providing loving care for his parents.

He loved when I told him that caring for elderly parents was a "Top 5" Commandment.

And then I saw a post that he died yesterday, "unexpectedly." I assume the cause will come out. He seemed perfectly healthy.

Still, I was really saddened, though we only met in person once. I knew he was a good guy -- loving and caregiving to his parents -- seeming to enjoy his times with his partner.

It just proves that, as the Henley song goes, in a NY minute -- everything can change. I hope Stu gets the Benz, and drives me around in it. And I get to see him enjoy it.

Running the B and B

So it's February, the best weather in Miami, and per usual, Villa Wifey acts as a B and B. And I am the innkeeper.

Friday Wifey's bff Edna and her man Marc met us at Ruth's Chris in the Gables. Wifey set up a happy hour there with friends Maureen and David -- a couple who has spent time in ATL with Edna and Marc. Maureen usually avoids restaurants -- she prefers to cook at home, and when it comes to eating out is rather, well, penurious.   But Ruth's Chris has great happy hour apps cheap -- burgers and steak sandwiches for less than $10 -- and so she agreed to come along.

After we ate, Edna and Marc accompanied us to Books and Books -- our dear friends' son Roger was turning 5, and we needed some gift books for his party. And then they came back to our house.

I was up early Saturday and gave Marc coffee and cereal -- he was picked up by David for some flats fishing in the Glades. Alas -- the whole day only produced one inedible Oscar -- aquarium fishes now flourishing in the Glades -- at enormous sizes.

The B and B was featuring movie night -- we watched "Double Indemnity" and I brought in pizza from Big Cheese. It was a very chill night.

Sunday, we all met at the Key Biscayne Ritz, for a terrific party for Roger. Paul had a room which served as a bar, and we sat by the pool and then the restaurant. Edna drove Marc to FLL, and Wifey and I came home.

Edna spent Monday cleaning out her parents' condo and listing it for sale. And our B and B duties were not done -- she drove back over, and is spending another few days with us. Last night she treated us to Mexican, at Guadalajara, a local place.

I enjoy being an innkeeper. Wifey generally doesn't -- unless it's family or VERY close friends.

Years ago, we were in Key West, and as we strolled the lovely streets, I said what many have before "Wouldn't it be nice to own a B and B someday?"  Wifey immediately responded that she didn't cook or clean for her own family -- why would she do it for strangers?

So much for that alternative career...

But it's nice to dabble in it. Maybe tonight there'll be a happy hour on our front porch. The weather is perfect for it.

And February Made Me Shiver...With Every Paper I'd Deliver

So today, February 3, is the Day the Music Died, immortalized by the great Don Mclean song "American Pie." The song is a kaleidoscopic view of the 60s, but begins with the tale of the Winter plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, The Big Bopper, and Richie Valens.

But for my family, it has far more significance: it's the Day D2 was born! And that was 27 years ago, but ah yes, I remember it well.

The day before was a Sunday, and we gathered at Eric's parents' house. They were having a 1st birthday party for Jennifer, and Eric and Dana had their little girl in Miami for the festivities. It's funny -- we took a picture with three year old D1 there -- she was playing with another adorable girl who was 2 named Marissa, the daughter of some Jewban friends. Years later (at D2's college graduation dinner at Embers), we would run into Ilisa and Richard, in Hogtown for another friend's graduation, and they'd tell us that their boy's girlfriend was finishing up a Master's in Dietetics at Columbia -- would D1 talk to her? She would, and they became close, and a few weeks ago D1 and Joey attended Marissa's wedding to Ilisa and Richard's boy. It was a connection over the decades started the day before D2 was born.

Anyway -- back to the Monday of the 3rd. We drove to South Miami Hospital, and Dr. Kenward did a planned C section. D2 was sprung. I held her and fell in love. We brought D1 to the hospital and introduced her to her baby sister. She kissed her head. Her best friend for life had joined the band.

Wifey recovered far faster than she did from D1's C section, which was not planned, but came after a full day of labor. It was a happy homecoming, to a lovely house in Kendall, filled with dogs, who accepted D2 into their pack, as they had with her sister. There was little chance D2 would grow up not loving dogs -- and she did not. She loves them, and a favorite family activity for all of us is sharing photos from all over the world of cute or enormous dogs.

And today D2 is 27. She's got it, in the vernacular, all going on. She has a Master's degree in Business from UF. She lives in a funky apartment in Greenwich Village, the one part of NYC where I always wanted to live. She has a job in Jersey. And most importantly, she followed the crucial lessons we tried to teach -- choosing a life partner is the one truly critical thing you can do. And she picked one awesome young man -- a tall, red headed, Venezuelan born Jewish guy. We adore him. They will be married within a year.

So nearly three decades have flown by. We're hosting Wifey's BFF Edna and her husband Marc, and last night, after Big Cheese pizza, we were remembering the Fall of '17. Days after D1's marriage to Joey, we were fleeing to Atlanta, from the wrath of Hurricane Irma. Wifey was sick with an awful virus, and Joey had a health scare. We packed a lot of living into those next few weeks, but came through well, thanks to our support and love.

D2 and Jonathan have many challenges, too. And they'll get through them with the love of all of us, as well. Maybe it's possible to go through this life without close friends and family. I haven't figured out how, or more importantly, why one would care to.

But for today, though were over a thousand miles away, we celebrate D2, a beautiful and accomplished and very funny young woman.

Rock on, D2!