Extended Stay

So D2 found out our family friend jewelry store was having a moving sale -- they're clearing out inventory before temporarily relocating while their showroom is refinished. Based on that -- she extended her stay for another day.

She claims that wasn't the reason -- her man had a job interview Friday, and he would be preparing for it Thursday, and she wanted more time with her family...hmmm.

In any event, on Thursday she and Wifey dropped me at the office and went to visit D1, and then went to the sale, where apparently some critical jewelry was purchased. Afterwards, they came to Brickell, where Dr. Barry was already visiting, and we toasted the new digs, along with Stuart, who was preparing for a depo the next day.

Joel was there with his new subtenants, who are real estate developers, and very colorful characters. We had a nice time.

Since I had a few, and we had talked about the Salt Bae place, I walked Wifey, Barry, and D2 across the street, but mercifully, they had a long wait. I say mercifully since it was the most expensive restaurant I had ever been in -- Stuart paid. Instead, we walked a few blocks north to our go to sushi/Thai place, and had a great dinner and talk.

Yesterday am I made D2 her final Nespresso, and we were off to MIA. She had an on time and uneventful return to NYC. He plane was packed with attendees for Sunday's World Pride Parade -- they're expecting 5 million LGBTQWXYZ people in Greenwich Village -- it's the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots. I added the WXYZ initials in anticipation of newly discovered variants of LGBTQ people -- I want to anticipate future inclusion...

I went back to the office and looked through some files, and then Joel asked me to "take a meeting" with him. I wasn't aware we had moved to Hollywood.  The meeting was an old high school friend of his now working as a sales woman for a national court reporting company, owned by the son of a current US Supreme Court Justice. The son was in town from his San Francisco headquarters.

He doesn't like to advertise his connection to the Supreme Court, and asked Joel not to mention that his father is Stephen Breyer. So we agreed to keep that in house.

I told Joel's friend that Bill, Stu's Dad, is in charge of paying court reporters, and she ought to follow up with him next week, and I was very sure that an 84 year old man who was used to the same court reporting company for the 22 years he worked with his son would happily change companies because the saleswoman was an old friend of a co tenant. In other words -- it ain't happening. Unless they can arrange a private tour of the Supreme Court...

Sunday is Jonathan's birthday, and things worked out well. I had bid on a room at the NYC Ritz, and D2 and Jonathan will decamp there to escape the crushing (but creatively dressed) hordes of Pride celebrants.

Wifey and I plan to exercise our license to chill.

We miss D2 already, but as she told the sad looking Spaniel Bo -- she'll be back in only 5 and a half weeks -- her friend Catherine's bachelorette party is in Key West, and D2 will be stopping here on the way there and back.

The New Digs

So Monday was the first official day my law firm was based at 1000 Brickell Avenue, as opposed to 777 Brickell, our home since 1996. It's a fresh change.

I spent Monday with D2, as she's here for most of this week. She took an exercise class at my gym, and then we headed to Brickell to meet her friend Tara, who quit her job with the local prosecutor last week. She's switching to the civil law world, and wanted my take on things, and so we went to 777 for a final visit to my old office suite, and then downstairs for lunch at Trulucks.  Victor was there -- the only original employee, and "my bartender." But we stuck to lunch -- great tuna salads -- and talked about the law business.

We then drove to the new digs. Tara lives in a studio apartment right next door. We came to the office, and Stu, Vince, and Joel were already prancing about. Joel had a major sentencing hearing the following morning, and was actually preparing. He shared some wildly inappropriate statements with D2 and Tara, and then was off to get ready. He ended up winning -- his client, facing years in prison, got only a short house arrest...

I poured us some small adult beverages, and we all toasted to the success of Tara in her new job, D2 in her new job, and we old lawyers in our new venue.

The place is very small, and all of the interior doors are glass, so everyone is going to have to speak more softly, and not have too much clutter. The last place was a dump, in that regard -- here, clutter will cause a dangerous tripping hazard.

It'll be a nice change.

Yesterday I got some sad news. My old friend Mark's mother Grace died. She was a fine and lovely lady -- Italian background, and a wonderful cook. She and Mark's father had 4 kids -- 2 boys and 2 girls, and divorced after the youngest one finished high school Mark's Dad moved to St. Louis, and died shortly afterwards.

Grace was a RN, and wonderful mother. She wisely turned a blind eye when her kids acted like kids, but was there all the time with love and guidance. Her oldest daughter, Susan, had a troubled life -- drug addiction, and lived in marginal places all over the US. Susan died young, of liver failure, and I was with her and Grace, at Mark's house, a few months before Sue's passing.

I like to think that Grace is now with her beloved daughter. And -- she had a good death -- living at home until hospice came for the final week -- no nursing homes for her. May she rest in peace, and her memory be a blessing to her family.

Today DadBer rides again -- I'm fetching D1 at her house and running her to her MLB gig -- and then picking her up and taking her home. Car trouble? Call DadBer...

Tonight D2 has a dinner at her friend Carly's parents' house -- Abby is a great cook -- and then we'll spend the evening together.

I'll DadBer her to MIA in the morning, and then maybe, to ease the sadness of her departure, head to Stephen's Restaurant for an early lunch.

Stephen's is the remaining Jewish deli from the 50s -- in Hialeah, which used to be the home of all the schmata factories owned by Jews. It's Cuban now, but Stephen's has remained, and recently reopened after a loving renovation.  I may have to check it out...

And the new digs for the firm are fine. When Paul and I formed the firm in '94, we pledged to give it our all for 10 years. Somehow, through a time warp beyond my ken, we turn 25 this November.  I have a strong feeling this space will be our final one, but, who but the Big Man knows?

A Movie Ticket Should Equal One Hour of Minimum Wage

Wifey, who studied Film in college, always told me that -- the movies were the great common man entertainment, and historically a ticket equaled the going minimum hour wage. Indeed, I recall as a child a ticket being somewhere in the high $2 range -- a system designed so even the lowest wage earner could share in Hollywood's latest offerings.

Well, somewhere along the line, that changed -- unless minimum wage is now $27 per hour.  Yesterday we decided to go on a family movie trip -- something we typically only do on Xmas Day, to celebrate Wifey's birthday. But D2 had been staying with D1, and we planned to meet at Brickell Citi Centre (you know it's expensive based on the spelling) to see the Elton John biopic "Rocket Man."

In my typical frugality, I would park at my office and walk the two blocks, but yesterday was a record hot Miami day (95 degrees) and opted to not arrive at the theater soaking wet. So I parked underground, which is actually pretty cool -- the Centre has the only below street parking -- they built the thing by freezing the ground water, pouring the waterproof (hopefully) concrete shell, and then letting the ice thaw. So far, the enormous project is still standing.

I bought the tickets at the super luxury theater -- $27 each. It's true -- the place is a level up from the usual luxe theater IPic. IPic is Business Class -- the one at the Centre is First Class.  The Ds arrived, and the waitress came to our seats. Wifey got a cappucinno, D2 a shrimp salad, and I got an Absolut on ice. That bill was about $70.  Since parking was "validated" each car cost $12, instead of $16. So the price of a movie date for 4 of us was just over $200.

Then, we went to the food court next to Saks. D1 got two salads and a veggie soup to go, for her and Joey. That was about $40. It's true -- the salad is amazingly fresh, and all the ingredients were top drawer, but Brickell Citi Centre is no place for schleppers.

And -- it was PACKED. Most of the shoppers appeared to be wealthy foreigners -- South American and European.  I guess to them the prices are part of the trip.

Meanwhile -- the movie was indeed entertaining.  Wifey loved it, D2 and I liked it, and D1 thought it was arty but could have been seen on TV.

And most importantly -- it was a delightful family day out. But next time maybe we'll avoid the Concorde of theaters...

Early this am, I waited for first light, and took a 2.2 mile walk. I have pledged to D2 I will step up my exercise game, and step down my eating game. She really wants Wifey and me around -- and in a young-ish state.

As I was completing my second lap, a Lexus pulled out, with a neighborhood yenta inside. She pulled down her window, and I walked over to say hello. Her first words were "Can you believe the way they (pointing to house across the street) are cutting down the trees? Don't they know this is NOT West Kendall!" She said the place name like it was Hades...

I nodded, wished her a fine day, and chuckled to myself. Every neighborhood needs its malcontents. We have one driving a Lexus...

Today, D2 and I are headed to Brickell together. I need to see the new office set up, and D2 is meeting her friend Tara for lunch. Afterwards, D2 will drop me at Christy's -- Wifey and I are meeting Kenny and Joelle, for Kenny and my 40th high school graduation anniversary. I already told D2 I plan to avoid the enormous prime rib -- Wifey and I will split a small steak and the fish...

40 years ago today I walked across the stage. At the house afterwards, my Mom took a picture of me and my Dad. He was handing me his wallet -- symbolizing the college tuition he was about to pay. He was beaming.

I beam at the thought of taking care of my family. But maybe next time that taking care involves a movie -- we'll stick to Business Class.

D2 Home

It's been lovely having D2 back here -- especially for her longest visit since she moved to NYC four years ago. She left a job in NJ, to take another one walking distance to her home in Greenwich Village, and the supervisor told her to wait until after July 4 to begin. So D2 hopped the proverbial Billy Joel "flight to Miami Beach" and has been here since Tuesday. We keep her until this Thursday.

Friday am we had a father/daughter workout, custom designed by the guru, Enrique. He put us through a nice cardio and strength routine, and highly praised D2. When he last saw her in March, he noted that while she was thin and in good cardio shape, she needed a lot of strength work, and D2 heeded the guru's advice, and has been following more strength training in NYC. Enrique said she was a "different person," and D2 was proud -- I could tell.

She took my car afterwards and cruised up to Shorecrest, for a sister/sister day. They shared pedicures in Aventura, and then went to So Heavenly to pick up dinner. So Heavenly is a glatt kosher caterer and market, owned by Joey's good friend's parents. The food is delicious, but not, well, cheap...

Wifey and I hit the road around 3:45, and were there for a lovely shabbos dinner. I LOVE that D1 and Joey light candles and observe the holiday. I wish Wifey and I weren't so lazy, and did it, too, but Wifey ain't no challah back girl...

Thursday night Tara had been over -- D2's good friend -- to ask me for some law career advice. I had opened a bottle of Baby Blue, a nice red wine mix, and Friday night D2 and Joey finished it off. I hate wasting good food or wine...

Wifey and I came home, and D2 was going to join us yesterday, but decided to stay with her sister and brother in law. Was it ok with me? It was GREAT with me -- I love the closeness the two Ds have, and encourage it and love when it happens. D2 will come home later today, and we'll take her to visit her ancient grandmother Rachel.

Meanwhile, in the laziness of yesterday, I realized that my old friend Eric's wife, Jackie, was no longer on FaceBook, and therefore I hadn't heard from him in awhile. As we're all getting up in years, my thoughts turned to the dark -- maybe one or both of them had passed on.

I emailed Eric, who lives in Palm Harbor -- and he responded right away. They were fine, but Jackie was off FaceBook -- she works now full time for the St. Petersburg, Florida opera, and no longer does social media. As for Eric -- he was doing consulting work for Boeing -- he has a degree from UCSD in Computer Science, and worked for years in military contracting -- in LA for Northrup Grumman.

For the past years, he has worked for Verizon in Tampa, but missed aeronautics. Well, he told me -- he's now helping with electronic redesign of the systems that troubled the 737 Max -- working, part time, in the field he loves. He promised to tell me when it becomes safe to fly those planes again.

I hesitated to ask about his mother. She is 84, and was living near Eric. Sadly, Sheila has dementia, and went to live in Indiana, with Eric's younger brother and his wife. I guess they're better equipped to care for her. Nice lady -- I wish her well...

Meanwhile, Mike texted from his high school's 40th reunion -- saying there were many old people there he didn't recognize.  It made me happy that I was NOT going to my reunion -- our friend Jeannette's daughter is getting married on that same Fall Saturday, and so we begged off.

But -- turns out that tomorrow is the actual anniversary, 40 years ago, of my high school graduation.  Kenny suggested we have our own reunion -- at a restaurant that was in existence in 1979. I immediately suggested Christy's in Coral Gables.

So we have reservations with our CURRENT prom dates -- Wifey and Joelle. We will meet and toast the passing of four decades. Kenny and I agree we are very lucky fellows, indeed.

And then I plan to savor several more days of D2 in the 305. It's hot as hell in Miami, but I barely notice the weather...

All of Us Together Can Be Stupider Than Any One Of Us Alone

Committees. I was never very good at being in them. Dr. Barry spends much of his professional life in them -- listening to self important academics insist on telling everyone around them how smart they are.

Between my activities at UM and His Holiness, the Rabbi's shul, I have been on several committees over the past 1/4 century. I find myself bored within the first minutes of a meeting -- looking at the participants and making up stories in my head about their lives...

Over time, I got out of the committees -- save one. It was the U M Arts and Sciences Visiting Committee -- something my friend Ross Murfin started in the 90s. He asked about 10 of us -- mostly College Alums, and a few wealthy academic dilettantes, to meet with him twice a year (he was Dean then) to give our input about the College and the Miami community, and how the College might improve.

During the next 26 years or so, as several different Deans came and went, the Committee morphed into a group of VERY rich folks who gave, or might be willing to, give money to the College. I went from being someone whose opinion mattered to a very small fish -- sitting next to the wife of the hedge fund guy, for instance, who gave $10 million to build the new student union.

I thought seriously about quitting, but couldn't really justify doing so, even though the Dean stole my one big idea, for a central College internship program, and told everyone he had come up with it. The meetings were only twice a year, and they always had a brilliant and interesting speaker -- the last one was the Director of the Lowe Art Museum, who taught a lesson about campus art galleries nationwide.

Other speakers talked about the spread of the Zika virus -- this was long before Zika became a thing in the US, and evolving theories of urban living.

Also -- Wifey and I got cool passes - like to meet Anderson Cooper, and Thomas Friedman, and tickets to music shows with Steve Miller and Don Waas, and  Bruce Hornsby.

Still -- I was going to quit...and then, kismet intervened. I got a letter from the Dean that said, in two full pages, that they were doing away with the Committee, and replacing it with two SEPARATE committees. One would be asked to "advance our College's prominence," while the other would "provide advice on major issues -- to advance the College's prominence."

The letter gave me the best belly laugh in awhile. Some consultant, hired by the university to get better, said it made sense to increase bureaucracy among rich volunteers. Precious.

The letter further said I would be contacted over the Summer to best match my talents with "existing University volunteer opportunities." In other words, I gleaned, I was not going to be asked to serve on either of the newly formed committees, but would be offered, maybe, some lesser role.

I get it. My donations have slowed to a trickle -- sort of like having benign prostate hyperplasia of donation.

A few years ago, I got a letter from the "Advancement Office" thanking me for my "lifetime contributions of over $50K."  That was nice, but I wrote them and told them my lifetime contributions, to the Med School, College, Hurricane Club, and a trickle to the Law School, had exceeded $100K. 

An embarrassed flunky wrote back and apologized, but the writing was on the wall. My beloved alma mater wants more Phil Frosts and Miller Family, and Perez's -- and fewer little 6 figure pishers like me.

I knew things had changed when they built a totally unnecessary additional bridge over Lake Osceola, which is truly only a wide part of a canal. The bridge cost well over $1M.

I will politely tell whoever calls me this Summer that I will always love the U, but am not a committee guy -- even a lesser one that the coming two new College groups of much richer folks than I currently being assembled.

The Dean's letter to us concluded that he was "immensely proud of the current Visiting Committee accomplishments."  Yeah. Whatever.

The truth is, FIU needs our money and time more. They're spending the money we give helping future health care providers realize their dreams.

And FIU doesn't even want to HEAR the word "bridge."

The Homecoming

So it's been four years since D2 decamped to NYC after getting her Master's from UF. I'm excited for her -- if I have any life regrets, it's that I never got to live in Manhattan for any period of time. But, since I hope she someday returns to the 305, I call her stay there an extended sabbatical. And each time she returns home, it's a big deal for us.

Yesterday I had a fine workout with my guru, Enrique. D2 has met him, and worked out with him, too, and we've planned a Dad/Daughter session on Friday am. After a nap against a backdrop of heavy rain and thunderstorms, I roused Wifey and we headed to MIA to fetch our girl.

The weather caused a delay, and so we parked at the Latin Cafe on LeJeune awaiting word that D2's bag was there. She is a young woman with manifold wonderful qualities -- packing efficiently isn't one of them. For her 8 days home, she had a suitcase marked by Delta as "Heavy" that many people would take for a month tour.

MIA was packed. It was a Tuesday in June, but it didn't matter. The weather made it worse, as did, I learned, the impending arrival of The Donald, due in for the night after kicking off his campaign for reelection in Orlando.  Still, we crawled through Arrivals, and found our girl. There was much hugging.

I drove us to dinner in the Gables. It was after 8, and D2 approved healthy restaurants in Pinecrest close early. We walked to Hillstone, the former Houston's. It was packed -- the young hostess gaily said "45 minutes," and I gaily said "Not for us." D2 spotted a My Ceviche across Miracle Mile, and reminded us that D1 had done a lot of work with them, and so we ate healthy and delicious bowls as the place was shutting down for the night.

We started for home, and D2 got an impish look -- did we want to do something crazy her first night home?  We were game. Turns out she LOVES the newly opened Milam's Market in Sunniland -- she's a foodie like her sister -- and so we stopped in for some late night grocery exploration. We picked fresh fruit, and gourmet cheese, and she stood in the aisle and looked around and said "I love this place." And all was good.

I paid at the checkout, joking it was expensive to have her home, and she pointed out that she only wanted fresh fruit, and Wifey and I filled the cart with many other items. She was correct.

We drove home and were greeted by the borrowed pet bunny -- plopped in his night time spot on our driveway. D2 took his picture, and as we unloaded groceries, was happily greeted by Bo, the Special Needs Spaniel, and Vienna, the strange rescue dog.

We sat on the couch and D2 and Bo reminisced about their time together in Gainesville -- Fall of '14, as Bo helped his girl get her MS, with Aunt Ashley living with them. And now, of 4 best UF friends, Ali is married, Catherine is due at the altar in November, D2 in January, and Ashley still waiting to take the plunge with her man, the son of a preacher man. Really...

The AC was happily on last night, but there was a sweet warmth in Villa Wifey. D2 is home. I am one very happy Daddy in the USA.

Adios 777

Paul and I moved our offices to 777 Brickell Avenue in 1996. We had begun our firm in what was then called International Place, but we always called it the CenTrust Building. It was iconic -- lit up in different colors each night, and with fixtures that were amazing -- courtesy of fraudster David Paul, who spared no stolen expense in building his edifice.

We were in a shared office space company called Quantum, and after being there for four months, we learned the company was bankrupt, and we had to leave. Paul convinced our roomie Mark to stay -- and so we squatted there, rent free, for 5 months.

My favorite memory from those waning months involved a case we had against a carnival. A roller coaster knocked over a young girl, shattering her leg. The company wanted to have a settlement conference, and the lawyer, an old timer called Miles, and his claim executive attended. They made a substantial offer.

After the offer, Miles said to us "Guys -- I know you're a brand new firm, and you really don't want to turn down this kind of money." Paul responded that we were exceptionally well funded, were doing what was best for the client, and had no worries about finances.

With that, a crew burst into the conference room, and said "We're here to repossess the rented plants," and started hauling them out. Miles looked at us sideways.  We explained that WE were moving, not broke, etc... We ended up settling for more money a few weeks later.

Anyway -- we then set about looking for new space, and thought we were going to move to the penthouse of the Museum Tower, then we got a call from our bankers at SunTrust. Would we move there?  At the time we did a LOT of business with them -- they held millions of our clients' dollars in protected, very profitable to the bank, accounts, and wanted us to be close. They offered us a very low priced lease, on the first floor, and we took it. We moved in in 1996.

It was perfect for us. We handled many memorable cases. We hosted many memorable social functions -- fundraisers for judges and other politicians, other parties.  We had many memorable laughs -- and some, to use the word of our late friend Alan, tensosity.

One year I forgot to send in a signed option letter, and the bank said we had to leave -- to move to the 4th floor. They paid for everything, and built out custom space for us up on the 4th floor. Our space was given to Trulucks, and great pub, which was a far better use of the space than our law firm.  This was 2008.

In 2011, Stuart came and took over our operations. He moved his staff and shared expenses with Mark, until, in a major douche move, Mark announced he was retiring and had made his final rent payment.

At that point, Joel took Mark's space, and since that time the operation has limped along. But then the building was sold to some Brazilian brothers, whom I call the Brazilian brothers, and SunTrust lost their sublease. With that, our sub, sublease ended, too, and Stuart and Joel had to renew with the Brazilians.

The days of the amazingly cheap rent were done. But, Stu and Joel liked the space, as did the several sub, sub, sub tenants, and it appeared that a renewal was happening for July. It was a big number -- close to $1M in rent over the coming 5 years. Joel demanded, at the very least, new paint and carpeting. The Brazilians said no -- they had already given the best deal, they said.

So Stu enlisted Vince to look around, and he found, on Craiglslist, an office condo for rent only 2 blocks away, for about half the cost. 

The movers are coming Saturday. D2 noted that this building has been my office since she was 4 -- the only building for her Dad she ever knew.

Paul came in and removed much of his personal stuff. I already had. I tossed out lots of old papers and records. I'm down to two bankers boxes, with our checkbooks and some case records. I will move these myself.

The office is due to be moved Saturday, so this is the final week in the building. I plan to, as Springsteen says, take a good look around.

Change is inevitable.

Adios, 777.

Everything's Quiet on Father's Day

Father's Day is the poorer cousin of Mother's Day, and for good reason. We KNOW who our mom's are -- we think we know who our Dad's are.

My cop friend found out for sure this year he was the father of a now 28 year old young woman. But the best part of the story is that her mother had told the girl, for her entire life, that her father was the man she was married to at the time she had the affair with my friend. Better, when I tell the tale to many women, those who are honest say "Oh -- assuming I wanted to stay married, I would have done exactly the same thing."  Hence, poorer cousin day...

I'm reasonably certain the Ds are mine, biologically, but the truth is, I adore them so much, it wouldn't matter. Each was handed to me immediately after the C section, or as I called it, the baby-ectomy, and I felt a love I had beforehand I never knew. It was truly unconditional -- there is NOTHING these two now grown women could do that would make me love them less.

I'm self deprecating, or try to be, about many things. I never brag about prowess as a professional. I drive a car and dress like a man much poorer than I am. But when it comes t being a father -- I stand on the hilltops and shout that it has been my life's work. I said just the other night, in the presence of His Holiness, Rabbi Yossi, that I am the second best Dad I know. The first is Alex, whose patience and love with his special needs son, and the fact that he has started a now runs a major company dedicated to finding a cure for his son's condition, puts me happily in second place. Not that I'm competitive...

I had the world's best teacher to be a Dad. Hy loved me unconditionally. And we truly loved each other -- he was my best friend, the one I ran to with all of life's ups, and downs, too. He was the only one I ever wished to make proud, and he taught me a lesson about that, too.

He beamed when I told him I was going into pre med, to be a doctor. He bought me a hard cover copy of "Gray's Anatomy" in high school, and inscribed it "To my son, for his pre pre med studies." It's one of the very few books I will always keep.

Hy never got to go to college, as after WW II he worked three jobs to support my sisters and mother, but he was a self taught intellectual. He read voraciously, and always admired smart people more than rich ones. I knew he couldn't wait to introduce me in the classic dream way of the son of Jewish immigrants "My son, the doctor."

But I knew by my second year of college that my path was changing. I loved Humanities and dreaded Sciences. Worst of all was Math -- I managed, with the help of Barry, to wrangle a gentleman's C in Calculus Class.

Worst, I dreaded disappointing my Dad. I had no back up career plan. So I slogged it out through Spring of my junior year, until I took Embryology, the class the professor told all of us pre meds was most like the first years of medical school, and I hated that class most of all.

So I switched majors to English, learning that if I hoofed it, I could still graduate "on time," in the Spring of '83. I was excited to start studying various types of Literature in the Spring of '82. But, I had to go home to my parents' Delray condo to give the news of my failure of Dad's dream.

Another friend, Jeff, also had a Bronx born Jewish Dad, and he struggled, too. He ended up taking an extra year of pre med studies up in Gainesville so as to not disappoint his Dad, David. Jeff ended up doing fine, but his younger brother entered law school at UF to please the tough ass David, and ended up never taking the Bar. He manages his brother's lucrative practice to this very day...

I remember the meeting. Dad was in the Florida Room. I came in, head down, and told him. I awaited his displeasure. Instead -- he beamed. His exact words, which I recall with clarity all these years later: "I was waiting for this to happen. I always knew you were more of an English student than a Science one. You won top English grad in high school! Go study what you enjoy -- there are worse things than being an English professor!"

And just like that, the man I loved the most made me love him more. He got me. His dreams for me were that my dreams became real.

So I went back for the second half of my junior year, and busted ass. I was going to get the first 4.0 of my career at UM. I was going to become outstanding English Major at graduation, even though I was starting with more than half the race over. I would use my charm and amazing bullshitting ability. It worked -- I was so honored in May of '83, and given a book of Frost poetry inscribed by Chair John Paul Russo. That's another book I'll always keep.

But before that glory, I worked as a summer salesman at Jordan Marsh in Boca. Each day I would come home from the Town Center Mall, looking in the mail for my grades. One day, I told Mom I was going to the mailbox. She smiled, pointed me to the Florida Room, and said Dad had already opened a letter from UM.

I walked out and he was sitting in the recliner, holding a paper with the grades. He said nothing, but held up 4 fingers in the air. I had gotten the 4.0! I was proud. He was beaming, too, and we hugged. Life was so beautiful at that moment.

Well, fate can be a nasty bitch, and she was --less than two months later, Dad died in my arms of a massive heart attack -- July 14, 1982.

Just over six years later, Fate turned kind, and in November of '88,I became a father, too. Three years and three months after that, I would have my second daughter.

I SO wish my Ds could have known my father. I guess in many ways they did -- I talked about him to my Ds constantly. I still do.

One morning, D1 and I were sitting quietly on the sofa in our reconstructed after Hurricane Andrew house. Her baby sister was sleeping, as was her mother. It was pouring rain outside, and as I went through the morning Herald, she was going through one of her preschool books. Midnight the Lab and Alfred the Cocker Spaniel were on the couch with us (no mystery that both of my Ds are dog obsessed). D1 looked up at me with her big eyes and asked "Daddy -- would Grandpa Hy have loved me?"

I hugged her so tight, and cried, and told her yes, yes, yes -- he surely would have.

He Moves in Mysterious Ways

So yesterday, Rabbi Yossi called to invite Wifey and me for shabbat dinner. We hadn't seen our dear, religious friends in too long. Could we come?

I called Wifey, and she said, sure -- we were free. That set in motion a series of Seinfeldian events. I told the Rabbi we would love to come. He then called my brother Paul and his fiancee Patricia to invite them as well. The night was set.

But wait. Wifey had previously told her friend Elizabeth, down in Lauderdale at a medical conference, that we would drive there to meet her for dinner. She was staying with us Saturday night, after she planned to attend her sister's suegra's 99th birthday party in the Grove. Wifey forgot.

She remembered, but by now we had agreed. So she invited her friend to join us -- with the Rabbi's permission. But Elizabeth ,hating the traffic, didn't wish to drive to Miami from Lauderdale, and so declined. Drama ensued.

But we went. And it was a lovely night -- Rabbi and his amazing wife were wonderful hosts. They had Bar Mitzvahed D1, and then the Rabbi married her. They Bar Mitzvaed D2, and will marry her in January. We go back nearly a quarter of a century.

6 of their 9 kids were in attendance, including the oldest boy, a rising 3 L at UF Law. He gave me a Gator colored kippah to wear. I put it on, knowing no photos could be taken on shabbat.

We drank. We sang, We ate. It was lovely.

Nechama's BFF was there -- a rebetzin from Michigan, who founded the Friendship Circle. Basie was amazing -- in her 40s, with 2 grandkids already, and wonderful. She was from, and still lived in, Michigan, and was Midwestern nice. Her idea has now blossomed into 90 Friendship Circles worldwide -- amazing places that serve special needs kids. She downplayed her accomplishments -- I saw through the false modesty. This was a world changing woman...

Another family was invited. They had arrived from Israel last week -- a Dad, Mom, and 16 year old girl. I noticed immediately the girl was puffy looking and shuffled when she walked. Sure enough -- she was fighting a brain tumor, and had failed treatment in Israel.

Sloan Kettering had invited her to the US for an experimental treatment -- and sent her to Baptist Hospital's  Miami Cancer Institute -- allied with Sloan Kettering.  The girl would get treatment here -- the family was put up in an apartment near Miracle Mile, in Coral Gables. I hoped the address would be prophetic.

The Dad, Paul, and I drank most of the fifth of Absolut I brought. He was a great guy -- but I saw the fear in his face. Later this week, he was returning to Tel Aviv, to care for his two younger kids -- the Mom and girl patient would stay in Miami.

They were going to Uber home. Right -- as if. Buzzed, I invited them into our SUV, and Wifey drove to the Gables. I gave the Dad my card -- telling him to share it with his wife if she needed anything.

I guess the Big Man has his logic. I couldn't see it tonight -- why would a sweet, 16 year old girl be given such a scary disease?

I texted Dr. Barry the tale -- ending with an epithet about myself.

And that's how I feel this early Saturday morning.

I'm surely no Christian, but hear "Why Me Lord" playing in my head.

Indeed -- He moves in mysterious ways...

Escape to Maine

So it's been a rough week here in the 305. Last weekend D1 felt really poorly, and Joey took her to JMH's ED. I typically don't share tales of family illness, but since D1 posted about the experience on her practice's blog, it's no secret.

Anyway, she had a bunch of tests, and her care was overseen by an additional father she has, Dr. Barry. He has long spoken of a Dr. Y, a man from Lebanon, and he became D's attending. When he met her, he said "You belong to me now." We all got teary eyed -- how rare it is to hear that, these days, from a physician.

It's funny -- we're Jews, and our people have had some tough times with Arabs, especially since the late 40s. And two of the finest people I have met in my life, both doctors, are both Arab Muslims. The first was also a doctor, Dr. K, who took care of my family years ago. She was very competent, but more importantly had a pure heart, and made some scary times much easier. And now Dr. Y, who Barry tells me is cut from the same cloth.

Joey sensed his character and aura, too. Joey's namesake grandfather is also of Middle Eastern background, though a Sephardic Jew. When he met Dr. Y, he reminded Joey immediately of his beloved, late grandfather. Funny how life makes connections.

Anyway -- Dr. Barry, despite his self deprecation, is a major big shot at JMH, and it was wonderful to meet young residents and fellows who revered him.  The care at JMH, and physical plant, were superb. I couldn't imagine finer care anywhere.

It turned out that, fortunately, D1 just had a bad stomach flu, but, Big Man forbid it would have been a more complicated issue, she was in exactly the right place.

Anyway -- Wifey was called into service -- getting to the hospital to D1 sit so Joey could go to work. Joey refuses to ever leave his wife alone in a hospital -- any hospital. Wifey and I aren't sure how, among our amazing luck in life, we got a son in law like him, but we did. So Wifey drove all over Miami Dade for her girl.

But we could use a break -- especially from the Miami heat, which is upon us like a hot, wet blanket. Enter my friend since junior high school, Kenny.

Kenny has lived an exciting life -- flight surgeon on an aircraft carrier during the Gulf War -- living all over the nation as a Navy doctor. He married a brilliant and accomplished woman, and they have two great sons. And yet, Kenny is very excited -- about a house he and Joelle have been renovating on a lake in Maine. They have built a true beauty, and, after living with Wifey and me for several days at a rental in Sonoma, have realized they can tolerate us as houseguests.  So I've booked a stay there next month, around the time of my 58th birthday.

I've never been much of a hobby guy, but love being around hobby guys. For example, cars. I drive a boring Lexus sedan, which was once properly described to me as an appliance -- dependable and boring. That's just what I want in my vehicle --it gets me where I want, the AC works, and maybe I even have the luxury of satellite radio.

But I love going to car shows with guys into cars. Their passion is infectious.

It's the same about houses. I'm pretty sure Wifey and I will never own a second home again.  I'd rather rent -- even for a long term. But being around folks who are truly passionate about their houses and their renovations is a real kick. And we'll get to experience that next month.

Speaking of Kenny -- he's a radiologist -- a specialty Barry's mentor at UF, Dr. Hill, called "shadow merchants."  Just this am, I was out walking, and ran into a very nice neighbor, an internist named Feanny. We were talking about getting away for the Summer, and I mentioned Ken, and asked if he knew him from Baptist Health. Indeed -- he had never met Kenny, but well knew his name from radiology reports. So it turns out that indeed the shadow merchants toil...in the shadows...

So -- the cooler temps of Maine await. We'll fly into Portland, a city I've driven past but never really visited. Apparently they have lots of craft breweries and cool shops. From there, we'll get to the lake house -- I'm already calling it Golden Pond.  Kenny and Joelle bought a pontoon boat, and promised sunset booze floats around the lake. Sounds divine...

Speaking of divine -- D2 and Jonathan live in Greenwich Village, and each year, at the end of June, get stuck on their street because of the annual Pride Parade. They live very close to the epicenter of the gay pride world -- the Stonewall Bar. This year it's the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall riots, and they're expecting 4.5 million visitors to float down to Greenwich Village. I won a night at the Ritz Carlton in Midtown in an annual charity auction, and hopefully that will be their escape hatch during the craziness coming at the end of the month.

D2 has asked me to stop using politically incorrect descriptions of the event. I tried to comply, but I can't.  I always think of the aforementioned mentor to Barry, Dr. Hill of UF, who called older single patients "spinster-type women."  I wish I had met Dr. Hill...

So if all goes to plan, Wifey and I will be flying to Portland, via LGA, in a bit over a month. It'll be nice to cool down a bit, in more ways than one.

And In The End

So Saturday night was a banner one. Eric and Dana arrived at Villa Wifey, from Boca, and Edna and Marc soon followed. Barry and Donna were close behind. We were gathered to Lyft ourselves over to Norman and Deb's for Deb's non surprise party for Norman.

I had helped earlier in the day -- meeting Norman and his Dad Max to get Norman out of the house. As we parted, I told Max I hoped to next see him closer in time than our last meeting. He winked at me as Norman paid the bill -- we knew the next meeting was hours away.

Eric poured martinis, and begged off himself -- he was going to wait for the party. Knowing my brother well, I poured him some Middleton -- premium Irish whiskey -- knowing he would never turn that down. He did not.

So we 8 lifelong friends toasted -- our lives, our kids, hopes for future grandkids. We knew we are a blessed bunch.

At 6 the two Lyfts arrived, and dropped us off at Norman and Deb's stately Palmetto Bay manor. Delicious food was being served. After a bit of fumbling, the young bartender began to serve. Jeff and Lili and Mike and Loni were there -- Mike and Loni have use of Chrisber -- their boy Chris, living at home during law school, serves as their manservant in exchange for free room and board (and tuition).

It occurred to me that my closest college and law school friends were all gathered in one place -- about to honor another of this sacred, to me, number of people.

I met Glenn, a dear friend of Norman's since Gables High, who became a famous DJ locally and moved to Gainesville years ago to teach Rock and Roll and work in radio there. He prepared the night's playlist, which was sublime -- all great 80s tunes. Glenn was D2's professor years ago, and she loved his class. I shared with him a moment that seemed fiction but wasn't: as I drove D2 home from MIA after a flight from GNV, we were talking about the class, and she told me they were studying Punk and New Wave. I looked in our rear view mirror, and as if on cue, saw Iggy Pop behind us on Ludlam Road, in his red Ferrarri. Glen loved the tale.

Norman arrived, and was shocked. Many of the 75 guests thought it was his birthday -- but that's not until the Fall. Deb just wanted to celebrate her wonderful husband, and did so spectacularly.  Sebastian the Ibis was there -- for photos and Canes cheers. Edna's man Marc scoffed -- he thought his USC Trojan Man was the better mascot. Ha. As if!

Barry and Donna were staying the night at a Brickell hotel -- Barry was running his Peds residents graduation on Sunday. Alas -- Donna realized she had left her clothes home in the Pines. Loni came to the rescue -- they Ubered over to the Falls for an emergency shop at Macy's -- problem solved, while we all continued to drink.

Norman passed along tequila shots. I declined -- I learned that adding anything to my wonderful titration of vodka is a bad idea for me. But there was true joy in the house that night.

Barry and Donna shared a Lyft home -- Barry chatted with the wonderfully accented Jamaican driver about the merits of Ford cars. I made Donna a late night decaf. And they were off.

The next day, Deb posted photos, with the message that if there was anything better than spending an evening with close friends like we all were -- she had no idea what it was. Amen and indeed.

I'm always truly amazed at people who sail through this life without close connections.  I truly am.

I just don't see how one goes it alone -- without the support and love of those who truly find you as sacred to them as they are to you.

One sacred man to me, my partner Paul, who wasn't at the party Saturday, agrees. He gives so much of himself to his kids and grandkids, and other kids who have come into his life's orbit. He rejoices at the good times in life, because he knows valleys appear.

So last weekend was a terrific one. The party properly honored Norman, but I was one very lucky Daddy in the USA...

Our Crimes Are Not Who We Are

So yesterday Wifey and I drove over to the Key Biscayne Ritz, to meet Edna and Marc, and Paul and Patricia. Edna was drinking prosecco, and Wifey joined her , and they asked what I wanted. I told them I was waiting...

When Paul showed, Edna saw why the wait -- we had smuggled in some vodka, which we drink with the hotel's ice. Back in January, when we took over the bar and gave out hundreds of dollars of free cocktails to our friends, after the hotel incompetently had no staff, we got a taste for this form of scofflawery. 

We sat and talked, and the subject came to people's words versus their actions. Wifey noted that many people she knows give "good phone," but can't be bothered to either write a check or physically help when needed.

And I shared the wonderful line from a recent NY Times article about women in prison serving long sentences, for things like murder: "Our crimes are not who we are."  No?  Those affected by those crimes might beg to differ. A murderer is INDEED a murderer...

Our actions surely define who we are -- far more than our words. If I'm stuck in a burning building, I'll only be saved by a brave fireman -- people on the ground sharing how badly they feel for me lead to a charred corpse.

This am I had the privilege of meeting Norman and his wonderful Dad Max for breakfast -- over at the Bagel Emporium.  Max is a prime example of a man in full -- and it's because of what he had DONE over his long and wonderful life -- been there for his family, even, until recently, flying to far flung locations for baby namings or bris ceremonies for great grandkids.

We had a great time talking about WW II -- Max joined the Navy near the end of the War. And the life he built for himself and his family thereafter is a big page of Miami history.

Yesterday I was able to do some good. A dear friend's son was jailed in California, and the friend was unable to visit, or get much information. The boy is Jewish, and I knew about the Aleph Institute, which helps Jews in "the dark system," as the Rebbe called it.  My man Yossi referred me to the Aleph guy, in Miami, who answered my text from a plane, and put me in touch with Rabbi Yankee of LA. I wanted to ask if he was related to Daddy Yankee, but didn't think he'd get the reference.

Anyway, the young Rabbi visited the inmate and reported back to my friend. A long road awaits, but at least the comfort of information was provided.

I guess people can go it alone in this world, but I've never seen how...

But today -- a nap has my name on it, and I intend to claim it. It's already too hot to do about anything else.

So for me, on this Saturday, a nap is quite who I am...

RIP, Irv

So the other night at dinner, we were talking about Norman's wonderful father Max. I have long admired him -- he's turning 92 in the Fall, but is really a much younger man. His children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren fight for his time. He drives. He attends our beloved Canes games.

On the way to the restaurant, Deb was on the phone with Norman, and I mentioned I hadn't seen Max in awhile -- but now I shall. We have breakfast plans for Saturday. I look most forward to it.

At dinner, I blurted out that Max was the only old person I liked. I was mistaken -- there was one more. But maybe my mistake was ominous.

Although I saw him rarely, I also like my neighbor Irv. He was a UM Law grad, but hadn't practiced in years. He had a "hot young wife," Kay, who was a stewardess in the 60s and was truly hot then. I guess she's about 20 years younger than Irv.

I met Irv walking in the 'hood. He gave my dogs some biscuits, which he always carried with him. He owned no dogs. That's the kind of guy Irv was.

We met at several neighborhood parties, and compared notes about lawyers we knew, over the generations. He was close friends with the fellows who formed Greenberg, Traurig -- now one of the biggest law firms in the US. He told me how, back in the day, Mel Greenberg hung with the old guys while Irv and his fellows hung together. Mel knew the old guys would die sooner and he'd get their estate business. Irv joked that he was now one of the "targets" of the next generation of Mel Greenbergs...

Wifey and I would run into Irv and Kay at Captain's Tavern, our local seafood hut. Kay drove their late model Caddy. The two of them golfed together, daily, at Deering Bay, or did. Recently Irv stayed home while Kay golfed with her friends.

About two weeks ago, I walked the 'hood and passed their house, a well kept one story, Devonwood ranch from the 50s. They moved there in 1973. The Caddy was out front, and a few papers were out front. I carried them to the porch, as I always did.

Irv was a news junkie, like I was. When we'd pass each other, or see each other out front of our respective houses, we'd lament how the Herald had fallen, from a once great daily to essentially a folder that took 10 minutes to read -- 15 on Sunday. But we still had it delivered. Old habits die hard, as Irv noted, and I, the younger man, agreed.

Well -- last night Wifey forwarded me a text. Irv had died a few weeks ago. Kay hadn't wanted to share the news until yesterday. I assume there was no funeral, as Irv was Jewish, and would have been buried or cremated close in time to his passing.

Jeff and I spoke on the phone. He got the news from Gloria -- our association president. He was going to remark that our 'hood's old folks die very late, but remembered Gloria's husband dropped at 60 -- and so kept that thought to himself.

Irv was 96.

As far as I knew , he never went to a facility.  I thought -- how wonderful -- staying in one's home until nearly 100. Irv did it his way.

He was a good man. I'll miss him.

And Max must rock on, which I know he will. His soul is far too young to be ready to be going anywhere -- except for things like breakfast -- this Saturday.

The Passage of Time

So for years we shared space with and worked with a lawyer I'll call Brian, since that's his name.  We all really dug him -- he and his wife had three sons, and the Ds would babysit them. The youngest was an adorable little boy who once did something that has become part of my family's lore.

His Dad found him eating an entire box of cookies. He was 4. Brian said "You can't just take cookies, you have to ask a grownup." The little man responded "I DID ask someone. I asked MYSELF, and I said YES."  We all love that tale.

Anyway, Brian was doing well, but his wife was a bit unhappy. She wanted to be more of a big fish in her community, and so decided the family should move to Orlando, where a lawyer's salary means a lot more than here. So they did -- and several years later, she and Brian separated.  He taught us a lesson about living to please your spouse -- sometimes you have to take a stand...

Well, yesterday I caught up with Brian -- I referred him a case. His oldest, who I remember as a late elementary school kid, graduated from high school He excelled there, and got into Duke. He also got into the U, with a very healthy scholarship. Since there are two more kids to educate after the first born, he chose the U, and is moving here in August.

Brian is very proud. He went to college in Boston, and UF Law, but is a dedicated Canes fan. I told him to give his boy my contact info -- Big Man forbid he needs help, we live just 10 minutes from campus.

The middle boy is starting 11th grade. That was also a mindblower -- he was also a small boy last I saw him. And the adorable baby son? He's going into Middle School.

Time keeps flowing like a river. I was reminded of this last night -- Norman and Deb gathered with Edna and Marc and Wifey and I at the Rusty Pelican to celebrate Edna and Marc's 16th anniversary. The three couples took a Maritimes cruise three Falls ago, and a highlight for Norman and me was the tall pianist, who played the great Alan Parsons Project tune for us over and over.

We tried to sit outside last night, as there was a nice breeze blowing, but there was also, in contravention of local law, cigar smoking permitted, and next to our table a group of guys fired away. We didn't care for tobacco flavored fish, and so retreated indoors.

It was a fine time -- catching up, and comparing empty nester notes. Edna and Marc are thinking it may be time to realize a dream Edna has had since 1980, of moving to South Florida. They're going to check out Jupiter homes today -- much better value than our absurdly high priced 305, and Marc needs a lot of house space for his many hobbies...

I went with the shoe approach with my martinis -- one isn't enough, and you probably don't need more than two -- and Wifey drove home.  I'm usually the driver, and last night I was able to admire the absurdly gorgeous view coming over the Rickenbacker Causeway - I was able to get a phone photo of the skyline, all aglow in neon.  We truly live in the most beautiful city there is.

So time keeps flowing...and also, another song reference from a UK singer springs to mind -- time passages. That's Al Stewart.

It's nice to flow through it...

When Life Brings You Lemons

Life is full of curve balls, unexpected changes, and sometimes tragedy.  And for those who think they always have control of things -- well, that's just plain stupid.

I know people who are masters of supposed cause/effect. If they hear of a man being killed by lightning, they will comment "Well I would never been outside during a storm." If it turns out that it was a bolt out of the blue, as they say, then the answer is, I guess "Well I seldom go outside, so lightning won't strike ME."

Ha. As if.  In my observation during these nearly 58 years on the planet -- I have learned that while we can, and should, try our best, often things are well out of our control.

I heard a story last night that made me very happy.  I can't give details, since I have been asked to keep identities private, but generally speaking, there was a wedding outside in a tropical locale. Many guests gathered, and the rains came hard during the ceremony, soaking all. The skies cleared, but the wedding bosses said no one could stay outside -- the party must be moved inside. This upset the bride, as the room provided looked sterile and corporate, and she couldn't believe her first dance with her beloved would take place there -- after more than 100 people had traveled to the wedding.

Her groom came to the rescue. He got the idea that the thing to do was plunge, with his new bride, into the swimming pool. And so he did. And then the guests, all garbed in formal clothing, followed suit -- holding the first dance in the pool, to joyous laughter and applause.

I saw the video of this, and can't stop smiling. The lemon of bad weather at a wedding was turned into the most delicious lemonade.

Many of my friends and I have been married over 30 years. The details of our various weddings have blurred over time, to speak the truth. I remember Barry and Donna had a great band -- black guys on LI who played terrific Motown.

As the priest was going to pronounce Mike and Loni married,a huge thunderclap knocked out the power to the church -- and the hilarious priest said "Don't despair -- this is a message from FPL -- not from Above."

Mark and Ricki had the first truly opulent wedding we had attended -- at Turnberry in Aventura, before it was Aventura. But their marriage lasted just a few years...

I remember one of the worst weddings -- a former friend I'll call Vince, since that's his name. Vince is Italian, and we looked forward to a great party out of "The Godfather." But he married a nice but very chill WASP from the Midwest, and I guess her family was in charge, and the result was the most fun-less and joy-less weddings of all time. I remember Vince's sister Lee saying to me "This whole affair is a bunch of pregnant pauses."  Alas -- that marriage was brief, too...

But the point is, the wedding in the Tropics will be remembered by all guests forever.  The groom took a lemon and squeezed it well.  Bravo. And brava. They made the worst into the best.

That's a great life lesson.

Another Saturday Night

It was a lazy first day of June at Villa Wifey. Wifey spent a lot of time around the plant beds, and the dogs and I watched old movies together. We had tentative plans to meet D1 and Joey, but those got pushed back a day, so there seemed no reason to leave the house.

Wifey came in and showered, and we thought about doing our usual -- bringing in food for dinner, but I had just enough initiative to say "let's go out," and asked Wifey her preference. She said either Golden Rule or Black Point -- and after we got in the car and she was talking to bff Edna about Edna's upcoming visit to the 305, I picked Black Point.

It's only a 15 minute drive, and a true staycation spot -- the Ocean Grill, in the marina, makes you feel like you're in the Caribbean.  Plus, they have an all day special with my name on it: double Tito's, for $7.

We got seated right next to the water, I had my drink, and we watched a beautiful sunset next to the highest point in South Florida. Unfortunately -- the hill is not natural -- it's Mount Trashmore -- an enormous garbage pile -- but it's been buried long enough that there's no longer a foul smell, and it's grass covered and looks like it MIGHT be natural...

All of a sudden, several people were next to our table, snapping photos. I looked out and saw what looked like a small barge gliding through the water. But then I realized -- it was an enormous crocodile. The fellow next to me said it was 13 feet long, and lived around the marina, and was sighed about once per month.

I told Wifey crocs were far more aggressive than gators -- she recalled documentaries she saw in Africa where they pull water buffalo into the water and eat them.  I told Wifey we needed to take precautions -- we should switch seats so she was closest to the water. Ha.

The enormous beast glided so quietly -- past some folks fishing on a bank just 20 feet away. Apparently it gets plenty of food, and so isn't a threat to people, but just the same, Wifey and I made mental notes to refrain from walking around the waters of the marina...

We thought about waiting around for the live music, but that would be an hour into the future, so we left. I wazed directions to a surprise place, and we listened to the voice take us back to US 1 through a maze of Cutler Bay streets.

I don't usually crave dessert, and surely don't need it, but somehow surviving the encounter with the man eating croc, I felt emboldened.

Wifey peppered me with questions about where we were going -- she is VERY good at peppering -- but I made her wait until we arrived at Denny's -- the one where, in January of 1988, we met our guide for a hot air balloon ride we took in celebration of our first anniversary.

I had surprised her with that then, and now the surprise was more tame than a balloon ride -- it was to share a slice of Denny's pie, with coffee.

But guess what??? Denny's no longer has pie! I asked the nice young waitress when that unfortunate change occurred -- she laughed and said long before she had started there -- but she heard from the "old timers" on the staff that they used to have fresh pies.

Oh well. It's just another example of the decrease in the quality of modern life -- no pies at Denny's.

We shared, instead, some ice cream, and coffee. The bill was $8.05, and I handed the nice young server $15 and told her to keep the change. She was very happy and thankful. It wasn't HER fault that some bean counters at Denny's headquarters, probably in the Midwest, had seen fit to make life less grand for Denny's patrons throughout the nation.

No pie. Harrumph.

Still -- it was a lovely evening, and we arrived home to grateful puppies.

I made sure to explain to the dogs to keep away from any canals around South Miami Dade. Bo, especially, would be a mere small appetizer to that 13 foot behemoth.

The Mean Season

So today is the start of hurricane season, '19, and my thoughts go back in time to those storms of yore, for my family.

I moved to Miami in '79, and my namesake storm, David, was threatening that first semester at UM. We had parties on campus, and stupidly put masking tape on windows, and the thing missed us.  No storms hit for another 13 years, and I started to agree with Hunter Thompson that storm experts, like Neil Frank, were just "hurricane junkies," who got excited about things that never really came.

Ha. As if. Fast forward to 1992 -- Wifey and I were in our second house in Kendall, with a three and a half year old D1 and six month old D2, and it appeared Andrew was coming. We had Grandma Sunny with us, and we kept her, as the forecasts showed it heading further North -- she lived in Delray. Well -- so much for that accuracy -- the damn thing was a direct hit over South Dade, and blew away the house around us.

It was truly a scary thing -- especially with the babies there. As the ceilings collapsed from rain where the roof was ripped off, I hustled us into my Mitsubishi Diamante in the garage -- thinking at least we'd have the car roof to protect us when the ceiling failed. We piled in -- Grandma Sunny, Wifey, and the Ds, with our dogs Midnight the Lab and Alfred the Spaniel on the floor outside the car. Nothing doing -- Midnight leaped inside, too -- and then we brought Alfred in as well, and were among the thousands with Bryan Norcross getting us through -- the true voice in the darkness, telling us when the eye would pass -- stay inside until the back end, etc...

As the sun came up, the worst had passed, and we were true survivors. But it was a true dividing line in our lives -- we spoke of "before" and "after" and meant Andrew. We moved three times over the next 18 months, and D2 took her first steps at a rented apartment on Brickell Key, and D1 went to pre school at Beth David, the same shul which welcomed another scared 4 year old in 1960 -- Wifey, newly arrived from Israel and speaking no English. D1 spoke it plenty, and coined the term we used about our house in SW 136 Terrace -- it was "mistroyed."

So Andrew was the only catastrophe, but during the storm season of 2005, we lost power twice -- after Katrina, and then later on again with Wilma, causing us to decamp to Coconut Grove for the first, and Wifey and the Ds to move to Atlanta for Wilma -- but there was only minimal damage.

And then there were only scares until '17, when Irma came. She had the decency to wait until D1 and Joey's big, Fat, Colombian wedding took place, and then caused the newleyweds, Wifey, me, and three dogs to high tail it to Atlanta.

We returned to massive tree damage, but only a few thousand in roof damage, and Wifey and I lived Downtown at the Langford Hotel and later in the Gables at the Hyatt, until power eventually came back.  Again -- no catastrophe -- just annoyance.

Our storm preparation is simple -- Wifey buys lots of waters, and I insist all family members never let their car gas tanks go below half full -- lest we need to beat a quick escape.

I have a generator, but have stopped keeping it current -- truth is, if anything of any size threatens, I plan to get out of Dodge.

A threatening storm is the worst time to be in Miami -- lots of tensosity around, to use my late friend Alan's wonderful neologism.

A benefit to NOT living too close to D1 and Joey is that, if a storm hits, likely it won't take aim at ALL of Miami Dade -- and if the hit is in the North part of town -- they can escape here, and if it hits in South Miami Dade -- we can escape there.

I truly hope this season is like last year -- no threats to us at all.  And instead of this type of hurricane, I can focus on my favorite Hurricane -- first game, in Orlando versus the Gators, is less than three months away...