So Wifey and I fetched Loni, and drove to Brickell, where Mike fetched us, and we were off to see the Stones.
What a difference a week and bush league versus major league makes. At the Tangerine Bowl we parked a good 1.5 miles away, and walked home like zombies, with huge buses sharing our path. At Joe Robbie, we parked a baseball's throw from the stadium, and were on the road 10 minutes after the concert let out. I prefer Joe Robbie...
Mike brought his generator to power the frozen drink machine, but I set about polishing off the remainder of the Zyr vodka I brought home from Orlando. While we were partying, we got the news that Hurricane Dorian had shifted North, so we celebrated NOT having to put up shutters today.
Eric and Dana came by, and a lot of Mike's usual tailgate folks were in attendance. Stuart and Tracy, our seatmates, came by as well, and Wifey and the three of us took the escalator to the upper deck.
The Stones were terrific. They truly rocked. They played my favorite song, "Paint it Black," which I have always loved as a counterpoint to my sunny disposition. The packed crowd loved all the songs, and when Mick sang "Gimme Shelter," the skies opened up in a downpour. It was a memorable moment.
We went back to Mike's enormous Expedition, and were soon on our way home. It occurred to us we hadn't had dinner, so after fetching my car on Brickell, the four of us met at Denny's for an early am breakfast.
I last stopped at that Denny's over 5 years ago. D2 and I would make it our place following late Canes games. It brought back great memories for me, especially since D2 is just a few weeks from coming home for good.
We laughed and reminisced. Mike and Loni and Wifey and I go back more than three and a half decades. I met all three of them in '83. We were kids, and now we're closer to grandparent age.
I sustained a concert related injury. Mike's friend Jose was schlepping a cooler from a different lot, and his wife volunteered me to go help him. I did, and must have twisted wrong, and now a have a lower back pull.
But -- before we fell asleep, I saw the 2 am advisory, and learned we were definitely out of the cone of death -- so no shutter work for me, for sure. The back will heal faster now.
Today -- my dog infested couch beckons, with lots of college football to nap to.
We're done with concerts -- but just for awhile. I scored some of the hottest tickets in awhile -- Madonna playing at the Jackie Gleason Theater on the Beach. Wifey loves her, and I got the tix as an early birthday gift for her, in December.
And Dorian? The last advisory, at 11, said Miami Dade AND Broward are out of the cone of death, so all the tv stations are of course saying to still worry. Not me. I've been through enough of these things in 40 years here.
Glad Dorian left us alone. And Jumpin' Jack Flash is indeed a gas, gas, gas...
Saturday, August 31, 2019
Friday, August 30, 2019
The Worst Time of Year
I love living in Miami. But my least favorite time to be here is right now -- late Summer -- the height of hurricane season. The storms themselves are one thing, but the time leading up to them is worse. My late friend Alan coined a wonderful neologism: tensosity. It applies perfectly to waiting for the storm.
The media loves it -- ratings soar, as the market hungers for pictures and stories of stern faced politicians telling us how to prepare, and idiots on line at Publix buying bread and peanut butter.
Ultimately, the things concern but don't scare me. We rode out Andrew, the mother of powerful storms, and realized it's clearly survivable. The scary part was having babies with us, and what seemed at the time a fragile, elderly Mom. She was 72 -- less than a decade older than Wifey is now.
Anyway -- two years ago we had a joyful time -- D1 and Joey's wedding -- and then had to flee Irma. Irma was unusual -- forecast to come up the whole state like a bowling ball in a lane, and so we packed up the newlyweds and three dogs and decamped to Marc and Edna's in Atlanta. The storm weakened -- only downing trees and cutting power, and ended up following us. D1 and Joey's power was restored quickly, and then Wifey and I stayed at two different hotels awaiting power restoration in our leafy 'hood.
Our losses, including minor roof damage, tree removal, and "loss of use" exceeded $10K, but was a tax deduction. That deduction is now removed, thanks to Trump reform -- I'm glad I got to claim it when I did.
Last year there were no threats. And this summer was the same -- until now. Dorian now lurks.
The immediate effect was a looming cancellation of the Rolling Stones concert -- a show we've had tickets for a long time. It was supposed to be in March, but aging Jagger had a heart valve fail, and so it was postponed. It was moved to tonight, from Saturday, so we'll be going -- driving up with Loni to fetch Mike Downtown, and then meeting more friends at the stadium. It'll be a nice respite from the tensosity of Dorian's approach.
As for the storm itself, the last forecasts show it hitting north of Martin County. That's good news for us -- being South of landfall in this one means the water gets pushed away from the coast -- minimizing flooding.
Post Andrew, I initiated Dad protocols for storm season. Number one is that if we're in the path of a Cat 3 or higher storm -- we leave. Cat 1 or 2 aren't too bad -- but if I lived north of Broward, I'd be on the road now.
The other protocol is having full gas tanks during storm season -- to avoid the gas station lines if number one protocol comes into play.
D1 and Joey live in a concrete bunker of a house. We watched them build it -- impact glass, and rebar everywhere. So they're hunkered down. The only problem is if the storm hits Miami -- they live in a Zone B, which means they should evacuate in a Cat 2 or higher. Ah -- my son in law -- he made reservations at a hotel inland, near MIA, just in case. It's a hotel with a generator and is dog friendly, so they can decamp if needed.
We're in Zone B, too, and it appears I will have to slide shut the shutters tomorrow. I have some panels, too, but they're pretty east to install.
Our likely issue is losing power, even in tropical storm force winds, and yesterday I booked a room in a hotel in the Grove, also with a generator, which can be canceled last minute, too. So if we're spared a direct hit, but lose power, I get to spend some time in a gorgeous bar called the Commodore, which I saw when we visited the hotel apartment hunting for D2 and Jonathan.
I have a portable generator, which would power one A/C, a fridge, and one room above the garage, but I never used it and don't intend to start. At my age, a nice hotel is much more alluring than trying to sleep with a noisy beast going all night.
Of course, if Miami Dade takes a direct hit -- all bets are off. Misery will ensue. That looks unlikely, of course, but it does bring the aforementioned tensosity.
So first thing's first. When the rain subsides today, I'll get out my trusty wagon, and deliver the storm panels around the house, for quick installation tomorrow. If Dorian jogs north, it'll just have been an addition to the exercise regime I have begun.
Then, in the afternoon we'll fetch Loni, and head up to Downtown, and then to Joe Robbie, to see the guy who sang he was BORN in a crossfire hurricane. Hopefully it'll be a good omen.
So we'll get through this, of course. When Wifey and I married, we said we would provide shelter for each other from the storms of life -- borrowing from Dylan. Hopefully that won't become literally true in the coming days.
The media loves it -- ratings soar, as the market hungers for pictures and stories of stern faced politicians telling us how to prepare, and idiots on line at Publix buying bread and peanut butter.
Ultimately, the things concern but don't scare me. We rode out Andrew, the mother of powerful storms, and realized it's clearly survivable. The scary part was having babies with us, and what seemed at the time a fragile, elderly Mom. She was 72 -- less than a decade older than Wifey is now.
Anyway -- two years ago we had a joyful time -- D1 and Joey's wedding -- and then had to flee Irma. Irma was unusual -- forecast to come up the whole state like a bowling ball in a lane, and so we packed up the newlyweds and three dogs and decamped to Marc and Edna's in Atlanta. The storm weakened -- only downing trees and cutting power, and ended up following us. D1 and Joey's power was restored quickly, and then Wifey and I stayed at two different hotels awaiting power restoration in our leafy 'hood.
Our losses, including minor roof damage, tree removal, and "loss of use" exceeded $10K, but was a tax deduction. That deduction is now removed, thanks to Trump reform -- I'm glad I got to claim it when I did.
Last year there were no threats. And this summer was the same -- until now. Dorian now lurks.
The immediate effect was a looming cancellation of the Rolling Stones concert -- a show we've had tickets for a long time. It was supposed to be in March, but aging Jagger had a heart valve fail, and so it was postponed. It was moved to tonight, from Saturday, so we'll be going -- driving up with Loni to fetch Mike Downtown, and then meeting more friends at the stadium. It'll be a nice respite from the tensosity of Dorian's approach.
As for the storm itself, the last forecasts show it hitting north of Martin County. That's good news for us -- being South of landfall in this one means the water gets pushed away from the coast -- minimizing flooding.
Post Andrew, I initiated Dad protocols for storm season. Number one is that if we're in the path of a Cat 3 or higher storm -- we leave. Cat 1 or 2 aren't too bad -- but if I lived north of Broward, I'd be on the road now.
The other protocol is having full gas tanks during storm season -- to avoid the gas station lines if number one protocol comes into play.
D1 and Joey live in a concrete bunker of a house. We watched them build it -- impact glass, and rebar everywhere. So they're hunkered down. The only problem is if the storm hits Miami -- they live in a Zone B, which means they should evacuate in a Cat 2 or higher. Ah -- my son in law -- he made reservations at a hotel inland, near MIA, just in case. It's a hotel with a generator and is dog friendly, so they can decamp if needed.
We're in Zone B, too, and it appears I will have to slide shut the shutters tomorrow. I have some panels, too, but they're pretty east to install.
Our likely issue is losing power, even in tropical storm force winds, and yesterday I booked a room in a hotel in the Grove, also with a generator, which can be canceled last minute, too. So if we're spared a direct hit, but lose power, I get to spend some time in a gorgeous bar called the Commodore, which I saw when we visited the hotel apartment hunting for D2 and Jonathan.
I have a portable generator, which would power one A/C, a fridge, and one room above the garage, but I never used it and don't intend to start. At my age, a nice hotel is much more alluring than trying to sleep with a noisy beast going all night.
Of course, if Miami Dade takes a direct hit -- all bets are off. Misery will ensue. That looks unlikely, of course, but it does bring the aforementioned tensosity.
So first thing's first. When the rain subsides today, I'll get out my trusty wagon, and deliver the storm panels around the house, for quick installation tomorrow. If Dorian jogs north, it'll just have been an addition to the exercise regime I have begun.
Then, in the afternoon we'll fetch Loni, and head up to Downtown, and then to Joe Robbie, to see the guy who sang he was BORN in a crossfire hurricane. Hopefully it'll be a good omen.
So we'll get through this, of course. When Wifey and I married, we said we would provide shelter for each other from the storms of life -- borrowing from Dylan. Hopefully that won't become literally true in the coming days.
Monday, August 26, 2019
Wherever you Go...There You Are
So were hung a lot with our friend Rob this weekend, and talked about his ex wife and ex live in girlfriend. The latter was bound for failure -- Monica is one of the most liberal people I know, and Rob is pretty conservative. Indeed, after a few years in Monica's house in Palmetto Bay, they were through.
After Rob, Monica met a very rich, much younger than her Jewish guy. Apparently his family wasn't too happy with her, but she seemed to be loving life -- FaceBook pictures from Paris and London, and Israel. Alas, that ended, too.
And now she is planning on leaving town. She is from LA, and moved to Miami probably 20 years ago. But now, per her FaceBook posts, Miami is a traffic clogged, swampy hot mess. The promised land is Colorado.
I wish her every happiness there. But, I discovered a long time ago, that geographic location only means so much. If you're blessed to live among those people you treasure most -- well, you can be ecstatic living anywhere, at least in the US. I joke with Wifey that if I had my dear friends with me, we'd all be happy in Omaha.
In fact, several years ago we traveled to Omaha -- to watch the Canes play Nebraska, and indeed had a lovely time. So there.
The truth is, Miami is a tough place to be for single women of a certain age -- and that age is probably greater than 40. The town attracts world class gorgeous women, and any guy with a bit of money feels like the proverbial kid in a candy store.
There are exceptions, of course, but most divorced or never married guys seem to want someone younger than they are.
Wifey noted that she felt she fit in, from a fashion sense, much more in Portland, Maine than at home. She prefers the casual look of northern places. But she loves it here -- especially now that D2 and Jonathan are coming home.
I used to think I might prefer a quieter place as I aged. But I've learned that as I have more free time, I really appreciate being somewhere where there is always something going on -- sports, great restaurants, concerts.
Mike called early this am to plan our tailgate for the Rolling Stones, up at Joe Robbie Stadium. We'll arrive early, and set up -- a bunch of friends are going, and hopefully we can all meet -- I can't watch aging rockers from the upper deck of a stadium without sufficient buzz material...
So I wish Rob's ex the best -- she is a very nice woman. She'll be the typical ex Miamian who bashes the place. I actually like that -- this city is too damn crowded. The more people who get scared away -- the better, as far as I'm concerned.
I used to tell high school acquaintances how great it was her. I no longer do. In fact -- one old friend, Marcy, was divorced after a long marriage, and emailed me about moving here -- her girls are grown and she's an empty nester. I told her she'd be much happier up in Palm Beach County -- this is no place for older folks anymore. Turns out she's staying in New Jersey, in a smaller house.
So wherever you go -- there you are.
After Rob, Monica met a very rich, much younger than her Jewish guy. Apparently his family wasn't too happy with her, but she seemed to be loving life -- FaceBook pictures from Paris and London, and Israel. Alas, that ended, too.
And now she is planning on leaving town. She is from LA, and moved to Miami probably 20 years ago. But now, per her FaceBook posts, Miami is a traffic clogged, swampy hot mess. The promised land is Colorado.
I wish her every happiness there. But, I discovered a long time ago, that geographic location only means so much. If you're blessed to live among those people you treasure most -- well, you can be ecstatic living anywhere, at least in the US. I joke with Wifey that if I had my dear friends with me, we'd all be happy in Omaha.
In fact, several years ago we traveled to Omaha -- to watch the Canes play Nebraska, and indeed had a lovely time. So there.
The truth is, Miami is a tough place to be for single women of a certain age -- and that age is probably greater than 40. The town attracts world class gorgeous women, and any guy with a bit of money feels like the proverbial kid in a candy store.
There are exceptions, of course, but most divorced or never married guys seem to want someone younger than they are.
Wifey noted that she felt she fit in, from a fashion sense, much more in Portland, Maine than at home. She prefers the casual look of northern places. But she loves it here -- especially now that D2 and Jonathan are coming home.
I used to think I might prefer a quieter place as I aged. But I've learned that as I have more free time, I really appreciate being somewhere where there is always something going on -- sports, great restaurants, concerts.
Mike called early this am to plan our tailgate for the Rolling Stones, up at Joe Robbie Stadium. We'll arrive early, and set up -- a bunch of friends are going, and hopefully we can all meet -- I can't watch aging rockers from the upper deck of a stadium without sufficient buzz material...
So I wish Rob's ex the best -- she is a very nice woman. She'll be the typical ex Miamian who bashes the place. I actually like that -- this city is too damn crowded. The more people who get scared away -- the better, as far as I'm concerned.
I used to tell high school acquaintances how great it was her. I no longer do. In fact -- one old friend, Marcy, was divorced after a long marriage, and emailed me about moving here -- her girls are grown and she's an empty nester. I told her she'd be much happier up in Palm Beach County -- this is no place for older folks anymore. Turns out she's staying in New Jersey, in a smaller house.
So wherever you go -- there you are.
Sunday, August 25, 2019
Fear and Loathing in Orlando
So on Friday Wifey and I were off -- to Aventura to fetch Paul and Patricia. We left Williams Island and got about 1/2 mile when Wifey remembered she had forgotten to eat breakfast. So we stopped at Mo's, and had a proper sendoff to Central Florida -- nova, eggs, and onion scramble for Wifey.
I hadn't been up the Turnpike since our escape from Irma in '17. We stopped at Fort Drum Service Plaza for some Dunkin' coffee, and then drove through construction still going on from last decade to our hotel -- the Doubletree Downtown.
The place charged $300 a night and was worth every bit of $99 per night -- peeling paint in the bathroom, no working ice maker. But they upgraded us to a suite, with three views of the uninspiring Orlando Downtown.
Downtown Orlando is Miami 30 years ago. And Downtown Miami 30 years ago wasn't so great -- more homeless than cool restaurants. So be it. But -- they were hosting their biggest Saturday in history -- major college football game AND Backstreet Boys at the arena where the Magic plays. More on how well they handled that later...
Rob came to the hotel and bought me a martini, and soon Elizabeth arrived, too. We got into Elizabeth's lovely new Benz, and were off to Geneva, Fl -- 20 miles and a whole world away from Downtown Orlando. It was the country. We entered their development, where 5 acre lots are the minimum, and passed two deer and a few dogs.
We were hosted by Jeannine and Ray -- Mike's sister and brother in law. A nice party was going -- old time Canes fans -- Canes beating Gators in many recorded games was playing on the TV. And Wifey got to meet Apache -- the very smart Australian Shepherd featured on FaceBook.
We drank, and ate, and talked lovingly of Ed, Mike and Jeannine's late father -- and one of my life's great mentors. Ed would have loved the night -- new friends meeting old, all around our beloved team.
Elizabeth dropped us back at the Hotel Overpriced, and the next am our foursome reconvened -- this time to meet Dr. Barry and his family -- they had fetched Scott from MCO, and the 8 of us met at a fine place Elizabeth suggested -- the White Wolf. It was after noon, and we drank and caught up.
Josh prides himself on eating the least healthy food there is -- he posts FaceBook pix of dripping nachos and burgers -- heaping pastrami sandwiches from all over. We struck up a conversation with a portly fellow at the next table -- he was impressed with Josh's selection of sweet buns -- dripped in cream cheese icing. Josh's entree came -- chocolate chip pancakes -- and the fellow shouted "Dude -- what are you doing???!!!"
It was a bit of "you had to be there" but the food shaming was hilarious. Health conscious brother Scott laughed into his salad...
Rob left , with plans to secure a table at a Mexican place on Church Street. Wifey said no way -- if she was going to make the game, she needed to rest out of the sun, so Elizabeth, Wifey and I retreated to the Overpriced suite and Wifey promptly fell asleep for 2 hours. Elizabeth and I caught up about family and life and friends, as we drank coffee. She dropped us off around 5, but by then our group had left for the stadium.
We met on the railroad tracks, and walked to Mike's car -- parked near the soccer stadium -- and mini tailgated. We then boarded a shuttle for the stadium.
The stadium is an old clunker, sort of renovated. But our seats were fine -- 15 yard line on the Canes side, and we got to say hello to Norman and his men. Paul, Patricia, and Alex came down to say hello, too -- Alex's sister in law is the granddaughter of Canes royalty, and they were sitting with the Golden Canes.
The game was a heavyweight fight -- back and forth -- big hits and some big plays. Alas, the Canes lost in the end...but it wasn't too upsetting. The Gators were favored, the Canes COULD have won if they made fewer mistakes, and the team looks much better than last year.
Besides -- last time an unranked Canes team lost their first game to the Gators -- well, we went on to win our first ring. So we'll see...
Leaving the stadium was a clusteryouknow. Thousands of us walked like zombies -- mixed in with busses, trucks, and wackos on bicycle rickshaws...It was pretty surprising no one died.
I joked that the NFL ought to hold the Super Bowl in Orlando -- totally bush league.
Poor Wifey is recovering from a bad cold, and still has a bad cough. The long walk back to Church Street really knocked her out. By the time Rob dropped us at the hotel, I seriously thought of taking her to Orlando Regional -- she was breathing shallow, and looked about to pass out. She said no -- she needed some Mucinex and tea -- and indeed she was ok.
I had gotten used to the coughing, and got some sleep, but was also in distress. I had jumped up in jubilation at a Canes interception, and came down funny on my knee. We are both SO old...
In the am, I woke Paul out of a deep sleep, and we were off at 9 am for home. Wifey and Patricia slept through much of the 3 hour drive, and we dropped off the Aventurans during a torrential downpour.
I called Mirta, who had dog and house sat, and we met at Canton for lunch -- to compare our weekend tales. Then Wifey and I came home to happy dogs and lovely naps, as the old movie "Sullivan's Travels" played on cable.
So I've had my fill of crowds for awhile, but the respite is brief -- the last show of the Rolling Stones concert tour is Saturday night. The good news is that Joe Robbie is much less of a clusteryouknow than the Tangerine Bowl.
But I'm totally understanding now why older folks prefer to watch stuff on tv to attending in person.
And as for Orlando? If we're blessed with grandkids, I guess we'll have to pass that way again. Until then -- we'll happily host Elizabeth here...
I hadn't been up the Turnpike since our escape from Irma in '17. We stopped at Fort Drum Service Plaza for some Dunkin' coffee, and then drove through construction still going on from last decade to our hotel -- the Doubletree Downtown.
The place charged $300 a night and was worth every bit of $99 per night -- peeling paint in the bathroom, no working ice maker. But they upgraded us to a suite, with three views of the uninspiring Orlando Downtown.
Downtown Orlando is Miami 30 years ago. And Downtown Miami 30 years ago wasn't so great -- more homeless than cool restaurants. So be it. But -- they were hosting their biggest Saturday in history -- major college football game AND Backstreet Boys at the arena where the Magic plays. More on how well they handled that later...
Rob came to the hotel and bought me a martini, and soon Elizabeth arrived, too. We got into Elizabeth's lovely new Benz, and were off to Geneva, Fl -- 20 miles and a whole world away from Downtown Orlando. It was the country. We entered their development, where 5 acre lots are the minimum, and passed two deer and a few dogs.
We were hosted by Jeannine and Ray -- Mike's sister and brother in law. A nice party was going -- old time Canes fans -- Canes beating Gators in many recorded games was playing on the TV. And Wifey got to meet Apache -- the very smart Australian Shepherd featured on FaceBook.
We drank, and ate, and talked lovingly of Ed, Mike and Jeannine's late father -- and one of my life's great mentors. Ed would have loved the night -- new friends meeting old, all around our beloved team.
Elizabeth dropped us back at the Hotel Overpriced, and the next am our foursome reconvened -- this time to meet Dr. Barry and his family -- they had fetched Scott from MCO, and the 8 of us met at a fine place Elizabeth suggested -- the White Wolf. It was after noon, and we drank and caught up.
Josh prides himself on eating the least healthy food there is -- he posts FaceBook pix of dripping nachos and burgers -- heaping pastrami sandwiches from all over. We struck up a conversation with a portly fellow at the next table -- he was impressed with Josh's selection of sweet buns -- dripped in cream cheese icing. Josh's entree came -- chocolate chip pancakes -- and the fellow shouted "Dude -- what are you doing???!!!"
It was a bit of "you had to be there" but the food shaming was hilarious. Health conscious brother Scott laughed into his salad...
Rob left , with plans to secure a table at a Mexican place on Church Street. Wifey said no way -- if she was going to make the game, she needed to rest out of the sun, so Elizabeth, Wifey and I retreated to the Overpriced suite and Wifey promptly fell asleep for 2 hours. Elizabeth and I caught up about family and life and friends, as we drank coffee. She dropped us off around 5, but by then our group had left for the stadium.
We met on the railroad tracks, and walked to Mike's car -- parked near the soccer stadium -- and mini tailgated. We then boarded a shuttle for the stadium.
The stadium is an old clunker, sort of renovated. But our seats were fine -- 15 yard line on the Canes side, and we got to say hello to Norman and his men. Paul, Patricia, and Alex came down to say hello, too -- Alex's sister in law is the granddaughter of Canes royalty, and they were sitting with the Golden Canes.
The game was a heavyweight fight -- back and forth -- big hits and some big plays. Alas, the Canes lost in the end...but it wasn't too upsetting. The Gators were favored, the Canes COULD have won if they made fewer mistakes, and the team looks much better than last year.
Besides -- last time an unranked Canes team lost their first game to the Gators -- well, we went on to win our first ring. So we'll see...
Leaving the stadium was a clusteryouknow. Thousands of us walked like zombies -- mixed in with busses, trucks, and wackos on bicycle rickshaws...It was pretty surprising no one died.
I joked that the NFL ought to hold the Super Bowl in Orlando -- totally bush league.
Poor Wifey is recovering from a bad cold, and still has a bad cough. The long walk back to Church Street really knocked her out. By the time Rob dropped us at the hotel, I seriously thought of taking her to Orlando Regional -- she was breathing shallow, and looked about to pass out. She said no -- she needed some Mucinex and tea -- and indeed she was ok.
I had gotten used to the coughing, and got some sleep, but was also in distress. I had jumped up in jubilation at a Canes interception, and came down funny on my knee. We are both SO old...
In the am, I woke Paul out of a deep sleep, and we were off at 9 am for home. Wifey and Patricia slept through much of the 3 hour drive, and we dropped off the Aventurans during a torrential downpour.
I called Mirta, who had dog and house sat, and we met at Canton for lunch -- to compare our weekend tales. Then Wifey and I came home to happy dogs and lovely naps, as the old movie "Sullivan's Travels" played on cable.
So I've had my fill of crowds for awhile, but the respite is brief -- the last show of the Rolling Stones concert tour is Saturday night. The good news is that Joe Robbie is much less of a clusteryouknow than the Tangerine Bowl.
But I'm totally understanding now why older folks prefer to watch stuff on tv to attending in person.
And as for Orlando? If we're blessed with grandkids, I guess we'll have to pass that way again. Until then -- we'll happily host Elizabeth here...
Friday, August 23, 2019
It Was 27 Years Ago Tomorrow
So we're up and preparing to leave on a road trip -- to see our beloved Hurricanes open the season in Orlando against the hated Florida Gators. Wifey and I will stop in Aventura to fetch Paul and Patricia, and then the 3.5 hours up the pike to Orlando. I can never see that city's name again without hearing the song from "Book of Mormon" about how it is the promised land for the young missionary...
And the Herald reminded me that tomorrow is the anniversary of the BAD kind of hurricane -- Andrew, which wrecked our part of Miami 27 years ago tomorrow.
Anyone who lived in South Dade then has Andrew as a marker in their lives. Saying "before" or "after" has immediate meaning for us.
The storm was one of two times I actually feared for the life safety of Wifey and my Ds. The other time was completely different. We were on a walking tour of the Jerusalem market on :Nakba -- the anniversary of the Israeli takeover of the City, which the Arabs call "catastrophe," and the hair on the back of my neck raised. But that's another story.
We had my elderly mother with us in Miami -- the storm originally was slated to hit farther up the coast, and we figured she was safer with us. She was only 72 at the time, but seemed already very fragile to me.
The storm completely "mistroyed" our house, as 3 year old D1 said at the time, but it taught us an essential lesson -- the material possessions you have are so much crap. Those you love are precious. I like to think the Ds got the lesson. D1's house -- beautifully decorated, has very few tchokes. She abhors clutter.
D2 is moving from NYC and leaving ALL of her furniture -- she and Jonathan have mostly used and donated stuff. Their move will consist of a series of UPS boxes -- mostly containing D2's clothes. The first 5 of them arrived last night -- luckily Wifey spotted them out front -- late. Had I not schlepped them inside, D2 might have had a lot of WET clothes -- the boxes were already in rough shape. I thought of the hilarious but since pulled ad from a luggage company -- where an ape knocks around a suitcase...
Anyway -- lots went on in our family in the 27 years since that maelstrom. It turned out that 1992 was one of our greatest years. D2 was born in February, and I made the first big money from a case I brought in. The liberal property insurance from those peri-Andrew days provided us with a true financial windfall -- so to speak.
As Paul noted -- it converted all of our less than museum quality possessions into significant cash -- which I invested in the market, providing much larger returns than furniture and other tchokes would have...
So cyclones are a price of living in the Tropics. After Andrew we had Katrina and Wilma -- the same year -- and those just caused a bit of roof damage -- far below my deductible -- and a few weeks in hotels for me, and Atlanta for Wifey and the Ds, while the power was out.
Two years ago Irma did a tiny bit of roof damage, as well as lots of tree damage -- but nearly 2 years later, you can't even tell it was here -- except for the adventure tales of Wifey, me, Joey, and D1 fleeing to Atlanta in Joey's packed suvs with three very confused dogs...
It's funny -- when Wifey and I married, the one verse we asked the Rabbi to say was from Dylan -- we promised to be each other's shelters from the storms of life. It turned out we were prescient -- in a literal way.
But not today! To Orlando ...Sea World, and Disney...neither of which we'll be anywhere near. To us, Orlando should be the land of a pre game barbecue -- at Jeannine's house in Geneva, North of town, and fun times with my dear brothers and sisters on Church Street and then the old Tangerine Bowl.
Storms come and go, but for us, the Hurricanes are forever.
And the Herald reminded me that tomorrow is the anniversary of the BAD kind of hurricane -- Andrew, which wrecked our part of Miami 27 years ago tomorrow.
Anyone who lived in South Dade then has Andrew as a marker in their lives. Saying "before" or "after" has immediate meaning for us.
The storm was one of two times I actually feared for the life safety of Wifey and my Ds. The other time was completely different. We were on a walking tour of the Jerusalem market on :Nakba -- the anniversary of the Israeli takeover of the City, which the Arabs call "catastrophe," and the hair on the back of my neck raised. But that's another story.
We had my elderly mother with us in Miami -- the storm originally was slated to hit farther up the coast, and we figured she was safer with us. She was only 72 at the time, but seemed already very fragile to me.
The storm completely "mistroyed" our house, as 3 year old D1 said at the time, but it taught us an essential lesson -- the material possessions you have are so much crap. Those you love are precious. I like to think the Ds got the lesson. D1's house -- beautifully decorated, has very few tchokes. She abhors clutter.
D2 is moving from NYC and leaving ALL of her furniture -- she and Jonathan have mostly used and donated stuff. Their move will consist of a series of UPS boxes -- mostly containing D2's clothes. The first 5 of them arrived last night -- luckily Wifey spotted them out front -- late. Had I not schlepped them inside, D2 might have had a lot of WET clothes -- the boxes were already in rough shape. I thought of the hilarious but since pulled ad from a luggage company -- where an ape knocks around a suitcase...
Anyway -- lots went on in our family in the 27 years since that maelstrom. It turned out that 1992 was one of our greatest years. D2 was born in February, and I made the first big money from a case I brought in. The liberal property insurance from those peri-Andrew days provided us with a true financial windfall -- so to speak.
As Paul noted -- it converted all of our less than museum quality possessions into significant cash -- which I invested in the market, providing much larger returns than furniture and other tchokes would have...
So cyclones are a price of living in the Tropics. After Andrew we had Katrina and Wilma -- the same year -- and those just caused a bit of roof damage -- far below my deductible -- and a few weeks in hotels for me, and Atlanta for Wifey and the Ds, while the power was out.
Two years ago Irma did a tiny bit of roof damage, as well as lots of tree damage -- but nearly 2 years later, you can't even tell it was here -- except for the adventure tales of Wifey, me, Joey, and D1 fleeing to Atlanta in Joey's packed suvs with three very confused dogs...
It's funny -- when Wifey and I married, the one verse we asked the Rabbi to say was from Dylan -- we promised to be each other's shelters from the storms of life. It turned out we were prescient -- in a literal way.
But not today! To Orlando ...Sea World, and Disney...neither of which we'll be anywhere near. To us, Orlando should be the land of a pre game barbecue -- at Jeannine's house in Geneva, North of town, and fun times with my dear brothers and sisters on Church Street and then the old Tangerine Bowl.
Storms come and go, but for us, the Hurricanes are forever.
Wednesday, August 21, 2019
Branching Out
When you own a house in the Tropics, as we do, you get to know professional tree trimmers well. Steve's crew, from One Two Tree is here as I write.
I love the foliage around our place. When I stand on our second floor bedroom porch, and look out, I might as well be in Africa, with the unusual trees , many 100 feet tall. I especially like saying the name of the red barked ones, the gumbo limbos (ha ha ha).
But, turns out these nice ornamental things grow -- and fast. At least once a year I need a tree company to keep them from taking over our house and pool.
For years I used Dave, of Banyan Trees. When we met, back at our last house in the 90s, he was starting out his business, and he always said I was a great customer. He'd need two full days every year to trim the trees at our current house.
And then, after Irma two years ago, when our place looked as though a hurricane had blown through it -- he wasn't answering my calls. Actually he did -- promising to come by -- and never actually made it. I know he had far more lucrative commercial jobs -- but still. He had scorned me. I left him forever.
We hired a crew recommended by our gardener Sarah, and they cleaned out the yard -- needing special equipment to get stuff out of our pond. And then last year Steve came by -- and did a nice job.
You can tell tree guys know their business when you can't really tell they've been there. Amateurs just hack stuff down, which weakens the trees and actually leaves them more vulnerable to toppling in a storm.
But -- Irma did something unusual -- she bent over some palms that were next to our pool. They're alive, but now they drop their palm fruits into the water. My pool guy tells me I'm one of his toughest jobs -- he pleaded with me to have the offending palms trimmed. That's happening today.
Hopefully today will just be a one day job -- sort of touch up -- and then we're good until next year.
Meanwhile, I negotiated a settlement with Wifey, who needs a change in her life, she tells me. She wanted to move. I didn't. So instead, we agreed she could redecorate, and two nice young professionals, with interior design degrees from FIU, are coming tonight to get a deposit.
Wifey was going to interview several, but totally dug these girls right away. No major construction -- just painting and new furniture. The Great Wall of Wifey is apparently on death row.
About 14 years ago, Wifey insisted we needed a semi custom wall unit from Blackwelders, the nice furniture place in the Gables. The thing cost $11K, and I used to complain about the cost to Barry during our morning workouts. He named it the Great Wall of Wifey. I figured this would be a lifetime piece of furniture. I figured wrong.
It's now "outdated," and so has to go. Hopefully some of the pieces will find their way to D2 and Jonathan's new apartment -- so at least there'll be some second use for the Great Wall -- sort of the way Brits used stones from Roman aquaducts to build stuff in England...
I told Wifey I'd do stuff outside. We have a nice waterfall into the pond that works off a sprinkler pump. I'm not fixing the sprinkler system -- it need a TON of work -- and we have very little lawn or anything that doesn't survive on rain alone.
But I will find a company to fix the waterfall -- maybe this time I'll get a handy switch to be able to turn it on and off when I'm outside. It was rather lovely -- hasn't worked in years.
So Steve and his crew are chain sawing away. I never forget how lucky and blessed I am to be able to hire crews to do work like this.
At our first house, I actually did our tree work, and once nearly pulled a huge branch from a ficus down on myself -- I had hand sawed the thick limb and miscalculated which way it would fall.
It taught me that Dirty Harry was sagely correct: a man's gotta know his limitations.
And for me -- that DEFINITELY includes tree work.
I love the foliage around our place. When I stand on our second floor bedroom porch, and look out, I might as well be in Africa, with the unusual trees , many 100 feet tall. I especially like saying the name of the red barked ones, the gumbo limbos (ha ha ha).
But, turns out these nice ornamental things grow -- and fast. At least once a year I need a tree company to keep them from taking over our house and pool.
For years I used Dave, of Banyan Trees. When we met, back at our last house in the 90s, he was starting out his business, and he always said I was a great customer. He'd need two full days every year to trim the trees at our current house.
And then, after Irma two years ago, when our place looked as though a hurricane had blown through it -- he wasn't answering my calls. Actually he did -- promising to come by -- and never actually made it. I know he had far more lucrative commercial jobs -- but still. He had scorned me. I left him forever.
We hired a crew recommended by our gardener Sarah, and they cleaned out the yard -- needing special equipment to get stuff out of our pond. And then last year Steve came by -- and did a nice job.
You can tell tree guys know their business when you can't really tell they've been there. Amateurs just hack stuff down, which weakens the trees and actually leaves them more vulnerable to toppling in a storm.
But -- Irma did something unusual -- she bent over some palms that were next to our pool. They're alive, but now they drop their palm fruits into the water. My pool guy tells me I'm one of his toughest jobs -- he pleaded with me to have the offending palms trimmed. That's happening today.
Hopefully today will just be a one day job -- sort of touch up -- and then we're good until next year.
Meanwhile, I negotiated a settlement with Wifey, who needs a change in her life, she tells me. She wanted to move. I didn't. So instead, we agreed she could redecorate, and two nice young professionals, with interior design degrees from FIU, are coming tonight to get a deposit.
Wifey was going to interview several, but totally dug these girls right away. No major construction -- just painting and new furniture. The Great Wall of Wifey is apparently on death row.
About 14 years ago, Wifey insisted we needed a semi custom wall unit from Blackwelders, the nice furniture place in the Gables. The thing cost $11K, and I used to complain about the cost to Barry during our morning workouts. He named it the Great Wall of Wifey. I figured this would be a lifetime piece of furniture. I figured wrong.
It's now "outdated," and so has to go. Hopefully some of the pieces will find their way to D2 and Jonathan's new apartment -- so at least there'll be some second use for the Great Wall -- sort of the way Brits used stones from Roman aquaducts to build stuff in England...
I told Wifey I'd do stuff outside. We have a nice waterfall into the pond that works off a sprinkler pump. I'm not fixing the sprinkler system -- it need a TON of work -- and we have very little lawn or anything that doesn't survive on rain alone.
But I will find a company to fix the waterfall -- maybe this time I'll get a handy switch to be able to turn it on and off when I'm outside. It was rather lovely -- hasn't worked in years.
So Steve and his crew are chain sawing away. I never forget how lucky and blessed I am to be able to hire crews to do work like this.
At our first house, I actually did our tree work, and once nearly pulled a huge branch from a ficus down on myself -- I had hand sawed the thick limb and miscalculated which way it would fall.
It taught me that Dirty Harry was sagely correct: a man's gotta know his limitations.
And for me -- that DEFINITELY includes tree work.
Tuesday, August 20, 2019
Big Game Week
Ah, that most wonderful time of the year...Canes football season...is here. And, this year we open against a hated rival, the Gators. So it's even a bigger deal than usual.
We used to play the Gators every year. My freshman year at UM, they were our last game -- they were awful. They were 0-9-1, and we finished them off -- they ended up 0-10-1. And I learned about the history of the rivalry, like the infamous Gator Flop, where their defense collapsed intentionally to allow the Canes to score, so their QB could break a passing record. The Flop was before my time in Miami, but I still heard lots about it.
My friends and I went to several games in Gainesville -- sleeping on the floors of friends in apartments there. In '83, we went up right before the start of law school classes, and the Gators beat us handily, but I remember being impressed by our freshman QB -- a kid named Kosar. The Canes went on to win the rest of our games, and our first national championship. The sore Gators had t shirts printed up showing they had beaten the Champs. Whatever.
We dominated them through the 80s, and then they realized maybe it was time for the losing to stop, so they dropped us from their schedule. Still, we beat them badly in a few bowl games, and then they grudgingly agreed to renew a few games.
I traveled to UF in '08 -- D1 was a sophomore then, and the Gators were dominant, with Tim Tebow. But the last time we played, in '13, we beat them at home, and my Ds, then a UF alum and a UF junior, wore orange and GREEN to our tailgate. I cried. They love me so.
I think their sorority wanted to end their membership...but they let it slip.
And now we play again -- at a "neutral" site -- Orlando. It'll probably be 70% Gator fans, given their larger alum base, and the fact that Gainesville is less than 2 hours away. But my fellow fanatics are making the trip -- Scott, recent Maryland grad, is flying down the morning of the game. Norman's boy Michael planned his visit home from Israel to coincide with the game -- he'll be there, too.
The night before, Jeannine, Mike's sister, is hosting a barbecue. She will have brisket, and maybe Gator meat. I'll be bringing vodka.
Game day we'll bar hop on Church Street, and then slouch over to the stadium -- the old Tangerine Bowl. I was there years ago -- it made the Orange Bowl look plush. But it doesn't matter -- we're all looking most forward to the game.
The media hype has been intense. The game is the season kickoff, and this year celebrates 150 years of college football. So there'll be a huge TV audience.
The Gators are favored to win. They were better than we were last year, and seem to have more talent this year, too. But, as the sports cliche goes, when the teams play, you can throw away the stats and predictions -- except the prediction that we will have a ball -- that's guaranteed.
If I was betting, I'd bet the Gators win this one. But the great news is, the teams have agreed to play again -- '24 in Gainesville, and '25 here in Miami.
Barry's boy Josh was part of the text group where we shared that news, and he remarked that, given the ages of we old guys, maybe don't rush to buy tickets for games 5 and 6 years from now. He has a good point -- if I only make it to be as old as MY Dad -- well, I'll only see one of them.
But for now, the excitement is in the air. Wifey and I leave Friday after traffic -- I think we'll fetch Paul and Patricia, and drive up with them. Paul's boy Alex and family will be there as well --they have a birthday to celebrate -- lovely and wonderful little girl turning 4.
And, win or lose, we have a great time.
It elevates the entire week leading in -- the coming big game.
We used to play the Gators every year. My freshman year at UM, they were our last game -- they were awful. They were 0-9-1, and we finished them off -- they ended up 0-10-1. And I learned about the history of the rivalry, like the infamous Gator Flop, where their defense collapsed intentionally to allow the Canes to score, so their QB could break a passing record. The Flop was before my time in Miami, but I still heard lots about it.
My friends and I went to several games in Gainesville -- sleeping on the floors of friends in apartments there. In '83, we went up right before the start of law school classes, and the Gators beat us handily, but I remember being impressed by our freshman QB -- a kid named Kosar. The Canes went on to win the rest of our games, and our first national championship. The sore Gators had t shirts printed up showing they had beaten the Champs. Whatever.
We dominated them through the 80s, and then they realized maybe it was time for the losing to stop, so they dropped us from their schedule. Still, we beat them badly in a few bowl games, and then they grudgingly agreed to renew a few games.
I traveled to UF in '08 -- D1 was a sophomore then, and the Gators were dominant, with Tim Tebow. But the last time we played, in '13, we beat them at home, and my Ds, then a UF alum and a UF junior, wore orange and GREEN to our tailgate. I cried. They love me so.
I think their sorority wanted to end their membership...but they let it slip.
And now we play again -- at a "neutral" site -- Orlando. It'll probably be 70% Gator fans, given their larger alum base, and the fact that Gainesville is less than 2 hours away. But my fellow fanatics are making the trip -- Scott, recent Maryland grad, is flying down the morning of the game. Norman's boy Michael planned his visit home from Israel to coincide with the game -- he'll be there, too.
The night before, Jeannine, Mike's sister, is hosting a barbecue. She will have brisket, and maybe Gator meat. I'll be bringing vodka.
Game day we'll bar hop on Church Street, and then slouch over to the stadium -- the old Tangerine Bowl. I was there years ago -- it made the Orange Bowl look plush. But it doesn't matter -- we're all looking most forward to the game.
The media hype has been intense. The game is the season kickoff, and this year celebrates 150 years of college football. So there'll be a huge TV audience.
The Gators are favored to win. They were better than we were last year, and seem to have more talent this year, too. But, as the sports cliche goes, when the teams play, you can throw away the stats and predictions -- except the prediction that we will have a ball -- that's guaranteed.
If I was betting, I'd bet the Gators win this one. But the great news is, the teams have agreed to play again -- '24 in Gainesville, and '25 here in Miami.
Barry's boy Josh was part of the text group where we shared that news, and he remarked that, given the ages of we old guys, maybe don't rush to buy tickets for games 5 and 6 years from now. He has a good point -- if I only make it to be as old as MY Dad -- well, I'll only see one of them.
But for now, the excitement is in the air. Wifey and I leave Friday after traffic -- I think we'll fetch Paul and Patricia, and drive up with them. Paul's boy Alex and family will be there as well --they have a birthday to celebrate -- lovely and wonderful little girl turning 4.
And, win or lose, we have a great time.
It elevates the entire week leading in -- the coming big game.
Saturday, August 17, 2019
League of Distinguished Gentlemen
I really enjoy breakfast with my good friends, and if their kids come along, well, that makes it better.
Norman's middle son Michael is in Miami for a nice sized visit -- from Israel, where he completed his grad studies and is now working. We met the other day at Roasters, a place I no longer boycott due to their obscene prices. The joke used to be that you needed to sell a kidney to afford breakfast there, but now they have a $7.99 special, which is very fair.
It was great catching up with Michael, who was our tour guide when we visited Israel several years back. He'll be attending the Canes/Gators game with his younger brother Benjamin, and we talked excitedly about the upcoming season.
We were talking about Jewish genealogy, and I brought up the case of our friend Loni, who learned just recently that her mother was Jewish. Loni was raised Catholic, and last year her sister had one of those fun DNA tests, which showed she was 50% European Jewish. Sure enough, Marcia, their Mom, was born to a couple of Ashkenazim, but never told her kids.
As if on cue, in walked Mike and Chris, another wonderful father/son combo friend of mine. Mike and Norman left to do justice -- I was free until the afternoon, and after we ate, Chris joined Michael and me for more great discussions.
Chris is a Roman history buff, and he and Michael discussed Roman historic sites in Israel. Chris needs to visit, and he qualifies for Birthright, the free trip offered both of my Ds took. Chris felt guilty about going -- he was raised Catholic, but Michael, an expert on the program, assured him it would be kosher. I hope Chris goes -- he knows more about the history than most of the participants. He'd love it...
Yesterday I hit the office, to open some mail, and Mike called -- would I meet he and Chris for a happy hour? I had dinner plans at 7 in South Miami -- we could meet at old standby Shula's. How about a change, I suggested -- Little Havana and La Trova.
We retired to Calle Ocho, and they loved it -- as Mike said, "Now THIS is a bar." They had mojitos and daquiris, and I had my usual martinis.
Stuart called -- his clerk Jayde wanted to meet Mike -- his firm has a special program for rising law students. Come on over, I said. They did, and soon the 5 of us, old lawyers and 2 future ones, were happily enjoying La Trova.
I dropped Jayde off on Brickell, and met Kenny, at Root and Bone. Wifey was supposed to come, but was under the weather, so we made it a men's night. Kenny leaves for Maine next week, and he congratulated me on the impending return of D2 and Jonathan. He knows how much that means to me.
Kenny's boys are probably not returning to the 305. His oldest is taking a new job as a mental health counselor in New Hampshire, and the younger is finishing college near Philly -- Kenny thinks they are both destined for northern climes.
All I know is, I thoroughly enjoy my time with these fine fellows.
Norman's middle son Michael is in Miami for a nice sized visit -- from Israel, where he completed his grad studies and is now working. We met the other day at Roasters, a place I no longer boycott due to their obscene prices. The joke used to be that you needed to sell a kidney to afford breakfast there, but now they have a $7.99 special, which is very fair.
It was great catching up with Michael, who was our tour guide when we visited Israel several years back. He'll be attending the Canes/Gators game with his younger brother Benjamin, and we talked excitedly about the upcoming season.
We were talking about Jewish genealogy, and I brought up the case of our friend Loni, who learned just recently that her mother was Jewish. Loni was raised Catholic, and last year her sister had one of those fun DNA tests, which showed she was 50% European Jewish. Sure enough, Marcia, their Mom, was born to a couple of Ashkenazim, but never told her kids.
As if on cue, in walked Mike and Chris, another wonderful father/son combo friend of mine. Mike and Norman left to do justice -- I was free until the afternoon, and after we ate, Chris joined Michael and me for more great discussions.
Chris is a Roman history buff, and he and Michael discussed Roman historic sites in Israel. Chris needs to visit, and he qualifies for Birthright, the free trip offered both of my Ds took. Chris felt guilty about going -- he was raised Catholic, but Michael, an expert on the program, assured him it would be kosher. I hope Chris goes -- he knows more about the history than most of the participants. He'd love it...
Yesterday I hit the office, to open some mail, and Mike called -- would I meet he and Chris for a happy hour? I had dinner plans at 7 in South Miami -- we could meet at old standby Shula's. How about a change, I suggested -- Little Havana and La Trova.
We retired to Calle Ocho, and they loved it -- as Mike said, "Now THIS is a bar." They had mojitos and daquiris, and I had my usual martinis.
Stuart called -- his clerk Jayde wanted to meet Mike -- his firm has a special program for rising law students. Come on over, I said. They did, and soon the 5 of us, old lawyers and 2 future ones, were happily enjoying La Trova.
I dropped Jayde off on Brickell, and met Kenny, at Root and Bone. Wifey was supposed to come, but was under the weather, so we made it a men's night. Kenny leaves for Maine next week, and he congratulated me on the impending return of D2 and Jonathan. He knows how much that means to me.
Kenny's boys are probably not returning to the 305. His oldest is taking a new job as a mental health counselor in New Hampshire, and the younger is finishing college near Philly -- Kenny thinks they are both destined for northern climes.
All I know is, I thoroughly enjoy my time with these fine fellows.
Thursday, August 15, 2019
Relocation...All I Ever Wanted
So our family news continues to be about the return of D2 and Jonathan, from that long sabbatical in Fun City. I'm sure they've never heard NYC referred to as that. I remember it from my childhood in the 60s, where there was lots of non fun things going on there -- like crime, filth, and poverty, and the mayor, John Lindsay, told everyone to start calling it that. Never stuck -- the Big Apple was better...
Speaking of geographic nicknames -- I told D2 that Coconut Grove was called the "Greenwich Village of Miami," and she thinks I made that up. I explained I most certainly did NOT -- the Grove was, in the 60s, the Winter outpost of the Village folk scene. John Sebastian lived here, and even wrote a musical homage to his retreat, called, creatively, "Coconut Grove." Fred Neill, a wildly unappreciated songwriter, lived in the Grove.
David Crosby lived in a boat in Sailboat Bay, and used to hang at the Flick Coffeehouse in the Gables, now Titanic. He heard a shy Canadian singer there, and convinced her he would help her career by bringing her back to his boat...from there he took her to LA, and, well, Joni Mitchell did ok relating to the angst of women of a certain age...
When I moved to Miami in '79, there were still remaining Grove hippies about. They went to the Village Inn, and hung about the Taurus. They even sat on the brick sidewalks and made hats out of palm fronds.
Some are still there -- colorful types, whose cottages are now worth 7 figures. Yes -- the Grove is no longer the Grove, in the way that Greenwich Village is no longer the Village -- too upscale and hipster, and less Bohemian. In other words -- both are still awesome places, with a real sense of being somewhere else within a big city.
D2 and Jonathan are in negotiations with a condo owner via their realtor Isaac. I hope the place we saw becomes their home -- I got a wonderful feeling there -- balcony big enough for parties of 50, with a sick view of everything. I explained to Wifey that "sick" is a very positive word for Millennials...
D2 is awating word from her employer whether she can stay with them and work remotely. I hope that happens -- she really likes the company, and I know they must really dig her. If not, as D1 points out, a Phi Beta Kappa with a MS who has worked in NYC for 4 years probably has some marketability here, in the Magic City...
Last night, after Thai food at Chana, Wifey and I called Jonathan's parents, to share in a consuegro kvell. Wait -- "consuegro kvell" would be a great name for a Latin Jewish band.
They are extremely happy about the return, too. We reminisced about a secret dinner we had last year -- to celebrate the kids' engagement. Jonathan had told us in June, at his brother's wedding, but wished to wait until December to pop the question. So his parents and Wifey and I went to Capital Grille to toast our good fortune -- they sort of dig their son like we dig our daughter, and are happy with his choice of life partner, as we are...
This time -- no secrets. Just happiness.
The good news is, their move will be easy. No furniture need make its way down the East Coast. They'll give away things to anyone who wants it, and there are actually set days in Manhattan where you can leave furniture on the street for those seeking it.
As for the new, four times the size place -- that may work out well, too. We've been in Villa Wifey nearly 19 years, and never redecorated. That's fine with me --but Wifey needs a change. She's right, of course.
So, she just hired two young women to do the job, and D2 had a fine idea: maybe whatever is destined for exit from our house can find a new place in their apartment. Our furniture is in fine shape, except for some leather discoloring brought about by dogs -- and since this is a rental, D2 and Jonathan aren't too picky. Maybe that'll work out well, and since I abhor waste, would make me happy.
Again, though, these are nice issues to deal with .
When we spoke to Jonathan's parents last night, I reminded them we would be hosting Thanksgiving again, as we did last year. It'll be lovely to know I won't, Big Man willing, be fighting the crowds at MIA as I have for the past 4 T Days...nice to have them home.
Speaking of geographic nicknames -- I told D2 that Coconut Grove was called the "Greenwich Village of Miami," and she thinks I made that up. I explained I most certainly did NOT -- the Grove was, in the 60s, the Winter outpost of the Village folk scene. John Sebastian lived here, and even wrote a musical homage to his retreat, called, creatively, "Coconut Grove." Fred Neill, a wildly unappreciated songwriter, lived in the Grove.
David Crosby lived in a boat in Sailboat Bay, and used to hang at the Flick Coffeehouse in the Gables, now Titanic. He heard a shy Canadian singer there, and convinced her he would help her career by bringing her back to his boat...from there he took her to LA, and, well, Joni Mitchell did ok relating to the angst of women of a certain age...
When I moved to Miami in '79, there were still remaining Grove hippies about. They went to the Village Inn, and hung about the Taurus. They even sat on the brick sidewalks and made hats out of palm fronds.
Some are still there -- colorful types, whose cottages are now worth 7 figures. Yes -- the Grove is no longer the Grove, in the way that Greenwich Village is no longer the Village -- too upscale and hipster, and less Bohemian. In other words -- both are still awesome places, with a real sense of being somewhere else within a big city.
D2 and Jonathan are in negotiations with a condo owner via their realtor Isaac. I hope the place we saw becomes their home -- I got a wonderful feeling there -- balcony big enough for parties of 50, with a sick view of everything. I explained to Wifey that "sick" is a very positive word for Millennials...
D2 is awating word from her employer whether she can stay with them and work remotely. I hope that happens -- she really likes the company, and I know they must really dig her. If not, as D1 points out, a Phi Beta Kappa with a MS who has worked in NYC for 4 years probably has some marketability here, in the Magic City...
Last night, after Thai food at Chana, Wifey and I called Jonathan's parents, to share in a consuegro kvell. Wait -- "consuegro kvell" would be a great name for a Latin Jewish band.
They are extremely happy about the return, too. We reminisced about a secret dinner we had last year -- to celebrate the kids' engagement. Jonathan had told us in June, at his brother's wedding, but wished to wait until December to pop the question. So his parents and Wifey and I went to Capital Grille to toast our good fortune -- they sort of dig their son like we dig our daughter, and are happy with his choice of life partner, as we are...
This time -- no secrets. Just happiness.
The good news is, their move will be easy. No furniture need make its way down the East Coast. They'll give away things to anyone who wants it, and there are actually set days in Manhattan where you can leave furniture on the street for those seeking it.
As for the new, four times the size place -- that may work out well, too. We've been in Villa Wifey nearly 19 years, and never redecorated. That's fine with me --but Wifey needs a change. She's right, of course.
So, she just hired two young women to do the job, and D2 had a fine idea: maybe whatever is destined for exit from our house can find a new place in their apartment. Our furniture is in fine shape, except for some leather discoloring brought about by dogs -- and since this is a rental, D2 and Jonathan aren't too picky. Maybe that'll work out well, and since I abhor waste, would make me happy.
Again, though, these are nice issues to deal with .
When we spoke to Jonathan's parents last night, I reminded them we would be hosting Thanksgiving again, as we did last year. It'll be lovely to know I won't, Big Man willing, be fighting the crowds at MIA as I have for the past 4 T Days...nice to have them home.
Tuesday, August 13, 2019
Crib Hunting
Moss doesn't grow on my Ds -- when they have a plan, they act on it. So Sunday night, as soon as D2 learned that her man had accepted the new Miami job, she reached out to Isaac, Joey's cousin.
Isaac is a wonderful young man -- movie star handsome, like Valentino from the silent film days, and a very successful realtor. He helped D1 and Joey with their first house -- I have referred him to my friend Kenny to search for a rental place when he decides to sell his house.
And indeed, though it was Sunday night, Isaac sprang into action -- sending D2 several properties to check out in Coconut Grove, the part of town that makes the most sense to her and Jonathan. Yesterday Wifey and I went with her to look at them.
The first few were new, low rise buildings on Bird Avenue, close to the brick building where I had my second law job, on 27 Avenue. The units were nice enough, though facing a halted construction project next door, and a pretty far walk to the center of the Grove. Next we saw a three story townhouse a bit closer to US 1 -- probably more appropriate for a relocating family with a few kids.
And then we drove to Yacht Harbor -- a building built in the heyday of the Grove -- next to the Mutiny, the center of ALL the action during the Cocaine Cowboy days. I knew the building, but had never been inside -- sure enough, the lobby was Polynesian inspired, like Grove Isle, another project from that time.
But the unit we saw was modern, and rather stunning. It was a one bedroom for around the same rent D2 and Jonathan pay now in the West Village -- but three times the size, and with an a (pause) mazing view of the Bay. I fell in love with it -- videotaped it and sent it to Jonathan. If I were choosing -- that would be it for me -- steps to everything in the Grove -- even walking distance to Fresh Market -- probably the most NYC -like lifestyle there is to be found here -- other than maybe South Beach.
And the last unit was the Ritz Carlton. The place was, well, a Ritz Carlton -- stunning and classy. The unit was smaller than Yacht Harbor, but comes with the use of the ridiculously beautiful facilities of the hotel -- gym, pool, sauna.
And if you live there, as I pointed out to D2, each day would be a sea of "good mornings" and "my pleasures" from the highly trained and classy staff.
We hosted a few Thanksgivings at that property over the years, and D2 knows it well. It's also a bit longer walk to the middle of town.
But it sure wouldn't suck to live there...
Isaac took leave for a meeting in Aventura, and Wifey, D2, and I drove home in a classic torrential Miami summer downpour.
Usually I have great sadness when D2 is leaving for NYC -- the knowledge I won't see her for another month or so.
But not yesterday! I happily bused her bag to the trunk, and dropped her at MIA, knowing that next Dadber pick up might be for keeps.
Wifey pointed out that D2 got to live where I always wanted to, temporarily -- Greenwich Village. And now it appears she'll live in a place I also wanted to live -- the Grove.
But the difference is -- we may indeed join her there -- to also be closer to D1 and Joey.
These are good choices to have.
Isaac is a wonderful young man -- movie star handsome, like Valentino from the silent film days, and a very successful realtor. He helped D1 and Joey with their first house -- I have referred him to my friend Kenny to search for a rental place when he decides to sell his house.
And indeed, though it was Sunday night, Isaac sprang into action -- sending D2 several properties to check out in Coconut Grove, the part of town that makes the most sense to her and Jonathan. Yesterday Wifey and I went with her to look at them.
The first few were new, low rise buildings on Bird Avenue, close to the brick building where I had my second law job, on 27 Avenue. The units were nice enough, though facing a halted construction project next door, and a pretty far walk to the center of the Grove. Next we saw a three story townhouse a bit closer to US 1 -- probably more appropriate for a relocating family with a few kids.
And then we drove to Yacht Harbor -- a building built in the heyday of the Grove -- next to the Mutiny, the center of ALL the action during the Cocaine Cowboy days. I knew the building, but had never been inside -- sure enough, the lobby was Polynesian inspired, like Grove Isle, another project from that time.
But the unit we saw was modern, and rather stunning. It was a one bedroom for around the same rent D2 and Jonathan pay now in the West Village -- but three times the size, and with an a (pause) mazing view of the Bay. I fell in love with it -- videotaped it and sent it to Jonathan. If I were choosing -- that would be it for me -- steps to everything in the Grove -- even walking distance to Fresh Market -- probably the most NYC -like lifestyle there is to be found here -- other than maybe South Beach.
And the last unit was the Ritz Carlton. The place was, well, a Ritz Carlton -- stunning and classy. The unit was smaller than Yacht Harbor, but comes with the use of the ridiculously beautiful facilities of the hotel -- gym, pool, sauna.
And if you live there, as I pointed out to D2, each day would be a sea of "good mornings" and "my pleasures" from the highly trained and classy staff.
We hosted a few Thanksgivings at that property over the years, and D2 knows it well. It's also a bit longer walk to the middle of town.
But it sure wouldn't suck to live there...
Isaac took leave for a meeting in Aventura, and Wifey, D2, and I drove home in a classic torrential Miami summer downpour.
Usually I have great sadness when D2 is leaving for NYC -- the knowledge I won't see her for another month or so.
But not yesterday! I happily bused her bag to the trunk, and dropped her at MIA, knowing that next Dadber pick up might be for keeps.
Wifey pointed out that D2 got to live where I always wanted to, temporarily -- Greenwich Village. And now it appears she'll live in a place I also wanted to live -- the Grove.
But the difference is -- we may indeed join her there -- to also be closer to D1 and Joey.
These are good choices to have.
Monday, August 12, 2019
She's Coming Home (Him, Too)
So in June of '15, D2 finished her MS at UF and decided to move to NYC. She took a job with Macy's, and the plan was to move to Murray Hill, which seems to be the first stop for many new college grads there, and was looking for a roommate. Her man Jonathan accepted a job with a private equity firm, and he was going to live Downtown with three fellow UF grads.
The young mens' apartment deal fell through -- they found mold, and the place was not to be. I stepped in and strongly suggested D2 and Jonathan move in together -- they had been dating a few years already, had been deemed future spouses by the matriarch of Jonathan's family, Judy, and from a safety issue I wanted my suburban girl to be with a strong, tall man in that still somewhat scary city.
And they did, and all was well, though after a year, they wanted to move to what I agree is the best part of the City, Greenwich Village. And then, they both changed jobs -- D2 moving to an online retail place in Jersey, and Jonathan to another private equity bank.
Somehow, 4 years passed, and they enjoyed the City, and their many Miami friends who lived there. And D2 took another job, this one with a media company walking distance to her apartment.
They always talked about moving home to Miami, and I never, in my loving Dad mind, accepted them as permanent New Yorkers, though D2 started talking like one -- everything was superior in the City to anywhere else -- like the classic New Yorker cartoon showing Manhattan, and everything outside sort of an irrelevant desert.
When we'd meet people and D2 said she lived in the city, I'd always say "on extended sabbatical," like she was an academic on loan to NYU but fully tenured at the U.
A headhunter reached out to Jonathan about a job in South Florida, but he wasn't too interested. As one of my friends noted, no one takes money nearly as seriously as Wall Street...
So I figured they'd stay in the city another few years -- maybe returning home when they reached 30 or so. And then I pulled a Sabta.
My suegra is famous for guilt -- central casting type, Jewish guilt. To her, it's an art form to subtly make you feel a bit bad for someway you slighted her. I do it for comic effect.
My last birthday passed while we were in Maine, and I got lovely emails or texts from the Ds, and from D1's man Joey. Nothing from Jonathan, which was unusual.
So a week later, I put on my Yiddish accent and told D2 I had greetings from three of my kids, but not her man. She responded that he had been crazy busy, with the interview in Miami and all...SHIT! She let it slip.
The birthday text came shortly thereafter, and then the tale. Indeed, he had interviewed with the top private equity bank in the state -- the gold standard for them, apparently. And -- he was excited -- he really dug the people there, and it was NYC quality.
Well, to cut to the chase -- last night he accepted an offer from them -- they're coming home.
Friday I was in a nail salon with D2 -- we get Dad/daughter pedis when she's in town. Jonathan had called her, and I could tell the information was that he had been given an offer. At the same time, I fielded a call from Mirta, telling me some wonderful health news about her younger son.
I guess the fumes from the nail salon got to me -- my eyes teared. D2 got off the phone and thought Mirta had shared terrible news. No -- it was my happiness about the news of D2 and Jonathan -- the runaway bunnies were coming home.
So they're stressed, of course -- it's a big move, and D2 just started a new job she enjoys. But they'll figure things out together -- day by day, as "Sunrise, Sunset" notes.
D2 is very close to the vest. Wifey and I came home last night from a wonderful dinner in Weston -- with Eric, Dana, Barry, and Donna. We toasted being 6 of the luckiest people we know -- our biggest blessings being our kids. We also talked about the challenges of caring for declining and aging parents -- in Dana's case, a GRANDmother, who is 102. But we all know it's a Top 5 Commandment -- and we accept the duty, even though it's far less fun that dealing with adult children.
Anyway -- D2 mentioned casually that she was meeting close family friend Isaac -- to look at apartments in Coconut Grove before her flight back to LGA. Why, Wifey asked. Oh -- Jonathan accepted the offer. Casual information from my taciturn one...
That's ok. I noted that D2 got to do something I had always wanted to do -- live in Greenwich Village. I think next stop will be in what's historically known as the GW of Miami -- Coconut Grove. We'll see -- I guess I'll find out when I get invited over for a welcome drink -- will they move to the Gables, Miami Beach, Edgewater, or the Grove?
All I know is, today I am one EBULLIENT rockin' Daddy in the USA. The band will be getting together again. This year's Thanksgiving, which we'll host, should be a banner one...
The young mens' apartment deal fell through -- they found mold, and the place was not to be. I stepped in and strongly suggested D2 and Jonathan move in together -- they had been dating a few years already, had been deemed future spouses by the matriarch of Jonathan's family, Judy, and from a safety issue I wanted my suburban girl to be with a strong, tall man in that still somewhat scary city.
And they did, and all was well, though after a year, they wanted to move to what I agree is the best part of the City, Greenwich Village. And then, they both changed jobs -- D2 moving to an online retail place in Jersey, and Jonathan to another private equity bank.
Somehow, 4 years passed, and they enjoyed the City, and their many Miami friends who lived there. And D2 took another job, this one with a media company walking distance to her apartment.
They always talked about moving home to Miami, and I never, in my loving Dad mind, accepted them as permanent New Yorkers, though D2 started talking like one -- everything was superior in the City to anywhere else -- like the classic New Yorker cartoon showing Manhattan, and everything outside sort of an irrelevant desert.
When we'd meet people and D2 said she lived in the city, I'd always say "on extended sabbatical," like she was an academic on loan to NYU but fully tenured at the U.
A headhunter reached out to Jonathan about a job in South Florida, but he wasn't too interested. As one of my friends noted, no one takes money nearly as seriously as Wall Street...
So I figured they'd stay in the city another few years -- maybe returning home when they reached 30 or so. And then I pulled a Sabta.
My suegra is famous for guilt -- central casting type, Jewish guilt. To her, it's an art form to subtly make you feel a bit bad for someway you slighted her. I do it for comic effect.
My last birthday passed while we were in Maine, and I got lovely emails or texts from the Ds, and from D1's man Joey. Nothing from Jonathan, which was unusual.
So a week later, I put on my Yiddish accent and told D2 I had greetings from three of my kids, but not her man. She responded that he had been crazy busy, with the interview in Miami and all...SHIT! She let it slip.
The birthday text came shortly thereafter, and then the tale. Indeed, he had interviewed with the top private equity bank in the state -- the gold standard for them, apparently. And -- he was excited -- he really dug the people there, and it was NYC quality.
Well, to cut to the chase -- last night he accepted an offer from them -- they're coming home.
Friday I was in a nail salon with D2 -- we get Dad/daughter pedis when she's in town. Jonathan had called her, and I could tell the information was that he had been given an offer. At the same time, I fielded a call from Mirta, telling me some wonderful health news about her younger son.
I guess the fumes from the nail salon got to me -- my eyes teared. D2 got off the phone and thought Mirta had shared terrible news. No -- it was my happiness about the news of D2 and Jonathan -- the runaway bunnies were coming home.
So they're stressed, of course -- it's a big move, and D2 just started a new job she enjoys. But they'll figure things out together -- day by day, as "Sunrise, Sunset" notes.
D2 is very close to the vest. Wifey and I came home last night from a wonderful dinner in Weston -- with Eric, Dana, Barry, and Donna. We toasted being 6 of the luckiest people we know -- our biggest blessings being our kids. We also talked about the challenges of caring for declining and aging parents -- in Dana's case, a GRANDmother, who is 102. But we all know it's a Top 5 Commandment -- and we accept the duty, even though it's far less fun that dealing with adult children.
Anyway -- D2 mentioned casually that she was meeting close family friend Isaac -- to look at apartments in Coconut Grove before her flight back to LGA. Why, Wifey asked. Oh -- Jonathan accepted the offer. Casual information from my taciturn one...
That's ok. I noted that D2 got to do something I had always wanted to do -- live in Greenwich Village. I think next stop will be in what's historically known as the GW of Miami -- Coconut Grove. We'll see -- I guess I'll find out when I get invited over for a welcome drink -- will they move to the Gables, Miami Beach, Edgewater, or the Grove?
All I know is, today I am one EBULLIENT rockin' Daddy in the USA. The band will be getting together again. This year's Thanksgiving, which we'll host, should be a banner one...
Sunday, August 11, 2019
So Much Has Changed
Wifey and I see my two best college buddies, Eric and Barry, and their long suffering wives, Dana and Donna, far too seldom. Life somehow gets in the way of it happening, but tonight we plan to meet -- up in Weston, at an Italian place.
Barry and I were roommates in college, sharing Apartment 22Z from the Fall of '80 until I graduated in Spring of '83. We grew into brothers as we grew into men.
Barry was supposed to move in with Eric and me, to a three bedroom apartment we found in Kendall, in August of '83. Eric was starting med school, and I was starting law school, and Barry was going to be a college senior. Alas, Barry opted out at the last minute, and Eric and I found a two bedroom place down the street, where I met Wifey at the mailbox. So I owe Barry for that, as we still joke decades later.
Two Jewish guys, one in med school, and one in law school. How exotic, right? Actually, one evening Eric, Dana, Wifey and I went to a comedy club on US 1, in a small space now part of a liquor store. We saw two young comics, a woman and a man, and they were both terrific. Years later Wifey realized they were Ellen Degeneres and Howie Mandel.
We sat in the front, and Mandel asked Eric what he did. He answered med student. Same for me -- I told him I was in law school. He asked if we were Jewish. We said we were. "Wow," he exclaimed, "a Jewish doctor and a Jewish lawyer -- beat ME with a stick!" It was our grad school brush with fame...
When we were in college together, we enjoyed drinking and laughing together, and cheering for the Canes. Now, in our late 50s, we enjoy drinking and laughing together and cheering for the Canes. So much has changed.
It actually has. We're all married, to the aforementioned long suffering wives, and blessed with 6 amazing kids. I have the Ds, Barry has two boys, and Eric, always one to be the most indecisive, has one of each. A glorious hedge!
D1 and Eric's girl are married. D2 will marry in January, and Eric's boy will marry in March. Barry's boys are a bit younger, but if I was a betting man, I'd give strong odds that Barry's oldest is going to marry his current girlfriend.
Can we three friends from teen years actually be grandfathers together? The Big Man will decide...
All I know is, I'm quite looking forward to tonight. Last night, Wifey and I went to visit her mother at the Palace. I texted a photo of a smiling Rachel to Eric and Barry, to make fun of how I was spending my Saturday night. They both responded that they were visiting ALFs, too...we of the sandwich generation.
Our beloved Canes open the season in 13 days -- in Orlando, a "neutral site" that the Gators insisted on to renew our rivalry. They dropped us from the schedule after we beat them regularly in the 80s, claiming their SEC commitments were too great. Yeah -- we all know the truth -- they were cowards, and looking to avoid the mighty Canes.
This year, the Gators appear to have the better team -- ranked in the Top 10, and coming off a much better '18 than we had. They're favored to win, and Vegas usually gets it right. But not all the time -- we'll have a great time, no matter what.
I got a call last week from a UM bureaucrat -- wanting to set up a meeting with the Arts and Sciences Dean, to decide what I would like my "future involvement" to be with the College. The answer will be minimal -- UM has plenty of money, and doesn't need my small donations. I'll give to the Hurricane Club each year, of course, to keep my tickets, but as for other donations -- nah -- I've given plenty.
FIU needs our help more, and it's great to be involved with D1's grad school alma mater, their School of Public Health.
But UM is in my blood -- always will be, and mostly for the friendships it has brought me -- Eric and Barry from college, and Norman, Mike, and Jeff from law school.
So tonight we'll be together, the three college amigos, and we'll toast the manifold blessings of our lives, and we'll toast our Canes. It's great that in a world that changes radically, some core things stay the same.
Barry and I were roommates in college, sharing Apartment 22Z from the Fall of '80 until I graduated in Spring of '83. We grew into brothers as we grew into men.
Barry was supposed to move in with Eric and me, to a three bedroom apartment we found in Kendall, in August of '83. Eric was starting med school, and I was starting law school, and Barry was going to be a college senior. Alas, Barry opted out at the last minute, and Eric and I found a two bedroom place down the street, where I met Wifey at the mailbox. So I owe Barry for that, as we still joke decades later.
Two Jewish guys, one in med school, and one in law school. How exotic, right? Actually, one evening Eric, Dana, Wifey and I went to a comedy club on US 1, in a small space now part of a liquor store. We saw two young comics, a woman and a man, and they were both terrific. Years later Wifey realized they were Ellen Degeneres and Howie Mandel.
We sat in the front, and Mandel asked Eric what he did. He answered med student. Same for me -- I told him I was in law school. He asked if we were Jewish. We said we were. "Wow," he exclaimed, "a Jewish doctor and a Jewish lawyer -- beat ME with a stick!" It was our grad school brush with fame...
When we were in college together, we enjoyed drinking and laughing together, and cheering for the Canes. Now, in our late 50s, we enjoy drinking and laughing together and cheering for the Canes. So much has changed.
It actually has. We're all married, to the aforementioned long suffering wives, and blessed with 6 amazing kids. I have the Ds, Barry has two boys, and Eric, always one to be the most indecisive, has one of each. A glorious hedge!
D1 and Eric's girl are married. D2 will marry in January, and Eric's boy will marry in March. Barry's boys are a bit younger, but if I was a betting man, I'd give strong odds that Barry's oldest is going to marry his current girlfriend.
Can we three friends from teen years actually be grandfathers together? The Big Man will decide...
All I know is, I'm quite looking forward to tonight. Last night, Wifey and I went to visit her mother at the Palace. I texted a photo of a smiling Rachel to Eric and Barry, to make fun of how I was spending my Saturday night. They both responded that they were visiting ALFs, too...we of the sandwich generation.
Our beloved Canes open the season in 13 days -- in Orlando, a "neutral site" that the Gators insisted on to renew our rivalry. They dropped us from the schedule after we beat them regularly in the 80s, claiming their SEC commitments were too great. Yeah -- we all know the truth -- they were cowards, and looking to avoid the mighty Canes.
This year, the Gators appear to have the better team -- ranked in the Top 10, and coming off a much better '18 than we had. They're favored to win, and Vegas usually gets it right. But not all the time -- we'll have a great time, no matter what.
I got a call last week from a UM bureaucrat -- wanting to set up a meeting with the Arts and Sciences Dean, to decide what I would like my "future involvement" to be with the College. The answer will be minimal -- UM has plenty of money, and doesn't need my small donations. I'll give to the Hurricane Club each year, of course, to keep my tickets, but as for other donations -- nah -- I've given plenty.
FIU needs our help more, and it's great to be involved with D1's grad school alma mater, their School of Public Health.
But UM is in my blood -- always will be, and mostly for the friendships it has brought me -- Eric and Barry from college, and Norman, Mike, and Jeff from law school.
So tonight we'll be together, the three college amigos, and we'll toast the manifold blessings of our lives, and we'll toast our Canes. It's great that in a world that changes radically, some core things stay the same.
Saturday, August 10, 2019
Always Something There To Remind Me
The Herald had a sad story yesterday, profiling two separate Parkland families who have left Broward after losing their daughters. The hook on the tale was their differing politics: one left because Broward is too liberal, and the other because it's too pro gun.
The conservative Dad is a type I'm very familiar with -- a tough, blue collar Jewish guy from the NYC suburbs -- owned a mechanic shop, and like Tony Soprano, named his daughter Meadow. The liberal Mom is an educator -- worked as a security consultant for Broward schools, but was frustrated about the lack of more gun control in Florida.
A sad part of my law career has been getting to know many parents who lost children. It's a pain no one ever wants to know about -- but my cases have involved just that. Typically the parents, if married, get divorced. One client Mom told me that each time she and her husband looked into each other's eyes after the accident, they shared the same misery. They had to go their separate ways to get some relief from it.
I also learned that there is no "correct" way to grieve. One Mom visited her 4 year old son's grave every day -- usually drunk or high. A Dad took to telling morbid jokes about death -- the shock on listeners' faces seemed to give him a moment of relief.
The Parkland father and his wife are moving to Oregon -- but NOT Portland. Turns out much of the state is gun loving and conservative -- he said that the Parkland Strong stuff sickened him -- an excuse to further a liberal agenda using his daughter's death as a political prop.
The Parkland mother is also going northwest -- but to Seattle -- her husband is an IT guy with many contacts there, and she thinks Washington state will put enough distance between her and the tragedy to give some relief.
I don't know.
D2 and I were discussing this the other day. She and her man are coming upon a big choice soon about where to live. She really digs Greenwich Village, and not having to have a car, and being able to walk everywhere.
I told her that I have come to understand that, if I have those people precious to me close, I'd be happy in Omaha, Nebraska, or some such place. Omaha was actually nice -- had a nice meal at the Drover Steakhouse and saw Warren Buffet's house before watching the Huskers beat my Canes...
In other words, as you age, you care about life, and less about lifestyle -- even though our culture esteems finding the proper lifestyle.
I wish these Parkland parents peace -- regardless of their politics. I fear, though, that the sage words of Buckaroo Banzai, distilling the wisdom of Confucius, will prevail: wherever you go...there you are.
I was talking with D2's good friend Ali yesterday. The girls had gathered at Catherine's parents' house for a trip to Key West, to celebrate Cath's upcoming wedding. Ali adores D2, and was hit hard by the news that she may leave NYC.
Ali told me she'd love to come to South Florida, but her husband, a West Palm native, hates the hot weather -- never could stand it his entire childhood.
I get it -- weather does affect our mood, and it's rather brutal here in the summer.
But again -- preferred climate far from those you love and adore, or perfect weather all alone? For me -- it wouldn't be a choice.
If you're blessed to have kids you're close to -- you need to be where the action is -- where they live.
Those poor Parkland parents are bereft. I truly feel for them and hope they find serenity far from Broward...
The conservative Dad is a type I'm very familiar with -- a tough, blue collar Jewish guy from the NYC suburbs -- owned a mechanic shop, and like Tony Soprano, named his daughter Meadow. The liberal Mom is an educator -- worked as a security consultant for Broward schools, but was frustrated about the lack of more gun control in Florida.
A sad part of my law career has been getting to know many parents who lost children. It's a pain no one ever wants to know about -- but my cases have involved just that. Typically the parents, if married, get divorced. One client Mom told me that each time she and her husband looked into each other's eyes after the accident, they shared the same misery. They had to go their separate ways to get some relief from it.
I also learned that there is no "correct" way to grieve. One Mom visited her 4 year old son's grave every day -- usually drunk or high. A Dad took to telling morbid jokes about death -- the shock on listeners' faces seemed to give him a moment of relief.
The Parkland father and his wife are moving to Oregon -- but NOT Portland. Turns out much of the state is gun loving and conservative -- he said that the Parkland Strong stuff sickened him -- an excuse to further a liberal agenda using his daughter's death as a political prop.
The Parkland mother is also going northwest -- but to Seattle -- her husband is an IT guy with many contacts there, and she thinks Washington state will put enough distance between her and the tragedy to give some relief.
I don't know.
D2 and I were discussing this the other day. She and her man are coming upon a big choice soon about where to live. She really digs Greenwich Village, and not having to have a car, and being able to walk everywhere.
I told her that I have come to understand that, if I have those people precious to me close, I'd be happy in Omaha, Nebraska, or some such place. Omaha was actually nice -- had a nice meal at the Drover Steakhouse and saw Warren Buffet's house before watching the Huskers beat my Canes...
In other words, as you age, you care about life, and less about lifestyle -- even though our culture esteems finding the proper lifestyle.
I wish these Parkland parents peace -- regardless of their politics. I fear, though, that the sage words of Buckaroo Banzai, distilling the wisdom of Confucius, will prevail: wherever you go...there you are.
I was talking with D2's good friend Ali yesterday. The girls had gathered at Catherine's parents' house for a trip to Key West, to celebrate Cath's upcoming wedding. Ali adores D2, and was hit hard by the news that she may leave NYC.
Ali told me she'd love to come to South Florida, but her husband, a West Palm native, hates the hot weather -- never could stand it his entire childhood.
I get it -- weather does affect our mood, and it's rather brutal here in the summer.
But again -- preferred climate far from those you love and adore, or perfect weather all alone? For me -- it wouldn't be a choice.
If you're blessed to have kids you're close to -- you need to be where the action is -- where they live.
Those poor Parkland parents are bereft. I truly feel for them and hope they find serenity far from Broward...
Wednesday, August 7, 2019
Dadber Working Late
I long ago gave up picking up or dropping people off at the airport, with the notable exceptions of Wifey and the Ds and their men. I call the service Dadber, and tonight I have some late work to do.
D2 is working, and then leaving LGA afterwards, and so not due into MIA until after 11 pm. I can't wait to see her.
Her dear friend Catherine is hosting a pre wedding girls' weekend in Key West. I think 10 or 11 friends are meeting at Cath's house in Pinecrest, and getting on a party bus for a weekend hen party. I offered to drive the bus, and was politely declined. The truth is, I would have been terrific -- I know all the fun spots between Miami and the end of the line. Oh well...
Cath and D2 have known each other since Middle School, and then became sorority sisters at UF. Cath met Jacob, a wonderful young man, at UF -- he was in Dental School there, and the two will marry at the Rusty Pelican in November. Wifey and I are invited, and I am looking forward to celebrating the union of these two wonderful young people.
They live in Atlanta -- Cath went to Emory Law -- and Jacob went to UGA undergrad. Like me, he rather despises the Gator football team.
Their wedding day is Florida/Georgia, and also the day Canes play FSU. I'm guessing there'll be a LOT of phone checking throughout the day. But the wedding will be the prime event.
D2 and I have a father/daughter workout scheduled for Thursday am. On Friday, we'll meet D1 for a late breakfast, and then. like the old days, I'll drop off my girl for the play date at Cath's...
I love having her and Jonathan in the 305, and hope they return someday.
Meanwhile, yesterday I breathed a sigh of relief. D2 wants a svelte FOB (father of bride) at her January wedding, and I promised her I would lose 5 pounds, as a start, by the time she returned to Miami, from her trip last month. I was a pound off, but D2 reminded me the weighing was without shoes -- so I made it! But, I committed to continuing on the path to better eating, along with the exercise I have been committed to since last Fall. I truly hope to hang around a long time.
So the dog days of Summer continue. But August holds great stuff -- D2 at the top of the list. And two weeks from Friday, Wifey and I are off to Orlando for a Canes football weekend -- they open against the hated Gators. At least 50 of us are headed up there -- it ought to be a party weekend.
I don't think we'll be tailgating -- apparently the lots were all taken by corporate sponsors. The plan will be a barbecue at Mike's sister Jeannine's house -- she lives north of Orlando -- and bar hopping at Church Street on Saturday night.
When I was last at the old Tangerine Bowl, you couldn't walk more than a block away -- it was the roughest part of Orlando. Apparently they've gentrified it a bit. Laughter and good times await.
But for tonight -- Dadber rides. It's a job I greatly enjoy.
D2 is working, and then leaving LGA afterwards, and so not due into MIA until after 11 pm. I can't wait to see her.
Her dear friend Catherine is hosting a pre wedding girls' weekend in Key West. I think 10 or 11 friends are meeting at Cath's house in Pinecrest, and getting on a party bus for a weekend hen party. I offered to drive the bus, and was politely declined. The truth is, I would have been terrific -- I know all the fun spots between Miami and the end of the line. Oh well...
Cath and D2 have known each other since Middle School, and then became sorority sisters at UF. Cath met Jacob, a wonderful young man, at UF -- he was in Dental School there, and the two will marry at the Rusty Pelican in November. Wifey and I are invited, and I am looking forward to celebrating the union of these two wonderful young people.
They live in Atlanta -- Cath went to Emory Law -- and Jacob went to UGA undergrad. Like me, he rather despises the Gator football team.
Their wedding day is Florida/Georgia, and also the day Canes play FSU. I'm guessing there'll be a LOT of phone checking throughout the day. But the wedding will be the prime event.
D2 and I have a father/daughter workout scheduled for Thursday am. On Friday, we'll meet D1 for a late breakfast, and then. like the old days, I'll drop off my girl for the play date at Cath's...
I love having her and Jonathan in the 305, and hope they return someday.
Meanwhile, yesterday I breathed a sigh of relief. D2 wants a svelte FOB (father of bride) at her January wedding, and I promised her I would lose 5 pounds, as a start, by the time she returned to Miami, from her trip last month. I was a pound off, but D2 reminded me the weighing was without shoes -- so I made it! But, I committed to continuing on the path to better eating, along with the exercise I have been committed to since last Fall. I truly hope to hang around a long time.
So the dog days of Summer continue. But August holds great stuff -- D2 at the top of the list. And two weeks from Friday, Wifey and I are off to Orlando for a Canes football weekend -- they open against the hated Gators. At least 50 of us are headed up there -- it ought to be a party weekend.
I don't think we'll be tailgating -- apparently the lots were all taken by corporate sponsors. The plan will be a barbecue at Mike's sister Jeannine's house -- she lives north of Orlando -- and bar hopping at Church Street on Saturday night.
When I was last at the old Tangerine Bowl, you couldn't walk more than a block away -- it was the roughest part of Orlando. Apparently they've gentrified it a bit. Laughter and good times await.
But for tonight -- Dadber rides. It's a job I greatly enjoy.
Sunday, August 4, 2019
Learnin'
My father, and to a lesser extent, my mother, instilled in me a love of learning. My father always lionized the educated far more than he did the rich -- though, as Tevye sang, he wouldn't have complained had he been a wealthy man.
Last Thursday Mike invited me to meet him and his fine son Chris in the Gables, for a renewal showing of "The Doors" at the Gables Art Cinema. Mike recalled seeing the movie when it came out in '91 -- before D2 and his two kids were born, and our group only had Monica who, to Mike, "always seemed about 15." I agreed to go, and earlier on searched for a book to give to Chris about the Doors, Danny Sugarman's "No One Here Gets Out Alive."
I looked through my several bookcases, and came up short. I must have given it away. But as I went through the more than thousand books, I realized I had read all of them, and it was no coincidence therefore that I AM pretty smart. The Ds and Wifey call me Encyclopedia Daddica, and I typically do better than all three Jeopardy contestants, so I guess there's some validity to that. But I'm surely no genius -- the kind who can do the Times crossword puzzle in minutes, or pass a Physics exam before the rest of his classmates.
Friday we attended the funeral of Dr. Bob, and afterwards the shiva at their house. I ALWAYS learned something from Bob and Judy, and as Wifey and I walked into their house for the first time in years, that thought came flooding back to me. Their entire house is bookcases -- and they've read them all.
The ceremony was moving -- Sarah gave me credit for sending to her the Robert Louis Stevenson poem so applicable to her father, and she and Judy spoke humorously and lovingly about Bob. A former student of his, now a Neurologist himself for decades, also spoke admiringly and lovingly.
As we sat in the living room at the shiva, Ari, Bob's son, spoke of having a bad nut allergy, but he was eating almonds. He explained that almonds were NOT nuts -- they were stones, and so no allergy for him. He also explained that amaretto, the liquor is made from fermented peaches, which are also stone fruits, and that it tastes like almonds. I'm sure D1 already knew this, but it was news to me.
And then Judy told a tale, of when Bob was in the hospital and told of the terminal nature of his illness. Bob was a proud Jew, and Zionist, but not a believer in the Big Man. He said his god was found in nature. Still, the Rabbi asked to say a prayer, and he agreed, and as it was being said, he began to cry, which shocked him.
He spoke of epigenetics, acquiring characteristics that can actually be passed down. I'd read a little about it -- studies showing that athletes who move to higher altitudes and get more red cells actually PASS that to their children. But now I need to read more -- once again, Judy and Bob's house was one of learning.
As people age, many seem to think they know it all. That's too bad -- my most admired older folks retain their intense curiosity. Norman's Dad Max is a perfect example -- he's turning 92 and loves to learn new things.
If I'm lucky enough to enjoy a long run on this mortal coil, I want to be in that number. We NEVER know it all...
Last Thursday Mike invited me to meet him and his fine son Chris in the Gables, for a renewal showing of "The Doors" at the Gables Art Cinema. Mike recalled seeing the movie when it came out in '91 -- before D2 and his two kids were born, and our group only had Monica who, to Mike, "always seemed about 15." I agreed to go, and earlier on searched for a book to give to Chris about the Doors, Danny Sugarman's "No One Here Gets Out Alive."
I looked through my several bookcases, and came up short. I must have given it away. But as I went through the more than thousand books, I realized I had read all of them, and it was no coincidence therefore that I AM pretty smart. The Ds and Wifey call me Encyclopedia Daddica, and I typically do better than all three Jeopardy contestants, so I guess there's some validity to that. But I'm surely no genius -- the kind who can do the Times crossword puzzle in minutes, or pass a Physics exam before the rest of his classmates.
Friday we attended the funeral of Dr. Bob, and afterwards the shiva at their house. I ALWAYS learned something from Bob and Judy, and as Wifey and I walked into their house for the first time in years, that thought came flooding back to me. Their entire house is bookcases -- and they've read them all.
The ceremony was moving -- Sarah gave me credit for sending to her the Robert Louis Stevenson poem so applicable to her father, and she and Judy spoke humorously and lovingly about Bob. A former student of his, now a Neurologist himself for decades, also spoke admiringly and lovingly.
As we sat in the living room at the shiva, Ari, Bob's son, spoke of having a bad nut allergy, but he was eating almonds. He explained that almonds were NOT nuts -- they were stones, and so no allergy for him. He also explained that amaretto, the liquor is made from fermented peaches, which are also stone fruits, and that it tastes like almonds. I'm sure D1 already knew this, but it was news to me.
And then Judy told a tale, of when Bob was in the hospital and told of the terminal nature of his illness. Bob was a proud Jew, and Zionist, but not a believer in the Big Man. He said his god was found in nature. Still, the Rabbi asked to say a prayer, and he agreed, and as it was being said, he began to cry, which shocked him.
He spoke of epigenetics, acquiring characteristics that can actually be passed down. I'd read a little about it -- studies showing that athletes who move to higher altitudes and get more red cells actually PASS that to their children. But now I need to read more -- once again, Judy and Bob's house was one of learning.
As people age, many seem to think they know it all. That's too bad -- my most admired older folks retain their intense curiosity. Norman's Dad Max is a perfect example -- he's turning 92 and loves to learn new things.
If I'm lucky enough to enjoy a long run on this mortal coil, I want to be in that number. We NEVER know it all...
Thursday, August 1, 2019
RIP, Dr. Bob
I was back from my morning constitutional, and D2 called. We chatted, and she mentioned she saw that Dr. Bob died -- she read it on his daughter Sarah's Instagram page. I was shocked and stunned -- I knew he was getting on, and had chronic health issues, but didn't think his end was close. I was wrong.
His death brought my thoughts back 4 decades, and the impact he and his wife Judy had on my life. In short, I wanted to BE Dr. Bob.
I was a freshman in Judy's English Comp class -- and I was the best student. Those were pre AP days, or I likely would have missed the class. At least, Levittown Schools didn't get around to AP by the late 70s -- turned out it was a great thing for me.
Judy and I became friends, and I was a gung ho pre med student. She introduced me to her husband Dr. Bob, who was then a big shot at the Med School -- Vice Chair of Neurology, and a respected senior faculty member and sought out clinician. Judy and Bob had me over for dinner, and I met their kids. They later had me babysit them -- Sarah was 10, and Ari 4, and we all grew close.
I wanted to be Bob since, first of all, he was a doctor, and had chosen one of the most intellectual fields in medicine -- Neurology. He was also extremely well read in ALL disciplines -- he told me that his first choice was to be a History Professor, but, as a very smart college student from a working class Jewish home in NYC, it seemed he was on a track to med school, and he stayed on that track.
He had the love of a brilliant and accomplished woman, and two smart kids, and a really cool house in Coral Gables filled with books of all types, and he took university paid trips all over the world where he lectured in his field. Yes -- I wanted to be Bob -- an academic doctor -- it would fulfill my Dad's dream of having a highly educated son.
Bob took me under his wing -- gave me books to read by John Eccles and Oliver Sachs, and invited me to be an intern in his neuro physiology lab, summer of '81. My job was to dissect frogs, and remove their spinal cords for use in a "sucrose gap chamber" in order to measure a neurotransmitter called GABA. Bob was a GABA maven.
I was AWFUL at dissection -- I mangled many more frogs than I like to remember -- but Bob still kept me. His PhD John was an adept dissectionist, so there were always plenty of spinal cords to study.
I printed out a line I had read from a Turgenev novel I read that summer -- a doctor explaining why he dissected frogs, and Bob had it printed out and framed. Years later, it was still on his office wall, and I was extremely proud -- I had shared something of value with the intellectual professor.
I muddled through pre med classes -- getting Cs in the main one, Organic Chemistry -- and As in my Humanities classes. Finally, after taking Embryology in the Fall of my Junior year, a class the professor told us pre meds was MOST like the first two years of medical school, I came to a life choice -- no med school for me.
I met with Bob, and he tried to talk me out of it. He thought I'd make a fine doctor -- don't worry too much about the Cs in Organic -- he'd write me a glowing recommendation. I thanked him, but my heart and head were made up -- I would be an English major, like Judy.
I took a senior level class with Judy, and she became my adviser. Her thoughts about my future in non medical academics were true and glaring. We were at the end of the Baby Boom, and college enrollments were on the decline. She knew of PhD graduates from Harvard and Stanford bussing tables. Did I, a nice Jewish boy who would marry and have a family, want to try to support them as a struggling academic?
I didn't know what to do, but by then I knew what NOT to do, so I decided to go to law school. I had never considered being a lawyer, and didn't think the profession was particularly cool or exciting, but I could read and write pretty well, law school would give me a marketable trade, and so why not? And indeed, it worked out fine -- made a few shekels (ok, a LOT of shekels) and provided a very nice living.
And the rest of life happened. Wifey and I got together, and we house sat for a summer for Bob and Judy -- in Europe giving seminars. We LOVED staying at the house -- we could ride our bikes to Coconut Grove, and skinny dip at night in the big pool.
And, as the years passed, I realized I STILL wanted to be Dr. Bob -- but for different reasons.
Judy had major health issues. He stood by her the whole time -- supporting and loving her. The kids are brilliant. I remember when we'd have dinner, Bob and Judy would wonder -- are they going Ivy League, or are they more casual intellectual types -- Stanford or maybe Cal Berkeley? Well, in a tough twist of fate, the answer would be neither -- both had severe learning disabilities, and took different roads to success. Sarah soared at the Culinary Institute -- the learning was easier for her there, and Ari took a long time to get his UM degree, but he did -- he works now in IT.
And Bob supported and loved them, even though their paths were not what this genius academic doc had thought. He came up with the very catchy name for Sarah's catering business -- now wildly successful.
I watched Bob at both kids' weddings -- beaming with pride. And at his first grandson's Bris -- I thought he might float away from the kvelling.
So long after his academic career had ended, Bob embodied Sidney Poitier's great description of the measure of a man: the measure of a man is how he takes care of his family.
Dr. Bob was a two time mentor of mine -- first in college, and later as a grown man.
Sarah posted the sad news of his passing on FaceBook, and when I opened my account yesterday, I saw that 6 years before, I had shared the great quote from Robert Louis Stevenson, "That Man is a Success." It fit Dr. Bob to a T.
The funeral is tomorrow, at the same cemetery where my father in law is buried. Wifey and I will visit his grave after Dr. Bob's services.
Through an only in Miami complicated tale, my friend Jeff had become close friends with Judy and Bob, too, and so I will sit with him at the funeral. Sarah catered Jeff's daughter's wedding late last year.
Rest in peace, Dr. Bob. I'll miss you, but remember you always.
His death brought my thoughts back 4 decades, and the impact he and his wife Judy had on my life. In short, I wanted to BE Dr. Bob.
I was a freshman in Judy's English Comp class -- and I was the best student. Those were pre AP days, or I likely would have missed the class. At least, Levittown Schools didn't get around to AP by the late 70s -- turned out it was a great thing for me.
Judy and I became friends, and I was a gung ho pre med student. She introduced me to her husband Dr. Bob, who was then a big shot at the Med School -- Vice Chair of Neurology, and a respected senior faculty member and sought out clinician. Judy and Bob had me over for dinner, and I met their kids. They later had me babysit them -- Sarah was 10, and Ari 4, and we all grew close.
I wanted to be Bob since, first of all, he was a doctor, and had chosen one of the most intellectual fields in medicine -- Neurology. He was also extremely well read in ALL disciplines -- he told me that his first choice was to be a History Professor, but, as a very smart college student from a working class Jewish home in NYC, it seemed he was on a track to med school, and he stayed on that track.
He had the love of a brilliant and accomplished woman, and two smart kids, and a really cool house in Coral Gables filled with books of all types, and he took university paid trips all over the world where he lectured in his field. Yes -- I wanted to be Bob -- an academic doctor -- it would fulfill my Dad's dream of having a highly educated son.
Bob took me under his wing -- gave me books to read by John Eccles and Oliver Sachs, and invited me to be an intern in his neuro physiology lab, summer of '81. My job was to dissect frogs, and remove their spinal cords for use in a "sucrose gap chamber" in order to measure a neurotransmitter called GABA. Bob was a GABA maven.
I was AWFUL at dissection -- I mangled many more frogs than I like to remember -- but Bob still kept me. His PhD John was an adept dissectionist, so there were always plenty of spinal cords to study.
I printed out a line I had read from a Turgenev novel I read that summer -- a doctor explaining why he dissected frogs, and Bob had it printed out and framed. Years later, it was still on his office wall, and I was extremely proud -- I had shared something of value with the intellectual professor.
I muddled through pre med classes -- getting Cs in the main one, Organic Chemistry -- and As in my Humanities classes. Finally, after taking Embryology in the Fall of my Junior year, a class the professor told us pre meds was MOST like the first two years of medical school, I came to a life choice -- no med school for me.
I met with Bob, and he tried to talk me out of it. He thought I'd make a fine doctor -- don't worry too much about the Cs in Organic -- he'd write me a glowing recommendation. I thanked him, but my heart and head were made up -- I would be an English major, like Judy.
I took a senior level class with Judy, and she became my adviser. Her thoughts about my future in non medical academics were true and glaring. We were at the end of the Baby Boom, and college enrollments were on the decline. She knew of PhD graduates from Harvard and Stanford bussing tables. Did I, a nice Jewish boy who would marry and have a family, want to try to support them as a struggling academic?
I didn't know what to do, but by then I knew what NOT to do, so I decided to go to law school. I had never considered being a lawyer, and didn't think the profession was particularly cool or exciting, but I could read and write pretty well, law school would give me a marketable trade, and so why not? And indeed, it worked out fine -- made a few shekels (ok, a LOT of shekels) and provided a very nice living.
And the rest of life happened. Wifey and I got together, and we house sat for a summer for Bob and Judy -- in Europe giving seminars. We LOVED staying at the house -- we could ride our bikes to Coconut Grove, and skinny dip at night in the big pool.
And, as the years passed, I realized I STILL wanted to be Dr. Bob -- but for different reasons.
Judy had major health issues. He stood by her the whole time -- supporting and loving her. The kids are brilliant. I remember when we'd have dinner, Bob and Judy would wonder -- are they going Ivy League, or are they more casual intellectual types -- Stanford or maybe Cal Berkeley? Well, in a tough twist of fate, the answer would be neither -- both had severe learning disabilities, and took different roads to success. Sarah soared at the Culinary Institute -- the learning was easier for her there, and Ari took a long time to get his UM degree, but he did -- he works now in IT.
And Bob supported and loved them, even though their paths were not what this genius academic doc had thought. He came up with the very catchy name for Sarah's catering business -- now wildly successful.
I watched Bob at both kids' weddings -- beaming with pride. And at his first grandson's Bris -- I thought he might float away from the kvelling.
So long after his academic career had ended, Bob embodied Sidney Poitier's great description of the measure of a man: the measure of a man is how he takes care of his family.
Dr. Bob was a two time mentor of mine -- first in college, and later as a grown man.
Sarah posted the sad news of his passing on FaceBook, and when I opened my account yesterday, I saw that 6 years before, I had shared the great quote from Robert Louis Stevenson, "That Man is a Success." It fit Dr. Bob to a T.
The funeral is tomorrow, at the same cemetery where my father in law is buried. Wifey and I will visit his grave after Dr. Bob's services.
Through an only in Miami complicated tale, my friend Jeff had become close friends with Judy and Bob, too, and so I will sit with him at the funeral. Sarah catered Jeff's daughter's wedding late last year.
Rest in peace, Dr. Bob. I'll miss you, but remember you always.
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