Debbie Downer Was Wrong

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If THIS Guy Can Be Thankful

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I am.

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

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

Thirty One-derful

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Half A Great Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Mental Snapshot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One Way Or Another...It Sucked

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here Comes The Cool

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silver Anniversary

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

School Issues

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything's Quiet on Veterans' Day

I play a scene over and over in my head -- vivid, but in black and white. A 22 year old man is hard at his job -- an "expediter" for the garment, or schmata trade, in Lower Manhattan. It's December of 1941. He pushes multiple wheeled carts from factory to finisher -- the factory is where his father works as a pattern maker.

The young man wants to do more with his life, and found out about joining a union as a storefront designer -- the person who plans and creates the many display windows up and down NYC streets. But his immigrant father dismissed that notion with a slap to the head and the words "You HAVE a good job -- they like you in the company. You'll move up." So the expediter continued pushing the carts, singing all the way.

Suddenly, the city stopped, movie-like. Cab drivers left their cars, and everyone huddled around radios. It was a speech by President Roosevelt -- the famous "Day that will live in infamy" speech -- telling Americans about the attack by the Japanese at Pearl Harbor.

The young man listened, and knew immediately what it meant for him: he would be drafted into the Army. And indeed he was -- he reported to Fort Lee, NJ, in April of '42, and would serve "for the duration." That turned out to be over three and a half years, during which he came close to being shipped to the Battle of the Bulge, where he almost certainly would have died, and the opportunity to marry the girl he left home in The Bronx, a pretty girl nicknamed Sunny.

So the man, of course, was my father. He was no prideful veteran -- he, like many of his generation, simply undertook the duty and performed it. He grew to distrust and really despise bureaucracies -- to this day I hear his words about them: "Never volunteer, and always sit when you don't have to stand."

He gave some of his prime years to the Army -- and returned to a tough life. He worked three jobs to support his wife and soon two daughters -- the second born in 1948. The hard work paid off -- he moved up in the gift ware industry, and became a top salesman. By the time I came along, at the end of the Baby Boom, he was able to buy his first house -- with a loan from his boss, the larger than life Morris Katz.

I see, in my mind's eye, many scenes from my Dad's years in the Service. He told me the tales with such great detail -- including the one that truly saved his life. He was at a base in Texas -- he had sent my Mom home from Pasadena to give birth to their first child surrounded by the support of her family. He was to be shipped out to Europe the next day, and met a landsman playing pool at the base exchange. They were in T shirts in the heat, and my Dad confided in the older NY Jew that he was down -- he had a daughter he might never get to meet. The man listened, and understood.

At the end of the night, the man put on his shirt -- he was a full colonel! My Dad stuttered, calling him "Sir" and all. The man dismissed it -- they were two sons of immigrants far from home -- he wished my Dad well. The next morning, as my Dad was about the board the transport plane to the Bulge, he was sent away -- this Colonel had changed his orders -- back to California.

I always wished I knew the Colonel's name, so I could contact his descendants and thank them for what their father/grandfather did -- allowing my family to be. But I never knew his name.

Anyway -- I think of my Dad daily -- even more as I near the age he was when he died. He was only 63 -- too young. I wish he could meet Wifey, and the Ds, and their amazing men.

Just yesterday, Rabbi Harlig called me -- he is doing the Orthodox required pre marital counseling for D2 and Jonathan. He wanted to make sure I knew I had won the lottery with D1's man Joey and D2's man Jonathan. I assured him I knew this very well.

My Dad would have truly beamed to meet them.  I play that meeting out in my mind, too, even though it never happened.

So today, I thank my Dad for his service -- along with all the veterans. My brother in law Dennis served in the Air Force during Vietnam. My friend Kenny was a Navy Flight Surgeon, and served in the Gulf War.

I was lucky to have never had to give up years. But I never forget those who did. Today is their day.

Mission Accomplished

So it's Veterans' Day weekend, and I celebrated, so far, the freedom we enjoy here thanks to our Vets. First and foremost on my mind is my beloved Dad, who was drafted in April of '42 and served over three and a half years, until he was discharged on Peal Harbor Day of '45.

I think back what it was like for that young man to give all that time in the prime of his young manhood. I remember being Dad's age -- I was on a track for college and law school -- taking that long a detour would have been quite a sacrifice.

But he indeed WAS discharged, and met his first born for the first time -- she was nearly a year old. And he began my family's modern life -- working three jobs to get ahead, and fathering my middle sister, and then, at the tail of the Baby Boom, me.

Among my close friends, the only Veteran is Kenny, who joined the Navy in College to have them pay for Med School. Kenny ended up liking it -- became a flight surgeon - and indeed became a combat veteran by serving on the aircraft carrier the USS Saratoga during the Gulf War. I've always been very proud of him, and indeed will have dinner with him tonight -- his wife is out of town doing lecture work for her legal career...

Anyway -- we started the weekend with a Rehab visit to my recovering buddy -- and got terrific news. He would be discharged the very next day. I had given away my Canes tickets, planning to watch the game at JMH, and so an audible was called: I would drive up to Broward and watch at least the second half with him, assuming he was discharged in time.

From JMH Wifey and I fetched D2 and Jonathan in the Grove, and then drove to MiMo to meet D1 and Joey. D1 chose La Placita for dinner -- a Puerto Rican place owned by her and Joey's neighbors. The place has been in the press a lot -- they painted the entire 2 story building as the Puerto Rican flag. The City has ordered them to paint over the mural. A fight is ongoing -- the press has helped the place a lot -- indeed it was pretty crowded on Friday night. We enjoyed the seafood based dinner, and toasted the recovery of our great family friend, as well as major family milestones that await us in the coming month, Big Man willing...

Wifey drove us home -- the "youth", as D1 calls them, stayed to meet friends at a trendy Midtown bar.

And Saturday Wifey left -- her friend Cara's 70 something birthday. Per usual, Cara wanted to celebrate at Joe's, and so Wifey drove Cara's friend Ronnie, buddies since Summer Camp in the late 50s, to South Beach and their celebration.

I began watching the Canes -- who jumped out to an early lead. I texted my recovering friend -- he was discharged and thought he's allow me to avoid the drive. Nope. As halftime approached, I fired up the boring mid sized sedan and drove, traffic free, to the Pines -- arriving before the second half began. It was perfect timing.

I caught up with their adorable dog -- hadn't seen her in awhile, and we watched the Canes dominate. It was grand. Then we watched some of the next game -- Clemson beating up NC State, and I left around 8 -- warm inside with my buddy's recovery.

There is one more local game -- the Canes are playing FIU at Marlins Park, which sits on hallowed ground for me -- the site of the old Orange Bowl. My two tickets arrived in the mail -- Wifey is going with me, in two weeks. She likes the fact that it's a roofed stadium -- if it's too hot, they'll close the roof. I hope it's cool and the roof and glass walls are open -- the better to harken back to the glory years of the Canes on NW 7th Street.

So Canes won big, my brother is recovering well, and we live free. Not too bad to be thankful for this Veteran's Day weekend...

The Drudgery of Law Work

So my work lately is mostly what I call consulting and consigliere duties. I help strategize with the other lawyers, and sometimes explain cases to clients. It's been a long time since I actually went to court, or even attended a mediation in person.

Instead, I'm the team member who waits in the office while the mediation takes place, providing a hopefully objective view on the best way to proceed.

On Wednesday, I met Stuart at the Hallandale Denny's, and drove up with him to Fort Lauderdale to attend a mediation. It reminded me why I generally do NOT go to these things in person anymore.

The case is a strong one -- a medical negligence matter where an early 60s man died in a Broward hospital -- one of those corporate owned places where the care is crappy. The details aren't important, but the first part of the case, against the hospital, was settled a few years back, and now the target is one of the treating doctors.

His insurance carrier is famous for not settling. Years ago, a doctor friend, who carried a $250K policy, was sued for causing the death of a young patient. I was personal counsel, and pleaded with the carrier to settle. They did not. The case went to trial, handled by an experienced defense lawyer I'll call Jon, since that's his name, and the jury awarded $6M against my friend.

Luckily, I was able to save his tuches -- I got the carrier to settle with the plaintiff's lawyer, and even made a nice fee for our firm for getting this done. To this day, my friend and his wife credit me with saving their financial lives. It's actually true.

Anyway, it was deje vu all over again. The claim manager, a hefty woman from Tampa with the appearance and manner of Frau Blucher from "Young Frankenstein," was the decision maker. The soldier lawyer for the doctor -- still Jon. The doctor was a meek looking foreign guy who just wanted this over -- but naively, he didn't have personal counsel to move things along. He'll get that later -- after HE gets hit for a huge judgment.

The mediator was way cool -- a retired Circuit judge who is also a surfing champion. I really dug him -- we talked all about South Florida music during the very long breaks in the action. He saw the Beatles at the Deuville, and the Doors at Dinner Key. He also surfed summers on the Jersey Shore and got to know a young Springsteen.

Oh -- those pregnant pause mediation breaks. After 5 hours, Frau Blucher offered a tiny amount. We left. It had taken 5 hours to "accomplish" what should have taken 20 minutes.

It reminded me how OVER this whole thing I am.

Stu called the day after to debrief -- I told him I was still recovering from the tuches sores I got sitting for so long. He understood -- he's still very much in the game.

As we were saying goodbye, and Stu and Jon were signing a pre trial stipulation, I reminded Jon we had a client in common -- Doctor Dave. His young associate, another Frau Blucher in training, asked about the case. I happily told how it was JUST like this one -- low ball offer, likely headed to a HUGE judgment against their client.

I smiled the whole time, and told the tale in a subtle, laughing manner. Jon wasn't smiling or laughing. He knew he was going into ANOTHER losing battle. But -- he would be paid either way, so no sympathy for him.

His meek, foreign doctor client will likely be losing some sleep, though -- a case that should be settled and give him peace will instead require him to be in Court a week and be told by a jury that he killed a patient. That's our system.

As for me -- I plan to stick around the office in the future. There's plenty of talent to go to the meetings, hearings, and trials. My patience for it is too thin...

I was sitting outside last night, reflecting on the case, and it occurred to me: one week from today is the 25th anniversary of the founding of my law firm. 25 years of doing anything is plenty. It's no wonder my patience has run out...

Canes Full Circle

It's been a rough week, since last Wednesday. A very dear friend came down with a rare and potentially devastating illness -- truly "out of the blue," as the saying says. Thankfully, he was treated by the best docs in the country -- at UM/JMH, who properly diagnosed his rare illness, and treated it perfectly. He is on the mend and expected to fully recover. The many who love and admire this man are breathing a very deep sigh of relief.

I thanked the Big Man for this outcome. It could have gone the other way.

But now, involving our beloved Canes, something is coming full circle.

In 1984, November, in fact, my brother was in his first year of grad school out of town. He planned to come visit for the weekend -- to see his family, and watch our Canes host Boston College. We had been taken to the promised land the January before -- Canes first National Championship - but our beloved coach, Howard Schnellenberger, had left to coach a USFL team in Miami that never came to be. The new guy was a fast talking Texan named Jimmy Johnson, and he lead our boys to early wins against Auburn and UF.  We were favored to beat Boston College, even they had an amazing young quarterback named Doug Flutie.

Back then, I was in my second year at Miami Law, and also teaching Freshman English at the College. Since I was adjunct faculty, I was able to buy good seats at the Orange Bowl for half price, and I had 8 -- on the North side of the stadium, closed end zone, around the 20 yard line, 14 rows from the field. I loved those seats -- probably because I saw many great victories from them sitting with my buddies -- Mike, Jeff, and Craig bought the other 6 seats, and we would attend with our wives, who feigned true interest in our Canes back then.

Anyway, my buddy was coming, and Wifey readily gave up her seat so he could attend with us. But then I got sick -- a nasty cold or flu -- I remember having a pretty high fever, which was unusual for me. The weather was cold and clammy, and I decided to watch the game on TV -- I told my buddy to take both tickets. He wasn't having it -- he would watch the game with Wifey and me in my apartment in Kendall. We brought in pizza. I wasn't THAT sick...

Well, turned out the game was one of the most famous ever (infamous for Canes fans). The BC QB, Doug Flutie, scrambled and launched a pass that became known as the "Hail Flutie" to win the game as time expired. Wifey recalls my friend dropping to the carpet in agony as the pass was completed. That stupid pass has been shown thousands of times in replay. As it turns out, I was glad I missed it live.

The Canes went on to lose another game in big fashion -- Maryland staged the then biggest comeback in NCAA history -- 31 points -- to beat us. I WAS at that game. But Jimmy got the team together afterwards, and won us our second championship, before leaving for the Dallas Cowboys and having great success with them.

So no, here we are, 35 years later. The final home game is Saturday -- Canes are hosting Louisville. We have another first year coach -- Manny Diaz -- and some disappointing losses. I gave away my tickets, and am returning the favor to my buddy -- I plan to watch the game on TV with him in the rehab hospital, where he will be putting the final touches on his recovery from this weird illness.

I hope the analogy continues, and our Canes just need to get through this challenging season, and go on to soar again. I also hope there is no similar choking loss at the end --Hail Louisville or something.

But mostly I am thankful my brother is on the mend, after some scary crap the last week. That's the main thing, of course.

An After Affair to Remember

So last night, after a small domestic dust up related to Wifey's re-decoration project (I asked for my way on .0003% of the new furniture, and Wifey thought that was asking too much), we made up and got ready to leave for a wedding.

Actually, it was a tense getting ready -- my Canes were at Tally, and playing well against the rival Noles. I missed the second half, but was happily told they had kicked serious butt.

We fetched three sharp dressed men, including future son in law Jonathan, and headed to the Rusty Pelican on Key Biscayne. It was a big wedding -- over 250 folks from Panama, all over Florida, and Georgia, including an imported Southern Rabbi who kept saying "Y'all." I sat behind some Bulldogs, who were very happy with their team beating the Gators (I was, too) and said "What the hell kind of rabbi says "y'all?" They laughed at my attempt at Yankee humor...

The chuppa was outside, on a deck overlooking the most spectacular view of Miami's glorious skyline. It was a bit loud -- party boats were passing below, in full base thumping glory. But the ceremony was lovely, and we then retired inside, for a party that was indeed lit, as the young ones say.

We sat a table with fellow parents of friends of the bride, Catherine. We finally met Tara's parents, who graciously thanked me for helping their girl with career decisions (she recently left the State Attorney's office for private practice). We also sat with Chloe's parents -- a lovely blonde who is engaged to a South African fellow waiting to start Oncology fellowship in Cleveland. We bonded right away -- I told him a pet peeve of mine was that people never referred to white South Africans as "African American," and yet here was this large fellow born and 20 years in Capetown before coming to America. He agreed he was indeed African. He told D2 and Jonathan they ought to consider honeymooning in his native land -- compared to South Africa,  he said, New Zealand and Australia were "shit."

Anyway, also with us were Stuart and Abbe, pretty Carly's parents, who we've known since the girls were in Middle School. In fact, Carly was at our house when she learned she was accepted to UF -- and she and D2 later became sorority sisters. Carly was living in LA, but happily returned to her native land, and now is Grove neighbors of D2 and Jonathan. Apparently she is dating a fellow who attended and now works for the U -- we need to meet and vet this guy -- I plan to do so before 2019 is out.

So there was dancing -- the Atlantans acquitting themselves nicely to the salsa and reggaeton favored by the Latins, and the rest of us Miami gringos...But they did play Earth Wind and Fire to get we Boomers moving...

So Abbe and Stuart left, around 10, to attend another function back here in Pinecrest. We said goodbye, and about 20 minutes later, they were back. What happened? They pointed out a window at the Causeway -- all red tail lights. The Causeway was totally shut down -- bad accident west of the tall bridge.

We figured it would clear in an hour or so. We figured wrong. At 1 am, most of the people had decided to hoof it back to the mainland. Wifey couldn't make the walk, on account of orthopedic issues, and so we decided she would stay back at the restaurant (they graciously said they'd stay open as long as the road was closed) and I would Uber home, to let our our dogs.

And we were off...up the tall bridge, walking past all the stalled cars. The upside was the amazing view from the bridge -- I stopped to admire it. The downside was my dress shoes were NOT appropriate for a long hike, and it was hot and humid as hell.

Finally, in about an hour, we had made the nearly 3 miles to Vizcaya. It was total gridlock. We passed the 2 wrecked cars, and I was dumbfounded as to why the road needed closure for what turned out to be 6 hours, with at least 50 City of Miami Police cars...

In front of Vizcaya, Stuart and 2 of the young-uns got into a Lyft -- the driver was headed to Key Biscayne -- we explained it wasn't going to happen. The Lyft took them to Carly's place.

We hailed 2 Ubers -- I rode with Ben, one of my favorite people -- a special needs teacher in the Bronx, and a guy who I hope also someday returns to the 305 to share his gifts as an educator with his native land. We'll see...

We mustered at D2 and Jonathan's place. Stuart pulled right up. We said our goodbyes, and Stuart drove Ben and me back to Pinecrest. It was 3 am. It was really 4 am, since the time had "fallen back."

Wifey finally got off the Key about an hour later -- they opened the road again. She had napped first on the Rusty Pelican patio, along with other stranded guests.

We'll all forever remember our post affair adventure. And most importantly, Catherine and Jacob begin their lives together. We were privileged to be there.

And, Big Man willing, in over 2 months, we'll be hosting our own big wedding. And the good news is, there are SEVERAL ways out of Miami Beach. Hopefully no hoofing will be necessary, other than on the dance floor.

Adios, Libros

My Dad taught me to love books. He was a self taught educated man, and from an early age instilled in me the magic of being able to hold something in your hands on, say, Long Island, and somehow be transported to ancient Israel, or the English Cotswolds...

Through college and grad school and early married years, I gathered thousands of books -- paperback as well as hardcover. I always took them when I moved, along with Wifey's much more modest collection. She was always more of a film and magazine sort...

I have a library in our house, D1's former bedroom, and it has several large bookcases. Wifey "borrowed" many of my nicer, leather bound books to use as decorations around the house -- many in an antique cabinet we bought together years ago, at a place called Lucky's -- now long gone...

Well, Wifey is in the midst of updating, largely getting rid of old, high quality furniture and replacing it with much lower quality new stuff. That means the Lucky's wood and glass cabinet has to go.

She gave away most of our furniture to Gloria, the woman she hired to suegra sit a few years ago. Gloria feels like she won the lottery -- she is totally redecorating her house with the stuff Wifey "can't stand to look at" anymore. I did make one demand, as Wifey just had the house repainted. Gloria needed to hire professional movers, lest some well meaning nephews and friends bang the crap out of our walls as they remove large leather sectionals, and heavy wood cabinets...Gloria agreed -- she's probably getting well over $20K worth of stuff for free -- having it professionally moved is quite a bargain.

Anyway, Wifey brought me about 25 of the leather books -- I needed space for them. So today I set about getting rid of the paperbacks -- many of them 30 to 40 years old, by Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Malamud...

Piling them into boxes was easier than I thought. They brought back memories, of college or even high school, but I romantically hope someone else will now read them -- and be transported to the Spanish Civil War, or East Egg, NY, or just to the mind of a great thinker like William James...

I called Pinecrest Library and asked if they accepted paperbacks. They did -- except for encyclopedias, or text books.

I filled the first box with about 50 volumes, and drove over. The young man happily accepted my long time companions. I walked away without a tear.

As I was packing them, Wifey said "Wow -- you read ALL of these? No wonder you're so smart." Well -- book smart, at least.

Meanwhile, the house is still in tumult -- an electrician was here installing a new kitchen fixture, and apparently there's a delivery of a new liquor cabinet. My 40 bottles of wine stand waiting on the kitchen counter...

I told Wifey that whatever activities she has scheduled, we must be out of the house by 5. We're going to a wedding at the Rusty Pelican -- D2's BFF Catherine is marrying Jacob. They live in Atlanta. Catherine finished her conversion to Judaism, and their rabbi is coming down from the City too busy to hate...

It'll be a great mixture of folks -- suburban Atlantans, as well as Cath's mother Mireya's people -- Panamanians, along with her Dad's folks -- born and raised Miami gringos...

I have a feeling the ceremony will be breathtaking -- the sun setting over the glorious skyline on Biscayne Bay, followed by a lit party, as the millennials say...

So adios, libros. Nice to clear the clutter. Nice to have the memories of times past...

I'm Not In the Mood for Halloween This Year

One of the most precious things about my family is our sense of humor. We find it in areas maybe others would not. And Wifey is typically the member of our clan who is funniest without meaning to be.

We always made a pretty deal about Halloween for the Ds when they were small. We'd often make haunted rooms in the garage, and invite a lot of their friends over. Trick or treating was big with us -- I recall one year when D2's friend Amanda had a broken leg -- I schlepped her in a red wagon all over our neighborhood.

We'd decorate the house, and in later years, enjoy welcoming the new crop of trick or treaters -- some years we'd get over a hundred kids.

One Halloween -- I think D1 was in college and D2 in high school, D1 came home and saw there were no decorations. Wifey stated simply: "I'm not in the mood for Halloween this year."

I'm not sure exactly why -- but we all found that hilarious -- as if one could decide based on fleeting feelings that a holiday not take place.

It became family lore, and a saying. "I'm not in the mood for politics this year" was an example.

Well, the sentiment was indeed true this time around. Wifey bought candy for the trick or treaters, but ended up meeting me at D2's place in the Grove. She left a basket of candy out front, and, indeed, most was missing when we returned.

We had dinner with some friends whose father is in the hospital -- a sort of cheer up evening. We ended up at Spillover, where they were hosting a Bark-O-Ween -- lots of dogs and their owners all dressed up. It was adorable.

Sitting at the bar was a man with 2 gorgeous white German shepherds. I often see a convertible in the Grove with those impressive dogs -- but the fellow said no, he was one of THREE guys in the North Grove with two big white dogs, and he didn't have a convertible.

And, he explained, the dogs were domesticated Arctic wolves, not shepherds. They were very sweet -- D2 really dug them. I was hoping they'd howl, but they quietly sat with their owner.

So, none of us were really in the mood for Halloween this year. I have a feeling things will be different for Thanksgiving. We're hosting our son in law and future son in law's families -- I think 18 of us in all. The mood ought to change by then.

If we're blessed to have grandkids, I think Halloween will become a thing for us again. That'll be grand...