So two and a half years ago, right after D1 and Joey married, we had to flee Miami because of approaching Hurricane Irma. We left in the wee small hours to avoid as much traffic as we could, but still had 19 hours to Atlanta and our wonderful refuge, courtesy of Marc and Edna. But D1 noted, wryly, "nothing says honeymoon for my husband like 19 hours in a car with your mother in law."
Still -- it became a bonding experience for Joey and me. Waze had just come out, and Joey and I took turns piloting and navigating his Ford Explorer, filled with 4 people, 3 dogs, and a few plastic jugs of emergency gasoline. Things became dicier -- Wifey had been complaining of feeling poorly, and we just sort of blew her off. Turned out, when Marc went and bought a thermometer, she had 103 degree fever -- our Miami doc called in a prescription and she cleared up. Then Joey had a health scare, thankfully which turned out to be nothing more than an over zealous urgent care doc in suburban Atlanta, and our trip home took 23 hours -- with some thoughts about running out of fuel south of Gainesville.
We look back on it now and laugh at the contrast -- grand, joyous wedding followed by days of tensosity. A microcosm of life.
D2 and Jonathan were to leave on their "mini-moon" to the Yucatan, but woke up Tuesday both feeling sick. When I was holding court at the Betsy, saying goodbye, our Orlando friend Elizabeth said she had picked up a bug -- her throat hurt, and she was coming down with something. Sure enough -- she was a herald for several of us.
The newlyweds were able to cancer their trip, courtesy of a doctor's note from Harris, their new doc, and rested home instead. Sure enough, on Wednesday, at the office, I started sneezing, and coughing, and my nose ran like Niagara. I had caught it, too.
I used my new cold to advantage. I was awaiting some co- counsel checks from Stuart, who somehow finds ways to delay giving them to me, and I threatened to stay at the office, clearly sick, until he coughed up the three checks. It worked -- and I left with them -- cases that had settled late last year.
I stopped by D2 and Jonathan's, with some gifts and envelopes people had given me, and was treated to a shot of Dayquill from D2's stash. Fortunately, she was already feeling better, as I am, just two days after coming down with what I have labeled the Betsy virus...
And that's just life, as the Chairman sang. You're up and you're down.
As I was napping, D2 called with some more news. I decided to host a happy hour the night before the ceremony. At first, it was just for guests staying at the hotel, but it grew. We agreed on a $3500 minimum bar tab. Well -- plenty more showed up, and we drank heavily. Yesterday the hotel emailed and said we owed a bit more -- $8000! I've paid some hefty bar bills, but $11,500 is hip hop star level. D2 is auditing -- she thinks it may be a mistake.
But in truth, it's only money. When you party on South Beach -- you pay, and pay big. I've learned that throwing big weddings are like construction projects -- you have a budget, but they always exceed them. And if you end up loving the house, or in this case the big, fat, Venezuelan wedding -- hey -- what is the money for?
D2 and Jonathan wrote Wifey and me thanking us -- for the wedding, of course, but more for everything -- since they started dating. Wifey and I both cried -- and not just from the histamines from my cold.
So I plan to rest today, and probably just stay home and watch the Super Bowl Sunday. We have a tradition -- I watch the game, and Wifey goes upstairs and watches the Puppy Bowl -- an adorable alternative where absurdly cute rescue puppies run around on an astroturf field and either "score" or get "penalized" for peeing and pooping on the field.
D2 turns 28 on Monday. I think we may postpone her birthday dinner to the following Friday -- D1 and Joey and their little man owe a visit to Joey's parents for shabbos. If we're all feeling better, I might lure D2 and Jonathan to Glass and Vine for a Monday night birthday toast. We'll see...
But last night I exchanged emails with my brother Barry -- about how we are two of the richest men we know. Upper respiratory infections and absurd up charges at South Beach hotels come along. But when you have the love of your kids, and they have your unconditional love -- well, that's as good as it gets.
Friday, January 31, 2020
Tuesday, January 28, 2020
A Wedding and a People
So we checked into the Betsy Saturday, and little by little, so did our visiting guests. The place was buzzing. The owner, Jonathan, walked in with his CEOs -- Canine Executive Officers. The Ds are dog crazy, and fawned over the two retrievers. Jonathan reminded us that, with the coming Super Bowl, we were truly standing at the center of the universe this week. We could feel it.
Our room was ready, and, as expected, it was nice but small. South Beach hotels were built for economy -- the working man's paradise -- and though they've added luxury, the rooms are what they were. But that was ok -- we were here for the big, fat, Venezuelan wedding.
We retired to the B Bar, a wonderful space that was once a store room and Meyer Lansky's telephone betting center. The place was surrounded by posters of great bands and singers. I met Carlos, the manager, and right away dug him -- huge Dominican man from the Bronx. He was assisted by Jorge, a newly arrived Cuban, and Milos, a Serb. It was classic Miami. The guests arrived. Old friends greeted new. We drank. Heavily. I paid a bar tab of an amount equal to 10% of my first year's lawyer salary. It was worth every penny. The bar was to be open until 7, but the drinks were still flowing. I extended it until 7:30, and then folks trickled away, for dinner plans.
Wifey, Paul, Patricia, Eric, Dana, Vince and I ended up deciding to eat at the hotel's restaurant, LT Steak, a casually elegant place. It was. We sat outside, and watched the parade of South Beach go past. I had a top 10 NY Strip. We shared their famous popovers, and barbecued corn. It was wonderful. I called for the check -- knowing it would be close to $1000. The waiter said the "young man had taken care of it." The young man was Vince -- Stuart's former young partner, leaving for a new job next week. I was floored. He said it was the least he could do for Paul and me -- we had mentored and treated him so well over the past 6 years. The guy is all class -- there was no business reason to do what he did. He said he hoped someday to be, professionally, where Paul and I am. What a guy!
Next we ran into Edna, and Elizabeth, and another dear friend of Wifey's. The friend is in her early 70s, and had never tried pot -- until Saturday night! She was very happily stoned, and we loaded her into an Uber for a ride home. South Beach...
Sunday the wedding activity began, beehive-like. Wifey flitted about with makeup and clothes. I put on my tux, which I realized might be one of the worst creations of civilized society -- buttons are just fine -- why do I have to struggle to use studs instead? I reported to D2 and Jonathan's room, and was told to wait on the terrace, and then turn around. D2 emerged in her wedding dress. She happens to be a great looking young woman. She looked enchanting. The photographer, an Asian woman, had a small tear in her eye from my expression. Some stuff can't be staged.
More photos followed, in the hotel's library. and then we went downstairs to another cool room, surrounded by photos of jazz singers, for the ketuba -- the signing of the wedding contract. Rabbi Yossi arrived, and I poured him a tequila. He hilariously led us in the ancient rituals of the reading and signing. Jonathan agreed and signed it, as did D2.
Then Wifey and Lizbeth, Jonathan's Mom, came together and grabbed a plate, which they smashed. It symbolized the last fracture the family should ever have. It made me wish my Mom and Wifey's had done that ritual before our wedding...
Finally it was time for the big event. The guests were gathered on a roof top deck. The sun was setting over the beautiful Miami skyline. The ocean glowed to our East. Norman noted to me later that it was the most gorgeous evening in Miami in the last 5 years. He was correct.
Rabbi Yossi led the service, and it was highly unusual. Typically you don't mention the Shoah at a wedding celebration, but the day fell on the 75th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. D2 and Jonathan both descend from Survivors. Yossi said, elegantly, that our gathering was the ultimate defeat of the Nazi evil -- indeed, the light in the dark world they sought for mankind. People were choked up.
I kept gazing at the Atlantic, and thinking of my late parents. They would have beamed. I like to think they were.
We had cocktails and apps at poolside, and then went down to a magical scene -- a courtyard with lined up tables, and a dance floor. D2 and I had our first dance. We typically do it to "Sunrise, Sunset," but Jonathan, always amiable, suggested maybe that was a downer song. We switched to Tom Petty's "Learning to Fly," which I used to dance to with the Ds when they were very young -- in front of our CD player in our post Andrew reconstructed house. Jonathan was correct, as he usually is.
And then the real party started. And started. It was so lively. The hora went on and on -- crazily. Jonathan's friends hoisted my 250lbs high into the air. I greeted the Big Man. The dancing never stopped -- Latin Jews know how to do it right.
We ate, and drank, and laughed. I gave a short speech, noting that Pitbull advises one to "not stop the party," and I tried to adhere to that sage advice.
At 11, the DJ, Joey's former UM roommate, now independently rich from selling an app, and DJing for fun, moved into a coffee house in the hotel, and the "after party" commenced. Wifey danced more. I ate the most delicious chicken fingers ever, along with arepas and mashed yucca. My niece Val kept up with tequila drinks, as I switched to coffee. Again -- South Beach.
Around 12:30 am, we said goodnight. The party was to go until 3 am, and I apologized to Liz, one of the planners. She said no way -- it would end a little after 1 -- she could tell. She was correct.
Wifey and I walked around to show Elizabeth the Orb, and famous architectural connection of the old Betsy Ross Hotel to the Carlton behind it. We then ended up on the front porch, overlooking Ocean Drive. It was quiet -- early Monday morning. The following Sunday would be packed, but we enjoyed the quiet, and the colorful lighted trees by the sand. It was nice to decompress. Elizabeth said what many did -- it was truly the best wedding ever. I have to agree.
Monday am, I held court at an outside table, drinking coffee and greeting the departing friends and family. My Florida sister and brother in law came buy -- with plans for Starbucks which changed for a hotel bagel and coffee. My California sister joined us. This weekend was the first time in 7 years my parents' 3 children were together. I think my parents would have approved. The Fates alone know if we will all be together again.
My nephew Henry joined us -- his wife Val was sleeping in. Eric and Dana came. Barry came. Loni and Amanda happened by, as did Elizabeth. D1 and Joey came by. It was exquisite hearing the different tales of the night -- who said what -- who danced with whom.
Finally, at 1, we moved a bit -- to the main restaurant -- my sister Sue, nephew Henry, Edna and Marc, Wifey and me. Val came later. We had our farewell lunch -- I had a delicious wagyu pastrami sandwich. And then we said our goodbyes .
Jonathan and D2 were recovering on the rooftop pool deck. They had wisely decided to stay an extra night. They were still smiling. D2 thanked us for giving us the best weekend of her life. Mission accomplished.
So the Nazis tried to eliminate my people from the face of the Earth. Instead, 3/4 of a century later, we flourish. I got to live out a fantasy -- living like a true rock star for a weekend.
We were blessed. Truly.
Our room was ready, and, as expected, it was nice but small. South Beach hotels were built for economy -- the working man's paradise -- and though they've added luxury, the rooms are what they were. But that was ok -- we were here for the big, fat, Venezuelan wedding.
We retired to the B Bar, a wonderful space that was once a store room and Meyer Lansky's telephone betting center. The place was surrounded by posters of great bands and singers. I met Carlos, the manager, and right away dug him -- huge Dominican man from the Bronx. He was assisted by Jorge, a newly arrived Cuban, and Milos, a Serb. It was classic Miami. The guests arrived. Old friends greeted new. We drank. Heavily. I paid a bar tab of an amount equal to 10% of my first year's lawyer salary. It was worth every penny. The bar was to be open until 7, but the drinks were still flowing. I extended it until 7:30, and then folks trickled away, for dinner plans.
Wifey, Paul, Patricia, Eric, Dana, Vince and I ended up deciding to eat at the hotel's restaurant, LT Steak, a casually elegant place. It was. We sat outside, and watched the parade of South Beach go past. I had a top 10 NY Strip. We shared their famous popovers, and barbecued corn. It was wonderful. I called for the check -- knowing it would be close to $1000. The waiter said the "young man had taken care of it." The young man was Vince -- Stuart's former young partner, leaving for a new job next week. I was floored. He said it was the least he could do for Paul and me -- we had mentored and treated him so well over the past 6 years. The guy is all class -- there was no business reason to do what he did. He said he hoped someday to be, professionally, where Paul and I am. What a guy!
Next we ran into Edna, and Elizabeth, and another dear friend of Wifey's. The friend is in her early 70s, and had never tried pot -- until Saturday night! She was very happily stoned, and we loaded her into an Uber for a ride home. South Beach...
Sunday the wedding activity began, beehive-like. Wifey flitted about with makeup and clothes. I put on my tux, which I realized might be one of the worst creations of civilized society -- buttons are just fine -- why do I have to struggle to use studs instead? I reported to D2 and Jonathan's room, and was told to wait on the terrace, and then turn around. D2 emerged in her wedding dress. She happens to be a great looking young woman. She looked enchanting. The photographer, an Asian woman, had a small tear in her eye from my expression. Some stuff can't be staged.
More photos followed, in the hotel's library. and then we went downstairs to another cool room, surrounded by photos of jazz singers, for the ketuba -- the signing of the wedding contract. Rabbi Yossi arrived, and I poured him a tequila. He hilariously led us in the ancient rituals of the reading and signing. Jonathan agreed and signed it, as did D2.
Then Wifey and Lizbeth, Jonathan's Mom, came together and grabbed a plate, which they smashed. It symbolized the last fracture the family should ever have. It made me wish my Mom and Wifey's had done that ritual before our wedding...
Finally it was time for the big event. The guests were gathered on a roof top deck. The sun was setting over the beautiful Miami skyline. The ocean glowed to our East. Norman noted to me later that it was the most gorgeous evening in Miami in the last 5 years. He was correct.
Rabbi Yossi led the service, and it was highly unusual. Typically you don't mention the Shoah at a wedding celebration, but the day fell on the 75th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. D2 and Jonathan both descend from Survivors. Yossi said, elegantly, that our gathering was the ultimate defeat of the Nazi evil -- indeed, the light in the dark world they sought for mankind. People were choked up.
I kept gazing at the Atlantic, and thinking of my late parents. They would have beamed. I like to think they were.
We had cocktails and apps at poolside, and then went down to a magical scene -- a courtyard with lined up tables, and a dance floor. D2 and I had our first dance. We typically do it to "Sunrise, Sunset," but Jonathan, always amiable, suggested maybe that was a downer song. We switched to Tom Petty's "Learning to Fly," which I used to dance to with the Ds when they were very young -- in front of our CD player in our post Andrew reconstructed house. Jonathan was correct, as he usually is.
And then the real party started. And started. It was so lively. The hora went on and on -- crazily. Jonathan's friends hoisted my 250lbs high into the air. I greeted the Big Man. The dancing never stopped -- Latin Jews know how to do it right.
We ate, and drank, and laughed. I gave a short speech, noting that Pitbull advises one to "not stop the party," and I tried to adhere to that sage advice.
At 11, the DJ, Joey's former UM roommate, now independently rich from selling an app, and DJing for fun, moved into a coffee house in the hotel, and the "after party" commenced. Wifey danced more. I ate the most delicious chicken fingers ever, along with arepas and mashed yucca. My niece Val kept up with tequila drinks, as I switched to coffee. Again -- South Beach.
Around 12:30 am, we said goodnight. The party was to go until 3 am, and I apologized to Liz, one of the planners. She said no way -- it would end a little after 1 -- she could tell. She was correct.
Wifey and I walked around to show Elizabeth the Orb, and famous architectural connection of the old Betsy Ross Hotel to the Carlton behind it. We then ended up on the front porch, overlooking Ocean Drive. It was quiet -- early Monday morning. The following Sunday would be packed, but we enjoyed the quiet, and the colorful lighted trees by the sand. It was nice to decompress. Elizabeth said what many did -- it was truly the best wedding ever. I have to agree.
Monday am, I held court at an outside table, drinking coffee and greeting the departing friends and family. My Florida sister and brother in law came buy -- with plans for Starbucks which changed for a hotel bagel and coffee. My California sister joined us. This weekend was the first time in 7 years my parents' 3 children were together. I think my parents would have approved. The Fates alone know if we will all be together again.
My nephew Henry joined us -- his wife Val was sleeping in. Eric and Dana came. Barry came. Loni and Amanda happened by, as did Elizabeth. D1 and Joey came by. It was exquisite hearing the different tales of the night -- who said what -- who danced with whom.
Finally, at 1, we moved a bit -- to the main restaurant -- my sister Sue, nephew Henry, Edna and Marc, Wifey and me. Val came later. We had our farewell lunch -- I had a delicious wagyu pastrami sandwich. And then we said our goodbyes .
Jonathan and D2 were recovering on the rooftop pool deck. They had wisely decided to stay an extra night. They were still smiling. D2 thanked us for giving us the best weekend of her life. Mission accomplished.
So the Nazis tried to eliminate my people from the face of the Earth. Instead, 3/4 of a century later, we flourish. I got to live out a fantasy -- living like a true rock star for a weekend.
We were blessed. Truly.
Saturday, January 25, 2020
The Big, Fat, Venezuelan Wedding Begins
And so last night it began, with an amazing Friday night rehearsal dinner at D2's fiance's parents' house. Jonathan's cousin Gabriel, more like a little brother to him, flew in from his Barcelona semester to be there. More than 10 people were there from California, including my Cali sister, nephew, and niece. Friends were from Atlanta, and the Midwest.
But the most schlep of all was my Florida sister and brother in law -- who informed me upon entering the house that it took "2 hours!!!!!" I told him he deserved a drink, which he got from my brother Paul, who stepped into bartending duty when the hired one failed to show.
And I made a humorous and stupid pre weekend move. I attended band camp, my euphemism for an outpatient procedure to try to tame a very unpleasant inheritance from my Dad -- hemorhoids. I had a treatment several weeks ago, and it was fine -- zero complications. But this time, on Wednesday, the nice young GI put in two bands, and, well, my bottom wasn't happy. I was visiting the loo, as the Brits say, every hour or so. It was supposed to go away in 48 hours, but by yesterday, it hadn't. I had visions of dashing from the chuppah. But, alas, I called the doc, and he told me to take a new miracle drug -- something called Tylenol. I replied that I didn't have pain, just urge. Go ahead, his assistant said. It was a miracle! I was right as rain within an hour, and actually enjoyed the party last night silly problem free. I packed plenty of Tylenol for the weekend, just in case...
Anyway -- the weather was gorgeous, and Lizbeth and David were wonderful hosts, for 80 of their closest friends and family, with a few from the bride's side. A singer sang, and was replaced by Mariachis, who were excellent. Often Mariachis are like bag pipers -- nice for a song or two, but then you wish they'd march away. But these guys were different -- with a wonderful woman singer. They had everyone dancing for hours.
The matriarch of Jonathan's family is his grandmother Judy. She lived a life more than worthy of a Hollywood movie -- surviving a Holocaust childhood in a convent near Budapest, for starters. We met her at the kids' UF graduation, in '14. She had fallen in love with D2 for her beloved grandson -- and at that time deemed them a couple.
Last night, she stuck out her hand, and said "David -- we did it." And so we had...
D1 gave a moving speech about D2 -- she's been almost like a sister to her. D1 is talented -- she public speaks for a living -- and all were blown away. Jonathan's sister spoke warmly about gaining a new sister, and then D2's three best buds from college spoke about their dear friend, and the Red Knight who rode into her life. And then Jonathan's best friend Andy spoke wonderfully, too.
We stayed well past midnight, and drove home. Today there was sharing of the first group of pictures, and we're leaving soon for South Beach and the Betsy Hotel.
I'll host a happy hour at 5, and then the big event tomorrow. So far, so good. It's been a long time coming. To 120 for D2 and her Jonathan!
But the most schlep of all was my Florida sister and brother in law -- who informed me upon entering the house that it took "2 hours!!!!!" I told him he deserved a drink, which he got from my brother Paul, who stepped into bartending duty when the hired one failed to show.
And I made a humorous and stupid pre weekend move. I attended band camp, my euphemism for an outpatient procedure to try to tame a very unpleasant inheritance from my Dad -- hemorhoids. I had a treatment several weeks ago, and it was fine -- zero complications. But this time, on Wednesday, the nice young GI put in two bands, and, well, my bottom wasn't happy. I was visiting the loo, as the Brits say, every hour or so. It was supposed to go away in 48 hours, but by yesterday, it hadn't. I had visions of dashing from the chuppah. But, alas, I called the doc, and he told me to take a new miracle drug -- something called Tylenol. I replied that I didn't have pain, just urge. Go ahead, his assistant said. It was a miracle! I was right as rain within an hour, and actually enjoyed the party last night silly problem free. I packed plenty of Tylenol for the weekend, just in case...
Anyway -- the weather was gorgeous, and Lizbeth and David were wonderful hosts, for 80 of their closest friends and family, with a few from the bride's side. A singer sang, and was replaced by Mariachis, who were excellent. Often Mariachis are like bag pipers -- nice for a song or two, but then you wish they'd march away. But these guys were different -- with a wonderful woman singer. They had everyone dancing for hours.
The matriarch of Jonathan's family is his grandmother Judy. She lived a life more than worthy of a Hollywood movie -- surviving a Holocaust childhood in a convent near Budapest, for starters. We met her at the kids' UF graduation, in '14. She had fallen in love with D2 for her beloved grandson -- and at that time deemed them a couple.
Last night, she stuck out her hand, and said "David -- we did it." And so we had...
D1 gave a moving speech about D2 -- she's been almost like a sister to her. D1 is talented -- she public speaks for a living -- and all were blown away. Jonathan's sister spoke warmly about gaining a new sister, and then D2's three best buds from college spoke about their dear friend, and the Red Knight who rode into her life. And then Jonathan's best friend Andy spoke wonderfully, too.
We stayed well past midnight, and drove home. Today there was sharing of the first group of pictures, and we're leaving soon for South Beach and the Betsy Hotel.
I'll host a happy hour at 5, and then the big event tomorrow. So far, so good. It's been a long time coming. To 120 for D2 and her Jonathan!
Monday, January 20, 2020
The Long Arm of the Law Over Decades
It was late 1983, and Wifey had moved to Edgewater Drive in the Grove, with her old work mate Carol. The two of them shared a first floor, two bedroom apartment in that nice 'hood -- close to the middle of the Grove, where we hung out a lot, and not too far from Wifey's Kendall house. She and I were dating, but not "serious," since I was just 22 and finishing my first semester of law school.
There was a sinister man about in South Florida then -- the so called "pillowcase rapist." He attacked women from South Miami through Deerfield Beach -- always the same MO. He would come into their apartments, sneak up on them, cover their heads and his with a pillowcase or his t shirt, and rape them, at knifepoint. Thankfully, no one died, but this bastard escaped capture -- despite stakeouts, task forces, etc...All anyone could say was that he was in his 20s or 30s, white, athletic...Maybe he worked for FPL or the phone company -- so he had access to his victims' apartments, never looking out of place.
Mike and I were in my apartment studying, and Wifey called, frantic. She had gone out with friends, and returned to a slew of cop cars. Carol, who was blonde and slender, like many of the rapist's victims, had in fact become one -- she was getting ready to go out herself, had left the slider open, and the POS grabbed her.
Mike and I drove right over. Carol, of stoic, Midwestern stock, seemed ok -- less frantic than Wifey. I met Dave Simmons, the lead detective, nicknamed "Spiffy" because he was a sharp dresser, and he told me this bastard was prolific and smart. He also sometimes returned to his prior locations. Carol left for her parents' in Lauderdale, and I drove Wifey to her parents' house. It was a terrible thing.
Finals ended in January '84, and I helped Wifey move back home with her parents. Carol stayed in the place, as I recall -- not going to allow some trash to change her life. Like I said -- she was very stoic.
And they never caught the guy. The task force they formed disbanded in '87. The attacks stopped. Far as the cops could tell, either the rapist died, moved, or was imprisoned for something else.
Carol hired a lawyer and sued the apartment complex. Indeed -- they had switched security companies, and the night of her attack, were without any guard. It was '88 when I accompanied Wifey to a depo for Carol's case -- at the venerable defense lawyer Bruce Telander, who I knew well. Carol settled, and used the money to go back to law school in her native Michigan -- Cooley Law, in East Lansing. I had a depo there, and visited her. She was doing great -- returned to South Florida, and then, after Hurricane Andrew, we lost touch. Last I heard, she was working for a golf club as an exec up in Boca -- but Wifey thinks she got bored there and may have come back to Miami
Well -- today I read an article online in the Herald early, that caused me to say Holy Shit out loud -- they arrested the bastard! He was apparently registered as a sex offender in Palm Beach County in the 90s, and had moved up to Brevard County. They haven't given details yet, but I assume that old marker DNA matched him to the attacks in South Florida -- 44 victims is the best estimate.
The fellow is 60 -- which means he was indeed mid 20s when he was about his evil acts. They're extricating him back here for charges. I wonder if Simmons is retired or still on the Force. Either way, I know he'll be grinning.
I imagine Carol will hear about this. As a husband and father of 2 women, I'd like to hear some "accident" befalls this fellow. But either way -- it shows you can't hide from your genetics. And the technology now brings creeps to justice decades later.
There was a sinister man about in South Florida then -- the so called "pillowcase rapist." He attacked women from South Miami through Deerfield Beach -- always the same MO. He would come into their apartments, sneak up on them, cover their heads and his with a pillowcase or his t shirt, and rape them, at knifepoint. Thankfully, no one died, but this bastard escaped capture -- despite stakeouts, task forces, etc...All anyone could say was that he was in his 20s or 30s, white, athletic...Maybe he worked for FPL or the phone company -- so he had access to his victims' apartments, never looking out of place.
Mike and I were in my apartment studying, and Wifey called, frantic. She had gone out with friends, and returned to a slew of cop cars. Carol, who was blonde and slender, like many of the rapist's victims, had in fact become one -- she was getting ready to go out herself, had left the slider open, and the POS grabbed her.
Mike and I drove right over. Carol, of stoic, Midwestern stock, seemed ok -- less frantic than Wifey. I met Dave Simmons, the lead detective, nicknamed "Spiffy" because he was a sharp dresser, and he told me this bastard was prolific and smart. He also sometimes returned to his prior locations. Carol left for her parents' in Lauderdale, and I drove Wifey to her parents' house. It was a terrible thing.
Finals ended in January '84, and I helped Wifey move back home with her parents. Carol stayed in the place, as I recall -- not going to allow some trash to change her life. Like I said -- she was very stoic.
And they never caught the guy. The task force they formed disbanded in '87. The attacks stopped. Far as the cops could tell, either the rapist died, moved, or was imprisoned for something else.
Carol hired a lawyer and sued the apartment complex. Indeed -- they had switched security companies, and the night of her attack, were without any guard. It was '88 when I accompanied Wifey to a depo for Carol's case -- at the venerable defense lawyer Bruce Telander, who I knew well. Carol settled, and used the money to go back to law school in her native Michigan -- Cooley Law, in East Lansing. I had a depo there, and visited her. She was doing great -- returned to South Florida, and then, after Hurricane Andrew, we lost touch. Last I heard, she was working for a golf club as an exec up in Boca -- but Wifey thinks she got bored there and may have come back to Miami
Well -- today I read an article online in the Herald early, that caused me to say Holy Shit out loud -- they arrested the bastard! He was apparently registered as a sex offender in Palm Beach County in the 90s, and had moved up to Brevard County. They haven't given details yet, but I assume that old marker DNA matched him to the attacks in South Florida -- 44 victims is the best estimate.
The fellow is 60 -- which means he was indeed mid 20s when he was about his evil acts. They're extricating him back here for charges. I wonder if Simmons is retired or still on the Force. Either way, I know he'll be grinning.
I imagine Carol will hear about this. As a husband and father of 2 women, I'd like to hear some "accident" befalls this fellow. But either way -- it shows you can't hide from your genetics. And the technology now brings creeps to justice decades later.
Sunday, January 19, 2020
Wedding Week
So tomorrow is the last week before D2's big, fat, Venezuelan wedding. Tomorrow is MLK Day, and she has off from work, but has her final meeting with Nechama, Rabbi Yossi's wife. The Chabadniks have started a great program -- required pre marital counseling before they will perform a wedding. It's designed to prevent divorce among we seculars -- to hopefully bring it closer to the negligible divorce rate among religious Jews. It's a bit burdensome, but I think D2 and Jonathan are getting a lot out of it...
Hopefully I'll meet D2 afterwards. Wifey should be at work -- as assistant nanny for a gorgeous one month baby boy and his mother, up in Shorecrest...
Yesterday we spent a glorious day -- classic late January Miami Saturday. Kenny and Joelle had us over for brunch -- with Maria, Joelle's Dad's widow, and two neighbors from down the street -- two delightful ladies who got married when the law said they could. We chatted and feasted, and then left for the UM campus for the Beaux Arts Festival -- something we go to nearly each year. I remember the first -- when I was a UM undergrad -- and now it's become quite an event on the beautiful UM campus.
After a walk, we got some festival food from a Greek place, and took it to the Law School where I knew we'd find a table and some chairs. Paul and Patricia joined us, and we talked about Joelle and Kenny's work against child abuse -- from legal and medical standpoints.
It turns out that if you're a rich abuser, you hire a lawyer who hires an "expert" who testifies that your victim's bones were broken spontaneously. It's pure nonsense, but Kenny started a group of Peds Radiologists who band together to debunk the junk science...and Joelle turns it into English.
Afterwards, we walked more through the grounds -- running into folks we've known for years -- comparing notes on who's a grandparent, and who wants to be...
Last night we stayed in, and Wifey played old movies. I made a proclamation -- I would NOT allow anyone to rain on our coming parade.
With many people coming to town, there WILL Be complaints -- the hotel is overpriced, the rooms are tiny, parking costs more than rent, etc...
D2 is employing the wisdom of her sister from 2.5 years ago: "Rule #1: DON'T BOTHER THE BRIDE."
I have added a corollary: Don't bother the guy who is paying for this whole damn thing. I will enforce this rule by simply ignoring and negativity, or tensosity...
It's already started, somewhat. I was asked if one of the guests could invite HER friend and toddler to the cocktail party -- although I think a toddler maybe doesn't belong at a cocktail party -- my response was...whatever. Just don't let me trip over the kid as I make my way to the bar...
Everyone has their own agenda in life. But beginning tomorrow, the ONLY agenda is D2 and Jonathan -- and what THEY wish. I will enforce that rule vigorously...
The first event is Friday night -- Jonathan's parents are hosting a shabbat dinner at their house -- for family and some out of town guests. They're very classy folks, and I know it'll be a lovely affair.
Saturday we check into the Betsy -- and I plan to walk across the street, to the Atlantic, and say hello to the spirits of my parents. I will let them know that their youngest grandchild is to be married, in sight of the ocean if weather permits, and I will thank my parents for the love and support they gave to their family.
Saturday night I'm hosting a cocktail party for out of town guests, and a few locals. The reason is that, three years ago, Wifey and I traveled to Philly, for a wedding of some friends' daughter. It was awful weather, and on Friday night, Wifey and I sat around the lobby of the hotel, sort of wondering what to do.
I noticed the parents of the bride -- heading out with a group of the bride's friends -- to a whisky tour of Philly. I felt like the nerdy kid who doesn't get invited to a really cool party. The Mom said "Oh -- this is just for the young people!"
What about the 4 couples who had schlepped from Miami to freaking Philly in January? Nah -- not even a voucher for some drinks at the bar. Wifey and I walked to some crappy sports bar and ate -- I think the 76ers were on.
I vowed then that if I ever invited people to one of my Ds' weddings, and they stayed at a hotel, there WOULD be a party the night before. I mean -- ya gotta be a host, if you're a host...
And then Sunday is the big event. D2 and Jonathan extended the hours to 3 am...I'm not sure how many of we Boomers can stay up that late -- but we'll give it the old UM try...
Today Wifey and I are going to visit her mother. My suegra has already said no wedding attendance -- leaving the Palace at all is far too daunting for her. So we'll tell her about it, and maybe get her outside for some "good air," as her late husband used to call fresh air...
And then -- wedding week, here we are...
Hopefully I'll meet D2 afterwards. Wifey should be at work -- as assistant nanny for a gorgeous one month baby boy and his mother, up in Shorecrest...
Yesterday we spent a glorious day -- classic late January Miami Saturday. Kenny and Joelle had us over for brunch -- with Maria, Joelle's Dad's widow, and two neighbors from down the street -- two delightful ladies who got married when the law said they could. We chatted and feasted, and then left for the UM campus for the Beaux Arts Festival -- something we go to nearly each year. I remember the first -- when I was a UM undergrad -- and now it's become quite an event on the beautiful UM campus.
After a walk, we got some festival food from a Greek place, and took it to the Law School where I knew we'd find a table and some chairs. Paul and Patricia joined us, and we talked about Joelle and Kenny's work against child abuse -- from legal and medical standpoints.
It turns out that if you're a rich abuser, you hire a lawyer who hires an "expert" who testifies that your victim's bones were broken spontaneously. It's pure nonsense, but Kenny started a group of Peds Radiologists who band together to debunk the junk science...and Joelle turns it into English.
Afterwards, we walked more through the grounds -- running into folks we've known for years -- comparing notes on who's a grandparent, and who wants to be...
Last night we stayed in, and Wifey played old movies. I made a proclamation -- I would NOT allow anyone to rain on our coming parade.
With many people coming to town, there WILL Be complaints -- the hotel is overpriced, the rooms are tiny, parking costs more than rent, etc...
D2 is employing the wisdom of her sister from 2.5 years ago: "Rule #1: DON'T BOTHER THE BRIDE."
I have added a corollary: Don't bother the guy who is paying for this whole damn thing. I will enforce this rule by simply ignoring and negativity, or tensosity...
It's already started, somewhat. I was asked if one of the guests could invite HER friend and toddler to the cocktail party -- although I think a toddler maybe doesn't belong at a cocktail party -- my response was...whatever. Just don't let me trip over the kid as I make my way to the bar...
Everyone has their own agenda in life. But beginning tomorrow, the ONLY agenda is D2 and Jonathan -- and what THEY wish. I will enforce that rule vigorously...
The first event is Friday night -- Jonathan's parents are hosting a shabbat dinner at their house -- for family and some out of town guests. They're very classy folks, and I know it'll be a lovely affair.
Saturday we check into the Betsy -- and I plan to walk across the street, to the Atlantic, and say hello to the spirits of my parents. I will let them know that their youngest grandchild is to be married, in sight of the ocean if weather permits, and I will thank my parents for the love and support they gave to their family.
Saturday night I'm hosting a cocktail party for out of town guests, and a few locals. The reason is that, three years ago, Wifey and I traveled to Philly, for a wedding of some friends' daughter. It was awful weather, and on Friday night, Wifey and I sat around the lobby of the hotel, sort of wondering what to do.
I noticed the parents of the bride -- heading out with a group of the bride's friends -- to a whisky tour of Philly. I felt like the nerdy kid who doesn't get invited to a really cool party. The Mom said "Oh -- this is just for the young people!"
What about the 4 couples who had schlepped from Miami to freaking Philly in January? Nah -- not even a voucher for some drinks at the bar. Wifey and I walked to some crappy sports bar and ate -- I think the 76ers were on.
I vowed then that if I ever invited people to one of my Ds' weddings, and they stayed at a hotel, there WOULD be a party the night before. I mean -- ya gotta be a host, if you're a host...
And then Sunday is the big event. D2 and Jonathan extended the hours to 3 am...I'm not sure how many of we Boomers can stay up that late -- but we'll give it the old UM try...
Today Wifey and I are going to visit her mother. My suegra has already said no wedding attendance -- leaving the Palace at all is far too daunting for her. So we'll tell her about it, and maybe get her outside for some "good air," as her late husband used to call fresh air...
And then -- wedding week, here we are...
Friday, January 17, 2020
Runaway American Dream
Even though much of the rest of my 58 year old corpus is decaying and slowly failing, I am lucky in the teeth department. I believe my paternal grandmother died at 97 with all her teeth, and I seem to be on that track. I have had a grand total of 3 cavities my entire life -- and I'm not sure, in retrospect, those weren't contrived affairs to help the world travel budget of Levittown's one wealthy denizen -- one Charles Levine, DDS. In any event, my dental experience has been confined to thrice yearly cleanings, and exams by Dr. Larry.
Dr. Larry is a great fellow -- Miami Beach native, Beach High, and then UF and Emory Dental School. He's 70, and had kids later, fraternal twins. The daughter was a few years ahead of D1 at Palmetto High, and apparently looks VERY much like her -- people used to mistakenly call D1 "Hillary" from time to time.
I was chatting with Dr. Larry today -- he became a grandpa 4 months ago -- his girl Hillary had a baby girl in Brooklyn, and we exchanged photos of our new grandkids. And he pronounced me extremely lucky -- to have both of my kids living here in the 305.
Hillary visits often, and he and his wife go to Brooklyn, but he is bereft at not being in the same city. Hillary's brother is an ER doc in Chicago, and Larry is attempting to contrive to get him home -- Larry's old friend from the Beach is a big shot at the new Baptist Hospital Cancer Center, and is reaching out to the ER doc about starting a palliative care program. Larry hopes it comes to pass.
I texted D1 about my catch up, and she responded sagely." We (Joey and I) will never understand chasing the American Dream of moving away from your family." Now that she's a new mother -- she realizes that more than ever. Wifey is at her service as personal shopper, assistant nanny, and all around concierge.
And -- D2 has fallen so in love with her new nephew, the thought of having to have left him to go back to NYC is unfathomable now.
The Ds always said they wanted to only have kids if each of them lived nearby. For awhile, it appeared that life might have had other plans. But, thanks to the Big Man and more than subtle nudging from their overbearing and over involved father -- it is coming to be.
The truth is, I would probably have enjoyed living away for a time, even if it was just Gainesville. I applied to and was accepted by two law schools -- UM and UF. And, after 4 years in Coral Gables, I wanted a bit of a change.
My mother told me to go wherever I wished, but later in the conversation made it clear she was clueless about paying car insurance. I knew in my heart she needed me close -- even though I was only 21, I had the capacity to learn what they now call adulting, and be there to help my Mom through.
And, of course, things worked out just great -- I met Wifey instead of some North Florida girl who might have become Wifey, and I was able to rescue Wifey from a likely future of spinsterhood. Ha. Not really...
And I became one extremely blessed, lucky, and thankful Daddy, and now Grand Daddy, in the USA. I'm glad our American Dream isn't of the runaway variety...
Dr. Larry is a great fellow -- Miami Beach native, Beach High, and then UF and Emory Dental School. He's 70, and had kids later, fraternal twins. The daughter was a few years ahead of D1 at Palmetto High, and apparently looks VERY much like her -- people used to mistakenly call D1 "Hillary" from time to time.
I was chatting with Dr. Larry today -- he became a grandpa 4 months ago -- his girl Hillary had a baby girl in Brooklyn, and we exchanged photos of our new grandkids. And he pronounced me extremely lucky -- to have both of my kids living here in the 305.
Hillary visits often, and he and his wife go to Brooklyn, but he is bereft at not being in the same city. Hillary's brother is an ER doc in Chicago, and Larry is attempting to contrive to get him home -- Larry's old friend from the Beach is a big shot at the new Baptist Hospital Cancer Center, and is reaching out to the ER doc about starting a palliative care program. Larry hopes it comes to pass.
I texted D1 about my catch up, and she responded sagely." We (Joey and I) will never understand chasing the American Dream of moving away from your family." Now that she's a new mother -- she realizes that more than ever. Wifey is at her service as personal shopper, assistant nanny, and all around concierge.
And -- D2 has fallen so in love with her new nephew, the thought of having to have left him to go back to NYC is unfathomable now.
The Ds always said they wanted to only have kids if each of them lived nearby. For awhile, it appeared that life might have had other plans. But, thanks to the Big Man and more than subtle nudging from their overbearing and over involved father -- it is coming to be.
The truth is, I would probably have enjoyed living away for a time, even if it was just Gainesville. I applied to and was accepted by two law schools -- UM and UF. And, after 4 years in Coral Gables, I wanted a bit of a change.
My mother told me to go wherever I wished, but later in the conversation made it clear she was clueless about paying car insurance. I knew in my heart she needed me close -- even though I was only 21, I had the capacity to learn what they now call adulting, and be there to help my Mom through.
And, of course, things worked out just great -- I met Wifey instead of some North Florida girl who might have become Wifey, and I was able to rescue Wifey from a likely future of spinsterhood. Ha. Not really...
And I became one extremely blessed, lucky, and thankful Daddy, and now Grand Daddy, in the USA. I'm glad our American Dream isn't of the runaway variety...
Thursday, January 16, 2020
We Really Are The Same
I'm a Zionist, like my father was, and a historic enemy of Israel is Syria. But what makes that especially tragic is how alike the people are. Governments suck.
Years ago, we met two doctors, subspecialists referred by Dr. Barry who consulted with D1. One ended up following her through adolescence and into adulthood. The two are childhood friends from Damascus --their spouses, too.
Dr. D is a hematologist, and saw D1 after a blood test turned her regular pediatrician into a tizzy. It turned out to be simple mononucleosis, but Dr. D was so reassuring and kind -- I began telling the long term joke that he cured my daughter of a dreaded blood disease.
Dr. K became a friend. All these years later, she truly kvells about D1's accomplishments. And, in addition to being a fine doc, she is an amazing parent -- raising three stellar kids, each more beautiful and accomplished than the next. One is a student of Dr. Barry's now, after graduating at the top of her class...
Dr. K's son got married recently, and she posted photos of the wedding, and then, this am, a video. It was a beautiful and formal affair -- held at a seaside hotel in Fort Lauderdale.
And as I watched it, it struck me how similar it was to D1's wedding was two and a half years ago, and how D2's will be in just a week and a half...
Yes -- there was an Imam, and he invoked the name Allah, instead of G-d -- but it's the same Power with a different name. And the new bride and groom banged ceremonial drums -- but each was hoisted high in chairs, the better to be nearer to the Big Man from whom blessings fall.
The smiles were the same. Dr. K, slender and elegant, had the same look on her face as she gazed at her child and new child in law that Wifey had at D1's wedding.
We used to joke about that -- Wifey born in Haifa, Dr. K in Damascus -- not too long after their countries fought a bitter war. And now, here in the USA, their lives crossed paths as caregiver and grateful care receiver, for a precious child.
As I watched the video, I got teary eyed -- seeing my old friend so beaming and proud. She texted D1 when she learned that her teenaged former patient had become a mother. I know she shared in that pride, too.
So it's so easy to get caught up in divisiveness. Just last night, I met a banker friend for drinks and apps. She is, like most of my friends, VERY anti-Trump. But she's to the point that, she says, she can't be friends with anyone who supports him. I tried to get her to realize that maybe all the negativity isn't helpful -- focus instead on helping candidates who might oppose Trump policies. But she wasn't having it -- it's as if Trump was Freddie Kruger -- invading her dreams.
Not me. I'd like to see him defeated, but as of now, don't really see that happening. So -- like Dave Chappelle -- guess I'll stick around and enjoy this historic bull stock market.
But more importantly -- I'll remember and preach the sacred message -- even those from VERY different tribes can, and must be, appreciated and loved. I know two Syrians who are among the finest people there are. So says this Zionist...
Years ago, we met two doctors, subspecialists referred by Dr. Barry who consulted with D1. One ended up following her through adolescence and into adulthood. The two are childhood friends from Damascus --their spouses, too.
Dr. D is a hematologist, and saw D1 after a blood test turned her regular pediatrician into a tizzy. It turned out to be simple mononucleosis, but Dr. D was so reassuring and kind -- I began telling the long term joke that he cured my daughter of a dreaded blood disease.
Dr. K became a friend. All these years later, she truly kvells about D1's accomplishments. And, in addition to being a fine doc, she is an amazing parent -- raising three stellar kids, each more beautiful and accomplished than the next. One is a student of Dr. Barry's now, after graduating at the top of her class...
Dr. K's son got married recently, and she posted photos of the wedding, and then, this am, a video. It was a beautiful and formal affair -- held at a seaside hotel in Fort Lauderdale.
And as I watched it, it struck me how similar it was to D1's wedding was two and a half years ago, and how D2's will be in just a week and a half...
Yes -- there was an Imam, and he invoked the name Allah, instead of G-d -- but it's the same Power with a different name. And the new bride and groom banged ceremonial drums -- but each was hoisted high in chairs, the better to be nearer to the Big Man from whom blessings fall.
The smiles were the same. Dr. K, slender and elegant, had the same look on her face as she gazed at her child and new child in law that Wifey had at D1's wedding.
We used to joke about that -- Wifey born in Haifa, Dr. K in Damascus -- not too long after their countries fought a bitter war. And now, here in the USA, their lives crossed paths as caregiver and grateful care receiver, for a precious child.
As I watched the video, I got teary eyed -- seeing my old friend so beaming and proud. She texted D1 when she learned that her teenaged former patient had become a mother. I know she shared in that pride, too.
So it's so easy to get caught up in divisiveness. Just last night, I met a banker friend for drinks and apps. She is, like most of my friends, VERY anti-Trump. But she's to the point that, she says, she can't be friends with anyone who supports him. I tried to get her to realize that maybe all the negativity isn't helpful -- focus instead on helping candidates who might oppose Trump policies. But she wasn't having it -- it's as if Trump was Freddie Kruger -- invading her dreams.
Not me. I'd like to see him defeated, but as of now, don't really see that happening. So -- like Dave Chappelle -- guess I'll stick around and enjoy this historic bull stock market.
But more importantly -- I'll remember and preach the sacred message -- even those from VERY different tribes can, and must be, appreciated and loved. I know two Syrians who are among the finest people there are. So says this Zionist...
Monday, January 13, 2020
I'm Going to Key West For a Few Days -- to Sort Myself Out...
Back in 1980, I was struggling as a pre-med student, and my freshman roommate Barry was worried about me. I was in clear danger of failing Organic Chemistry, for the reason that I had no business studying Organic Chemistry, and I had a big exam that would determined whether or not I passed the class. I studied very hard, took the exam, which I still recall was about something called optical isomers -- molecules that sort of look alike but are different, depending on how the atoms are arranged, and I amazingly got an "A."
I walked back to our apartment in Building 22, and saw Barry's worried face, and he asked how I did. I replied "Well -- I think I'm going to Key West for a few weeks to sort myself out," and he took that to mean that I had indeed failed the test, and my life, from the perspective of us pre-meds who wanted ONLY to be accepted to medical school, was essentially now worthless.
He started offering words of support, and then I showed him the grade, and there started a pattern of our friendship that continues nearly 4 decades later: he STILL provides tremendous support and comfort, and we still "break balls," as the saying goes...
So yesterday was a tough day, which turned out fine, but not before a lot of tensosity as the result of a worried about health issue among one of my family. Of course, I involved Barry, even though it wasn't a pediatric issue, and he was absolutely correct, and comforting as usual. Thankfully, his Jets were nowhere NEAR the playoffs, so at least I didn't interrupt his viewing of that unlikely TV event.
And today, as D2 and I were discussing things, I told her that after her wedding, which is scheduled for a week from this coming Sunday, I might well go to Key West and become a colorful drunkard.
It's my fantasy of escape --from the never ending love and concern about my family. I imagine sitting on a bar stool, only worried about the next martini, and being able to stumble home, and then sitting at a manual typewriter and capturing the vapor of human experience...like Hemingway.
D2 and I negotiated this a bit, and I came up with a compromise -- maybe a few drinks now and then at the Taurus and Monty's -- two venerable Coconut Grove watering holes, filled with old time Grovites, as D2 loves to call them...
Nah. I'll settle for the couch tonight, and no alcohol -- just watching Clemson and LSU play for the national championship.
But I DO still love Key West -- I can never go too often. Maybe I'll get Wifey, and a few friends, to take a long weekend there in March -- still a great month to be there. We'll drink at the Chart Room, and maybe take a sunset sail, and indeed, I will sort myself out...
I walked back to our apartment in Building 22, and saw Barry's worried face, and he asked how I did. I replied "Well -- I think I'm going to Key West for a few weeks to sort myself out," and he took that to mean that I had indeed failed the test, and my life, from the perspective of us pre-meds who wanted ONLY to be accepted to medical school, was essentially now worthless.
He started offering words of support, and then I showed him the grade, and there started a pattern of our friendship that continues nearly 4 decades later: he STILL provides tremendous support and comfort, and we still "break balls," as the saying goes...
So yesterday was a tough day, which turned out fine, but not before a lot of tensosity as the result of a worried about health issue among one of my family. Of course, I involved Barry, even though it wasn't a pediatric issue, and he was absolutely correct, and comforting as usual. Thankfully, his Jets were nowhere NEAR the playoffs, so at least I didn't interrupt his viewing of that unlikely TV event.
And today, as D2 and I were discussing things, I told her that after her wedding, which is scheduled for a week from this coming Sunday, I might well go to Key West and become a colorful drunkard.
It's my fantasy of escape --from the never ending love and concern about my family. I imagine sitting on a bar stool, only worried about the next martini, and being able to stumble home, and then sitting at a manual typewriter and capturing the vapor of human experience...like Hemingway.
D2 and I negotiated this a bit, and I came up with a compromise -- maybe a few drinks now and then at the Taurus and Monty's -- two venerable Coconut Grove watering holes, filled with old time Grovites, as D2 loves to call them...
Nah. I'll settle for the couch tonight, and no alcohol -- just watching Clemson and LSU play for the national championship.
But I DO still love Key West -- I can never go too often. Maybe I'll get Wifey, and a few friends, to take a long weekend there in March -- still a great month to be there. We'll drink at the Chart Room, and maybe take a sunset sail, and indeed, I will sort myself out...
Saturday, January 11, 2020
The House Where It's Impossible to Be Lonely
Even though I've always been a friendly and outgoing guy, like everyone, I have had bouts of loneliness. I've been fortunate, though, that I could appreciate the feelings, as part of being alive, and not let them drag me into outright depression.
Wifey and I bought our first house together in September of '86. I was working as a law clerk, awaiting word from the Florida Bar as to whether I would keep my first job with a humorously anti-semitic boss, and Wifey was making good money as a cut flower broker. We made the $8650 down payment with proceeds of a gift my mother made to us -- $10K to each of her three kids, back when high interest rates kept her in retirement high cotton. We moved in with our little bit of apartment furniture, 2 bikes, and my beloved record collection and "stereo" system.
I remember I greatly disliked the powder blue color of our dining room, and one day, in probably early '87, decided to take the day off work to paint the room. I figured it would take about 8 hours. It took 13, and I did a crappy job -- plenty of streaks on the Dade County pine open beam ceiling. I made a pledge, which I have kept these past 3 decades, that I would never paint again...
Anyway, a few months after moving in, I surprised Wifey with our first marital dogs - Alfred, an adorable cute cocker, whose wrinkled face looked like the director Hitchcock, and Midnight, a black lab who grew to be 95 pounds and would have made an excellent working dog, with his boundless energy. The following year, we brought home another puppy -- this one a gorgeous baby girl, who was initially licked on the head by Midnight -- starting, I think, D1's lifetime love of and obsession with, dogs.
I remember sitting home one stormy summer day --D1 was probably a year old. The skies were black and gloomy. D1 was playing with the dogs, as Wifey watched a movie on our VHS player, and I was reading. A thought struck me: we had created the house where it's impossible to be lonely. Between loving, furry dogs, and not so furry D1, there was always a generator and receiver of love.
In September of '90, it was time to move up, to a larger house. Wifey and our friend Sandy, a realtor, found one almost exactly 2 miles west of our first house.This one cost $140K, and had a bigger yard and 4 bedrooms. In February of '92, we brought home another puppy -- D2 -- and kept the tradition going. My Mom would visit, and say how warm the house always made her feel -- we tried, despite 2 little ones, to keep tensosity at a minimum.
Well, Mother Nature injected a LOT of tensosity in August of '92, by sending Andrew to literally blow the house down around us. It set into motion a peripatetic time for us -- moving to an apartment on Brickell Key for several months, and then into my in laws' house in Kendall, when they moved to Century Village in Pembroke Pines. We were there until March of '94, when our rebuilt house was ready, and soon after moving back, brought ANOTHER puppy home -- this one a sweet Yellow Lab the Ds named Honey.
Now it was REALLY impossible to be lonely -- with 2 adorable girls, and three dogs...
After moving my family 3 times in such a short period, I made the proclamation that I was stating in our house on SW 136 Terrace FOREVER. Forever turned out to be 6 years -- we moved into Villa Wifey, and have been here since. Although the Ds haven't lived her, except for college/grad school and visits home from NYC stays since 2010, it remains a very un-lonely house -- with at least 2 dogs always underfoot.
Well -- today -- D1 sent a video of her house, in Shorecrest. Baby was being gently rocked in a bassinet, while the Spoiled Spaniel sniffed around. The sweet voices of D1 and Joey were heard -- talking to their beloved baby boy. I told D1 she had arrived in that same, wonderful spot in life -- a house where it's impossible to be lonely.
Storms will come, of course. Their house is strongly built -- all concrete, with impact glass. But, they are only a few short blocks from the Bay -- so will have to leave in a Cat 3 or higher hurricane.
There will be other storms, too, of course -- that's what life is. But when you realize that you're not the most important person -- you have responsibility to care for others even before yourself -- well, to me that is the antidote to loneliness. I am so glad D1 has found that...
Wifey and I bought our first house together in September of '86. I was working as a law clerk, awaiting word from the Florida Bar as to whether I would keep my first job with a humorously anti-semitic boss, and Wifey was making good money as a cut flower broker. We made the $8650 down payment with proceeds of a gift my mother made to us -- $10K to each of her three kids, back when high interest rates kept her in retirement high cotton. We moved in with our little bit of apartment furniture, 2 bikes, and my beloved record collection and "stereo" system.
I remember I greatly disliked the powder blue color of our dining room, and one day, in probably early '87, decided to take the day off work to paint the room. I figured it would take about 8 hours. It took 13, and I did a crappy job -- plenty of streaks on the Dade County pine open beam ceiling. I made a pledge, which I have kept these past 3 decades, that I would never paint again...
Anyway, a few months after moving in, I surprised Wifey with our first marital dogs - Alfred, an adorable cute cocker, whose wrinkled face looked like the director Hitchcock, and Midnight, a black lab who grew to be 95 pounds and would have made an excellent working dog, with his boundless energy. The following year, we brought home another puppy -- this one a gorgeous baby girl, who was initially licked on the head by Midnight -- starting, I think, D1's lifetime love of and obsession with, dogs.
I remember sitting home one stormy summer day --D1 was probably a year old. The skies were black and gloomy. D1 was playing with the dogs, as Wifey watched a movie on our VHS player, and I was reading. A thought struck me: we had created the house where it's impossible to be lonely. Between loving, furry dogs, and not so furry D1, there was always a generator and receiver of love.
In September of '90, it was time to move up, to a larger house. Wifey and our friend Sandy, a realtor, found one almost exactly 2 miles west of our first house.This one cost $140K, and had a bigger yard and 4 bedrooms. In February of '92, we brought home another puppy -- D2 -- and kept the tradition going. My Mom would visit, and say how warm the house always made her feel -- we tried, despite 2 little ones, to keep tensosity at a minimum.
Well, Mother Nature injected a LOT of tensosity in August of '92, by sending Andrew to literally blow the house down around us. It set into motion a peripatetic time for us -- moving to an apartment on Brickell Key for several months, and then into my in laws' house in Kendall, when they moved to Century Village in Pembroke Pines. We were there until March of '94, when our rebuilt house was ready, and soon after moving back, brought ANOTHER puppy home -- this one a sweet Yellow Lab the Ds named Honey.
Now it was REALLY impossible to be lonely -- with 2 adorable girls, and three dogs...
After moving my family 3 times in such a short period, I made the proclamation that I was stating in our house on SW 136 Terrace FOREVER. Forever turned out to be 6 years -- we moved into Villa Wifey, and have been here since. Although the Ds haven't lived her, except for college/grad school and visits home from NYC stays since 2010, it remains a very un-lonely house -- with at least 2 dogs always underfoot.
Well -- today -- D1 sent a video of her house, in Shorecrest. Baby was being gently rocked in a bassinet, while the Spoiled Spaniel sniffed around. The sweet voices of D1 and Joey were heard -- talking to their beloved baby boy. I told D1 she had arrived in that same, wonderful spot in life -- a house where it's impossible to be lonely.
Storms will come, of course. Their house is strongly built -- all concrete, with impact glass. But, they are only a few short blocks from the Bay -- so will have to leave in a Cat 3 or higher hurricane.
There will be other storms, too, of course -- that's what life is. But when you realize that you're not the most important person -- you have responsibility to care for others even before yourself -- well, to me that is the antidote to loneliness. I am so glad D1 has found that...
Thursday, January 9, 2020
The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of
My dreams are often a nocturnal re-synthesis of things I heard or events of my day, put into the magical dream maker, and sometimes recalled in the morning.
Yesterday I had a pleasant FaceBook colloquy with Gilda, a friend from growing up on LI. She lives still on LI, and was defending her home turf against those who take shots at living in NY. I supported her -- telling her that in my humble opinion, NYC was the greatest city in the world, and I loved to visit often. I guess that set things in motion.
So I dreamed I was in NYC with D2, and I took her to the street on LI where I grew up. This really happened, several years ago, and indeed we were greeted by the lady who bought the house from my parents in 1979. But my dream went hyper-real -- the house was now inhabited by new people, who had turned it into a wondrous mansion. They invited us in.
D2 was rolling her eyes, as she often does when she's sucked into an "OK Boomer" moment of nostalgia, but we went inside. The new people were also Italian American, like the last owners, but were billionaire hedge fund types -- they had build an acquarium that looked like the one they have at the Frost Museum Downtown -- a true recreation of an ecosystem.
A party was going on, with all types of delicacies being served, and lots of exquisite LI accents were heard. D2 used to be amazed that my friends and I actually spoke that way.
We finally begged off -- and as we were being led outside, there was a room with a hospital bed -- the matriarch of the family was in it -- dying of some rare form of spinal cancer. Her local doctors were afraid to operate.
I told the family about a neurosurgeon in Miami -- a new friend of my Rabbi Yossi -- who is far more aggressive than many of his colleagues. Maybe he was worth a visit? The family was very appreciative, and they took down his name and hospital.
And that was it. D2 and I drove the rental car away from this surreal version of my childhood home.
Wifey was awake -- trying to go back to grab a few more hours of sleep before heading to D1 and Joey's place for her new full time job -- helping out with our new grandson.
Yesterday she and D1 walked the few blocks to Biscayne Bay, and sent a lovely photo of the baby in his stroller waterside -- D1 was introducing him to my parents -- his great grandparents, and their spirits, which are in the ocean. It was very moving.
Wifey remarked how lucky I was to have the childhood I did -- same house from age one through high school graduation, loving parents, wonderful friends.
And she's right, and I have always felt very fortunate -- but -- there were traumas, of course. I was very close to a brother in law who essentially died from my life -- after my sister divorced him. My mother nearly died from a perforated ulcer when I was in junior high school. Math.
Still, it was a wonderful childhood, and it warms me to see my grandson surrounded by love, as well -- with grandparents who are part of his daily life, as well as three uncles and 2 aunts who will always be there for him -- all in the same area code.
I enjoyed my little dream trip last night, and it made me wonder -- who DID buy our family's house? I'm FaceBook friends with the man, Mark, who moved there in '79 when he was a baby -- and his family owned the place until '19 -- four decades. I plan to ask him about the new folks.
In the unlikely event they're billionaire hedge fund bankers -- I'll have to visit a psychic.
Yesterday I had a pleasant FaceBook colloquy with Gilda, a friend from growing up on LI. She lives still on LI, and was defending her home turf against those who take shots at living in NY. I supported her -- telling her that in my humble opinion, NYC was the greatest city in the world, and I loved to visit often. I guess that set things in motion.
So I dreamed I was in NYC with D2, and I took her to the street on LI where I grew up. This really happened, several years ago, and indeed we were greeted by the lady who bought the house from my parents in 1979. But my dream went hyper-real -- the house was now inhabited by new people, who had turned it into a wondrous mansion. They invited us in.
D2 was rolling her eyes, as she often does when she's sucked into an "OK Boomer" moment of nostalgia, but we went inside. The new people were also Italian American, like the last owners, but were billionaire hedge fund types -- they had build an acquarium that looked like the one they have at the Frost Museum Downtown -- a true recreation of an ecosystem.
A party was going on, with all types of delicacies being served, and lots of exquisite LI accents were heard. D2 used to be amazed that my friends and I actually spoke that way.
We finally begged off -- and as we were being led outside, there was a room with a hospital bed -- the matriarch of the family was in it -- dying of some rare form of spinal cancer. Her local doctors were afraid to operate.
I told the family about a neurosurgeon in Miami -- a new friend of my Rabbi Yossi -- who is far more aggressive than many of his colleagues. Maybe he was worth a visit? The family was very appreciative, and they took down his name and hospital.
And that was it. D2 and I drove the rental car away from this surreal version of my childhood home.
Wifey was awake -- trying to go back to grab a few more hours of sleep before heading to D1 and Joey's place for her new full time job -- helping out with our new grandson.
Yesterday she and D1 walked the few blocks to Biscayne Bay, and sent a lovely photo of the baby in his stroller waterside -- D1 was introducing him to my parents -- his great grandparents, and their spirits, which are in the ocean. It was very moving.
Wifey remarked how lucky I was to have the childhood I did -- same house from age one through high school graduation, loving parents, wonderful friends.
And she's right, and I have always felt very fortunate -- but -- there were traumas, of course. I was very close to a brother in law who essentially died from my life -- after my sister divorced him. My mother nearly died from a perforated ulcer when I was in junior high school. Math.
Still, it was a wonderful childhood, and it warms me to see my grandson surrounded by love, as well -- with grandparents who are part of his daily life, as well as three uncles and 2 aunts who will always be there for him -- all in the same area code.
I enjoyed my little dream trip last night, and it made me wonder -- who DID buy our family's house? I'm FaceBook friends with the man, Mark, who moved there in '79 when he was a baby -- and his family owned the place until '19 -- four decades. I plan to ask him about the new folks.
In the unlikely event they're billionaire hedge fund bankers -- I'll have to visit a psychic.
Monday, January 6, 2020
A Fine Friday
So I was trying to figure out which romantic restaurant to take Wifey to, in order to celebrate our 33rd anniversary, when His Holiness, Rabbi Yossi called. He invited us to his house for shabbos dinner -- D2 and Jonathan were coming, and Jonathan's parents were coming, too. I consulted with Wifey, because a man doesn't stay married for 33 years unless he is wise enough to understand that the woman is in charge...and she agreed. So I stopped by my local liquor store, fetched a bottle of Stoli Elit, and we drove to Yossi and Nechama's house.
It was abuzz, as always. They have 9 kids, and 5 were there -- including the oldest, Mendel, about to leave for his final semester at UF Law. The youngest little girl is 7, and bursting with energy and personality -- as one would expect for the smallest of 9 baby birds...
Yossi had fetched a photo album of D2's years in Hebrew School, and later Bat Mitzvah training. He later realized she was the bride in a mock wedding -- a fun exercise that teaches tweens the traditions of a Jewish marriage. We were wistfully aware that the mock bride of '04 was soon to be the real one of '20...
We ate the Ashkenazi food, and talked of D1 and Joey, home with their beautiful new son. We joked that there was no way that Joey, Sephardic, would ever appreciate gefilte fish, and then we admitted that many of our own tribe can't stand it, either.
After dinner, the rabbi asked Jonathan's parents about their family background. I joked, nervously, because years ago, at a similar dinner, my friend Stuart's fiancee's grandmother shared that she was a convert, and after it was determined that her conversion wasn't a kosher one, led to Stuart having to find a less observant rabbi to perform the service. Yossi said it's still one of the worst things he ever had to do as a rabbi -- he loves Stuart, and felt awful having to back out. I told him not to feel bad -- Stuart is no more or less miserable with his wife than he would have been had Yossi officiated...
Alas -- no conversions, although Jonathan's maternal grandmother Judy DID live for years in a convent -- placed there by a righteous neighbor to save her life as the Nazis took over their town. Wifey blurted out "Oh -- so then she was raised CATHOLIC," and I went into full Archie Bunker mode, telling my Edith to stifle...laughter ensued.
The night was a very lovely one. Afterwards Yossi pulled me aside to remind me how blessed I am with my precious daughters' choices of husbands. I told him I was well aware.
Yesterday marked the three weeks to go before the big, fat, Venezuelan wedding time. I tried on my Tux -- still fits from D1's wedding 2 and a half years ago. I'm in far better condition than I was then -- but still need to drop 50 lbs. Why is food so delicious??????
It's a lovely and cool morning. I'm meeting a young protege for breakfast -- a terrific young man who I have had the privilege to mentor as a young attorney. We met through D1 -- his wife and D1 are UF sorority sisters. The young man's career is soaring, and it gives me great pleasure. Paul and I joke that had we hired someone like him 10 years ago, we might still be actively in practice -- letting him do all the heavy lifting. Nah -- I love NOT putting on suits and ties too much for that.
Wifey is headed up for serious grandma duty -- Joey's first day back at work, and D1 is thrilled to have her Mom help out.
D2 and I are very thrilled about this. Wifey was happily floating along, but I knew she needed a new purpose -- and she will attack active grandmotherhood with passion and humor -- I have no doubt.
When D1 was a baby, my mother in law Rachel was ALWAYS there, helping, and now Wifey pays it forward. It's wonderful for me to watch.
The buffet line of life continues. And I'm one extremely lucky Daddy in the USA enjoying the offerings.
It was abuzz, as always. They have 9 kids, and 5 were there -- including the oldest, Mendel, about to leave for his final semester at UF Law. The youngest little girl is 7, and bursting with energy and personality -- as one would expect for the smallest of 9 baby birds...
Yossi had fetched a photo album of D2's years in Hebrew School, and later Bat Mitzvah training. He later realized she was the bride in a mock wedding -- a fun exercise that teaches tweens the traditions of a Jewish marriage. We were wistfully aware that the mock bride of '04 was soon to be the real one of '20...
We ate the Ashkenazi food, and talked of D1 and Joey, home with their beautiful new son. We joked that there was no way that Joey, Sephardic, would ever appreciate gefilte fish, and then we admitted that many of our own tribe can't stand it, either.
After dinner, the rabbi asked Jonathan's parents about their family background. I joked, nervously, because years ago, at a similar dinner, my friend Stuart's fiancee's grandmother shared that she was a convert, and after it was determined that her conversion wasn't a kosher one, led to Stuart having to find a less observant rabbi to perform the service. Yossi said it's still one of the worst things he ever had to do as a rabbi -- he loves Stuart, and felt awful having to back out. I told him not to feel bad -- Stuart is no more or less miserable with his wife than he would have been had Yossi officiated...
Alas -- no conversions, although Jonathan's maternal grandmother Judy DID live for years in a convent -- placed there by a righteous neighbor to save her life as the Nazis took over their town. Wifey blurted out "Oh -- so then she was raised CATHOLIC," and I went into full Archie Bunker mode, telling my Edith to stifle...laughter ensued.
The night was a very lovely one. Afterwards Yossi pulled me aside to remind me how blessed I am with my precious daughters' choices of husbands. I told him I was well aware.
Yesterday marked the three weeks to go before the big, fat, Venezuelan wedding time. I tried on my Tux -- still fits from D1's wedding 2 and a half years ago. I'm in far better condition than I was then -- but still need to drop 50 lbs. Why is food so delicious??????
It's a lovely and cool morning. I'm meeting a young protege for breakfast -- a terrific young man who I have had the privilege to mentor as a young attorney. We met through D1 -- his wife and D1 are UF sorority sisters. The young man's career is soaring, and it gives me great pleasure. Paul and I joke that had we hired someone like him 10 years ago, we might still be actively in practice -- letting him do all the heavy lifting. Nah -- I love NOT putting on suits and ties too much for that.
Wifey is headed up for serious grandma duty -- Joey's first day back at work, and D1 is thrilled to have her Mom help out.
D2 and I are very thrilled about this. Wifey was happily floating along, but I knew she needed a new purpose -- and she will attack active grandmotherhood with passion and humor -- I have no doubt.
When D1 was a baby, my mother in law Rachel was ALWAYS there, helping, and now Wifey pays it forward. It's wonderful for me to watch.
The buffet line of life continues. And I'm one extremely lucky Daddy in the USA enjoying the offerings.
Thursday, January 2, 2020
Thirty Three
Tomorrow, January 3, 2020, marks Wifey and my 33rd wedding anniversary. First, I have to clear something up. D1 and Joey didn't get a new puppy. Madeleine, the Spoiled Spaniel, is the only canine of their house. No -- far more significantly -- on December 17, 2019, D1 and Joey made us grandparents -- a beautiful baby boy! They wished to remain chill with social media, and we of course complied, but it was by far the best birthday gift Wifey could have hoped for -- and anniversary gift, too!
But back to the beginning of our immediate family. On January 2, 1987, our beloved Canes played Penn State. The Canes were the superior team, and heavily favored to win our second national championship. Instead, dumbass Vinny Testaverde threw 4 picks, and Penn State upset us. Several of my groomsmen turned to me, and said "Wedding's off now, right?" Wifey didn't find that very funny...
Instead, we checked into the Hyatt Regency Downtown, and met under the chuppah in the Tuttle/Monroe ballrooms, which my mother in law kept calling the Marilyn Monroe room. The Rabbi was a nice man named Lipson, who we barely knew -- he was a relief rabbi, who my friend Eric's Mom Norma found last minute, to take the place of creepy Mark Kram. I say he's creepy, because after sucking Wifey and me in with pre marital classes, and "I will be the third member of your marriage" crap, he chose a last minute free trip to Israel rather than perform our wedding.
D2 loves when I tell the story in Curly's voice: "But I thought we was pahtners???!!!" We were not, and Kram's betrayal turned Wifey and I so far away from organized Judaism that it took the miracle of befriending a Chabad Rabbi, Yossi, and his wonderful wife Nechama, to bring us back to the fold...
Anyway, I walked down the aisle, and turned as my now late father in law Richard, usually a very graceful, big man, nervously took out three flower arrangements on his way down. My Uncle Marty escorted my mother. My nephew PJ, a gorgeous nearly 5 year old, bore the ring. Of Wifey's 4 bridesmaids, she's only still close with two now.
I had a large corps of groomsmen -- 7 in all. One is fully out of my life, and will be forever, two now distant friends I rarely speak to, but 4 are still my brothers: Jeff, Mike, Eric, and Barry. In fact, three were at our grandson's bris, and Mike would have been had he not been vacationing in Colorado...
After Rabbi Lipson finished his ceremony, he told me to kiss Wifey, and I went to, but in a surreal scene, her head was pulled away and to the side. Her mother was so overcome, she grabbed her first, and kissed her. I patiently waited my turn.
We had a terrific time. Our friend Elizabeth was then married to a rock singer, Pat Travers, who had 3 gold records. He wasn't the type to play with a wedding band , but he had such a great time, he did, and was terrific. Unfortunately, so did Wifey's friend Eileen, who thought she was a singer, but really wasn't.
While Pat led the band in a great rendition of "Good Lovin," Eileen sand "Gimme Some Lovin." Pat took control and saved the performance. Everyone just had a blast. Eileen just loved being the center of attention...
My mother agreed to pay to keep the band playing longer. It was wonderful.
After we got to the room, Wifey and I performed the traditional ritual of a newly married couple. We got into bed, took off our formal clothes... and counted up all the checks and cash. My aunts and uncles and cousins were hilariously cheap. My Aunt Florence and her entire family (10 of them) gave us a check for $25, plus, a $20 savings bond my late grandmother had asked her to pass along.
Wifey's family, and my in laws friends, were very generous. Apparently the immigrant Jews were known for trying to out do each other when giving to their kids for weddings. We appreciated it greatly -- in fact, we paid off one of my law school loans with gift money from my in laws' family and friends.
I paid for pizza at the next football watch party with the gifts from my extended family. Not that I remember this three decades later...
We left for 4 nights in Jamaica -- all we could afford, and then returned to our little and charming house in East Kendall, and our life together. Wifey wondered whether she would be very maternal, and then D1 came and Wifey indeed became VERY VERY maternal -- turning a 3 month maternity leave into -- well -- full time motherhood.
Then D2 came in a very tumultuous and wonderful year -- 1992. I made my first big money -- really life changing money -- we went from living paycheck to paycheck to having some real financial cushion. And then came Hurricane Andrew -- and literally blew away our house, and wrecked most of our stuff -- teaching us that stuff was crap -- a lesson we never forgot.
And the Ds grew into absurdly wonderful women, and picked absurdly wonderful men, and the oldest is now a mother, and the youngest about to get married -- three weeks from this Sunday.
For our tenth anniversary, Wifey and I chose to spend the weekend at a hotel near where I asked her to marry me -- on South Beach, near 13th Street. We chose the Betsy Ross, and had a lovely time. Well -- D2 and Jonathan will marry there -- just over 23 years later. I love that THEIR chuppah will be in sight of the beautiful ocean, and the spirit of my late parents...
So tomorrow, I thought about a romantic dinner, to celebrate. And then Rabbi Yossi called, to tell me that they had invited D2 and Jonathan for shabbat dinner -- along with Jonathan's folks. Wifey agreed -- no better way to celebrate. And D1 and Joey and our new man Jaco Hy will be there in spirit.
I can never thank Wifey enough for the life she has given me. And it all began three decades and three years ago, tomorrow. If there has been a better life voyage, well, I don't know what it is.
But back to the beginning of our immediate family. On January 2, 1987, our beloved Canes played Penn State. The Canes were the superior team, and heavily favored to win our second national championship. Instead, dumbass Vinny Testaverde threw 4 picks, and Penn State upset us. Several of my groomsmen turned to me, and said "Wedding's off now, right?" Wifey didn't find that very funny...
Instead, we checked into the Hyatt Regency Downtown, and met under the chuppah in the Tuttle/Monroe ballrooms, which my mother in law kept calling the Marilyn Monroe room. The Rabbi was a nice man named Lipson, who we barely knew -- he was a relief rabbi, who my friend Eric's Mom Norma found last minute, to take the place of creepy Mark Kram. I say he's creepy, because after sucking Wifey and me in with pre marital classes, and "I will be the third member of your marriage" crap, he chose a last minute free trip to Israel rather than perform our wedding.
D2 loves when I tell the story in Curly's voice: "But I thought we was pahtners???!!!" We were not, and Kram's betrayal turned Wifey and I so far away from organized Judaism that it took the miracle of befriending a Chabad Rabbi, Yossi, and his wonderful wife Nechama, to bring us back to the fold...
Anyway, I walked down the aisle, and turned as my now late father in law Richard, usually a very graceful, big man, nervously took out three flower arrangements on his way down. My Uncle Marty escorted my mother. My nephew PJ, a gorgeous nearly 5 year old, bore the ring. Of Wifey's 4 bridesmaids, she's only still close with two now.
I had a large corps of groomsmen -- 7 in all. One is fully out of my life, and will be forever, two now distant friends I rarely speak to, but 4 are still my brothers: Jeff, Mike, Eric, and Barry. In fact, three were at our grandson's bris, and Mike would have been had he not been vacationing in Colorado...
After Rabbi Lipson finished his ceremony, he told me to kiss Wifey, and I went to, but in a surreal scene, her head was pulled away and to the side. Her mother was so overcome, she grabbed her first, and kissed her. I patiently waited my turn.
We had a terrific time. Our friend Elizabeth was then married to a rock singer, Pat Travers, who had 3 gold records. He wasn't the type to play with a wedding band , but he had such a great time, he did, and was terrific. Unfortunately, so did Wifey's friend Eileen, who thought she was a singer, but really wasn't.
While Pat led the band in a great rendition of "Good Lovin," Eileen sand "Gimme Some Lovin." Pat took control and saved the performance. Everyone just had a blast. Eileen just loved being the center of attention...
My mother agreed to pay to keep the band playing longer. It was wonderful.
After we got to the room, Wifey and I performed the traditional ritual of a newly married couple. We got into bed, took off our formal clothes... and counted up all the checks and cash. My aunts and uncles and cousins were hilariously cheap. My Aunt Florence and her entire family (10 of them) gave us a check for $25, plus, a $20 savings bond my late grandmother had asked her to pass along.
Wifey's family, and my in laws friends, were very generous. Apparently the immigrant Jews were known for trying to out do each other when giving to their kids for weddings. We appreciated it greatly -- in fact, we paid off one of my law school loans with gift money from my in laws' family and friends.
I paid for pizza at the next football watch party with the gifts from my extended family. Not that I remember this three decades later...
We left for 4 nights in Jamaica -- all we could afford, and then returned to our little and charming house in East Kendall, and our life together. Wifey wondered whether she would be very maternal, and then D1 came and Wifey indeed became VERY VERY maternal -- turning a 3 month maternity leave into -- well -- full time motherhood.
Then D2 came in a very tumultuous and wonderful year -- 1992. I made my first big money -- really life changing money -- we went from living paycheck to paycheck to having some real financial cushion. And then came Hurricane Andrew -- and literally blew away our house, and wrecked most of our stuff -- teaching us that stuff was crap -- a lesson we never forgot.
And the Ds grew into absurdly wonderful women, and picked absurdly wonderful men, and the oldest is now a mother, and the youngest about to get married -- three weeks from this Sunday.
For our tenth anniversary, Wifey and I chose to spend the weekend at a hotel near where I asked her to marry me -- on South Beach, near 13th Street. We chose the Betsy Ross, and had a lovely time. Well -- D2 and Jonathan will marry there -- just over 23 years later. I love that THEIR chuppah will be in sight of the beautiful ocean, and the spirit of my late parents...
So tomorrow, I thought about a romantic dinner, to celebrate. And then Rabbi Yossi called, to tell me that they had invited D2 and Jonathan for shabbat dinner -- along with Jonathan's folks. Wifey agreed -- no better way to celebrate. And D1 and Joey and our new man Jaco Hy will be there in spirit.
I can never thank Wifey enough for the life she has given me. And it all began three decades and three years ago, tomorrow. If there has been a better life voyage, well, I don't know what it is.
Wednesday, January 1, 2020
Well, It Finally Happened
Wifey and I long ago made a pledge, after watching a movie on aging couples. The first one who soils the bed -- the other spouse is allowed to sleep elsewhere. Years ago, as we were getting ready to fly to NYC for a long weekend, I said to her "Well, it finally happened." She was already up, and said "You soiled the bed?" No -- but I had read the Jet Blue ticket wrong, thinking the arrival was departure time, and we had missed our flight. We laughed -- happy the worse thing hadn't happened, but then "Well, it finally happened" became our speak for another sign of aging.
I'm happy to report the bed is still clean. But -- for the first time ever, last night, I was asleep when the New Year arrived.
We've always enjoyed celebrating NYE. Typically, we host parties -- from the huge ones we had in our first and second houses, to the smaller stone crab and champagne gatherings we've had the last 2 years. Other times, we've gone to dinner with friends, and then watched the year come in at after parties.
But yesterday, we spent a wonderful entire day with D1 and Joey, and their new puppy. They have an absolutely adorable newborn male -- by far the cutest one ever -- and we ate lunch and dinner, watching the new arrival sleep a lot, and then pee and poop. Puppies don't do too much more than that.
We brought in lunch from Joanna's, and I watched football on TV while Joey fussed about, lovingly. He is FAR more attentive to his new puppy than I ever was. I enjoy them more when they're old enough to go on long walks and play. But Joey is all in -- has been from the beginning.
D1 sent me on an errand -- to pick up a package that was in one of the two post offices. I went to the first, in Miami Shores, but learned they only had post boxes there. I then went to the other one in the same zip code -- in El Portal, which is Spanish for "The Portal." It was a great sociological experience. The line had old, white, "Miamuh" types with younger people of color. Two middle aged Haitian ladies were complaining about the temperature in the place, and a younger African American man offered "Well damn! Someone dealing with hot flashes here." We all laughed, and I said to him "You are a far BRAVER man than I am!" One of the Haitian ladies said, laughing, "Braver, and dumber, too!" We all laughed, and wished each other happy new year. It was a really nice urban moment. Rodney King was right -- we all CAN get along...
Dr. Barry was finished early at the hospital, and we invited him over for a cocktail on his way home. He had later dinner plans with his lady and second son -- dinner at Runway 84, followed by a screening of the new "Star Wars" movie. He wanted to see the puppy, too, and thought the puppy looked just grand. Joey, Barry, and I toasted towards a great 2020. Joey said Barry was the best uncle anyone could have. Amen.
I walked Barry out, and he said he would be getting the fish at Runway. I told him to get the sausage and peppers -- best in South Florida. I hope he chose wisely...
We ordered in sushi from a MiMo place, and ate together as the puppy slept. It was about 8:30, and Wifey and I left. The night was ours! I asked if she wanted to slip into Club Eleven -- Snoop was performing. Nah. The Fountainbleau -- Jonas Brothers -- broadcast nationally? Nah. Maybe just head home to our lovely home in Pinecrest, where Wifey promptly went up to sleep. It was 9:30.
I made myself a cup of herbal tea, in the new mug D1 bought me. It's black, but when hot liquid goes into it, photos of our "full squad" magically appear. It became my favorite mug, right away.
I sat outside. It had gotten cooler. There were stars in the clear sky. I thanked the Big Man for my manifold blessings, and asked Him for a great 2020.
And then I went upstairs. I texted the Ds -- told them I always texted them Happy New Year at midnight, but this year I was fading fast. D1 and Joey said they would be asleep, too -- the new puppy had tired them out. D2 and Jonathan had dinner on Brickell, and were at a party at their friends' high rise -- with glorious views of the Miami skyline, and the various fireworks displays.
I drifted off to sleep, and missed the turning of the year.
Maybe the parties will return next year. Or not. Either way, it's just wonderful to be here for another year in paradise.
I'm happy to report the bed is still clean. But -- for the first time ever, last night, I was asleep when the New Year arrived.
We've always enjoyed celebrating NYE. Typically, we host parties -- from the huge ones we had in our first and second houses, to the smaller stone crab and champagne gatherings we've had the last 2 years. Other times, we've gone to dinner with friends, and then watched the year come in at after parties.
But yesterday, we spent a wonderful entire day with D1 and Joey, and their new puppy. They have an absolutely adorable newborn male -- by far the cutest one ever -- and we ate lunch and dinner, watching the new arrival sleep a lot, and then pee and poop. Puppies don't do too much more than that.
We brought in lunch from Joanna's, and I watched football on TV while Joey fussed about, lovingly. He is FAR more attentive to his new puppy than I ever was. I enjoy them more when they're old enough to go on long walks and play. But Joey is all in -- has been from the beginning.
D1 sent me on an errand -- to pick up a package that was in one of the two post offices. I went to the first, in Miami Shores, but learned they only had post boxes there. I then went to the other one in the same zip code -- in El Portal, which is Spanish for "The Portal." It was a great sociological experience. The line had old, white, "Miamuh" types with younger people of color. Two middle aged Haitian ladies were complaining about the temperature in the place, and a younger African American man offered "Well damn! Someone dealing with hot flashes here." We all laughed, and I said to him "You are a far BRAVER man than I am!" One of the Haitian ladies said, laughing, "Braver, and dumber, too!" We all laughed, and wished each other happy new year. It was a really nice urban moment. Rodney King was right -- we all CAN get along...
Dr. Barry was finished early at the hospital, and we invited him over for a cocktail on his way home. He had later dinner plans with his lady and second son -- dinner at Runway 84, followed by a screening of the new "Star Wars" movie. He wanted to see the puppy, too, and thought the puppy looked just grand. Joey, Barry, and I toasted towards a great 2020. Joey said Barry was the best uncle anyone could have. Amen.
I walked Barry out, and he said he would be getting the fish at Runway. I told him to get the sausage and peppers -- best in South Florida. I hope he chose wisely...
We ordered in sushi from a MiMo place, and ate together as the puppy slept. It was about 8:30, and Wifey and I left. The night was ours! I asked if she wanted to slip into Club Eleven -- Snoop was performing. Nah. The Fountainbleau -- Jonas Brothers -- broadcast nationally? Nah. Maybe just head home to our lovely home in Pinecrest, where Wifey promptly went up to sleep. It was 9:30.
I made myself a cup of herbal tea, in the new mug D1 bought me. It's black, but when hot liquid goes into it, photos of our "full squad" magically appear. It became my favorite mug, right away.
I sat outside. It had gotten cooler. There were stars in the clear sky. I thanked the Big Man for my manifold blessings, and asked Him for a great 2020.
And then I went upstairs. I texted the Ds -- told them I always texted them Happy New Year at midnight, but this year I was fading fast. D1 and Joey said they would be asleep, too -- the new puppy had tired them out. D2 and Jonathan had dinner on Brickell, and were at a party at their friends' high rise -- with glorious views of the Miami skyline, and the various fireworks displays.
I drifted off to sleep, and missed the turning of the year.
Maybe the parties will return next year. Or not. Either way, it's just wonderful to be here for another year in paradise.
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