I so look forward to my thrice weekly or so happy hours. And I always drink the same thing: vodka from my freezer with a splash of tonic water. It's become my pandemic drink, as opposed to normal times, when I eschew the tonic water.
A few days ago, my man Scott told me to expect a FedEx gift from him -- some Founding Fathers vodka, a local craft distilled vodka we enjoyed during his Maryland graduation weekend last year. I guess I had that info stored, and decided to reciprocate.
So yesterday I went online and found a Total Wine right near Big Daddy G and Josh and Donna's house, and ordered several bottles of Tito's and Ketel to help them through the plague. Donna had gone out, but arrived home just as the delivery arrived -- success!
I then went online to order some stuff for Scott in Arlington, VA, and learned something distressing: Virginia doesn't allow hard liquor to be delivered! What???? It was true -- I went on a local site, and Total, and when I went to check out, got the same message: no dice (or vodka). So I bought Scott a gift card, which is due to be delivered in a few days -- and there's a Total less than a half mile from his apartment.
So I received AND gave vodka to my dudes. A true gift of love.
Meanwhile, Kenny and I enjoyed a nice FaceTime meet at 5 -- he drank some craft beer -- and we solved the world's problems as we imbibed.
At 5:45 I signed onto a Zoom toast for Lisa, a family friend who turned 60. There were people from all over attending -- wearing her favorite colors, white and pink.
I had on a white "Fear the Tie" T shirt from the Al Golden era at UM. I kept the camera high -- so the orange didn't disrupt the virtual color scheme.
It was lovely, but a bit sad, too, as we looked on Lisa and Bob's beautiful house on the bay in Miami Beach. We were privileged to be invited to lovely parties there -- we all wished we could physically be together again.
But for now -- virtual it is.
The plague news continues to be cautiously optimistic -- it appears South Florida has plateaued.
In the mean time -- vodka helps. A lot.
Thursday, April 30, 2020
Monday, April 27, 2020
Finally, A Visit
Wifey and I haven't been in the same location of our grandson in probably 4 weeks. This is, or can be, normal when your family lives far away, but we live, in times of reduced traffic, 25 minutes away. Well, yesterday we got a reprieve.
I got in all of my anxiety walking early, and came home and showered. And then we left the house, for the first time in weeks. First, a stop at Walgreens for Wifey's meds -- somehow she hadn't quite gotten around to switching them to home delivery like I had -- so we pulled up to the drive in and got her stuff.
Then I went to Big Tomato, a healthy-ish pizza place D1 loved when she was growing up in Pinecrest. I loaded up on pies, and a salad and wrap, and decided to surprise Joey with some chicken wings. We took advantage of one of the few benefits of the pandemic -- traffic levels from the 80s. We really cruised the new highways -- up the Palmetto to the Dolphin to 95, with zero slowdowns. It brought back memories of travel times when I was in college and law school -- when you worried about crime in Miami more than traffic. Those two urban woes have completely switched.
Speaking of crime -- another nice statistic. There were ZERO murders in Miami over 7 weeks -- for the first time since 1957, before I was born. That little piece of RNA is doing what people, at least for now, have abandoned...
I pulled up to D1 and Joey's hood, punched the gate code, and let ourselves into the backyard. We were early, of course, and D1 came down and outside. It was mercifully cool. We wanted to hug. We air hugged. She went to fetch our boy and her husband and nanny. Wifey and I ate our pizza and wraps.
And then the more than 4 month old, chubby future of our family appeared, smiling, in the arms of Betty, the new nanny. Wifey melted. We sang to him. We made funny noises. We made sure he knew who we were. We air hugged him, and wished so it could be real hugs.
We caught up, all of us, on the patio. I had sprayed Cutter to ward off the mosquitoes, who congregated under the 100 year old live oaks surrounding the house. I left the bottle with Joey -- so he could spend more time outside.
We laughed about the challenge of a marriage with constant togetherness. Thankfully, they're blessed with the sense of humor Wifey and I have. It was a delightful visit.
D2 FaceTimed in, to show us HER furry child, the ever growing Betsy. Jonathan was hard at work on his computer -- catastrophes are opportunities for private equity -- his gig.
It was time for the nightly baby walk. Wifey and I left, smiling. It was the best Sunday afternoon we'd had since the quarantine.
We drove home, and Wifey found a decent movie to watch: "Bad Education," based on a true story of a huge embezzlement on Long Island -- Roslyn, to be exact. It was a decent tale and well acted. I told Wifey that, in the very late 50s and early 60s, my Dad had finally earned enough from his multiple jobs to climb into middle class. The family joined the Rosyln Country Club -- probably the poorest members at the time.
I never heard nice tales from those times -- in fact -- the opposite. A few years later, I came along, and they moved out to Central South Nassau County -- to the first house my family owned. Funny how a town's name, like Roslyn, can trigger so many memories.
Anyway -- I went to sleep thinking of my grandson -- how someday I hope to be able to tell him tales of the very infamous times of his very early childhood.
For now, though, I just savor how beautiful and chubby he is -- growing strong on his mother's milk, and surrounded by so much love, albeit some of it from a distance of over 6 feet away...
I got in all of my anxiety walking early, and came home and showered. And then we left the house, for the first time in weeks. First, a stop at Walgreens for Wifey's meds -- somehow she hadn't quite gotten around to switching them to home delivery like I had -- so we pulled up to the drive in and got her stuff.
Then I went to Big Tomato, a healthy-ish pizza place D1 loved when she was growing up in Pinecrest. I loaded up on pies, and a salad and wrap, and decided to surprise Joey with some chicken wings. We took advantage of one of the few benefits of the pandemic -- traffic levels from the 80s. We really cruised the new highways -- up the Palmetto to the Dolphin to 95, with zero slowdowns. It brought back memories of travel times when I was in college and law school -- when you worried about crime in Miami more than traffic. Those two urban woes have completely switched.
Speaking of crime -- another nice statistic. There were ZERO murders in Miami over 7 weeks -- for the first time since 1957, before I was born. That little piece of RNA is doing what people, at least for now, have abandoned...
I pulled up to D1 and Joey's hood, punched the gate code, and let ourselves into the backyard. We were early, of course, and D1 came down and outside. It was mercifully cool. We wanted to hug. We air hugged. She went to fetch our boy and her husband and nanny. Wifey and I ate our pizza and wraps.
And then the more than 4 month old, chubby future of our family appeared, smiling, in the arms of Betty, the new nanny. Wifey melted. We sang to him. We made funny noises. We made sure he knew who we were. We air hugged him, and wished so it could be real hugs.
We caught up, all of us, on the patio. I had sprayed Cutter to ward off the mosquitoes, who congregated under the 100 year old live oaks surrounding the house. I left the bottle with Joey -- so he could spend more time outside.
We laughed about the challenge of a marriage with constant togetherness. Thankfully, they're blessed with the sense of humor Wifey and I have. It was a delightful visit.
D2 FaceTimed in, to show us HER furry child, the ever growing Betsy. Jonathan was hard at work on his computer -- catastrophes are opportunities for private equity -- his gig.
It was time for the nightly baby walk. Wifey and I left, smiling. It was the best Sunday afternoon we'd had since the quarantine.
We drove home, and Wifey found a decent movie to watch: "Bad Education," based on a true story of a huge embezzlement on Long Island -- Roslyn, to be exact. It was a decent tale and well acted. I told Wifey that, in the very late 50s and early 60s, my Dad had finally earned enough from his multiple jobs to climb into middle class. The family joined the Rosyln Country Club -- probably the poorest members at the time.
I never heard nice tales from those times -- in fact -- the opposite. A few years later, I came along, and they moved out to Central South Nassau County -- to the first house my family owned. Funny how a town's name, like Roslyn, can trigger so many memories.
Anyway -- I went to sleep thinking of my grandson -- how someday I hope to be able to tell him tales of the very infamous times of his very early childhood.
For now, though, I just savor how beautiful and chubby he is -- growing strong on his mother's milk, and surrounded by so much love, albeit some of it from a distance of over 6 feet away...
Sunday, April 26, 2020
A Night of Less Tensosity
It was a hot, humid Sunday, and I did my anxiety walking in 3 parts -- a 1.7 jaunt in the am before the humidity tossed me back, a 1.7 mile weird rescue dog lap, where she pulled me home, tongue dragging, and a finally 2.5 miles in the evening. The last was the best -- my man Josh FaceTimed me poolside, and then his brother and Dad joined in to keep me company as I strolled around. I joked it was my first virtual meeting with them sans alcohol - but in fact the 2 young guys had adult beverages.
D1 clicked in, and I got to see her and her men, and we planned Wifey and my trip to their patio for today.
I took my nightly scalding shower, and found it too hot to dry off on the balcony, so it was to bed.
I fell into a mercifully great, deep sleep, but around 1 am was awakened by a strange, clicking sound. I thought I was dreaming, and then maybe it was a roof leak, but it was dry sound -- clicks every few seconds. I got up to investigate -- it was coming from behind my leather, insomnia chair, the place I sit and read when sleep evades me.
I moved the chair, and found the source. One of those comical click bugs was doing his thing. They sit, and then every so often jump up, with a clicking sound, after making the low noise when they fall back to the floor. I guess he was looking for a mate.
I scooped him up and gave him his freedom to click away in the great tropical outdoors.
I then fell back asleep, and had a blissfully whimsical dream -- not the usual negative ones of the past 7 weeks. It involved Mike, and his high forever friend Chris, and playing silly games with the cars -- Chris jumping out and getting in a car with young girls. Loni frowning. It was the sort of thing that went on for real in the 80s.
I really appreciated the lightness of the dream, and awoke with less anxiety than usual.
Oh -- the annoyances found me soon enough, though. As I was feeding the dogs, I heard running water. Sure enough -- Wifey forgot to jiggle the toilet handle in the bathroom she uses at night -- its design flaw confounds the plumber I had try to fix it. The tank top just requires you manually return the flush handle each time.
So -- the water ran all night, as it does every several months when Wifey forgets. Ah -- what are ya gonna do?
But now the special needs Spaniel is happily crunching his kibble, and first light is appearing. I plan to lace up the sneaks and walk in the quiet morning gloaming.
Last Friday made 7 weeks in quarantine. Sure getting old. But I know we can all do the time.
And when click bugs and lighthearted dreams fill the long nights -- well, that just makes it easier.
D1 clicked in, and I got to see her and her men, and we planned Wifey and my trip to their patio for today.
I took my nightly scalding shower, and found it too hot to dry off on the balcony, so it was to bed.
I fell into a mercifully great, deep sleep, but around 1 am was awakened by a strange, clicking sound. I thought I was dreaming, and then maybe it was a roof leak, but it was dry sound -- clicks every few seconds. I got up to investigate -- it was coming from behind my leather, insomnia chair, the place I sit and read when sleep evades me.
I moved the chair, and found the source. One of those comical click bugs was doing his thing. They sit, and then every so often jump up, with a clicking sound, after making the low noise when they fall back to the floor. I guess he was looking for a mate.
I scooped him up and gave him his freedom to click away in the great tropical outdoors.
I then fell back asleep, and had a blissfully whimsical dream -- not the usual negative ones of the past 7 weeks. It involved Mike, and his high forever friend Chris, and playing silly games with the cars -- Chris jumping out and getting in a car with young girls. Loni frowning. It was the sort of thing that went on for real in the 80s.
I really appreciated the lightness of the dream, and awoke with less anxiety than usual.
Oh -- the annoyances found me soon enough, though. As I was feeding the dogs, I heard running water. Sure enough -- Wifey forgot to jiggle the toilet handle in the bathroom she uses at night -- its design flaw confounds the plumber I had try to fix it. The tank top just requires you manually return the flush handle each time.
So -- the water ran all night, as it does every several months when Wifey forgets. Ah -- what are ya gonna do?
But now the special needs Spaniel is happily crunching his kibble, and first light is appearing. I plan to lace up the sneaks and walk in the quiet morning gloaming.
Last Friday made 7 weeks in quarantine. Sure getting old. But I know we can all do the time.
And when click bugs and lighthearted dreams fill the long nights -- well, that just makes it easier.
Friday, April 24, 2020
Quarantine Mug
In these trying times, truly the simple pleasures mean so much. I received one today, courtesy of the US Mail.
There was a package, and I opened it. There was a coffee mug, from Latte Larry's -- the wonderful fictional "spite store" from this past year of "Curb." I loved it immediately. But there was no indication who bought it.
I guessed one of the Ds -- they know how much I loved the past season of the show featuring the best comical misanthrope of all time. I texted a photo. Nope -- they both loved it, but neither had sent it.
I finished taking in the Insta Cart delivery of Publix groceries, and had my Pub Sub. It was a fine afternoon -- mystery gift I really like, Pub Sub. The only thing missing was a nap -- which I took to some cooking show Wifey had ironically left on TV. I drifted off knowing when I woke, I would have my first coffee in my new mug.
Indeed I arose, and there was a text -- from Josh G, my nephew of another mister. He had sent the mug. I thanked him -- I rarely like gifts I receive, but this one hit the sweet spot.
I scrubbed the Chinese manufacturing out of it, and put it in the new Keurig. Yes -- the 3 year old one crapped out last week, as they all do. The new one from WalMart.com arrived just yesterday. I popped in an environmentally friendly mesh K cup, from San Francisco Bay roasters, and am now enjoying my first favorite mug coffee. Thanks, my man.
Last night, I pressed Josh into service. Wifey's BFF Edna had requested a Zoom Happy Hour, but was missing the tool needed to set it up -- the infamous Round Tuitt. That tool is often not found around here either.
So -- I volunteered -- how hard could it be? Turned out harder than my dinosaur like tech skills could muster -- I originally invited only Edna, but then couldn't change the roster. I texted Josh, and he got us going -- Edna, her man Marc, and her daughter Erica and live in man Adam. Josh was invited, too, but bugged out -- leaving me as virtual host.
Elizabeth joined, but just as my free 45 minutes expired. So I showed Wifey how to FaceTime her friend, I said my hellos, and then went up for my nightly scalding shower. I told Elizabeth I needed my nightly ritual -- Wifey said, mistakenly, "Yes -- he's going upstairs to pleasure himself." Ha -- that Wifey. Sometimes she says things as if SHE was the one drinking a lot of vodka.
Today marks week 7 of quarantine. Ugh. It's gotten really, really, really onerous. But -- we soldier on.
Tonight we'll join D1, Joey, and our grandson for a shabbas kiddush, or toast. Sunday we may actually make it to their house -- with a request for Big Tomato pizzas -- to sit on opposite sides of their patio -- seeing our precious little man through the glass.
But my thrice daily coffees will now make me smile, thanks to a great quarantine gift. Cheers, young Josh!
There was a package, and I opened it. There was a coffee mug, from Latte Larry's -- the wonderful fictional "spite store" from this past year of "Curb." I loved it immediately. But there was no indication who bought it.
I guessed one of the Ds -- they know how much I loved the past season of the show featuring the best comical misanthrope of all time. I texted a photo. Nope -- they both loved it, but neither had sent it.
I finished taking in the Insta Cart delivery of Publix groceries, and had my Pub Sub. It was a fine afternoon -- mystery gift I really like, Pub Sub. The only thing missing was a nap -- which I took to some cooking show Wifey had ironically left on TV. I drifted off knowing when I woke, I would have my first coffee in my new mug.
Indeed I arose, and there was a text -- from Josh G, my nephew of another mister. He had sent the mug. I thanked him -- I rarely like gifts I receive, but this one hit the sweet spot.
I scrubbed the Chinese manufacturing out of it, and put it in the new Keurig. Yes -- the 3 year old one crapped out last week, as they all do. The new one from WalMart.com arrived just yesterday. I popped in an environmentally friendly mesh K cup, from San Francisco Bay roasters, and am now enjoying my first favorite mug coffee. Thanks, my man.
Last night, I pressed Josh into service. Wifey's BFF Edna had requested a Zoom Happy Hour, but was missing the tool needed to set it up -- the infamous Round Tuitt. That tool is often not found around here either.
So -- I volunteered -- how hard could it be? Turned out harder than my dinosaur like tech skills could muster -- I originally invited only Edna, but then couldn't change the roster. I texted Josh, and he got us going -- Edna, her man Marc, and her daughter Erica and live in man Adam. Josh was invited, too, but bugged out -- leaving me as virtual host.
Elizabeth joined, but just as my free 45 minutes expired. So I showed Wifey how to FaceTime her friend, I said my hellos, and then went up for my nightly scalding shower. I told Elizabeth I needed my nightly ritual -- Wifey said, mistakenly, "Yes -- he's going upstairs to pleasure himself." Ha -- that Wifey. Sometimes she says things as if SHE was the one drinking a lot of vodka.
Today marks week 7 of quarantine. Ugh. It's gotten really, really, really onerous. But -- we soldier on.
Tonight we'll join D1, Joey, and our grandson for a shabbas kiddush, or toast. Sunday we may actually make it to their house -- with a request for Big Tomato pizzas -- to sit on opposite sides of their patio -- seeing our precious little man through the glass.
But my thrice daily coffees will now make me smile, thanks to a great quarantine gift. Cheers, young Josh!
Wednesday, April 22, 2020
Hello Vodka? It's me...Dave
Ah, the happiness and escape of a few adult beverages continue. Last night, Kenny set up a Zoom happy hour, and it was a fine one. Dr. Eric and his boy Josh were there -- Josh was gourmet cooking for his new wife and himself, and it was great to catch up with him. Barry and his boys joined in -- Scott from Virginia, Josh in the Pines. We laughed, and toasted. The docs shared cautious optimism about the progression of the plague. We toasted to its defeat...
Wifey still thinks I should drink each night, but I don't prefer it. I enjoy having something to look forward to. But just in case, I ordered reinforcements today. Vintage Liquors brought by 2 Tito's, and One Ketel One -- each 1.75 liters. Normally, one of those lasts several months -- I only drink when guests join me, and typically have my adult beverages in restaurants with family and friends. But with that cut off -- I get through a 1.75 liter in about 10 days.
I also want to make sure the Ds and their men are properly provisioned. Today I called Big Daddy's in the Grove, and had 2 bottles of casamigos mezcal, along with a Hendricks and Tito's delivered. D2 and Jonathan thanked me. I long for the time we can toast together on their balcony with the beautiful view of Sailboat Bay.
And D1 is several weeks away from her first Mother's Day! I thought about us sending her flowers -- but went more practical. I got her to be a fan of Stag's Leap Petit Syrah, and she has a glass with dinner each evening. So for MD, I ordered enough bottles to be delivered to get her and Joey through any reasonable quarantine. It'll be delivered the Friday before that auspicious Sunday.
Yesterday a funny thing happened. Bo, the crippled Spaniel, is still somehow a very effective lizard killer. He typically goes after the little geckos, and if I can't hold him, sends them to their reptilian rewards... I sat down, buzzed from the happy hour, and the little Bo took off. Next thing I knew a pretty large animal ran up my shirt, perched on my long hair, and then jumped away.
It was a green Cuban anole -- a good foot long and plenty thick. It jumped from me to the accordion shutter -- Bo in pursuit, and me frantically swiping at it, though it was long gone. Had it been Wifey, there would have been a scream that would have brought the police. As it was, I laughed.
Today I took a long am walk with Jeff -- it was a beautiful 66 degrees. Then I received the vodka reinforcements, and then a nap to a documentary Wifey played about Warner brothers. I think there'll be another walk around sunset.
Oh -- I did some legal work, too. I had to draft a bad faith letter for a friend, against her own carrier. It was good to actually use that part of my brain again.
So the days blend, each to each. Our little grandson always makes us smile. Our new grand dog, too. We miss them so.
But Friday, Joey set up a shabbas toast, like last week. I think we may visit this weekend -- spaced out, of course, for infection prevention.
Each night I ask the Big Man for a Jonas Salk or Albert Sabin of our time -- with greater haste. Dr. Kenny pointed out that a LOT of great minds are on task -- and with genetic sequencing available that the polio killers wouldn't have dreamed to have. So hopefully there'll be a vaccine, and we can get about normal life.
Until then -- I got plenty of vodka for the glorious cocktail parties on Zoom.
Wifey still thinks I should drink each night, but I don't prefer it. I enjoy having something to look forward to. But just in case, I ordered reinforcements today. Vintage Liquors brought by 2 Tito's, and One Ketel One -- each 1.75 liters. Normally, one of those lasts several months -- I only drink when guests join me, and typically have my adult beverages in restaurants with family and friends. But with that cut off -- I get through a 1.75 liter in about 10 days.
I also want to make sure the Ds and their men are properly provisioned. Today I called Big Daddy's in the Grove, and had 2 bottles of casamigos mezcal, along with a Hendricks and Tito's delivered. D2 and Jonathan thanked me. I long for the time we can toast together on their balcony with the beautiful view of Sailboat Bay.
And D1 is several weeks away from her first Mother's Day! I thought about us sending her flowers -- but went more practical. I got her to be a fan of Stag's Leap Petit Syrah, and she has a glass with dinner each evening. So for MD, I ordered enough bottles to be delivered to get her and Joey through any reasonable quarantine. It'll be delivered the Friday before that auspicious Sunday.
Yesterday a funny thing happened. Bo, the crippled Spaniel, is still somehow a very effective lizard killer. He typically goes after the little geckos, and if I can't hold him, sends them to their reptilian rewards... I sat down, buzzed from the happy hour, and the little Bo took off. Next thing I knew a pretty large animal ran up my shirt, perched on my long hair, and then jumped away.
It was a green Cuban anole -- a good foot long and plenty thick. It jumped from me to the accordion shutter -- Bo in pursuit, and me frantically swiping at it, though it was long gone. Had it been Wifey, there would have been a scream that would have brought the police. As it was, I laughed.
Today I took a long am walk with Jeff -- it was a beautiful 66 degrees. Then I received the vodka reinforcements, and then a nap to a documentary Wifey played about Warner brothers. I think there'll be another walk around sunset.
Oh -- I did some legal work, too. I had to draft a bad faith letter for a friend, against her own carrier. It was good to actually use that part of my brain again.
So the days blend, each to each. Our little grandson always makes us smile. Our new grand dog, too. We miss them so.
But Friday, Joey set up a shabbas toast, like last week. I think we may visit this weekend -- spaced out, of course, for infection prevention.
Each night I ask the Big Man for a Jonas Salk or Albert Sabin of our time -- with greater haste. Dr. Kenny pointed out that a LOT of great minds are on task -- and with genetic sequencing available that the polio killers wouldn't have dreamed to have. So hopefully there'll be a vaccine, and we can get about normal life.
Until then -- I got plenty of vodka for the glorious cocktail parties on Zoom.
Monday, April 20, 2020
The Beauty of Unfriending
Against the Ds' good advice and wishes, I continue to partake of FaceBook (tm). A big reason is my good friend Norman -- his pages are always full of great humor and music performances. I try to be funny, too, and generally avoid the divisive politic, but lately, with the plague, it seems one ought to share useful information to one's friends. Ha. As if.
The IHME model seems to be the one most people in government and academics rely upon, so I do, too. It changes quite a bit, and last Friday gave us great news. The predicted peak of the plague in Florida already occurred, it said, and the deaths predicted were cut nearly 70%. I found this wonderful -- in the way I love it when the "cone of death" during likewise tense hurricane season shifts away from Miami. So I posted it.
Well, some ultra-liberal friends went on attack mode. One, who I'll call Donna, since that's her name, was my moot court partner in law school. She had gone to Wellesley, which she mentioned ALL the time. She is a lawyer in Broward now, and a classic limo liberal -- always chiding us about being rich, uncaring capitalists while she sent both her daughters to expensive private schools. I think the older one now goes to some Wellesley clone -- maybe Oberlin.
Anyway -- she pointed out that there was NO WAY the news could be good -- essentially since the hated GOP governor Desantis is in power. Also, Trump.
Now -- I can't stand the cartoon character president either. When he comes on TV, I change the channel. But it seems some hate him more than they want a cure for the plague. Donna seems to fall into that category.
Anyway -- she posted an article saying the end was nowhere near in Florida. Problem was, that article cited an old IHME projection -- the one before the latest that showed the good news. I pointed this out to her. I kind of enjoy it when haughty, arrogant folks get shown they're wrong. But she, of course, wouldn't admit it, and said I was being aggressive with her. That's it. I hit the unfriend button.
And it occurred to me I need to use that button more often. I ditched another law school woman, Donna's fellow traveler, when her extreme liberal posts crept into anti semitism. See ya, Cynthia.
I've also unfriended too right GOP friends.
So FaceBook for me will be a source of silly fun. When crap get serious, I will more rapidly hit the eject button.
Meanwhile, I put in close to 8 miles of walking yesterday. We had a family FaceTime at dinner, with guest appearances by our grandson and grand dog Betsy. Afterwards, Josh chimed in, and Wifey and I spent some virtual time with Barry, Donna, their sons, and likely future daughter in law.
Our friend Sheryl had invited us to a large Zoom gathering -- mostly her old Miami friends, and some new Boston ones. We told her we had a conflict, but Sheryl is relentless. At 9 she said we could still join. I told her I was naked on my balcony, communing with nature, and I was pretty sure no one needed to have THAT vision on their Zoom screens. She agreed.
So we're in the late part of April, which Eliot famously called the cruelest month in his epic "The Waste Land." It was cruel because its new birth of Spring belied the ugliness and hopelessness of the world.
I hope April indeed proves to be the cruelest part of the pandemic, and May brings us some return to normalcy. I'll keep looking to the most optimistic models. I leave the negative Nancys to their own misery...
The IHME model seems to be the one most people in government and academics rely upon, so I do, too. It changes quite a bit, and last Friday gave us great news. The predicted peak of the plague in Florida already occurred, it said, and the deaths predicted were cut nearly 70%. I found this wonderful -- in the way I love it when the "cone of death" during likewise tense hurricane season shifts away from Miami. So I posted it.
Well, some ultra-liberal friends went on attack mode. One, who I'll call Donna, since that's her name, was my moot court partner in law school. She had gone to Wellesley, which she mentioned ALL the time. She is a lawyer in Broward now, and a classic limo liberal -- always chiding us about being rich, uncaring capitalists while she sent both her daughters to expensive private schools. I think the older one now goes to some Wellesley clone -- maybe Oberlin.
Anyway -- she pointed out that there was NO WAY the news could be good -- essentially since the hated GOP governor Desantis is in power. Also, Trump.
Now -- I can't stand the cartoon character president either. When he comes on TV, I change the channel. But it seems some hate him more than they want a cure for the plague. Donna seems to fall into that category.
Anyway -- she posted an article saying the end was nowhere near in Florida. Problem was, that article cited an old IHME projection -- the one before the latest that showed the good news. I pointed this out to her. I kind of enjoy it when haughty, arrogant folks get shown they're wrong. But she, of course, wouldn't admit it, and said I was being aggressive with her. That's it. I hit the unfriend button.
And it occurred to me I need to use that button more often. I ditched another law school woman, Donna's fellow traveler, when her extreme liberal posts crept into anti semitism. See ya, Cynthia.
I've also unfriended too right GOP friends.
So FaceBook for me will be a source of silly fun. When crap get serious, I will more rapidly hit the eject button.
Meanwhile, I put in close to 8 miles of walking yesterday. We had a family FaceTime at dinner, with guest appearances by our grandson and grand dog Betsy. Afterwards, Josh chimed in, and Wifey and I spent some virtual time with Barry, Donna, their sons, and likely future daughter in law.
Our friend Sheryl had invited us to a large Zoom gathering -- mostly her old Miami friends, and some new Boston ones. We told her we had a conflict, but Sheryl is relentless. At 9 she said we could still join. I told her I was naked on my balcony, communing with nature, and I was pretty sure no one needed to have THAT vision on their Zoom screens. She agreed.
So we're in the late part of April, which Eliot famously called the cruelest month in his epic "The Waste Land." It was cruel because its new birth of Spring belied the ugliness and hopelessness of the world.
I hope April indeed proves to be the cruelest part of the pandemic, and May brings us some return to normalcy. I'll keep looking to the most optimistic models. I leave the negative Nancys to their own misery...
Saturday, April 18, 2020
Nattering Nabobs of Negatism
So the past few days slogged on, blanketed in the tensosity of the virus. I walked 8 miles Thursday and Friday -- on my anxiety constitutionals. My man Stuart caught me while I was out on one, and pointed out that I was basically pacing -- like a worried expectant father in the maternity waiting room. He's right -- but at least the gorgeous tropical foliage and varied architecture of the houses in my 'hood make it more scenic.
Thursday night, Wifey detected an even deeper than normal anxiety, and actually left the house, alone for the first time in 5 weeks, and fetched us some Shorty's barbecue. We ate outside, and it was indeed a lovely respite.
I check the IHME site throughout the day. It's the U Washington Center that most experts agree has the most accurate info about the plague. They used to update daily, but switched to twice a week, given the huge piles of data. So in the way I check the moving cones of death when a hurricane threatens, I keep looking.
On April 13, the IHME said Florida would peak on hospital use and deaths in May. They also predicted nearly 5000 Floridians would die. That was quite sobering.
Well, last night, the IHME updated. And it was GREAT news. Now, they concluded, Florida ALREADY peaked on hospital admissions, and deaths -- over a week ago. And they now predict fewer than 2000 deaths, statewide.
I felt as I do when the cone of death excludes Miami. I mean, I still feel bad for the poor bastards the storm will hit, but relieved it's likely to miss us.
I came home, and celebrated with a cocktail with my man Josh -- floating in his pool in Pembroke Pines. His Dad was driving home from the hospital. We hung up, and I was nicely buzzed, and then his Dad called. He had heard the news, of course.
At 7:30, my son in law Joey had set up a shabbos Zoom meeting -- to share a kiddush, or celebratory drink, to welcome in the day of rest.
It was delightful -- his parents, sister in law, and both brothers attended. And then D2 joined in -- with an enormous mural of her nephew as her background. It looked like the Baby that Ate Cleveland -- it made all of our nights.
I also invited Eric and Barry to join. They did -- Barry to offer happy insight into our grandson's reaching 4 months old! And then the little guy made a cameo appearance.
Eric was home, alone, as he sent his wife Dana to live with their daughter, son in law, and new granddaughter, lest they get infected from Eric's hospital duties. He enjoyed being with us -- to forget about life for awhile, as Billy Joel sings.
We hung up, and Wifey and I were so happy with the wonderful, under the circumstances, night.
Then Sheryl called in, from Boston, and we chatted with her. She had set up a zoom party for Saturday, but was changing it to Sunday. Turns out we have other virtual plans, and can't make it. Sheryl was relentless -- maybe join in later..
And then, as I was drying off, naked on my balcony, from my nightly shower, I read more good news. A study seems to show the virus dies fast in direct sunlight -- and hot and humid weather is its enemy. Well -- it's already plenty hot and humid here -- so another plus for us.
This am, I posted a video of the Beatles "Here Comes the Sun," to share the positive news. Instantly, the negative comments started -- sadly, from my most wildly liberal FaceBook friends. "But what about the fact that our idiot governor is opening the beaches too soon?" And "Does the study included all the nursing home deaths????"
Hell do I know? I'm not the epidemiologist here -- just a consumer of news who is very happy that it is finally somewhat positive.
It's almost like my most liberal, GOP and Trump hating friends, WANT more death and misery -- so they can heap more blame on the cartoon president. I can't stand him either, but I love good health and life more than I hate him. Geez.
So -- I will just laugh at these nattering nabobs -- a classic term coined by VP Agnew in the 70s.
And I shall not let them rain on my good news parade...
Thursday night, Wifey detected an even deeper than normal anxiety, and actually left the house, alone for the first time in 5 weeks, and fetched us some Shorty's barbecue. We ate outside, and it was indeed a lovely respite.
I check the IHME site throughout the day. It's the U Washington Center that most experts agree has the most accurate info about the plague. They used to update daily, but switched to twice a week, given the huge piles of data. So in the way I check the moving cones of death when a hurricane threatens, I keep looking.
On April 13, the IHME said Florida would peak on hospital use and deaths in May. They also predicted nearly 5000 Floridians would die. That was quite sobering.
Well, last night, the IHME updated. And it was GREAT news. Now, they concluded, Florida ALREADY peaked on hospital admissions, and deaths -- over a week ago. And they now predict fewer than 2000 deaths, statewide.
I felt as I do when the cone of death excludes Miami. I mean, I still feel bad for the poor bastards the storm will hit, but relieved it's likely to miss us.
I came home, and celebrated with a cocktail with my man Josh -- floating in his pool in Pembroke Pines. His Dad was driving home from the hospital. We hung up, and I was nicely buzzed, and then his Dad called. He had heard the news, of course.
At 7:30, my son in law Joey had set up a shabbos Zoom meeting -- to share a kiddush, or celebratory drink, to welcome in the day of rest.
It was delightful -- his parents, sister in law, and both brothers attended. And then D2 joined in -- with an enormous mural of her nephew as her background. It looked like the Baby that Ate Cleveland -- it made all of our nights.
I also invited Eric and Barry to join. They did -- Barry to offer happy insight into our grandson's reaching 4 months old! And then the little guy made a cameo appearance.
Eric was home, alone, as he sent his wife Dana to live with their daughter, son in law, and new granddaughter, lest they get infected from Eric's hospital duties. He enjoyed being with us -- to forget about life for awhile, as Billy Joel sings.
We hung up, and Wifey and I were so happy with the wonderful, under the circumstances, night.
Then Sheryl called in, from Boston, and we chatted with her. She had set up a zoom party for Saturday, but was changing it to Sunday. Turns out we have other virtual plans, and can't make it. Sheryl was relentless -- maybe join in later..
And then, as I was drying off, naked on my balcony, from my nightly shower, I read more good news. A study seems to show the virus dies fast in direct sunlight -- and hot and humid weather is its enemy. Well -- it's already plenty hot and humid here -- so another plus for us.
This am, I posted a video of the Beatles "Here Comes the Sun," to share the positive news. Instantly, the negative comments started -- sadly, from my most wildly liberal FaceBook friends. "But what about the fact that our idiot governor is opening the beaches too soon?" And "Does the study included all the nursing home deaths????"
Hell do I know? I'm not the epidemiologist here -- just a consumer of news who is very happy that it is finally somewhat positive.
It's almost like my most liberal, GOP and Trump hating friends, WANT more death and misery -- so they can heap more blame on the cartoon president. I can't stand him either, but I love good health and life more than I hate him. Geez.
So -- I will just laugh at these nattering nabobs -- a classic term coined by VP Agnew in the 70s.
And I shall not let them rain on my good news parade...
Wednesday, April 15, 2020
Tax Day
Since I'm OCD, I got my taxes done and filed last week -- same as I do each year. We have an extension due to the plague, but I chose not to take advantage. Our personal CPA took the info from our firm's CPA, my brother in law Dennis, and told me I owed a few shekels. I hope there will be a government to keep funding by the time next year's taxes are due.
Yesterday day was yet another of the same. Up early -- walked for miles. I almost run into the McDowells, very nice people with 2 daughters about the same age as the Ds. One lives in NE Miami, the other in Baltimore. Cheryl just retired last year from a big job with a company where she traveled all over. Bill, who turned 69 and retired years back, loved being a kept man, as he joked.
We cross paths on our walk, and tell a joke, and catch up. But we share that look of uncertainty -- wanting like hell for this thing to pass.
We watched our grandson get a bath last night on FaceTime. He is not a fan of water. We made plans to have a distance visit Sunday -- I'll pick up lunch, we'll sit on opposite ends of the patio, and see our little guy. This really, really sucks.
The Palace FaceTimed with my ancient suegra. She is no worse for the wear of the pandemic -- talking loudly, telling the aid her son in law is a "law -yeah" and if he needs one, she will give him my number. The aid says they get her up three times per day for meals. By the looks of her, and her weight, and strength of her being -- this plague will brush off her back like water off a very obese duck.
As I write, there is my happiest sound of the morning. The special needs Spaniel crunching happily on his kibble. Wifey started the habit of bringing him his food on the sofa, so he doesn't have to stand when he eats like normal dogs, and he enjoys the spoiling. He crunches and crunches away -- the strange rescue dog Vienna wolfs down her food instantly -- she waits around for the stray kibble to fall to the floor.
I took Vienna on the last leg of my walk last evening. I usually take her on a single lap -- 1.3 miles -- but stretched it out a bit to get near a total of 6 miles. She came into the house and sprawled on the cool, rough marble floor. Dogs really do make this ordeal better.
So not much planned today -- I'll manage the investments -- maybe trim the portfolios a bit.
And at 7, my man Kenny has a Zoom happy hour scheduled. Hopefully Eric and Barry and his boy Josh will attend. I will toast them -- actually on the front lines of this pandemic while I'm at home fanning myself.
But we all want this to end. Really. Basta, already.
Yesterday day was yet another of the same. Up early -- walked for miles. I almost run into the McDowells, very nice people with 2 daughters about the same age as the Ds. One lives in NE Miami, the other in Baltimore. Cheryl just retired last year from a big job with a company where she traveled all over. Bill, who turned 69 and retired years back, loved being a kept man, as he joked.
We cross paths on our walk, and tell a joke, and catch up. But we share that look of uncertainty -- wanting like hell for this thing to pass.
We watched our grandson get a bath last night on FaceTime. He is not a fan of water. We made plans to have a distance visit Sunday -- I'll pick up lunch, we'll sit on opposite ends of the patio, and see our little guy. This really, really sucks.
The Palace FaceTimed with my ancient suegra. She is no worse for the wear of the pandemic -- talking loudly, telling the aid her son in law is a "law -yeah" and if he needs one, she will give him my number. The aid says they get her up three times per day for meals. By the looks of her, and her weight, and strength of her being -- this plague will brush off her back like water off a very obese duck.
As I write, there is my happiest sound of the morning. The special needs Spaniel crunching happily on his kibble. Wifey started the habit of bringing him his food on the sofa, so he doesn't have to stand when he eats like normal dogs, and he enjoys the spoiling. He crunches and crunches away -- the strange rescue dog Vienna wolfs down her food instantly -- she waits around for the stray kibble to fall to the floor.
I took Vienna on the last leg of my walk last evening. I usually take her on a single lap -- 1.3 miles -- but stretched it out a bit to get near a total of 6 miles. She came into the house and sprawled on the cool, rough marble floor. Dogs really do make this ordeal better.
So not much planned today -- I'll manage the investments -- maybe trim the portfolios a bit.
And at 7, my man Kenny has a Zoom happy hour scheduled. Hopefully Eric and Barry and his boy Josh will attend. I will toast them -- actually on the front lines of this pandemic while I'm at home fanning myself.
But we all want this to end. Really. Basta, already.
Monday, April 13, 2020
Doing The Time
First -- shout out today to the woman who brought me into the world. My Mom's birthday is today -- she would have been 100. Wow. She made it to 93 -- still wow. The Ds each texted me acknowledgment. D1 says she speaks to her grandma on her daily walks to Biscayne Bay. That warms me.
Anyway, last night I was engaged in my nightly ritual. Around 9 or maybe 10, I go upstairs, which I have all to myself on account of Wifey's bad knee -- she's been sleeping in D2's bed, rather than tackle the stairs.
I take a scalding shower, and then go outside, naked, to my balcony. I recline in a chaise and feel the wonderful breezes of the night. I meditate. I reflect. I pray.
I recalled a talk I had with a fellow named Arthur some years back. Arthur, now 69, was a major weed dealer in Philly. He was arrested and charged. The Feds offered him a year if he gave up his supplier. He said had he done that, it would have been a death sentence -- so instead he got 7 years.
After he was released, he came to Miami, and I got to spend several hours talking with him about his long prison experience. Fortunately, most of it was in a camp -- no guards, even, but if you walked away, you got sent to a place much worse. He spent his time hanging with white collar criminals -- lots of corrupt government guys from Jersey and Philly. Still -- 7 years...
He said that the first few months were very tough, realizing he had no way out. But then, one morning, he had an epiphany -- he could do the time. Something just came to him and said -- he would endure. After that -- the days would just go by, and, eventually, he got his freedom.
I was heartened by that memory. This quarantine will NOT be 7 years -- nowhere near it. It may be another month. It will be probably more like a year, until a vaccine is found, that we won't really return to normal.
I was talking with Eric the other day -- now alone in his house, lest he bring the virus home to his wife. She is staying with her daughter, son in law, and new baby granddaughter.
Would either of us fly anywhere, before there was a vaccine? Probably not.
The good news for Wifey and me is that those most sacred to us live here in Miami -- so staying local is just fine. If we can't travel until next year -- well -- it's ok.
Had D2 and Jonathan still lived in NYC -- well -- we would have had to make plans. A road trip -- last one I did to NYC was with my parents in 1981. But I guess we would.
As it is, the days will just keep slogging on, I hope. We really, really miss holding our grandson. He turns 4 months this Friday, and is so chubby and adorable.
We miss being able to have D2 and Jonathan's new puppy frolic with our dogs.
I miss the every other Friday night dinners the 6 of us shared. At least I can treat the Ds and their men -- and get some happiness watching them enjoy on FaceTime.
In the mean time, I told Eric I would have cocktail hour with him whenever he wanted. I think we may tonight.
Wednesday Kenny set up a Zoom Happy Hour for several of us. I so look forward to these.
But we CAN do the time. I know this. But the sooner the Big Man wants this pandemic to end -- well -- certainly the better.
Anyway, last night I was engaged in my nightly ritual. Around 9 or maybe 10, I go upstairs, which I have all to myself on account of Wifey's bad knee -- she's been sleeping in D2's bed, rather than tackle the stairs.
I take a scalding shower, and then go outside, naked, to my balcony. I recline in a chaise and feel the wonderful breezes of the night. I meditate. I reflect. I pray.
I recalled a talk I had with a fellow named Arthur some years back. Arthur, now 69, was a major weed dealer in Philly. He was arrested and charged. The Feds offered him a year if he gave up his supplier. He said had he done that, it would have been a death sentence -- so instead he got 7 years.
After he was released, he came to Miami, and I got to spend several hours talking with him about his long prison experience. Fortunately, most of it was in a camp -- no guards, even, but if you walked away, you got sent to a place much worse. He spent his time hanging with white collar criminals -- lots of corrupt government guys from Jersey and Philly. Still -- 7 years...
He said that the first few months were very tough, realizing he had no way out. But then, one morning, he had an epiphany -- he could do the time. Something just came to him and said -- he would endure. After that -- the days would just go by, and, eventually, he got his freedom.
I was heartened by that memory. This quarantine will NOT be 7 years -- nowhere near it. It may be another month. It will be probably more like a year, until a vaccine is found, that we won't really return to normal.
I was talking with Eric the other day -- now alone in his house, lest he bring the virus home to his wife. She is staying with her daughter, son in law, and new baby granddaughter.
Would either of us fly anywhere, before there was a vaccine? Probably not.
The good news for Wifey and me is that those most sacred to us live here in Miami -- so staying local is just fine. If we can't travel until next year -- well -- it's ok.
Had D2 and Jonathan still lived in NYC -- well -- we would have had to make plans. A road trip -- last one I did to NYC was with my parents in 1981. But I guess we would.
As it is, the days will just keep slogging on, I hope. We really, really miss holding our grandson. He turns 4 months this Friday, and is so chubby and adorable.
We miss being able to have D2 and Jonathan's new puppy frolic with our dogs.
I miss the every other Friday night dinners the 6 of us shared. At least I can treat the Ds and their men -- and get some happiness watching them enjoy on FaceTime.
In the mean time, I told Eric I would have cocktail hour with him whenever he wanted. I think we may tonight.
Wednesday Kenny set up a Zoom Happy Hour for several of us. I so look forward to these.
But we CAN do the time. I know this. But the sooner the Big Man wants this pandemic to end -- well -- certainly the better.
Sunday, April 12, 2020
Gratitude Across The Years
In 2005, two lovely Miamians got into a horrible car wreck. Charlie, not his real name, was a third generation "Miamuh" guy -- newly retired federal civil servant. His wife Carmen, not her real name, was still working for the Miami Dade Schools. She was a classic Cuban American -- fled Castro in the early 60s, got her education degree here, and married an amiable gringo. They had two college aged kids.
On their way to the airport to fetch their daughter, flying home from Tampa for a long weekend, Charlie's SUV was cut off by a Haitian guy who had missed his exit, and, rather than driving to the next one, cut from the left lane in a failed attempt to make his way. The SUV flipped. Charlie hurt his knee. Carmen was rendered a quadriplegic.
These folks knew a former employee of our firm from their shared church, and they hired Paul and me to bring a claim. We jumped right in -- secured all the evidence, got all the statements, made sure Carmen was getting the best care (she was -- they took her to UM/JMH). And then Paul and I met with my old friend Dave, a partner in a large Miami firm who previously defended car manufacturers when he was a partner in a large Chicago firm.
Dave set out what we had in store. The car manufacturer would fight like hell. We'd hire 3 engineers to prove the SUV was unsafe, and shouldn't have crumbled like an aluminum can in the crash, and the company would have 10. Paul and I knew we COULD handle the case, but the best thing would be to co-counsel with a larger firm who had handled these already. I reached out to Ervin, a guy a year ahead of me at UM Law who was kicking ass and taking names as a trial stud at a major Miami firm. Ervin said no -- he was already too stressed with cases he had. Turns out he wasn't kidding -- several years ago he hung himself in a classic Richard Corey tale. My friends and I, being properly respectful of the tragedy, now refer to him as the best hung lawyer in town...
Then I remembered Lance. Lance worked with us on a train wreck case, and we were impressed with him. He was also a "miamuh" guy -- born and raised here, and became an US Army paratrooper before coming home to UM Law. He worked with the top products liability firm in West Palm. They wanted in. We decided Paul and I would handle damages, and they would spearhead liability. They had already had nearly a hundred of these cases. We were off to the races, as they say.
Lance and his guys were terrific. They bought 5 exemplar SUVs and had them dropped from cranes, as teams of engineers recorded and watched. The car company saw his experts and raised him 5. It didn't matter -- military-like, Lance charged ahead.
Meanwhile, we handled the damage case prep expertly, if I don't say so myself. We hired the top vocational people, and economists, to prove the hard dollar loss to Charlie and Carmen. The top therapists and neurosurgeons provided us with graphics and depositions to show the jury what medically happened. We wanted to show the defense these plaintiffs were their worst nightmare -- a jury would LOVE them, not just sympathize with them. We succeeded.
It took about 2 years, and the case settled for a significant amount of money. I had one more bit of work to do -- the insurance lien. The carrier spent a LOT of money, and had a right to claim it out of the settlement. I did my magic with them, and ended up getting them to accept about 5 cents on the dollar -- which put a LOT MORE money in our clients' pockets.
In the years after the case concluded, Charlie would call me from time to time. Once he offered me mangoes and avocados from their tree. I declined -- not a mango or avocado guy. They completely retrofitted the house they lived in since the early 70s -- in an old Miami suburb next to a warehouse district now becoming the "next Wynwood," with art galleries and craft breweries and a music studio.
Most of the calls were about small legal matters. I would handle them for him and Carmen. I helped his daughter with some stuff, too -- she grew into a lovely woman -- a teacher married to a teacher. They have 2 kids now close the the age she was when the accident happened -- and they live 2 blocks from their parents. Her brother, Charlie Junior, was a failure to launch kid who eventually went to college in his mid 20s -- became a teacher, too, and lives in Tampa with his kids and wife.
Anyway -- a few months before the plague, Charlie called me about another dust up. A kid on his street lost control of his car and wrecked some of the landscaping. Charlie wanted the kid to pay -- he said he would, but then ignored the requests. The kid was insured with State Farm, and I opened a claim for Charlie, but told him I needed an estimate to fix the damage from their landscape guy. Charlie said he'd get it to me.
He called Friday, and I assumed it was about the landscape estimate. No, he said, he was calling for a different reason. After church, he and Carmen were talking. Like all of us, they are afraid in these times, but realized one problem they don't have is finances. They handled their settlement well -- got professional advice, and grew the money. They live well below their means.
Charlie said he wanted me to know how grateful his family is to me, Paul, and Lance. We really were lifesavers. Would I please pass that message along? I wished them well, and hung up the phone.
I told Paul. I haven't spoke to Lance in years, but will email him.
We were paid well for our efforts, of course, but had we lost the case, would not have been paid. We'd have been out all the time we put in, as well as multiple six figures of money advanced.
But well beyond the money, Charlie's call warmed me. I'm self deprecating about my law career. But I guess, every once in awhile, we really did something worthwhile.
On their way to the airport to fetch their daughter, flying home from Tampa for a long weekend, Charlie's SUV was cut off by a Haitian guy who had missed his exit, and, rather than driving to the next one, cut from the left lane in a failed attempt to make his way. The SUV flipped. Charlie hurt his knee. Carmen was rendered a quadriplegic.
These folks knew a former employee of our firm from their shared church, and they hired Paul and me to bring a claim. We jumped right in -- secured all the evidence, got all the statements, made sure Carmen was getting the best care (she was -- they took her to UM/JMH). And then Paul and I met with my old friend Dave, a partner in a large Miami firm who previously defended car manufacturers when he was a partner in a large Chicago firm.
Dave set out what we had in store. The car manufacturer would fight like hell. We'd hire 3 engineers to prove the SUV was unsafe, and shouldn't have crumbled like an aluminum can in the crash, and the company would have 10. Paul and I knew we COULD handle the case, but the best thing would be to co-counsel with a larger firm who had handled these already. I reached out to Ervin, a guy a year ahead of me at UM Law who was kicking ass and taking names as a trial stud at a major Miami firm. Ervin said no -- he was already too stressed with cases he had. Turns out he wasn't kidding -- several years ago he hung himself in a classic Richard Corey tale. My friends and I, being properly respectful of the tragedy, now refer to him as the best hung lawyer in town...
Then I remembered Lance. Lance worked with us on a train wreck case, and we were impressed with him. He was also a "miamuh" guy -- born and raised here, and became an US Army paratrooper before coming home to UM Law. He worked with the top products liability firm in West Palm. They wanted in. We decided Paul and I would handle damages, and they would spearhead liability. They had already had nearly a hundred of these cases. We were off to the races, as they say.
Lance and his guys were terrific. They bought 5 exemplar SUVs and had them dropped from cranes, as teams of engineers recorded and watched. The car company saw his experts and raised him 5. It didn't matter -- military-like, Lance charged ahead.
Meanwhile, we handled the damage case prep expertly, if I don't say so myself. We hired the top vocational people, and economists, to prove the hard dollar loss to Charlie and Carmen. The top therapists and neurosurgeons provided us with graphics and depositions to show the jury what medically happened. We wanted to show the defense these plaintiffs were their worst nightmare -- a jury would LOVE them, not just sympathize with them. We succeeded.
It took about 2 years, and the case settled for a significant amount of money. I had one more bit of work to do -- the insurance lien. The carrier spent a LOT of money, and had a right to claim it out of the settlement. I did my magic with them, and ended up getting them to accept about 5 cents on the dollar -- which put a LOT MORE money in our clients' pockets.
In the years after the case concluded, Charlie would call me from time to time. Once he offered me mangoes and avocados from their tree. I declined -- not a mango or avocado guy. They completely retrofitted the house they lived in since the early 70s -- in an old Miami suburb next to a warehouse district now becoming the "next Wynwood," with art galleries and craft breweries and a music studio.
Most of the calls were about small legal matters. I would handle them for him and Carmen. I helped his daughter with some stuff, too -- she grew into a lovely woman -- a teacher married to a teacher. They have 2 kids now close the the age she was when the accident happened -- and they live 2 blocks from their parents. Her brother, Charlie Junior, was a failure to launch kid who eventually went to college in his mid 20s -- became a teacher, too, and lives in Tampa with his kids and wife.
Anyway -- a few months before the plague, Charlie called me about another dust up. A kid on his street lost control of his car and wrecked some of the landscaping. Charlie wanted the kid to pay -- he said he would, but then ignored the requests. The kid was insured with State Farm, and I opened a claim for Charlie, but told him I needed an estimate to fix the damage from their landscape guy. Charlie said he'd get it to me.
He called Friday, and I assumed it was about the landscape estimate. No, he said, he was calling for a different reason. After church, he and Carmen were talking. Like all of us, they are afraid in these times, but realized one problem they don't have is finances. They handled their settlement well -- got professional advice, and grew the money. They live well below their means.
Charlie said he wanted me to know how grateful his family is to me, Paul, and Lance. We really were lifesavers. Would I please pass that message along? I wished them well, and hung up the phone.
I told Paul. I haven't spoke to Lance in years, but will email him.
We were paid well for our efforts, of course, but had we lost the case, would not have been paid. We'd have been out all the time we put in, as well as multiple six figures of money advanced.
But well beyond the money, Charlie's call warmed me. I'm self deprecating about my law career. But I guess, every once in awhile, we really did something worthwhile.
Saturday, April 11, 2020
New Socks -- A Simple Pleasure
My anxiety walking continues daily. An off day, I put on 3-4 miles on my sneakers' soles. Most days I near 6. My record is 11.
During week 2, I ordered a new pair of New Balance kicks -- my existing shoes were nearing the end of useful life. I took a proud picture and sent it to the Ds -- I rarely buy myself stuff, let alone top line sneakers. The Ds approved, but noticed my crappy socks -- cheap and bunched up. Metro Man wasn't built in a single pandemic, I responded.
D1 wasn't having it. She ordered and sent me a pack of Bombas -- apparently the sock of the future. I tried them, and I feel like I did when I was 9 and my Mom bought me a pair of PF Flyers.
PF Flyers were advertised as a sneaker that made a mediocre athlete into near Olympic level. I needed new sneaks, anyway, and asked if we could avoid my usual Keds. I put on the pair, and could swear they worked. I leapt around the little league bases. I pivoted better on the basketball court. Ah -- the power of suggestion.
But these Bombas really are springy and comfortable. They give some more spring to my step on my constitutionals. And -- it reminded me that in my spoiled world, sometimes the most simple addition is the greatest.
Yesterday was another slow day. Indeed, I walked a lot -- mostly talking to Paul about the world and the stock markets. There was an exquisite FaceTime with our grandson -- Wifey making lots of funny noises to try to get him to laugh over the camera.
He's a week away from 4 months old, and our missing him is getting far worse. He's so chubby and adorable -- we miss holding him in actuality, instead of virtually.
Later, I was walking the strange rescue dog, and D2 FaceTimed -- we got to walk my low riding dog, and her majestic tall dog at the same time. It was lovely. I asked about their meals, and they were getting into a bit of a rut, so Dadber Eats is coming to the rescue.
I picked out a local restaurant in the Grove, and tonight plan to have delivered to D2 and Jonathan a gourmet spread -- with some craft cocktails, to boot. I want a picture of the newlyweds enjoying on their balcony, overlooking Sailboat Bay. That will give me pleasure.
The sun is now up, and I plan my first walk. Jeff texted -- we had one walk together, and he asked to be included, but yesterday wasn't answering his phone. He texted he had fallen back asleep -- would I call him again? I shall -- and maybe today he will accompany me for part of the local trek.
Either way -- I have those super socks now to propel me through the 'hood. My feet are enjoying the pandemic, at least.
During week 2, I ordered a new pair of New Balance kicks -- my existing shoes were nearing the end of useful life. I took a proud picture and sent it to the Ds -- I rarely buy myself stuff, let alone top line sneakers. The Ds approved, but noticed my crappy socks -- cheap and bunched up. Metro Man wasn't built in a single pandemic, I responded.
D1 wasn't having it. She ordered and sent me a pack of Bombas -- apparently the sock of the future. I tried them, and I feel like I did when I was 9 and my Mom bought me a pair of PF Flyers.
PF Flyers were advertised as a sneaker that made a mediocre athlete into near Olympic level. I needed new sneaks, anyway, and asked if we could avoid my usual Keds. I put on the pair, and could swear they worked. I leapt around the little league bases. I pivoted better on the basketball court. Ah -- the power of suggestion.
But these Bombas really are springy and comfortable. They give some more spring to my step on my constitutionals. And -- it reminded me that in my spoiled world, sometimes the most simple addition is the greatest.
Yesterday was another slow day. Indeed, I walked a lot -- mostly talking to Paul about the world and the stock markets. There was an exquisite FaceTime with our grandson -- Wifey making lots of funny noises to try to get him to laugh over the camera.
He's a week away from 4 months old, and our missing him is getting far worse. He's so chubby and adorable -- we miss holding him in actuality, instead of virtually.
Later, I was walking the strange rescue dog, and D2 FaceTimed -- we got to walk my low riding dog, and her majestic tall dog at the same time. It was lovely. I asked about their meals, and they were getting into a bit of a rut, so Dadber Eats is coming to the rescue.
I picked out a local restaurant in the Grove, and tonight plan to have delivered to D2 and Jonathan a gourmet spread -- with some craft cocktails, to boot. I want a picture of the newlyweds enjoying on their balcony, overlooking Sailboat Bay. That will give me pleasure.
The sun is now up, and I plan my first walk. Jeff texted -- we had one walk together, and he asked to be included, but yesterday wasn't answering his phone. He texted he had fallen back asleep -- would I call him again? I shall -- and maybe today he will accompany me for part of the local trek.
Either way -- I have those super socks now to propel me through the 'hood. My feet are enjoying the pandemic, at least.
Friday, April 10, 2020
A Second Seder
Wifey and I rarely celebrate Passover more than the first seder, but this year was an exception. My nephew of another mister, Josh, invited me to join his family's celebration, and so I marshaled the resources and got ready to go.
At first, Josh, his brother Scott, Scott's lady Sam, and Barry and I had a Passover toast. Barry wished us all good health, and for us to have this plague indeed pass over us all.
We chatted a lot, and eventually Donna returned, and then Barry's sister and brother in law, Phyllis and Marty, joined the Zoom, And then Beverly did as well -- their family was complete.
Sam had asked that Barry use her grandfather's Haggadah, in honor of his memory. The grandfather died in January -- and his funeral cost us Scott and Sam at D2 and Jonathan's wedding. As my late mother said, people aren't born or die according to the schedules of the rest of us...
It was a moving seder. Wifey came in from her night time in the garden, and joined the gathering. I refilled my martini glass with Tito's and tonic. We were privileged to be among the family.
Afterward I did my plague night ritual -- very hot shower -- lay naked on a chaise on the darkened second floor porch outside our bedroom. I feel the exquisite evening breeze. I talk to the Big Man.
This am I was up as usual, and took my morning constitutional. It was quiet. Jeff had joined me yesterday, and asked me to keep inviting him. Alas -- this am no response -- I think he was a one and done in the walking department.
The projections say that Florida will be peaking in terms of needed medical help, in 11 days. They also say the greatest number of deaths will be 13 days from now, and then there should be a diminution.
I hope they're right.
Today I popped in the mail 2 more weeks of our cleaning lady Miriam's salary. I read that only a small minority of people keep paying their housekeepers if they don't work. I'm rather proud to be in that minority.
But we really DO miss Miriam. I've been doing laundry and cleaning the toilets, but the floor is starting to really need some help. I miss coming home on a day Miriam has been in our house, and smelling the freshness. Now the smell is decidedly much more dog kennel-like.
Oh well. Small price to pay. Now -- let's see -- it's 12:45 pm. I think a nap has my name on it...
At first, Josh, his brother Scott, Scott's lady Sam, and Barry and I had a Passover toast. Barry wished us all good health, and for us to have this plague indeed pass over us all.
We chatted a lot, and eventually Donna returned, and then Barry's sister and brother in law, Phyllis and Marty, joined the Zoom, And then Beverly did as well -- their family was complete.
Sam had asked that Barry use her grandfather's Haggadah, in honor of his memory. The grandfather died in January -- and his funeral cost us Scott and Sam at D2 and Jonathan's wedding. As my late mother said, people aren't born or die according to the schedules of the rest of us...
It was a moving seder. Wifey came in from her night time in the garden, and joined the gathering. I refilled my martini glass with Tito's and tonic. We were privileged to be among the family.
Afterward I did my plague night ritual -- very hot shower -- lay naked on a chaise on the darkened second floor porch outside our bedroom. I feel the exquisite evening breeze. I talk to the Big Man.
This am I was up as usual, and took my morning constitutional. It was quiet. Jeff had joined me yesterday, and asked me to keep inviting him. Alas -- this am no response -- I think he was a one and done in the walking department.
The projections say that Florida will be peaking in terms of needed medical help, in 11 days. They also say the greatest number of deaths will be 13 days from now, and then there should be a diminution.
I hope they're right.
Today I popped in the mail 2 more weeks of our cleaning lady Miriam's salary. I read that only a small minority of people keep paying their housekeepers if they don't work. I'm rather proud to be in that minority.
But we really DO miss Miriam. I've been doing laundry and cleaning the toilets, but the floor is starting to really need some help. I miss coming home on a day Miriam has been in our house, and smelling the freshness. Now the smell is decidedly much more dog kennel-like.
Oh well. Small price to pay. Now -- let's see -- it's 12:45 pm. I think a nap has my name on it...
Thursday, April 9, 2020
To Those Who Celebrate
So yesterday was a pretty good one, in this time of the plague, and we enjoyed it. But then I got annoyed on FaceBook, again, for a cutesy disclaimer many people post. I have been cooped up too long.
Wifey and I had no seder plans, but Joey changed that -- be ready for a Google Hangout for a virtual get together. We actually left the house -- for 2 errands.
First -- Wifey switched her pharmacy, at my urging, from Publix to Walgreens. To use Publix, she'd have to, well, visit Publix, and not something we want to do these days. I switched to Walgreens delivery -- they were terrific -- but you need at least one "live" pickup before they start delivering -- I guess to avoid you becoming a pill mill or something. So we drove to a Walgreens on 132 Street, and saw a green Jaguar with a black lady parked a bit back from the drive through. Wifey joked social distancing in cars. There was one car being serviced, so I drove behind the Jag and waited. And waited. We decided to leave and come back, and I realized the car at the drive through had left -- the idiot in the Jag had just parked in such a way that it looked like she was waiting for service -- and she wasn't. I felt a tad of road rage, but let it pass -- we took our place, and Walgreens got it done properly.
From there we went to LOL for the food pickup. It's funny -- I was there about 10 days ago, and ran into Richard, Norman's brother. Sure enough -- there he was again -- fetching Seder supplies.
Wifey waited her turn, and fetched our stuff. And then, at 4, I had an actual human visitor.
Kenny drove up, parked his car, and joined me for a long walk -- 4 miles or so. We caught up on his job at Baptist -- and his hope he and Joelle make it to their beautiful lake house in Maine by June. I hope they do, too -- it's gorgeous there, and truly the place they love the most. Meanwhile, their youngest is set to graduate from college soon. Kenny joked that somehow there was no refund of the huge tuition, even though the last classes were online, like the University of Phoenix, instead of a prestigious Liberal Arts college.
Kenny left, and I came in dripping with the sweat of a long walk in now hot and humid Miami. I showered, and then Joey texted -- we would gather earlier. So we put out the matzho, a couple of wine glasses -- Wifey's with water, mine with vodka and tonic, and Wifey got the matzo ball soup heating on the stove. We were ready.
I downloaded a Google App, which had the hagada Joey had written several years ago in honor of his late, namesake abuelo, and we saw Joey's parents, and D1, and Joey, and, later, D2 and Jonathan. Joey's older brother and sister in law made an appearance, too, and we all read our part, and prayed for actually being together next year. It was moving. It was joyous. And it was Part I.
Later on, D2 and Jonathan sent a link -- to join Jonathan's family seder on Zoom. It was his parents and young sister in Aventura, his sister and brother in law north of Toronto, another sister and brother in law in Riverdale, in the Bronx, and his brother and sister in law in Kansas City. Later, his uncle and wonderful grandmother Judy joined from their place in Sunny Isles, as did the oldest brother and his family in Kendall. We were part of a large, wonderful group.
They chatted. We laughed. There were blessings over the cups of wine. I was a little buzzed, and got a text from D2 -- I might be talking a bit too much. So I shut up and just took part in their wonderful get together -- it spanned hours. Dogs were featured, from 2 separate countries.
Finally, around 10, I was falling asleep, and sort of slipped off the group. It was, by far, the most memorable seder of all time for us.
And then I checked FaceBook, and there were the greetings, including some with the annoying "To those who celebrate." It got my gourd. I never mind, and in fact enjoy, being wished Merry Christmas and Happy Easter. It shows the speaker cares, and wishes you to have the good spirit, too.
As I said -- I guess the crankiness is rising a bit. But I vented that pet peeve.
One thing I miss, though, about seders past. Joey's family has an adorable tradition, started by his grandfather. After the special matzo, the akikommen, is found, he would cut it into small pieces -- maybe 1/2 inch by 1/2 inch, and wrap it tightly in paper -- to be given as a good luck charm to each of the seder attendees. I kept mine in my wallet for the past 2 years -- and you get a replacement each Passover. My 2019 model will have to get some more use...
So -- Passover continues. And Sunday is Easter. I'll post greetings for that holiday, as well as the start of Ramadan, which comes a bit later, but only to those who celebrate.
Wifey and I had no seder plans, but Joey changed that -- be ready for a Google Hangout for a virtual get together. We actually left the house -- for 2 errands.
First -- Wifey switched her pharmacy, at my urging, from Publix to Walgreens. To use Publix, she'd have to, well, visit Publix, and not something we want to do these days. I switched to Walgreens delivery -- they were terrific -- but you need at least one "live" pickup before they start delivering -- I guess to avoid you becoming a pill mill or something. So we drove to a Walgreens on 132 Street, and saw a green Jaguar with a black lady parked a bit back from the drive through. Wifey joked social distancing in cars. There was one car being serviced, so I drove behind the Jag and waited. And waited. We decided to leave and come back, and I realized the car at the drive through had left -- the idiot in the Jag had just parked in such a way that it looked like she was waiting for service -- and she wasn't. I felt a tad of road rage, but let it pass -- we took our place, and Walgreens got it done properly.
From there we went to LOL for the food pickup. It's funny -- I was there about 10 days ago, and ran into Richard, Norman's brother. Sure enough -- there he was again -- fetching Seder supplies.
Wifey waited her turn, and fetched our stuff. And then, at 4, I had an actual human visitor.
Kenny drove up, parked his car, and joined me for a long walk -- 4 miles or so. We caught up on his job at Baptist -- and his hope he and Joelle make it to their beautiful lake house in Maine by June. I hope they do, too -- it's gorgeous there, and truly the place they love the most. Meanwhile, their youngest is set to graduate from college soon. Kenny joked that somehow there was no refund of the huge tuition, even though the last classes were online, like the University of Phoenix, instead of a prestigious Liberal Arts college.
Kenny left, and I came in dripping with the sweat of a long walk in now hot and humid Miami. I showered, and then Joey texted -- we would gather earlier. So we put out the matzho, a couple of wine glasses -- Wifey's with water, mine with vodka and tonic, and Wifey got the matzo ball soup heating on the stove. We were ready.
I downloaded a Google App, which had the hagada Joey had written several years ago in honor of his late, namesake abuelo, and we saw Joey's parents, and D1, and Joey, and, later, D2 and Jonathan. Joey's older brother and sister in law made an appearance, too, and we all read our part, and prayed for actually being together next year. It was moving. It was joyous. And it was Part I.
Later on, D2 and Jonathan sent a link -- to join Jonathan's family seder on Zoom. It was his parents and young sister in Aventura, his sister and brother in law north of Toronto, another sister and brother in law in Riverdale, in the Bronx, and his brother and sister in law in Kansas City. Later, his uncle and wonderful grandmother Judy joined from their place in Sunny Isles, as did the oldest brother and his family in Kendall. We were part of a large, wonderful group.
They chatted. We laughed. There were blessings over the cups of wine. I was a little buzzed, and got a text from D2 -- I might be talking a bit too much. So I shut up and just took part in their wonderful get together -- it spanned hours. Dogs were featured, from 2 separate countries.
Finally, around 10, I was falling asleep, and sort of slipped off the group. It was, by far, the most memorable seder of all time for us.
And then I checked FaceBook, and there were the greetings, including some with the annoying "To those who celebrate." It got my gourd. I never mind, and in fact enjoy, being wished Merry Christmas and Happy Easter. It shows the speaker cares, and wishes you to have the good spirit, too.
As I said -- I guess the crankiness is rising a bit. But I vented that pet peeve.
One thing I miss, though, about seders past. Joey's family has an adorable tradition, started by his grandfather. After the special matzo, the akikommen, is found, he would cut it into small pieces -- maybe 1/2 inch by 1/2 inch, and wrap it tightly in paper -- to be given as a good luck charm to each of the seder attendees. I kept mine in my wallet for the past 2 years -- and you get a replacement each Passover. My 2019 model will have to get some more use...
So -- Passover continues. And Sunday is Easter. I'll post greetings for that holiday, as well as the start of Ramadan, which comes a bit later, but only to those who celebrate.
Wednesday, April 8, 2020
And So This Is Pesach
But for the ponderous plague, tonight we would be at Bob and Vera's house -- my son in law Joey and D1's brother and sister in law. They had invited us to their family seder -- and we were SO looking forward to it -- they make it joyous, fun, and meaningful.
Their beautiful daughter, now a toddler, would be there -- as well as her baby cousin, our wonderful grandson. There would have been much kvelling. Instead, we exchanged texts about how much we miss each other, and let us be together next year.
D1 and Joey texted -- they are going to host a virtual seder. They bought some seders in a box from a local place, Blue Collar, and had matzoh delivered. We did, too -- 2 boxes -- from my rabbi Yossi here in town, and another from the UF Rabbi, Berl, who I have befriended. At 7 Joey will lead us -- D2 and Jonathan for just a bit before they jump off for another virtual seder hosted by Jonathan's parents. So we will celebrate best we can.
Before then, I have planned some near human contact. Captain Doctor Kenny is due here at 4:15 to join me in my constitutional around the 'hood. We'll keep our distance, of course, but it will be nice to talk to my brilliant and funny friend from across a road instead of on a phone.
The green shoots of hopeful news continue. The model I keep checking, from U Washington, today revised DOWNWARD its projected death totals. The thing has been fairly accurate, and says Florida will peak on cases and deaths on April 21. It also projects Florida has plenty of regular and ICU beds to handle the surge -- an upside, I guess, to our overly expensive health care industry here.
There remains, of course, plenty of negativity. The virus could surge again. Maybe being exposed and not sickened doesn't confer immunity...
Well -- of course more bad can happen. I have coined my own term for the next plague -- the schmutzvirus, with schmutz being Yiddish for dirt. Why not. Corona is too regal -- meaning crown. Something that kills and sickens ought to have a name associated with filth.
But as for me, and my house (I love those signs on Christian folks' front doors) I worship cautious optimism.
Rabbi Yossi posted my favorite Passover story on FaceBook. It involved a young rabbi who went to the Baal Shem Tov, the leader of the Chabad movement, and told him he really wanted to see Elijah, the prophet for who the door is left open and a chair unoccupied at seders. The Rebbe told him he could -- bring a box of food to a poor family and attend their seder. He did so -- had a lovely time with the destitute schtetl folk, but complained he still didn't see Elijah.
The Rebbe told him to return for the final seder and do the same, but this time wait outside and listen before going inside. The young rabbi did, and heard the children complaining there was no food. The mother told them to have faith -- after all -- didn't Elijah indeed visit them the first night and bring them food?
The young rabbi understood. If you want to see the prophet -- BE the prophet. Yossi called me to say that Wifey and I were the first angels they met when they moved to Miami . It warmed me.
So of course, this Pesach we find ourselves slaves again. Not to Pharaoh, but to a dread disease.
We were freed. We were freed many times. May this Passover mark the beginning of our latest emancipation.
Their beautiful daughter, now a toddler, would be there -- as well as her baby cousin, our wonderful grandson. There would have been much kvelling. Instead, we exchanged texts about how much we miss each other, and let us be together next year.
D1 and Joey texted -- they are going to host a virtual seder. They bought some seders in a box from a local place, Blue Collar, and had matzoh delivered. We did, too -- 2 boxes -- from my rabbi Yossi here in town, and another from the UF Rabbi, Berl, who I have befriended. At 7 Joey will lead us -- D2 and Jonathan for just a bit before they jump off for another virtual seder hosted by Jonathan's parents. So we will celebrate best we can.
Before then, I have planned some near human contact. Captain Doctor Kenny is due here at 4:15 to join me in my constitutional around the 'hood. We'll keep our distance, of course, but it will be nice to talk to my brilliant and funny friend from across a road instead of on a phone.
The green shoots of hopeful news continue. The model I keep checking, from U Washington, today revised DOWNWARD its projected death totals. The thing has been fairly accurate, and says Florida will peak on cases and deaths on April 21. It also projects Florida has plenty of regular and ICU beds to handle the surge -- an upside, I guess, to our overly expensive health care industry here.
There remains, of course, plenty of negativity. The virus could surge again. Maybe being exposed and not sickened doesn't confer immunity...
Well -- of course more bad can happen. I have coined my own term for the next plague -- the schmutzvirus, with schmutz being Yiddish for dirt. Why not. Corona is too regal -- meaning crown. Something that kills and sickens ought to have a name associated with filth.
But as for me, and my house (I love those signs on Christian folks' front doors) I worship cautious optimism.
Rabbi Yossi posted my favorite Passover story on FaceBook. It involved a young rabbi who went to the Baal Shem Tov, the leader of the Chabad movement, and told him he really wanted to see Elijah, the prophet for who the door is left open and a chair unoccupied at seders. The Rebbe told him he could -- bring a box of food to a poor family and attend their seder. He did so -- had a lovely time with the destitute schtetl folk, but complained he still didn't see Elijah.
The Rebbe told him to return for the final seder and do the same, but this time wait outside and listen before going inside. The young rabbi did, and heard the children complaining there was no food. The mother told them to have faith -- after all -- didn't Elijah indeed visit them the first night and bring them food?
The young rabbi understood. If you want to see the prophet -- BE the prophet. Yossi called me to say that Wifey and I were the first angels they met when they moved to Miami . It warmed me.
So of course, this Pesach we find ourselves slaves again. Not to Pharaoh, but to a dread disease.
We were freed. We were freed many times. May this Passover mark the beginning of our latest emancipation.
Monday, April 6, 2020
Time Passages
Another night of abridged sleep. I got 5.5 hours, so I guess that's not too terrible, in this time of the plague. And I have nothing but time to nap today. Even the idiot White House, which was just saying all would be fine by this Sunday, is now saying this is the week we really all need to stay home. Oh boy.
We were going to have our long time cleaning lady Miriam back this Wednesday. We've been sending her weekly checks, and telling her to stay home, and thought this would be her return, but now have decided to give it another week. Someone asked me why I keep sending her checks. I replied that maybe there are some folks who can live in 7 figure houses and not pay folks who have served them, but I'm not that guy.
Anyway -- as I lay in bed after my 4 am wake up, I tried to fall back asleep thinking of my parents. It occurred to me: one week from today is my dear Mom's birthday -- or was it? She always told us it was April 13, 1920. Then, when I took over her affairs, her Medicare card said some other date in April -- maybe the 11th? That was classic Mom -- when she liked something or someone, her mind was made up -- facts be damned. And she loved the number 13.
So sticking to her chosen birthday -- next week she's have turned 100. Wow. She was 41 when she had me -- a so called change of life baby. Dad was 42.
I reflected back on her early life -- a very happy childhood, though poor, in the Bronx. She had a warm and loving family. She used to tell me tales of her father, whose name was Goldsmith, though he worked as a silversmith (roofer) packing up an old car and driving to "the country," which were the Catskills, and having wonderful family picnics. My Mom developed an absolute love of grilled hot dogs. They remained her favorite food, long after her finances changed, and she was privileged to travel the world, and eat at fine restaurants. Nothing like a good kosher dog from the grill, with mustard and sauerkraut.
She had a childhood boyfriend from across the street -- a bookish boy, not at all into sports. He was drafted into the Army 4 months after Pearl Harbor Day, and they kept their relationship going through letters, and the occasional long distance call. I would have loved to have seen those letters, but my Mom tossed all "that old crap" when she moved to Florida.
They decided to marry while my Dad was stationed in Pasadena, and I picture my Mom, who had never been out of the NYC area, boarding a transcontinental train, alone, for a 4 day trip. What an adventure it must have been -- greeted by her beloved at the end of the line.
A rabbi chaplain married them, and they began their life together. They found a bungalow up in the hills off Colorado Boulevard, and Mom got a job as a secretary to the Dean of Cal Tech -- probably, at the time, fully involved in the Manhattan Project, though Mom never knew, or spoke of it. She did speak fondly of the Dean, though, a true Southern Gentleman. I want to say he was a Vanderbilt man.
Living in this WASPy world, Mom was sensitive about her Jewishness. But she recalled the day before Yom Kippur, and the Dean told her he'd see her after the holiday. Mom wasn't religious, and told the Dean she'd be working, but he responded that Jews were the older brothers of true Christians like him, and she NEEDED to honor G-d on the holiest day. Mom never forgot that.
She got pregnant, in April of '44, and took the long train home to the Bronx to have my sister. The war was still raging, and my Dad had no idea where he'd be -- better for Mom to be home.
Years later, he told me not staying in Southern California was a regret -- he loved it there. He wondered whether a guy like him might have found work, post war, in the entertainment business -- as a writer or editor. Instead, his fate took him back the the Bronx, and three jobs to support his growing family.
But back to Mom. She was so blessed with a wonderfully sunny disposition. She always saw the bright side. In her later years -- she kept negativity away from her aggressively.
I was always a news junkie, and after Dad died, my senior year of college, I would come to Delray for the weekends. I noticed the paper wasn't delivered. Mom said all the bad news saddened her -- she stopped reading it. I had to drive to the local Stop N Shop for my daily news fix.
Later, she stopped watching all the news. Her TV had old movies, nature documentaries, and, to my great amusement, basketball. Her companion Max, from Detroit, was a huge Pistons fan, and turned Mom into a fan, too, but she liked the Heat. I remember a surreal moment when she asked me about Glenn Rice...
Mom was wise. I wish I could follow her wisdom, instead of sucking up every horrible detail of the plague. When will it peak? Will Miami escape the horror going on in NYC now?
I envision Mom, if she were alive and with us -- just insisting the TV show animal shows. Wifey would have complied.
My reverie about Mom included her death day. I knew her end was near, and was on my way to Miami Jewish Home early on April 27, 2013. There's that 13 again. I stopped for gas on NW 2nd Avenue, and got the call from the staff -- she had died within the hour. I drove over, and went to her room. The crew had been through -- cleaned it well, though that sickly smell of disinfectant hovered over.
Wifey came, along with Edna, who was in town visiting her parents. Wifey wasn't answering her phone, and was wheeling her father, a fellow resident, over for a visit. Richard had an awful fear of death, and I didn't want him to see Mom. I met them in the hall, and Wifey returned Richard to his building, and came back.
And then Barry was there -- to visit Sunny -- not knowing he would be there to support me in her death. And so it was a small vigil of shomrim in her room -- Wifey, Edna, Barry, and me. The burly guy from the funeral home was there pretty quickly, and put Mom into a blue velvet sack, and gently wheeled her out. She was so light, he didn't need any help.
We went over to nearby Soyka, and D1 joined us. D2 was up at UF, in Gainesville. We toasted Mom, and her life.
It's funny -- my parents had three kids, and somehow I was the only one to see both of them dead. Sometimes I envy my sisters this. Sometimes I don't.
Mom made to 93. She had a wonderful, happy, and very fortunate life. I have a feeling she'd say about the current plague that the world has seen worse, even in her lifetime, and will endure.
I suspect she is right.
We were going to have our long time cleaning lady Miriam back this Wednesday. We've been sending her weekly checks, and telling her to stay home, and thought this would be her return, but now have decided to give it another week. Someone asked me why I keep sending her checks. I replied that maybe there are some folks who can live in 7 figure houses and not pay folks who have served them, but I'm not that guy.
Anyway -- as I lay in bed after my 4 am wake up, I tried to fall back asleep thinking of my parents. It occurred to me: one week from today is my dear Mom's birthday -- or was it? She always told us it was April 13, 1920. Then, when I took over her affairs, her Medicare card said some other date in April -- maybe the 11th? That was classic Mom -- when she liked something or someone, her mind was made up -- facts be damned. And she loved the number 13.
So sticking to her chosen birthday -- next week she's have turned 100. Wow. She was 41 when she had me -- a so called change of life baby. Dad was 42.
I reflected back on her early life -- a very happy childhood, though poor, in the Bronx. She had a warm and loving family. She used to tell me tales of her father, whose name was Goldsmith, though he worked as a silversmith (roofer) packing up an old car and driving to "the country," which were the Catskills, and having wonderful family picnics. My Mom developed an absolute love of grilled hot dogs. They remained her favorite food, long after her finances changed, and she was privileged to travel the world, and eat at fine restaurants. Nothing like a good kosher dog from the grill, with mustard and sauerkraut.
She had a childhood boyfriend from across the street -- a bookish boy, not at all into sports. He was drafted into the Army 4 months after Pearl Harbor Day, and they kept their relationship going through letters, and the occasional long distance call. I would have loved to have seen those letters, but my Mom tossed all "that old crap" when she moved to Florida.
They decided to marry while my Dad was stationed in Pasadena, and I picture my Mom, who had never been out of the NYC area, boarding a transcontinental train, alone, for a 4 day trip. What an adventure it must have been -- greeted by her beloved at the end of the line.
A rabbi chaplain married them, and they began their life together. They found a bungalow up in the hills off Colorado Boulevard, and Mom got a job as a secretary to the Dean of Cal Tech -- probably, at the time, fully involved in the Manhattan Project, though Mom never knew, or spoke of it. She did speak fondly of the Dean, though, a true Southern Gentleman. I want to say he was a Vanderbilt man.
Living in this WASPy world, Mom was sensitive about her Jewishness. But she recalled the day before Yom Kippur, and the Dean told her he'd see her after the holiday. Mom wasn't religious, and told the Dean she'd be working, but he responded that Jews were the older brothers of true Christians like him, and she NEEDED to honor G-d on the holiest day. Mom never forgot that.
She got pregnant, in April of '44, and took the long train home to the Bronx to have my sister. The war was still raging, and my Dad had no idea where he'd be -- better for Mom to be home.
Years later, he told me not staying in Southern California was a regret -- he loved it there. He wondered whether a guy like him might have found work, post war, in the entertainment business -- as a writer or editor. Instead, his fate took him back the the Bronx, and three jobs to support his growing family.
But back to Mom. She was so blessed with a wonderfully sunny disposition. She always saw the bright side. In her later years -- she kept negativity away from her aggressively.
I was always a news junkie, and after Dad died, my senior year of college, I would come to Delray for the weekends. I noticed the paper wasn't delivered. Mom said all the bad news saddened her -- she stopped reading it. I had to drive to the local Stop N Shop for my daily news fix.
Later, she stopped watching all the news. Her TV had old movies, nature documentaries, and, to my great amusement, basketball. Her companion Max, from Detroit, was a huge Pistons fan, and turned Mom into a fan, too, but she liked the Heat. I remember a surreal moment when she asked me about Glenn Rice...
Mom was wise. I wish I could follow her wisdom, instead of sucking up every horrible detail of the plague. When will it peak? Will Miami escape the horror going on in NYC now?
I envision Mom, if she were alive and with us -- just insisting the TV show animal shows. Wifey would have complied.
My reverie about Mom included her death day. I knew her end was near, and was on my way to Miami Jewish Home early on April 27, 2013. There's that 13 again. I stopped for gas on NW 2nd Avenue, and got the call from the staff -- she had died within the hour. I drove over, and went to her room. The crew had been through -- cleaned it well, though that sickly smell of disinfectant hovered over.
Wifey came, along with Edna, who was in town visiting her parents. Wifey wasn't answering her phone, and was wheeling her father, a fellow resident, over for a visit. Richard had an awful fear of death, and I didn't want him to see Mom. I met them in the hall, and Wifey returned Richard to his building, and came back.
And then Barry was there -- to visit Sunny -- not knowing he would be there to support me in her death. And so it was a small vigil of shomrim in her room -- Wifey, Edna, Barry, and me. The burly guy from the funeral home was there pretty quickly, and put Mom into a blue velvet sack, and gently wheeled her out. She was so light, he didn't need any help.
We went over to nearby Soyka, and D1 joined us. D2 was up at UF, in Gainesville. We toasted Mom, and her life.
It's funny -- my parents had three kids, and somehow I was the only one to see both of them dead. Sometimes I envy my sisters this. Sometimes I don't.
Mom made to 93. She had a wonderful, happy, and very fortunate life. I have a feeling she'd say about the current plague that the world has seen worse, even in her lifetime, and will endure.
I suspect she is right.
Sunday, April 5, 2020
Best Saturday Of The Pestilence So Far
So the day started like all during this time of the plague -- got up, shaved, fed the dogs. Young Josh texted -- was there walking on Saturday? The gentle nudge was great -- there WAS -- and I called and we chatted during my first 2.2 miles around the 'hood.
We joked it was to be a busy day -- at least with deliveries. Some custom sofas Wifey had bought months ago were finally brought -- in 2 separate deliveries. So Wifey busied herself with one of her young decorators, making sure it was placed and arranged in the right way.
And I got a delivery -- my New Balance kicks were dropped off by our friendly mailwoman. I ordered them last week, and there they were -- I came close to wearing through the soles of my other two pairs with all the anxiety walking I've been doing.
I called my California sister, and was off again -- through the 'hood -- another couple of miles in the still beautiful weather. Alas, soon the humidity and mosquitoes will return -- and other than dawn and dusk with copious sprayed Cutter -- the walks won't be so pastoral.
We were expecting yet another delivery -- the weekly Publix Instacart. They were due between 6 and 8.
At precisely 6:58 I poured my quarantini -- Tito's and a bit of tonic water -- the better to give myself the quinine they say may help. I texted young Josh -- we had set up a 7 pm happy hour -- and gave him my Hyman Roth line about if he calls, I'll know I have a drinking partner -- if he doesn't; I'll know I don't.
Sure enough, just as I took my place out by the pool on the composite Adirondack chair, came the FaceTime. It was lovely -- as the Tito's worked its magic, we had fine conversation. Wifey joined us, and asked me to go get her a soda from the fridge -- her knee hurts, and she can't descend the 5 steps. I grabbed a soda in the darkness, but it was a tragic mistake -- it was NOT diet. Her reaction about having actually sipped half of the outlawed beverage gave us all some laughs.
D1 and Joey joined the virtual party, as did D2. Scott and his lady Sam up in Virginia wanted to see the new puppy -- the baby was asleep. The youngest couple is thinking of adopting a cat -- and had to endure the playful objections of the mostly dog loving crowd.
Well -- turns out those Instacart folks are sneaky -- they had delivered to our front door without our noticing. So we schlepped while FaceTiming -- and showed off the Publix sub we had for dinner. Dr. Barry, Donna, and Josh had Japanese, and Sam had made her and Scott chili. Oh, I love chili...
Anyway -- we said our goodbyes, and I went upstairs for my nightly hot shower. Afterwards, I went out onto the bedroom porch -- in all my glorious nakedness. I plopped into a chaise. I put on an old hit from 1969 -- "Reflections of My Life" by the Marmalade -- I had heard it earlier in the day as part of the sound track on a roman a clef movie I watched based on Robert Lypsyte's "One Fat Summer."
The breeze was exquisite. The music heavenly. I left my phone perched on the nearby window sill, and "YouTube" worked its magic -- choosing a set list for me. Next was Alan Parson's "Eye in the Sky" -- a live jam version that went on, thankfully, and on. And after that was a long intro to a song I first thought was by Dire Straits -- but it was old Pink Floyd.
Lately, I switch off Pink Floyd because Roger Waters is such a slimy anti semite. But I let him sing a long "Shine on You Crazy Diamond" followed by "Us and Them." That latter one brought me back to my friend Eric's room in Levittown, probably 1976, when he, Mark, John, Fitz, Gerry and I would listen to that album over and over, as Eric's homemade oscilloscope gave us a light show.
Probably an hour passed. I knew those I loved most were safe for the night. I was still buzzed from the vodka. The sky was cloudy and deep shades of black, blue, and gray. That breeze kept literally caressing me.
I was at true peace.
I hope for, and will seek out, more of these moments as these scary times play out, and plan to go back in my mind to the zen of last night when the tensosity creeps back.
We joked it was to be a busy day -- at least with deliveries. Some custom sofas Wifey had bought months ago were finally brought -- in 2 separate deliveries. So Wifey busied herself with one of her young decorators, making sure it was placed and arranged in the right way.
And I got a delivery -- my New Balance kicks were dropped off by our friendly mailwoman. I ordered them last week, and there they were -- I came close to wearing through the soles of my other two pairs with all the anxiety walking I've been doing.
I called my California sister, and was off again -- through the 'hood -- another couple of miles in the still beautiful weather. Alas, soon the humidity and mosquitoes will return -- and other than dawn and dusk with copious sprayed Cutter -- the walks won't be so pastoral.
We were expecting yet another delivery -- the weekly Publix Instacart. They were due between 6 and 8.
At precisely 6:58 I poured my quarantini -- Tito's and a bit of tonic water -- the better to give myself the quinine they say may help. I texted young Josh -- we had set up a 7 pm happy hour -- and gave him my Hyman Roth line about if he calls, I'll know I have a drinking partner -- if he doesn't; I'll know I don't.
Sure enough, just as I took my place out by the pool on the composite Adirondack chair, came the FaceTime. It was lovely -- as the Tito's worked its magic, we had fine conversation. Wifey joined us, and asked me to go get her a soda from the fridge -- her knee hurts, and she can't descend the 5 steps. I grabbed a soda in the darkness, but it was a tragic mistake -- it was NOT diet. Her reaction about having actually sipped half of the outlawed beverage gave us all some laughs.
D1 and Joey joined the virtual party, as did D2. Scott and his lady Sam up in Virginia wanted to see the new puppy -- the baby was asleep. The youngest couple is thinking of adopting a cat -- and had to endure the playful objections of the mostly dog loving crowd.
Well -- turns out those Instacart folks are sneaky -- they had delivered to our front door without our noticing. So we schlepped while FaceTiming -- and showed off the Publix sub we had for dinner. Dr. Barry, Donna, and Josh had Japanese, and Sam had made her and Scott chili. Oh, I love chili...
Anyway -- we said our goodbyes, and I went upstairs for my nightly hot shower. Afterwards, I went out onto the bedroom porch -- in all my glorious nakedness. I plopped into a chaise. I put on an old hit from 1969 -- "Reflections of My Life" by the Marmalade -- I had heard it earlier in the day as part of the sound track on a roman a clef movie I watched based on Robert Lypsyte's "One Fat Summer."
The breeze was exquisite. The music heavenly. I left my phone perched on the nearby window sill, and "YouTube" worked its magic -- choosing a set list for me. Next was Alan Parson's "Eye in the Sky" -- a live jam version that went on, thankfully, and on. And after that was a long intro to a song I first thought was by Dire Straits -- but it was old Pink Floyd.
Lately, I switch off Pink Floyd because Roger Waters is such a slimy anti semite. But I let him sing a long "Shine on You Crazy Diamond" followed by "Us and Them." That latter one brought me back to my friend Eric's room in Levittown, probably 1976, when he, Mark, John, Fitz, Gerry and I would listen to that album over and over, as Eric's homemade oscilloscope gave us a light show.
Probably an hour passed. I knew those I loved most were safe for the night. I was still buzzed from the vodka. The sky was cloudy and deep shades of black, blue, and gray. That breeze kept literally caressing me.
I was at true peace.
I hope for, and will seek out, more of these moments as these scary times play out, and plan to go back in my mind to the zen of last night when the tensosity creeps back.
Friday, April 3, 2020
The Pond Is Back to Normal
So strangely, a few weeks ago, as we were getting into the coronavirus life, I noticed a foul smell coming from my pond out front. This means a fish kill, which has happened several times over the years -- when the power is out and the aerator shuts off. Typically the koi would die off, and the smaller cichlids and hearty plecos would survive. The last time it happened was after Hurricane Irma -- the power was off a good 10 days, and I had to buy new koi. The raccoons and other scavengers took care of the fish corpses...
This time, though, the aerator was fine. The older, larger plecos were dying. I counted a total of 6 of them. I assumed there was some disease that affected only them. Once again, the scavengers took care of the carrion. One am I saw one of the fish floating, fileted as if done by a human. It was pretty impressive.
For about a week after, the water didn't look so great. The fish seemed sluggish -- schooled together in a shady part of the pond, near the papyrus plants that grow on the western bank. The foul smell lessened, but the pond was still sickly. There wasn't anything for me to do but hope nature healed the little world out front. Nature worked.
Today I was outside, and the water was crystal clear. I fed the fish -- they swam happily and rapidly. And, happiest of all, several of the plecos survived. One attached his sucker to the shell of a passing turtle -- cleaning his pondmate's shell. It was lovely.
I always enjoy sitting by the pond, watching the microcosm it is. The bubbling of the air stone is relaxing. Butterflies, and rarely, hummingbirds fly over.
We had some lime green iguanas, and I hadn't seen them in awhile. Today a younger one darted around.
I was sitting there alone, and was joined by an even more exotic animal. A black and white furry creature, about 16 pounds, ambled his way over the stone bridge, joining me in the shade of an overhanging ficus. He was the crippled Spaniel, Bo, and I hoisted him to my lap, and we sat for a good, long while.
He lifted his adorable little head, and enjoyed a cool breeze. It was lovely.
I hope our world follows the example of my pond -- the killer virus passes, and we can heal. I truly hope that comes sooner than later.
This time, though, the aerator was fine. The older, larger plecos were dying. I counted a total of 6 of them. I assumed there was some disease that affected only them. Once again, the scavengers took care of the carrion. One am I saw one of the fish floating, fileted as if done by a human. It was pretty impressive.
For about a week after, the water didn't look so great. The fish seemed sluggish -- schooled together in a shady part of the pond, near the papyrus plants that grow on the western bank. The foul smell lessened, but the pond was still sickly. There wasn't anything for me to do but hope nature healed the little world out front. Nature worked.
Today I was outside, and the water was crystal clear. I fed the fish -- they swam happily and rapidly. And, happiest of all, several of the plecos survived. One attached his sucker to the shell of a passing turtle -- cleaning his pondmate's shell. It was lovely.
I always enjoy sitting by the pond, watching the microcosm it is. The bubbling of the air stone is relaxing. Butterflies, and rarely, hummingbirds fly over.
We had some lime green iguanas, and I hadn't seen them in awhile. Today a younger one darted around.
I was sitting there alone, and was joined by an even more exotic animal. A black and white furry creature, about 16 pounds, ambled his way over the stone bridge, joining me in the shade of an overhanging ficus. He was the crippled Spaniel, Bo, and I hoisted him to my lap, and we sat for a good, long while.
He lifted his adorable little head, and enjoyed a cool breeze. It was lovely.
I hope our world follows the example of my pond -- the killer virus passes, and we can heal. I truly hope that comes sooner than later.
Thursday, April 2, 2020
Well, I Got One In
So no April Fools' Day for me, and it was too bad. My buddy Norman reminded me that last year I had another good one -- posted on FaceBook (tm) that he had left his long time law firm to take over as the new Dean of UM's Law School. Scarily --many people accepted that as truth, despite the fact that other than teaching some seminars, Norman doesn't have much experience in law school academics.
Anyway -- another day slogged by. It finally rained a little, cheering Wifey, who has been watering the plants around the house. We had a record dry March.
I had a nice happy hour with Kenny -- just the two of us -- and compared notes of surviving the plague.
And then, nicely buzzed, I got an email from dear Stuart, my sweetest, most pure hearted friend. He's turning 60 this July, and is still well taken care of by his father Bill. We jokingly call Stuart Alfred E Neuman sometimes -- he refuses to worry about things that most of the rest of my friends and I agonize about.
Well -- he sent me an email with a crash report for a new case we have up in Orlando. I went full nihilist in my response. I told him we're about to die, leaving our kids orphans and HIS elderly parents bereft, and he is trifling with crash reports from Orlando?
This am, I read his response -- he's worried about me -- maybe the whole virus thing was finally cracking my solid base. The guy who had to become an adult 4 days before I turned 21 -- and has remained a caretaker of my family, friends, and elderly and failing parents was finally losing it.
Nah. I told him I had to squeeze out at least ONE April Fools joke. It was late in the day, and the Tito's was working its magic.
But the truth is, these times DO suck. Badly. Of course I daily count my blessings. Wifey and I are quarantined in paradise. Our sacred Ds are married to wonderful men -- able receivers of the torch I passed to take care of them. Our grandson is wildly adorable -- the son of two thin parents, and yet beautifully fat. As Kenny said -- pediatricians love fat babies.
Yesterday we FaceTimed, and then Zoomed, with my mother in law. The audio wasn't working, but we saw her, all plump and strong looking, in bed, her hair and nails done nicely. I have no idea how much she comprehends about the situation -- but she is a Survivor, and is surviving.
The Palace, where she lives, has, I believe, zero covid-19 cases. I'm sure it's because the owner, a savvy businessman, is a former Israeli IDF officer. He runs that place like one would expect -- there WOULD be no visitors during the pandemic. And the place is thriving -- except for the isolation.
I told Wifey I'm not giving up my prediction that her mother might outlive us...
Today -- more of the same. It's funny -- Wifey and I haven't had a regular dinner in over two weeks. We live like college aged roommates -- just grabbing whatever is there. Last night I toasted a frozen bagel, put some cheese on it, and had for dessert a chocolate protein bar. As I was going to bed, Wifey said "Are we ever going to have a normal dinner again?" I said likely not while this is going on.
So we're in the midst of things. Each day...just getting through it. What else is there to do?
Anyway -- another day slogged by. It finally rained a little, cheering Wifey, who has been watering the plants around the house. We had a record dry March.
I had a nice happy hour with Kenny -- just the two of us -- and compared notes of surviving the plague.
And then, nicely buzzed, I got an email from dear Stuart, my sweetest, most pure hearted friend. He's turning 60 this July, and is still well taken care of by his father Bill. We jokingly call Stuart Alfred E Neuman sometimes -- he refuses to worry about things that most of the rest of my friends and I agonize about.
Well -- he sent me an email with a crash report for a new case we have up in Orlando. I went full nihilist in my response. I told him we're about to die, leaving our kids orphans and HIS elderly parents bereft, and he is trifling with crash reports from Orlando?
This am, I read his response -- he's worried about me -- maybe the whole virus thing was finally cracking my solid base. The guy who had to become an adult 4 days before I turned 21 -- and has remained a caretaker of my family, friends, and elderly and failing parents was finally losing it.
Nah. I told him I had to squeeze out at least ONE April Fools joke. It was late in the day, and the Tito's was working its magic.
But the truth is, these times DO suck. Badly. Of course I daily count my blessings. Wifey and I are quarantined in paradise. Our sacred Ds are married to wonderful men -- able receivers of the torch I passed to take care of them. Our grandson is wildly adorable -- the son of two thin parents, and yet beautifully fat. As Kenny said -- pediatricians love fat babies.
Yesterday we FaceTimed, and then Zoomed, with my mother in law. The audio wasn't working, but we saw her, all plump and strong looking, in bed, her hair and nails done nicely. I have no idea how much she comprehends about the situation -- but she is a Survivor, and is surviving.
The Palace, where she lives, has, I believe, zero covid-19 cases. I'm sure it's because the owner, a savvy businessman, is a former Israeli IDF officer. He runs that place like one would expect -- there WOULD be no visitors during the pandemic. And the place is thriving -- except for the isolation.
I told Wifey I'm not giving up my prediction that her mother might outlive us...
Today -- more of the same. It's funny -- Wifey and I haven't had a regular dinner in over two weeks. We live like college aged roommates -- just grabbing whatever is there. Last night I toasted a frozen bagel, put some cheese on it, and had for dessert a chocolate protein bar. As I was going to bed, Wifey said "Are we ever going to have a normal dinner again?" I said likely not while this is going on.
So we're in the midst of things. Each day...just getting through it. What else is there to do?
Wednesday, April 1, 2020
April Fool's Day Postponed For Me
As a frustrated comedy writer, which I have been since the age of about 9, I always enjoyed April Fool's Day. I remember learning about it in grade school, and beginning my career like most kids: "Hey -- there's a spider on your head" and progressing to better and more involved pranks. Well -- not this year -- my mood is far too anxious to be silly or funny. If we all get through this, I WILL find my anxiety for nothing funny -- but that will have to come later.
Two of my deeds from past years stand out, in addition to the many claims that Wifey was pregnant -- well past the time of menopause. One involved my friend Peter.
Pete and his partner Gene referred a really good PI case to my old firm. It was a young business executive struck by a drunk in a rental car. Back then, rental car cases were great to have -- unlimited insurance coverage. Now the coverage is capped, and no one wants them.
Anyway, the client, who came to become a friend, had awful injuries, which, thankfully, over time, he recovered from. But we struck fast with the case, and used an overwhelmed older defense lawyer, long gone now, to advise his client they'd better settle fast, and big. They offered nearly $2.5 million -- in late March.
Pete would call each day for updates, and I told him we were close to settling, but holding out for just a bit more. Pete and Gene were in for a healthy 6 figure co- counsel fee, and were already spending money based upon the sure thing. Pete went out and leased his first luxury car.
Well -- he called on April 1, and I was overcome with devilishness. I told him that the client was so determined to show he was still a tough guy, he was out running a marathon, and been recorded by the defense. There would be no settlement. I think I heard an anguished whimper, but there was definitely silence. We hung up. I told everyone in my firm what I had done. They nearly peed their pants.
I'm not THAT evil, so I only allowed my friend's suffering to go on about a half hour. I called him back. He was nearly inconsolable "I took out the LEASE. I don't know what I'm going to do now." I said to him "And to get the news on this, of all days." "Oh -- I know -- I always get bad news on Tuesdays...wait...you son of a bitch!"
He ran to call Gene, and we all laughed the laugh of relief together, and, indeed, there was a fat co -counsel check a few weeks later.
Yeah -- those were the days. April Fool's somehow seemed fun and appropriate. Now I pour through the latest virus news, hoping to see some glimmers of optimism.
That super genius, Michael Levitt, thinks Italy and NYC have peaked -- the end of the plague, for them, is in sight. For us in South Florida -- who knows?
I'm hoping the great Eliot poem is wrong, and in fact April is NOT the cruelest month.
But for now, it's not one, for me, that feels very light hearted.
Two of my deeds from past years stand out, in addition to the many claims that Wifey was pregnant -- well past the time of menopause. One involved my friend Peter.
Pete and his partner Gene referred a really good PI case to my old firm. It was a young business executive struck by a drunk in a rental car. Back then, rental car cases were great to have -- unlimited insurance coverage. Now the coverage is capped, and no one wants them.
Anyway, the client, who came to become a friend, had awful injuries, which, thankfully, over time, he recovered from. But we struck fast with the case, and used an overwhelmed older defense lawyer, long gone now, to advise his client they'd better settle fast, and big. They offered nearly $2.5 million -- in late March.
Pete would call each day for updates, and I told him we were close to settling, but holding out for just a bit more. Pete and Gene were in for a healthy 6 figure co- counsel fee, and were already spending money based upon the sure thing. Pete went out and leased his first luxury car.
Well -- he called on April 1, and I was overcome with devilishness. I told him that the client was so determined to show he was still a tough guy, he was out running a marathon, and been recorded by the defense. There would be no settlement. I think I heard an anguished whimper, but there was definitely silence. We hung up. I told everyone in my firm what I had done. They nearly peed their pants.
I'm not THAT evil, so I only allowed my friend's suffering to go on about a half hour. I called him back. He was nearly inconsolable "I took out the LEASE. I don't know what I'm going to do now." I said to him "And to get the news on this, of all days." "Oh -- I know -- I always get bad news on Tuesdays...wait...you son of a bitch!"
He ran to call Gene, and we all laughed the laugh of relief together, and, indeed, there was a fat co -counsel check a few weeks later.
Yeah -- those were the days. April Fool's somehow seemed fun and appropriate. Now I pour through the latest virus news, hoping to see some glimmers of optimism.
That super genius, Michael Levitt, thinks Italy and NYC have peaked -- the end of the plague, for them, is in sight. For us in South Florida -- who knows?
I'm hoping the great Eliot poem is wrong, and in fact April is NOT the cruelest month.
But for now, it's not one, for me, that feels very light hearted.
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