New Neighbors A-Comin'.

 So yesterday was a lovely Purim. I got in my 10 miles, attended Eric and Dana's 6 pm Zoom, and then hosted ours at 7: Eric, Dana, and Kenny were on early, and then Kenny had to leave for a dinner. Josh came on, and we sang Happy Birthday to him -- he turns 23 on Tuesday. Later Barry joined, and Wifey and Donna made cameo appearances. We drank, and talked, for 2.5 hours. It was lovely.

Lili had baked us some hamantashon -- I fetched them Thursday night, and hid them from Wifey. I had one -- it was delicious -- Lili uses guava, in homage to her Cuban roots. Wifey had a guest, and I brought out the 3 remaining pastries for them. They got up to check something, and when they returned, the plate was empty. Vienna, our street mutt, got on the chair and table, and purloined the goodies. She felt SHE should celebrate Purim too, apparently.

Today I walked the 'hood, while catching up with Norma, my long ago secretary and friend. Sadly, her husband Raul died last month from pancreatic cancer -- a very tough year and a half battle. We talked of the old times, and the present -- she has 3 grandkids, and we have one. We met when we thought we were grown ups -- I was 27 and Norma 31. All of our kids are now older than that. My -- this time thing is weird.

I passed my neighbor Allison, and she told me the house next door had gone on the market. It seems like just a few years since our friend Diane sold it. It was 2012. The "new" people have lots of kids -- the Dad is my age, and has grown kids and a grandkid, but he married a woman who is 33. They have 5 little kids together, and feel the 6000 square foot house is too small.

They listed it for sale for $3M. Wow. I would tend to doubt it'll sell for that amount, but I guess I hope it does -- good for the property values for the rest of us.

Wifey said, with a sneer, "Well -- if someone wrote YOU a check for $3M, you'd sell, right?" Nah, I replied, mostly to annoy her. Where would we go?

I'm hoping maybe an executive with Victoria's Secret buys the place, with the understanding that they can use the lagoon-like pool for some photo shoots. I would NOT object to that -- even with the increased traffic such activity could bring. Matter of fact, I'd volunteer as a towel man. You have to be a good neighbor...

On the other end of the local price spectrum, a house down the street perpendicular to ours also was just listed. It was owned for years by a nice Japanese lady -- apparently she was a world known bonsai expert. She lived there with her failure to launch adult son -- he was always leaving in his pickup truck to go fishing.

They're asking just under $900K, and the pictures show it is a knockdown place -- looks worse inside than my old college apartment at the end of a semester -- where our parents got billed for "excessive filth."

I'm guessing a builder or developer will buy the 1/2 acre site to build a new place -- the house looks beyond any reasonable repair. Luckily -- it's far enough down the street that the construction noise I think is coming won't be a bother -- but it will for our friend Jose. Oh well -- neighbors...

Meanwhile, a lazy day looms, it seems. Tomorrow D1 and Joey and the Spoiled Spaniel and our beautiful grandson are coming over. D2, Jonathan, and the enormous puppy are game time decisions. It should be a grand Sunday -- and somehow, March will then be upon us.

I went into plague quarantine March 13 of last year. Hopefully the end is in sight.

Purim and the Adventures of L'Chaim Boy

 One of the major reasons I was attracted to Rabbi Yossi and Chabad is they know how to party. Their tradition is one of joyousness in the study and living of Torah, and alcohol, as a means to help things along, is often encouraged.

Oh yeah -- also Wifey and I were turned off by the hypocrisy and sanctimoniousness of a Rabbi, now retired, who I'll call Mark Kram, since that's his name. I had met him at UM and asked him to perform our wedding. He said he would, but Wifey and I would have to attend a series of meetings -- designed to lower the alarming divorce rate among modern Jews. Wifey and I did, and bought in to the crap: "Let us (his wife Mindy and him) be a part of your married life."

And then, 4 days before our big day, he called to say he was offered a free trip to Israel - and so we were on our own. As D2 loves it when I tell the story, I said "But I thought we was partners!" We wasn't. I asked who he would suggest to replace him. No one. So Eric's Mom Norma came to the rescue -- found a very nice Relief Rabbi, as I called him, named Norman, who did a yeoman's job. But Wifey and I were so turned off, I don't know we'd ever have joined another reform congregation.

Later on, when we attended events, I was still turned off. Many of the rabbis seemed to want to make their congregations cool -- like Christian youth churches with neat music -- the only thing missing were the crosses and crucifixes. Again -- not for us.

But then Yossi and Nechama came along, and we became friends. The first Purim, there was dancing, and reading of the Megillah, the story of Purim, as we became drunker and drunker. Yossi handed me a huge bottle of Stoli, and another of Scotch, and told me to keep filling shot glasses. I did -- it was a great night -- followed by a series of great, fun Purims (Pura?).

My sister Trudy even made me an embroidered shirt that said L'Chaim Boy," to identify me as the guy where you went when your shot glass was empty. Those were fun times.

Alas -- as the Ds grew, we stopped going to the Purim parties. And this year, there's some kind of drive through celebration.

Our Purim will be just eating some hamantashan, the traditional triangle shaped pastries meant to mimic the evil King Hamann's hat. D1 gave us a Purim basket yesterday, and it had a few. And then our friend Lili texted -- she had made delicious guava hamantashan -- combining her Cuban roots with her new culture -- and I fetched a box during my evening walk. Wifey asked me to hide them lest she gobble them all down in one sitting.

Tonight I'll host our usual 7 pm Zoom cocktail party, and we'll raise a glass to Purim. Also to Josh -- my nephew of another brother turns 23 next week, and we can use the get together, though virtual, to wish him a very healthy and happy birthday as he begins his 24th year on this planet.

So we'll say L'Chaim, but no L'Chaim Boy. Maybe someday he'll ride, or pour, again.

Protected Once Again

 So we're good friends with Rabbi Yossi and Nechama, and they take their mezuzot VERY seriously. That's the plural for mezuzah -- the little box Jews keep on their doorways, containing the prayer Schma "Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our G-d, the Lord is One"). The actual important part is the parchment. I actually grew up thinking the important part is the decorative box that contains the parchment -- many folks only have the box without the parchment, which is pretty funny.

Anyway -- as very religious Jews, they put mezuzot on the entrance to every room in the house. When we moved into Villa Wifey, they wished to do that for us -- I negotiated down to 4 -- the front door, the Ds' bedrooms, and the door from which we enter the house from the garage.

In the way Catholics believe crosses and crucifixes actually protect the home -- orthodox Jews believe the same thing. And -- more or less -- things went well for the past nearly 20 years.

Well, in mid January Wifey had a health issue, from which she is thankfully recovering. When I told Rabbi Yossi -- he said we ought to check the mezuzot -- sometimes they get damaged over the years, and tradition says they lose their protective powers. Now -- perhaps this is scientifically proven absurd -- but I ain't taking no chances -- and so I agreed.

I removed the 4 plastic boxes and dropped them at Yossi's office. He would take them to a sofer, or scribe on Miami Beach, for checking they're still kosher. Well -- in the mean time, Yossi and Nechama caught Covid 19, and so there was a delay.

But -- in an interesting coincidence, we had a new front door installed -- a hurricane proof one -- and would have needed a new mezuzah anyway. Funny how life works.

Well - thankfully Rabbi Yossi and Nechama recovered, and Wifey and I got both our jabs, and so last night they came over to visit. We hadn't seen them in person in over a year -- and we're all new grandparents -- they have a 16 month old granddaughter, and we have our little man -- now 14 months. We met in 1995, and have truly grown in our lives together -- Rabbi Yossi and Nechama Bat Mitzvahed both Ds, performed their weddings, and Yossi officiated at the Little Man's bris. Amazing.

So I poured Yossi and I a couple of vodkas, Nechama had some kosher wine, and Wifey her usual: flavored seltzer. And after some great catch up, about all of the good times and riches and son of a bitches of the past quarter century, we got to work.

Rabbi Yossi and I said the prayer, and we affixed the main mezuzah to the front door, followed by the three more. But alas -- he has become a better negotiator, and this time we went upstairs to affix one to the master bedroom door post. He said it might liven things up in the marital relations department. Hey -- at my age - I'll take all the help I can get in that regard...

I can now happily report we are again in compliance. The sacred words now again affixed to my door posts. And Passover is right around the corner -- where the Torah teaches, the ancient Hebrews were spared the misery of the Angel of Death taking their first born sons, which happened to the Egyptians - to finally let our people go.

Of course -- the best part of the evening was spending time with our old, dear friends, who themselves just bought a new house, just doors away from the Chabad Center. They're renovating it, and hope to move in late Summer.

We recalled that we were their first guests at their first Shabbat dinner in Miami. D2 was 3, and fell asleep on the floor, and peed. Since it was shabbos, we couldn't clean it up, or even take the pee soaked blanket home to wash. They forgave her -- and we joked about that night at her wedding 2 Januarys ago. Thankfully she didn't pee on the floor that night, even though there was a LOT of dancing.

They definitely want us at the first shabbat in the new home. We will, of course, attend. Life goes on. And some protection from the Big Man, never hurts.

From Winter of '21 to Summer of '69

 When I'm not on the phone or admiring the nature during my long walks, I've started to listen to music thanks to YouTube. Today, with miles to go, I chose the Beatles White Album. Ah -- it took me back.

I'd always loved the Beatles. The first album I ever owned was Magical Mystery Tour, which my sister Sue bought me when I was in 2nd grade. I played it over and over on our player, and memorized all of the lyrics from the book that came with the record. I still have it -- somewhere among my records up in the room above our garage.

The Summer of '69, when I was turning 8, my parents sent me to live for a week or so with Sue and her new husband Jeff. Jeff was finishing his studies at South Hampton College on Long Island -- Sue had dropped out - and they were renting the upstairs of a house on Shinnecock Bay. The landlords and homeowners were a lovely Italian family, with a son, Johnny, and a daughter Maria, several years older than I was.

It was a lovely childhood memory -- beachcombing, and finding tons of horseshoe crabs, and eating Maria's mother's wonderful Italian cooking. Sue and Jeff had a white Mustang convertible, and they took me to see a Herbie movie at a Drive-In. I'd play catch with Johnny. And when I had down time, I'd listen to Sue and Jeff's records.

It was always The Beatles. They had Meet the Beatles, and I knew it by heart. And -- they had a double album, which had come out months earlier -- officially titled "The Beatles," but known as the White Album. I probably listened to both records at least 50 times. To this day, I know well each note, and every lyric.

To an 8 year old, even a precocious one like I was, the music was just fun to hear. As I grew, I came to appreciate the album even more -- how, for example, "Back in the USSR" was the Beatles' spoof on their rival Beach Boys' "California Girls." In high school, when I read about the Manson murders, I learned the sinister effect the album had on that nut case -- he thought the lyrics were a message to him about starting the end times via a race riot.

Well today, as I strolled the empty streets in a lovely cool breeze, I went back in my mind over 4 decades. I saw myself sitting on the couch of Sue and Jeff's upstairs room, listening to the masterpiece. It was a lovely place in memory.

New Year's Eve, from '87 to '88, I think, Wifey and I hosted a big party at our first tiny house. We probably had 75 people. Wifey's friend Elizabeth and her rock singer husband Pat spent the weekend. Everyone danced and drank and consumed other chemicals in the back yard, and I dared not ask Pat to play. But he had such a great time, and happened to have his pink Stratocaster and a small amp in the trunk of his BMW, and he asked if I'd like him to perform. Well -- hell yes!

And so he did -- it was terrific. I had invited all surrounding neighbors, so noise complaints didn't happen. And then Pat asked me to sing a duet with him - -did I know the Beatles' "Rocky Raccoon?" Like the back of my hand, I said, and in a great pre-karioke moment, we sang it together. It was a blast -- I still think about that evening.

We had other overnight guests, too -- I think Wifey's cousin Sandy and his wife Felicity. I brought in bagels the next morning, and then we drove out to Shark Valley and toured the Everglades.

So many memories connected to one double album.

Maybe this afternoon I'll travel to freshman year at UM. The Knack. The Ramones. Even some Neil Young -- Live Rust.

It's nice to have a time machine in my hand as I walk.

My New Hobby

 So in these times of plague, I guess I do need a hobby -- in addition to the daily 10 mile walks. Thanks to an idiot osteopath and his pit bull collection company -- I have one.

I got a call back in the afternoon from the pain doc's office manager. She had a nearly impenetrable Spanish accent. Now -- the family joke is that Wifey "can't understand accents." I can -- comes from 42 years of living in Miami. But this woman -- I can't even tell you what her name is, though she said it.

Anyway -- she called to say she had figured things out. Wifey was her mother's health care surrogate. Correct, I said. So that means she has to pay for the outstanding balance. Wrong, I said.

This moron wasn't getting it. Wifey was not a GUARANTOR, which is different than the person allowed to make decisions about a person's care. If not, every guardian in the US would become bankrupt whenever their ward went to the hospital. Absurd.

Plus, I asked the woman whether her boss was a Medicare provider. He was. Well, did she understand that balance billing was a Federal crime? In other words, when you agree, as a provider, to accept payment from Medicare, that's all you get -- you can't ask for retail when you've agreed with the US government to accept Medicare discount. That's how the whole system works.

Nope -- I wasn't getting through. She actually said "The doctor is a nice man -- you should pay." I tried to analogize -- I was sure the manager had nice friends -- did she pay their bills? Of course not. Same thing, I said! Nope. Not getting through.

So -- it may well come to pass that for a bill of $246.99, major litigation will be born. I researched the Unfair Debt Collection Act -- it provides a fine for gonif behavior, as well as attorney fees. I have a feeling my litigation lawyer friend attorney fees won't be cheap.

On the car front, Isaac the service manager called -- my girlie sedan was ready -- just a defective battery. I'm a bit skeptical -- I guess I'll see.

I waited out the morning rain, and walked to the dealership to fetch the car. I have to get in more miles before 6 -- Eric and Dana's Zoom shabbat, followed by my Zoom cocktail party. I so look forward to these activities. Structure helps the days pass well.

Wifey gets her 2nd jab Monday am. It'll be nice when she reaches maximum immunity. D2 gave us a small scare -- sore throat the other day - she canceled her visit to us, since she "doesn't want to kill Mom."

Thankfully -- Covid test was negative -- just a cold. Yeah -- I guess we can still get these, too -- even in times of plague.

And stay tuned about the saga of the fraudulent bill. That'll give me something to do, too.

I Want To Hire Kenyatta

 So here are Wifey and me, enjoying a quiet Thursday morning, awaiting a call from Lexus of Kendall about my girlie sedan. The car is only 8 months old, and already has a recurring problem: it occasionally fails to start. It makes a clicking noise, and requires me to shift the shifter, get out, lock and open the car, and eventually it starts.

I noticed the problem in December, and brought it in, much to my annoyance, as I was quarantining. It was fixed, supposedly, and I was told the problem was I was driving too rarely -- and the battery was thus never charging. So I set about taking the car out at least weekly. Nope -- problem still happens. So I drove it over today, and walked the 3.2 miles home. When they call, I'll walk the 3.2 miles back to fetch the hopefully repaired, and not lemon vehicle. Ah -- first world problems.

Wifey was exercising, and got a call. She told me to answer, and I did. It was a stern voiced young man named Jay, calling from Snap Recovery, about a medical bill Wifey never paid -- in the amount of $246.99. If we didn't pay TODAY, angry Jay said, they would "ruin" Wifey's credit.

I calmly asked Jay the name of the doctor and date of service -- he only had the corporate name Superior Medical Solutions. No -- "privacy" prevented him from sharing that information -- but again -- he could take a check or credit card to immediately prevent the ruination of Wifey's sterling credit.

I went on offense -- knowing, as I do, a bit about Federal Law and debt collection. I told Jay I was an attorney, and did he realize if his attempt was improper in any way, HIS company would become the prey instead of predator. His tough voice wavered a bit -- he would put me on with his supervisor. I was then cut off.

I called back. In the mean time, I looked up Superior -- it was a pain doc in West Kendall. Wifey checked her notes -- indeed her MOTHER had been to them for injections for shoulder pain. My ancient suegra uses our address. So I immediately solved the mystery -- it was my mother in law who was the patient, and they mistakenly were trying to bill Wifey.

When I called back, I got Kenyatta on the phone. I tried to calmly explain the mistake. Kenyatta, on speaker phone, was having none of it. She talked fast and full of malaprops -- "You, sir, are CONFLATING the two issues." I told her she was using the word wrong -- that got her talking even faster.

She just kept demanding my credit card information to resolve this before there were "major repo - cussions." For some reason, I kept thinking of Eddie Murphy in the early scenes of "Trading Places."

But Kenyatta -- there is a mistake, I pleaded. Would you pay a bill for someone else? No -- Kenyatta was adamant -- these mistakes do NOT happen -- we'd better pay.

I then called Superior, which turns out is the trade name for an osteopath named Dr. Reynolds, and spoke to his nice Latina manager. She actually remembered my mother in law, and of course agreed there was a mistake. Well, I told her, you might want to call off your collection pitbulls before they get Dr. Reynolds in a heap of problems.

Also, last time I checked, a patient with Medicaid as well as Medicare cannot be balanced billed. I doubt the good doctor or his staff would wish to be interviewed by a Federal official -- all over $246.99.

So as I write, I assume the Latina is calling Kenyatta, and maybe Jay,and I'll hear nothing more from them. 

Or, if we get lucky, and I tend to get lucky, they will continue to go after Wifey and indeed alert credit agencies about a bill Wifey doesn't owe. I then get to have my friend Mike's firm go after Snap Recovery. Suing a collection agency would be a hoot -- and give me a nice hobby.

But regardless, I want to hire Kenyatta. This woman was a warrior -- hearing nothing except "OK -- here's my credit card number."

Law firms could use more Kenyattas...

Everything's Quiet on Valentine's Day

 Ah, the day of Amor is here. I sit writing, two dogs recently fed and happy, and Wifey snoozing away. I think back on VD Days past...

Probably my nicest memories, at least in the era of the Ds, were the first years we lived in our house. We had just moved in before VD of 2001, and I set up a table in our front courtyard, brought in delicious food from DiNapoli's, plugged in a boom box playing romantic songs, and treated Wifey and the Ds to our first outdoor meal in our new home.

Everyone beamed. Somehow we were living in a palace, at least to us, and we felt so privileged to be together dining among the tropical foliage. I really, really still love living here.

I think a few years later, I hosted a dinner -- this time for Pat and Susan, our across the street neighbors, Loni and Mike, and Maureen and David. I bought nice bracelets for all of the ladies and hid them under their dinner plates. They loved it. The Ds were pressed into service as my waitresses. It was another fine time.

Other VDs over the years were lovely moonlight concerts at Deering Estate -- jazz as we ate by the Bay. I always enjoyed the day.

Well, this year, in the time of plague, plans are more modest. Wifey and I are headed to D1's house -- Joey is out playing golf. I think D2 is coming, too -- Jonathan has to work -- investment analysis going on. We'll bring in lunch from one of the neat MiMo restaurants, and play with the beautiful grandson. Ah -- life changes.

Friday was a fun set of Zoom parties. I hosted Barry and Josh and Eric and Dana and Kenny and Joelle. We toasted good news about the kids -- grad school acceptances, and coming grandsons, and a nice promotion and raise up in D.C. Still buzzed at 8:30, I got Wifey's friends Edna and Elizabeth on separate FaceTimes, and kept the party going. Wifey held court from her favorite recliner and enjoyed the evening fully.

Yesterday we were watching old movies, and D1 and Joey called. Could we get in the car immediately? We could. We drove to a parking lot to meet them and Joey's Dad, right next to the MIA runway, to watch the planes take off and land. The baby loves it -- watches them intently, and waves at them. We loved it, too -- just a simple hour or so with our beloved boy.

We came home and I literally watched water flow. I had the pool resurfaced, and the water inched back in from two hoses. The level finally covered the new Diamond Brite by 11:30, and I was able to shut off the water and sleep -- the final few inches are flowing in this am. The joys of owning stuff...

So hopefully this is the final VD in plague times. Maybe next year we can go do something public again.

We're all just grateful we have each other, and have each been gently shot by Cupid's arrow.

The Game of Concentration

 I used to watch a lot of TV as a kid, and one of the shows I remember was "Concentration." You'd see a clue on a big board, and have to remember where it was later. Turns out, living a successful life is a lot like that game.

So the pool guy has been here all week, pressure cleaning the coping, and resurfacing the pool. Supposedly he'll finish today, but I have my doubts.

But Tuesday morning, Humberto reported to me, in Spanish, that the electric he was using from a garage outlet wasn't working. And sure enough, when I went to fetch him a water bottle from the garage fridge, I realized it was off, too. Thankfully, my work as Leche Dave is on hold, and there was no precious D1 milk in that freezer -- though it wouldn't have spoiled, as the fridge was only off a few minutes.

So I set about figuring out which breaker controlled the garage. I reset some -- no dice. Great, I thought -- I'll have to call an electrician -- my fears about there being no easy construction project were coming true. When you fix one thing, another breaks.

And then -- Eureka! I remembered something from about 10 years ago. The garage fridge was plugged into a GFCI box! I moved the unit, and re-set the GFCI -- and - voila! Power was restored.

I learned this the hard way a decade back -- when I DID call an electrician - and he showed me the problem. But these days I'm happy if I remembered what I ate for lunch the day before - let alone some home fact from a decade before. But this time my "Concentration" paid off -- I made the fix without further hassle.

Meanwhile, we continue to slog on through the plague. Yesterday was our day to decamp from the house, so that Miriam could do her cleaning, and D2 denied us a visit. She had been with some friends for a Super Bowl/Puppy Bowl watch party, and doesn't want to "kill her Mom," as Wifey has only had the first Pfizer jab.

So we drove to D1's instead, and got some grandson time, as well as delicious bagels and nova from Bagel Bar, D1 and Joey's nearby deli. It was fine stuff.

We left as D1 was going on a Zoom presentation, and drove to Kendall. The pre pandemic traffic is back -- took us a full hour -- the Dolphin was clogged as usual.

We arrived and had our permitted 30 minutes with my ancient suegra. She was in fine spirits -- large as ever. It continues to make me laugh -- I truly had never heard of a morbidly obese 96 year old -- but she is large, gelatinous proof of it.

Wifey showed her pictures of the baby, and she actually got that the adorable boy is her great grandson. She noticed my weight loss -- I'm down 40 pounds from anxiety walking and eating less. 

Most important to Wifey -- she said she was VERY happy living at the Palace -- the pace, the food, the fact that there is "nature" outside to live amongst.

We drove home, and I got in my final few miles of perambulation. 10 per day is my new typical amount.

I made it home after nightfall. Wifey was exercising in the house , since "80 degrees is my limit," and we've had a few days of unseasonably warm temperatures.

I was getting ready to bed, and my phone was buzzing -- apparently my FaceBook (tm) was hacked, and my contacts all got some link. Young Josh figured it out first and let me know, so I changed the password.

I actually remembered the existing one. Thanks, "Concentration."

They Just Found Your Father...In the Swimming Pool

 Ah -- great line from Billy Joel's "Captain Jack." Funny how the memory works -- my friend Mark  found that lyric hilarious. But I digress, as usual.

So Villa Wifey grows a bit long in the tooth -- now turning 24. We moved in when the house was a youthful 3 -- it was essentially new, and 2 decades have passed. That means, of course, repairing and replacing stuff. We're on our second set of AC units, 2nd set of hot water heaters, and third washer/dryers. They don't make stuff like they used to.

Three years ago, Hurricane Irma dumped a LOT of tree leaves and branches into the pool. Our normal company had to drain it, and deep clean it, and at the time the owner pointed out some dips and missing patches of concrete coating -- he said I was lucky that the pool hadn't really needed resurfacing in all that time -- typically they do after 10-15 years. Well, I put it off, but then realized the surface had become so rough, it was actually uncomfortable, and so decided to resurface this Winter.

I got a quote from my usual company -- about $6800 to do the job and replace the long broken underwater light. It seemed a bit high, and so got a quote from a company Jeff and Lili had just used with good results. Sure enough -- $4200. I guess my usual company was just subbing out the job, and figured $2600 was a nice profit to make for doing that. Yeah -- past my tipping point. So I hired Wilson in November, and he told me he'd get to the job early February. Sure enough, he called and came by yesterday.

In the afternoon, his man Humberto popped in a pump, and started draining the pool. It took a good 9 hours, but sure enough, this am it's quite empty. The crew will be back to pressure clean the coping, so old the style, of large concrete pillows, has come back to use. The tile is good, and so just new composite surface coming in. Hopefully the water will be flowing again by the weekend.

I'll just be happy to have the pool back by May or so -- when the walks I take get me hot enough to need a cooling off dip. Plus, I'm trying to get Wifey to exercise more -- and reminded her how my beloved Mom did "water aerobics" with little pain to her joints. Hopefully that happens.

The neighbors to the South have moved. The Dad, about my age, is married to a woman nearly 30 years his junior -- he adopted her son, now 14, and they have 4 little ones together. The Dad, who I'll call Alfred, since that's his name, also has grown kids -- a doctor and a lawyer. Although the house is over 6000 square feet, his wife says she needs larger, and so they're building a French chateau style huge place on Old Cutler -- and moving to a rental down South for the next few years. Alfred said no way they could sell the current place with all the kids running around.

So hopefully we'll get nice new neighbors, but luckily, on acre lots, you really don't have to see each other that much. We became close with the last folks living there, Diane and Charlie, and after a divorce kept Diane as a friend. So you never know.

All I know is, I love this 'hood more and more each day -- much to Wifey's chagrin. Like many women of a certain age, she "just needs a change." Sorry -- ain't happening. I watched my Dad move to a place in West Delray he NEVER liked -- to please my Mom - and ended up living the final 3 years of his life in a place he never liked just to please her. I don't plan to repeat his mistake -- I take AWESOME care of Wifey, but staying put is major to me. 

So hopefully there'll be a resurfaced pool. Wifey wants to finish her redecorating job -- but that'll wait until her second jab -- due February 22. In March, she can invite her whole party of young, maskless people inside if that's what she prefers.

I'll be outside -- by the pool.

Another Time in Place

 Yesterday was D2's 29th birthday! Wow -- my youngest is in her final year of her 20s. She worked from home, per usual, and then she and Jonathan went out to some top sushi restaurant on South Beach. We got to FaceTime, and on Saturday, the Full Squad plus the grandson, now part of the Full Squad, too, will descend upon us for a day of celebration. It's likely that the grandson will receive multiple dog licks on his beautiful face -- his birthright, being born into a family of dog infested houses.

I, of course, clearly remember the day she was born. The day before, Eric and Dana hosted a first birthday party for their baby girl Jen, at Eric's parents' house in Kendall. They were down from Boston, where Eric was completing his medical training. It was a lovely day -- D1 played with a little girl, Marissa, and years later Marissa would do her Dietetics internship with D1, and the two would become professional colleagues and friends. Marissa now has a baby boy -- just like D1 does.

Jen's paternal grandparents, Marvin and Norma, have both passed on. They were like a set of second parents to me -- I still miss them dearly. Her maternal grandmother Barbra just died, too, a few months back. I guess that's the problem when nearly 3 decades go by -- you lose dear ones.

Anyway, the next day, a Monday, I drove Wifey to South Miami Hospital, and a no complications C Section was performed, giving us D2. It was planned, unlike D1's C Section, and Wifey left the hospital in just a few days. My in laws were watching D1, and they brought her in to meet her baby sister. She went right up to her and kissed her head. I melted. I still do, at the closeness of my Ds.

We brought her home to our house in Kendall, and, as fate would have it, lived a most eventful year. Professionally, we settled the first jumbo case I brought into our firm, and our finances improved radically. As if to reinforce the lesson from the Big Man not to prize stuff too much, in August of '92 Hurricane Andrew blew in and destroyed ("mistroyed," as D1 malapropped it) nearly all our possessions. Of course, the then liberal storm coverage converted the wrecked stuff to even more money, and I opened an investment account. Shares of stock appreciated in the ensuing years a lot more than tchokes.

My late Mom always said that "Babies bring luck," and so it was with D2. Her birth heralded an amazing year. Oh yeah -- I kind of fell in love with her, too, and still dig her today.

It turned out Wifey had a doctor's appointment yesterday, for a follow up on a serious but thankfully improving problem. Because of Covid, I walked her to the doctor's office and then waited outside. And then it struck me -- I was on the South Miami Hospital campus -- the very location I had driven her 29 years before, to the same day! A lot sure can change, and surely does, in close to three decades.

Speaking of D2, she's headed over today, with her enormous puppy. She'll set up her home office in the dining room, and work here while Miriam, our longtime cleaning lady, works on the Grove apartment. Wifey and I love these days -- overhearing our most professional daughter conduct her business calls with such expertise and talent. D1 has labeled the voice "Serious D2," in contrast to the usually more taciturn and witty girl we typically spend time with.

I truly enjoy being rooted to a place. Truth is, in my close to 60 years, I've really only had 2 homes: Long Island for the first 17 years, and Miami since.

In the elevator on the way down from the doctor, a woman maybe a little older than I came in. I joked that I was naughty, and needed to stand in the corner facing away -- per the Covid protocol. She laughed -- she had both jabs, she said, and wasn't too worried. I told her I had both, too -- and instead of doctor's offices, we ought to be drinking martinis across the street at Foxes. "Wow -- you're old school," she said, understanding that Foxes closed years ago. I said I was, and still missed that place, where my mentor Ed first taught me to drink martinis -- probably a few years before D2 was born.

We said goodbye, and I waited for Wifey in the gorgeous winter sunlight. I was thankful. I was rooted. I took notice of place and time.

Sometimes Things Fall Into Place

 So 2020 was, of course, an annus horibilis, and we thought the following year just HAD to be better. Then 2021 came in, and for my family at least, said "Hold my beer." We ended up with a health crisis truly out of left field.

Thankfully, it seems the crisis has passed, and our beloved member is well on the way to recovery -- yesterday she came home after 17 days in the hospital and rehab. And on the way out, something happened that might be serendipity, might be the Big Man, but was wonderful.

Throughout the past weeks, I've been, well, the only word is obsessed, about getting a jab for those of us in the family of a certain age. The problem is, we're all just below the authorized age of 65 for the first phase of vaccines.

My 96 year old suegra, floating along in her final days of dementia, got a jab. Those of us younger, still with responsibilities to others, are back on the line. I get the logic, of course -- the older you are, the more likely the plague is to kill you. But when you're 96??? Whatever.

I got my jab through shucking and jiving. Wifey didn't get hers, and through a series of unfortunate events, missed out on appointments. Scott, my nephew of another brother, has started a pro bono side hustle: he has figured out how to navigate the absurd maze of tech to get appointments for elderly people. He succeeded in getting jabs for his grandmother and mother. He got several appointments for Wifey. Alas -- she couldn't make them.

I nearly had Wifey jabbed, but was thwarted by a hospital administrator. I got mean with him. I got ugly. All of the worst of me came out and I directed it at this man -- one of Dr. Barry's colleagues. Although I apologized to him, the fellow, who I'll call David, since that's his name, worried I was unhinged. He was probably correct.

Long story short, or at least shorter, yesterday Wifey and I were delayed somewhere, and as a result of that delay, ran into David. I had written him a long, heartfelt email, saying how sorry I was for my asshole behavior. Well, David literally grabbed us, and brought Wifey to the front of a jab line -- she got her first dose of the Pfizer vaccine, and on the list for the second on February 22.

I got emotional. I hugged David -- hard. Ultimately, according to Wifey, I hugged him three times. Someone I thought was an enemy had turned out to be a true mentsch -- one who did us a tremendous favor.

Dr. Barry had talked me off the Covid ledge -- telling me with all the precautions we took, we'd be fine. But still, there was an undercurrent of anxiety -- it's my duty to protect my family, and with a vaccine out there that likely fends off the dreaded corona, until I got it for Wifey, well, the anxiety would remain. Yesterday, that demon is, at least for now, halfway slain.

So a man I had truly subjected to venom is now a friend. I guess life can be that way -- if you keep an open mind, and have the ability to recognize when you act like a total turd. I acted like a total turd.

And, on a deeper level, my sage and loving friends Eric, Barry, and Kenny, got our family through the crisis, and on the road to true recovery. I wrote them that I guess we could have gotten through this without them, but I'm not sure how.

I'm truly amazed by people who, contrary to the great Barbra song, DON'T need people. I've never been one of those. And I know I am indeed among the luckiest people in the world.