A Fine Early Seder

 So with the new grandson, our schedules basically follow his, and family gatherings tend to the early side. And so it was Saturday -- D1 and Joey and the spoiled Spaniel and the baby came over, and I left to go fetch the holiday food.

We went Middle Eastern this year -- Shaddai -- and I walked into the empty restaurant at noon, to see a few large bags on the counter, but no one there. I called out. No response. My weird mind immediately pictured the owner lying dead in the back, with a knife wound, from an angry wife. Not sure why I think this way. Indeed, the owner was in the back, but just cooking, and he knew immediately I was there to pick up the large order of kebabs, rice, fish, and other delicious foods.

I arrived home, and D2 and Jonathan were arriving, too, with their enormous puppy. D2 was FaceTiming with her 3 best UF friends. One of them, Ashley, was celebrating a birthday, and I said I had wished her a happy day on FaceBook, and noticed the only other greetings were from old people like me. Ha. Pretty much, she admitted, but still appreciated the thought.

I poured drinks, and we feasted. We decided to eat first, and seder after. We cleaned off the table, and used the haggadahs Joey had written a few years back -- the best I've ever seen. We went around the table discussing the meaning of Passover, the emancipation from slavery. The baby seemed interested.

Afterwards, Joey took the little man for a nap walk. I realized my Sonos music had been hijacked by D2 -- which I always find funny, hearing young peoples' tunes coming out the the speakers that either play 70s music or Sinatra.

We all loved the time together, and then Alyssa came by -- dear friend of the family. D1 is up and perky, and Alyssa makes her seem like the cartoon character Daria in contrast. Pure energy, and of the fun and loving kind. Since I was a few drinks in, I wasn't shy about strongly suggesting maybe she and her wonderful husband Fredy have kids, too. I really hope they do.

D1 and family left -- they had another seder with Joey's family later that night. We sat around watching basketball and drinking coffee and snacking on the flourless chocolate cake. It was truly a precious day.

Wifey had knocked over a full glass of red wine -- all over the relatively new dining room chair, and the new rug. D2 sprang into action, and cleaned it up. We laughed -- some people would have gone totally nuts with spilled red wine. We all share a decided attitude about not caring too much for stuff. I sort of hoped some of the stain would remain -- a reminder of the banner day during the pandemic. Alas, D2 using selzer and some magic cleaner, got it all out.

After the balance of the family left, we FaceTimed with Wifey's BFF Edna and her man Marc up in Atlanta. I drank water instead of vodka -- still nicely buzzed from earlier in the day.

Yesterday, our "2nd seder" was dinner with Joelle and Kenny and their boys at an outside venue at the Falls. Alas, I don't keep kosher for Passover...but at least do THINK about all the chametz I consume.

April is nearly upon us. Hopefully it won't be a cruel month, as Eliot described it, but rather another step towards the controlling of the plague.

It'll be VERY damned nice when we're all emancipated from that.

Everything's Quiet On Pesach Day

 So it's the second Passover during our modern plague times. For the past years, pre pandemic, we've been hosted by Joey's parents, and have had a grand time. They have about 30 people, and we go through the hagaddah Joey wrote a few years ago, in honor of his departed grandfather, and share tales of growing up in the US, Israel, and South America. A few years ago, one of Joey's cousins allowed as to how his proudly Sephardic father derisively called Ashkenazim "gefilte fish eaters." I LOVED that, and have taken to calling my homies GFEs, as in, "Waddup, my GFE?" In fact, I can certainly do without that strange food -- although with enough horseradish it is at least edible.

Last year, we participated in a Zoom seder. Today, we have the Ds, their men, and the beautiful grandson coming over early, on account of the baby's sleeping schedule, and will do our own abridged seder. We ordered in from Shaddai, a great Lebanese place, and I go fetch the food at noon. Wifey also ordered a flourless chocolate cake from comically expensive Joanna's marketplace. Food tragedy nearly ensued.

The cake was ready for pickup at 4, and we forgot. No problem, Wifey said, they're open until 7. So we rolled up a t5:40 to fetch the cake, and they were CLOSED. Apparently during the pandemic they close early. Luckily, they let me in to pay the $60 for the cake. Otherwise, I would have had to compete today with countless Karens, all vying for their Passover meals. It would have been awful.

So we'll sit around the table, and kvell at the baby, and it should be a tensosity-free day. After the kids leave, Wifey scheduled a Zoom cocktail party with Edna in Atlanta -- no seder for her this year -- Marc is post surgery, and their kids haven't yet been jabbed. So we'll talk Moses over the Zoom.

Tomorrow night, we have dinner plans with Joelle and Kenny and their boys -- probably an outdoor restaurant at the Falls. I'd like to say I keep kosher for Passover, but I don't. But at least I DO feel a bit guilty with each bite of leavened bread -- for a moment. I guess I'm the clueless son from the 4 questions.

That said, we WILL share the hard core schmurah matzo at our seder table -- one box from Chabad of UF, and one from Chabad of Kendall. It's the ultra pure stuff baked only for the holiday. Years ago, on a tour in Crown Heights, I got to visit a bakery -- it was positively Dickensian. My friend Nechama's father worked there. It was something to see -- the flour and water are only allowed together for seconds, lest micro levels of leavening happen before the very hot oven stops it. Ah -- tradition.

So I plan to at least reflect on my Bob Marley-esque view of the holiday. I'll try to emancipate myself from the mental slavery we all endure -- thankful that I'm not a REAL slave, with chains, and whips, and all that Charlton Heston/Cecille B DeMille stuff.

And I'll hope for emancipation from this damned virus. It'll be REAL nice to all be together again next year -- at Joey's parents' house with lots of people.

Every So Often the Big Man Gives You One of Those Days

 What a lovely weekend just passed -- it almost made us forget we're still in the midst of a worldwide plague.

Friday night Kenny, Eric, Dana, Barry, Josh and I solved the world's problems over some Zoom cocktails -- laughing a bit, and with me only repeating, I think, one story I had told from the week before. It happens more and more when I drink, much to Wifey's schadenfreude delight, as she's been losing it for years. I'm finally catching up...or down.

Saturday was gorgeous -- walked the 'hood, and rested, and later on Jeff and Lili stopped by. Lili and I polished off a bottle of Stag's Leap while Jeff and Wifey drank flavored seltzer. It was nice catching up with old friends, and talking about the life paths our combined 5 daughters have taken. They've had different experiences -- we realized how lucky we are that our two Ds have wonderful life partners -- Jeff and Lili are so far only 1 for 3 in that Department. Hopefully they'll join the club.

And yesterday was the highlight. D1 and Joey have been going to Pace Park with the grandson. The City did a beautiful job of renovating the bayside gem -- in a long seedy area called Omni. It has a large dog park, tot lot, fields, and beautiful bay walk.

We met them there, and watched the toddler gleefully toddle about the fields. He comically stumbled toward Wifey and collapsed into her arms in a warm hug. Wifey was ecstatic -- she kind of likes the little man.

We walked to the tot lot, and enjoyed watching the other kids, of literally all races and ethnicities, play happily. We chatted with a very hipster couple with 2 beautiful blonde girls -- the parents full of tatoos and piercings -- the girls so beautiful and happy. They were new to the area, and asking about local museums. Our little man seemed a bit interested in Coco -- just a month or two older than he.

Coco's sister was 2 years older, and I told the Dad to savor each moment. Somehow I had Ds that were 1 and 4 playing at a tot lot, and through some sort of physics time warp experiment, were now fully grown, married, and one with her own baby. The Dad said he videoed everything -- he already saw the time flying by.

We walked to the Bay, and there came bounding an enormous puppy -- Betsy, with D2 and Jonathan. They stopped by for awhile on their way to take dinner to Jonathan's Dad -- he's home while Jonathan's Mom is in NYC visiting their first grandchild, a baby girl. We can just imagine how moving that meeting must have been -- Lizbeth has wanted a grandchild for a while now -- and got herself a beautiful red haired girl.

We "posted up" by the dog park. The grandson ran around. An English Dad was practicing soccer with his boy and girl -- joked that between a Brit Dad, and his Colombian wife, the kids were born to the game. The little girl, long, curly, raven haired, passed the ball to our little man. He kicked it, a little, and we melted. Then the beautiful young girl inadvertently knocked him down. He laughed. I told him it certainly wouldn't be the last time a pretty girl knocked him on his tuches in life.

It was 5:30. My Pay to Park App told me we had been there 3 hours. It seemed like 1. The Ds and their men and baby and dogs all left for their evenings. I was starving, and called in a takeout order for Shorty's barbecue -- Wifey's favorite.

We ate outside by the pool, in the luscious mid March Miami evening. We talked about how beautiful the day had been.

My wise Rabbi friend, when consoling someone going through a tough time, says, of course, this, too, shall pass. Years ago Paul told him how wonderful his life was going. Rabbi Yossi said this, too, shall pass.

So the bad and good both last, but not forever.

But for whatever reason, the Big Man blessed us with a true day in the sun yesterday, a true day in the park, with those sacred to us. And it made me one thankful Daddy in the USA.

You Never Get Over It

 When my law partner Paul's father died, shortly after I met Paul in 1988, my friend and mentor Ed sent him a sympathy note. Like most of Ed's brilliant writing, it was poignant and concise. I still remember it exactly: "I was about your age when I lost my father. I don't know that I ever got over it. I feel for you."

Like many other Ed-isms, I stole that one, and use it often when a parent of a friend dies. Wifey points out that I also use the one from the Jewish tradition: may the memory of your loved one be as a blessing. What more can we hope for?

So Wifey and I were home Wednesday evening, on St. Patrick's Day, which we didn't really celebrate. Our friend Elizabeth called -- she was feeling sad. Her father had died on St. Patrick's Day years before, and this year his loss was hitting her harder than other years.

Compounding that loss, Elizabeth's mother died 5 days later. The two had been long divorced, and married to others, but were still close -- living in nearby condos in Kings Creek in Kendall. It was as if the Dad dying triggered the Mom's death, too -- she was found gone in her apartment, and wasn't seemingly that sick. When Elizabeth called to say she was returning to Miami for a second funeral, at first I thought she had adopted my dark sense of humor. She hadn't -- we were standing  in that same cemetery off the Turnpike again, the the second time in a week. Very, very sad.

So we talked for awhile, and Elizabeth thanked us for cheering her up. And then the next evening, last night, after a happy day with D2 working here, with her enormous puppy, I had a few vodkas before dinner, and when D2 left, sat alone outside on the front porch -- thinking about the death of my mother. Her yarhzeit, as well as birthday, are less than a month from now.

Ah, Sunny. We still talk of her very often -- her adorable non sequiturs, and decidedly politically incorrect statements. 4:30 p.m. is forever "Grandma Sunny time, " as a result of her visit years before. She was in the back seat of our SUV with the Ds, and we were returning from somewhere, and she sighed and said "Ah -- it's FOUR THIRTY." We asked if the time meant anything, and she said no -- she had just looked at her watch, and her internal narration found it interesting. So if Wifey, or the Ds, or I happen to notice the clock in the late afternoon, we say "Ah -- Grandma Sunny time."

Also, when she learned the svelte D1 was becoming a dietitian, she said "Well she'll do great. Look at her. Who would go to a dietitian who was a big, fat horse?" Of course, the very essence of D1's professional advice is to avoid fat shaming, or healthy at any size, as she says -- but, well, that was my Mom for you.

I was talking to my nephew Henry the other night -- a very wise young man. We were speaking about a very troubled family member -- one with a long history of mental illness and drug abuse. Henry noted that he could never enjoy the moment -- his brain was always tormenting him - or he was focused on imponderable things. Henry noted that he finds joy in the little things in life -- watching people, a beautiful natural setting, a particularly good sandwich.

Henry is his grandmother's grandson, to a T. Sunny, even in her final weeks, living in the nursing home, found joy each day. When I'd wheel her outside, she'd look skyward, and thank Mother Nature for how great the sun felt on her skin. When we'd get ice cream sandwiches at the gazebo at Miami Jewish Home, she'd savor each bite, allowing as to how it was the most delicious ice cream she'd ever had.

And to anyone who thinks a nursing home resident is just a burden, with nothing to offer, I submit my friend Mirta as contravening evidence. Mirta would often visit my mother, and says it changed her life -- seeing how one, even in the final days, and wheelchair bound and incontinent, could show such joy, and such appreciation for each moment on the planet.

And Mirta's frequent visits brought us closer as friends, too. I call her my sister of another mister now.

So no, when you lose a beloved parent, you never do get over it, as my mentor Ed knew well. Hell -- he died in 1993, and I still think about him a lot -- typically when I encounter a dumb ass lawyer, and I wonder WWED (What Would Ed Do?).

Sunny turned 93 on April 13, 2013, more or less. There was some question about her actual birthday -- but she always used the 13th and proclaimed it her lucky number. She died two weeks later, on April 27th, in the morning. I wasn't with her -- I had gone home to sleep, and was literally right next door to Miami Jewish Home getting gas for my car when the Center called to say she had just passed.

No -- I never got over it. I most certainly never got over my Dad's death, and that was back in 1982 -- the year before I met Wifey. She started dating a still partially messed up guy, and now, close to 4 decades later, is married to a partially messed up guy.

I feel for our friend Elizabeth. May her parents' memories be for a blessing.

The Less Than Astute Financial Advisor

 So we had the same stock broker for many years -- a very nice woman who had clients much richer than we are. Wifey loved the fact that she was a woman -- good for the Ds to see a woman in business -- and when we opened accounts for them, they got to know her, too.

Well, about 5 years ago her company announced that they could only handle accounts on a yearly fee basis. Instead of paying a commission for trades, we'd pay an annual fee on the Ds' accounts, Wifey and my investment account, and my retirement account. The problem was, the fee was going to be, in total, about $70K per year! That was MORE than double the amount of my first and second year's salary as a lawyer.

Nah -- that dog wasn't going to hunt. Plus, the broker had brought her son in to work with her -- a tall, very handsome, and, well, not too bright young man.

He called me one day to say that a mutual fund I held in my SEP account was closing, and I had a choice -- did I want to leave the cash in the SEP, or have him send it to me. I thought he was kidding. Surely he knew a SEP holder younger than 55 1/2 would be heavily penalized for taking money out of that account. Nope -- he had no idea until I told him. I wondered how many mistakes like that he made with clients who didn't have any real financial knowledge at all.

So -- we made a switch. I moved my accounts to the online version of our broker's company. No fees, and even the trades were free. The Ds opened accounts at another online trading company.

But there was one holding that I couldn't switch to Edge. I had a small annuity that I had bought back in '93, and it required an actual financial advisor. The broker's son asked if I would just leave it with him -- apparently the more accounts he had, the better for him, even though the value of that annuity was only about $11K. I agreed.

And so things cruised along fine -- the annuity is linked to my online account, and I see it earn its few hundreds of dollars each year. But last week I got an email from the assistant to our old broker and her son -- there was a new minimum charge for every account -- $65 per year.

I wrote back to Evelyn, the assistant, and said hardly made sense to pay $65 per year for an account that only earned a few hundred. Would they waive the fee? Nope, she replied -- not possible.

So I contacted the annuity company, and told them to take the account "in house." They sent me the paperwork, and I filled it out.

But here's the rub. Evelyn has sent me no fewer than 10 emails, following the progress of this transfer. It's fine -- she's a lovely person, but it occurred to me this is costing a LOT more than $65 worth of her time to get this done. I have nothing but extra time -- so I make it a point to respond each time Evelyn writes -- which invites even MORE emails from her.

The point is, some business people just don't get it. For a failure to waive a stupid $65 yearly fee, our ex brokers are spending a ton of time and effort to accomplish this final part of our financial divorce.

And... once the transfer is made, I may end up adding funds to the annuity -- which would have thrown off a commission to the old broker. Instead, the annuity company will save that -- no difference to me, the annuitant.

The episode reminded me of a matter I was asked to handle back in the late 80s. A client had taken a case away from my firm, and settled it on his own. My two bosses sent me to a hearing in which the firm claimed a fee for work the firm had done. I attended, and met the client before we went to see the judge.

The client, a savvy con man kind of guy, told me our firm ought to rethink going forward. He had information about my two bosses that was highly embarrassing. Unless they agreed to waive their claimed fee, he would tell the judge.

Now -- I was only a few years out of law school, but knew enough to agree to postpone the hearing. It was my bosses' call.

I went to their office and told them what had happened. I think the fee in question was about $5K. My younger boss exclaimed "The client is extorting us! It's clearly extortion!" The senior partner said "Yes -- but the price is sure enough fair."

In other words, for that small amount of money it wasn't worth stirring up a proverbial hornet's nest. I called the ex client, told him he had prevailed, and the lien was waived.

My boss's knew which way the wind blew. Alas -- not so much for my former broker.

Back Inside One Year Later

 So yesterday marked the one year anniversary of my last inside restaurant visit. I wasn't planning to venture inside of a restaurant quite yet, even though Wifey and I are fully protected by the jabs. I figured I'd wait for closer to herd immunity. And then...

I drove Wifey to her doc for a blood draw, and we decided to stop for lunch. Bagel Emporium has outside tables, and we drove by -- packed. So I thought we'd try Deli Lane in South Miami, with lots of outdoor tables. 

On the way, we drove past the former Shula's, a former favorite. They lost the coach's name, and renovated, and we saw outside tables. Why not?

And then I peered inside. All the windows were open, and very few people were inside. Were we ready? We were -- we walked over to a corner of the bar, got the menus, and took the plunge: indoor dining!

They redecorated the place beautifully. I thought about getting a martini -- my usual - but it was earlier than 2 -- not ready for day drinking. Instead, I got some delicious lobster bisque and a Cobb salad -- Wifey got a half chicken with asparagus. It was delicious. The waitress, new since I was last there, was delightful. We had dipped our toes into a post Covid world.

Last night I had my usual Zoom cocktail party, and it was fun -- Barry, Josh, Donna, Eric, and Dana. We drank and talked until past 9.

Tonight we meet Joelle and Kenny for dinner in South Miami -- but at an outside table. Tomorrow we're having Cara and our neighbor Gloria over for lunch -- we're all fully vaccinated. I'll give them the choice of inside or outside -- the weather should be lovely.

So we're seeing the green shoots of a return to normal life. The few stragglers of our friends and their kids not yet jabbed have plans to join the RNA club. It appears that, by April, anyone wanting the vax can get it in Florida. Glory days.

What a year. I'm also seeing the economic effects. I called the hotel in Key West where I thought about my birthday -- the Pier House. Their CHEAPEST room in July is over $600 per night. During normal years, it's a $300 room. Pent up demand, and people still not ready to travel abroad, are the culprits.

I was offended by that. I love Key West, but don't wish to be ripped off. So maybe I'll just stick around Miami for the 6-oh. I can always get back to KW when the prices normalize.

All I know is, it's nice to have a full weekend. D1 and Joey and the grandson are on their way here for lunch -- just a quick visit before they bolt for a friends' barbecue.

We plan to savor the visit, and the whole weekend. Can the end of the plague be near?

A Year of Living Cautiously

 So tomorrow marks a one year anniversary: my last day in the office, and out to a restaurant for dinner. I remember it well.

Stuart and I spent the day going over cases, and our friend Allison, who Stu had hired part time to help with case prep, was there as well. At around 6, we decided to go out for some dinner and drinks. We ended up at a place right around the corner, on South Miami Avenue.

We barely discussed the plague. We knew it was here, but were hoping it would just be a few month ordeal. We talked about our lives and kids and in my case, grandparenthood. Our little man was just 2 months old.

We were still coming down from the glow of D2's wedding. It had been a wonderful party, and a great reunion for old time friends like us. We ate our pizza, and had a few drinks, and realized we were, by far, the oldest patrons in the restaurant. Brickell, like much of new Miami, is for the young.

We said goodbye in the parking lot in front of our building, figuring we'd meet again in several weeks. Ha. As if.

The next day, Wifey and I went into quarantine. We knew we'd keep an "extended bubble" -- getting together with our Ds and their men. But that was essentially it, for a good long while.

Later on, we had our haircutter come over. Mirta came by on her motorcycle one night, and we had a distanced meet, with masks. We met Paul and Patricia outside for lunch a few times.

I paid our cleaning lady Miriam for two months, without her visiting. Later, we started having her every other week -- trading with D2 and Jonathan, with each of us decamping to the others' place when she was there. She's coming today, and we'll head to D2's for a few hours -- even though Wifey and I are fully jabbed.

I remember talking with Paul, and his asking my prediction for a date when we'd return to normalcy. I answered May or June. Turns out I may have picked the correct months -- just the wrong year.

All of the cliches have been written about the good side of the plague -- what it's taught us about what's important and what's not.

For me, I've learned I can be quite happy being far less social than I usually am. I savor a weekly Zoom happy hour with Barry, his boys, and Eric, Dana, and Kenny. I get to drink and talk to my very funny and smart friends.

We've also had a few with Norman and Deb -- last minute jobs, which have also been great.

I wasn't much for travel before, and so that hasn't been a big deal. The only essential travel for me the past years was going to NYC to see D2 and Jonathan when they lived there. With them home in Miami -- eh -- I can go or not. No big whoop, as Mike Myers' character Linda Richman used to say.

Still, I'm cautiously optimistic the end may be near. Of the plague, I mean. I just read that jabs will be available in Florida to anyone within the month. Of course, the dumb asses who refuse the jabs won't get them, and that's ok, too. As long as those I care deeply about have protection, well, that is the best I can hope for.

I joked the other day that it was high time to start worrying about getting sick and dying of something other than Covid. Like all truly funny jokes -- that's based on truth.

But for today -- I choose to look on the bright side of life. I passed a neighbor, Ann, out walking this am. She asked how I was. I responded, sardonically, that like the Miami Dolphin great Jim Mandich said right before he died of liver cancer, "Never better!" Such is life.

The Annoying Stimulus Check

 So my ancient suegra, who lives in an ALF, has been broke for years. This has been by design, though Medicaid planning we did years ago, when my father in law needed to go to a nursing home with Alzheimers.

We used a great lawyer named Steve, who I jokingly called the world's tallest Cuban, since he was Cuban and easily 6'8" -- he retired from law and is now a financial planner. But he set things up very well -- and we paid down my suegra's assets over the years, so that now she has none at all, and gets Medicaid. This is helpful, as Medicaid pays $1250 per month towards her fees at the Palace, a luxury ALF here in town.

My suegra also gets money from Social Security, as well as the German government on account of the fact that they enslaved her and killed her family during the Holocaust. Wifey and I pay about $1000 per month to keep her happy in the Palace.

So -- to stay Medicaid eligible, you can't have more than $2000.00 in the bank at any time. I am a hawk about this, since I ABHOR wasting money or properly entitled to benefits, and am constantly after Wifey to keep the account balance acceptable.

Alas -- the plague threw a wrench into things -- my suegra got the two $600 stimulus checks. Luckily, we paid the Palace immediately, and now started an auto withdraw -- they take out her monthly Social Security benefits automatically, on the 5th of the month. Or do they?

Sure enough -- this month the withdrawal was delayed. And what's on the horizon? Even MORE free government money since the Democrats are back in power -- apparently there is a $1400 check coming to my suegra -- this week.

So I set about with thrice daily checks -- making sure the Social Security money is out of the account before the windfall comes. Luckily this morning the Palace made the withdrawal -- days before the next stimulus check is due to be deposited.

It's a conundrum, of course. The money is great -- $1400 we don't have to pay -- but if we're not careful, it can come at the cost of losing Medicaid and having to get it back.

I think my fear of dealing with government silliness is greater than my fear of root canal. At least with root canal, there's an ending, eventually.

So -- for now, at least, my suegra's needed indigent status remains. I guess we'll see if the government insists on even MORE free money for her -- another annoying benefit.

Meanwhile, in the good news Department, D2 and Jonathan got their jabs, courtesy of Jackson Health's common sense approach to giving out jabs. They went to North Dade yesterday am, to a well run clinic, and got the shots.

So with that, our entire nuclear family, with the exception of the grandson, have been at least partly inoculated against the dread disease.

That makes me a most grateful Daddy in the USA.

The Game of Jab

 Since January, my obsession has been getting Covid vaccines for my family. The government said to simply wait -- they would decide who gets the coveted jabs, and when. Well -- I'm my father's son, and he taught me well, after nearly 4 years in the US Army, that you alone are responsible for your own survival. More -- my in laws are living proof that often which line you choose to get on can have enormous consequences.

My father in law's tales of derring do in surviving the Holocaust are filled with examples of not simply doing what one is told. So that's my bent.

I was able to shuck and jive, to use an outdated term, and get myself jabbed in January. D1 has a health care license, and she got hers. Wifey's jab is a story unto itself -- but she's fully protected. And Joey, through a glitch in a supermarket site, got his first jab last week. My consuegros are all jabbed.

The remaining jab-less were D2 and Jonathan. I was least worried for them -- young and healthy, and Jonathan HAD Covid back in December -- just a few days of feeling unwell, and then tested negative. D2 never got infected, despite her lack of quarantine. But still they were large on my plate of worry.

Well, the absurdity of inconsistent vaccine criteria reached a pinnacle last week. Some sites accepted doctors' notes about high risk, and some required a state issued form. I saw on the news that a new FEMA site in North Dade had short lines, and alerted my friend Norman. He scored a state issued high risk form from a nephew, and was able to get his jab.

Just about all of our other close friends, either by being doctors, married to them, or various other forms of shucking and jiving, also were vaccinated.  But not D2 and Jonathan.

And then, news junkie that I am, saw through Twitter that Jackson Health took the lead last night. They opened up their sites to anyone over 16 who would self certify they were high risk. In other words, essentially everyone and his brother. I immediately called D2. The web site was crowded, but she and Jonathan got through -- appointments for them this am. Assuming these go off without a hitch, I will be greatly relieved.

As Anton Chigurgh said in "No Country For Old Men," it is the best I can do.

My nephew of another brother, Scott, has had a pro bono side hustle since the jabs became available: getting appointments for old people he knows. He got his mother, aunt, and grandmother all jabbed at various sites. His brother Josh, my other nephew of another brother, has an appointment this week.

Luckily, the hustler was himself rewarded -- last week Maryland opened their program to journalists, so Scott and his lady Samantha took a drive into the countryside and got their first vaccines. Another relief.

Jerry Garcia had no idea when he sang about a long, strange trip. This past year has been that, to say the least. In three days, I celebrate an anniversary: last time I was out, inside a restaurant. I met Stuart and Allison for pizza and drinks, on Brickell, March 12, 2020. The next day, Wifey and I started our bubble.

Paul asked for my prediction -- when would this all pass? I declared May or June. It may be I was right about the month, just a year premature. I guess we'll see.

I still have that first overnight vacation in my sights: Key West in July, when I turn 60. I'm hoping it happens -- I figure by May, I ought to know, and can do the small planning for it. If not -- that's ok, too.

Baseball and boxing are the two most written about American sports. Boxing because of its obvious gladiator, mano a mano nature, and baseball because of it's life's metaphors. One of the most stated, for all the teams that don't win the World Series, is "There's always next year."

And so it may be with these times of living in the plague. At least after today, hopefully, as for my nuclears -- the jabs should be done.

The Handy Man Can

 Years ago, Kenny and Joelle referred us Nestor, a funny, chatty, very good handyman. Nestor can do it all -- plumbing, electrical, painting -- you name it. We used him on several projects -- he was never cheap, but always did a good job.

We hired him to fix up an office for D1. When she opened her practice, a local doctor, whose wife is now Miami Dade's Mayor, offered her an examining room -- not for a cheap price. Alas -- a sink had to be removed, and shelves installed. Nestor did a fine job -- that office served D1 well, until she realized she only needed a shared space, and could save the high monthly rental.

A few years ago, I had a small job -- reattaching some fencing to our coral rock wall. I told Nestor to come when he was free. No rush. He did, and it took him, with his high speed drill, about 5 minutes. He said "Oh -- just give me $50." I did, but was annoyed. In my mind, it was a $20 job -- I guess I was having a penurious time in my life. That was it -- no more Nestor!

Wifey found another handy man, and he was fine. And then, with the plague, projects stopped -- except a critical one where the AC broke. As I tried to remain loyal to Dr. Fauci -- I just didn't see the need to have anyone except critical people (the Ds and their men) inside the house.

Alas, Wifey and I are both jabbed. Two fawcetts were frozen. I called Nestor. He came over yesterday -- ran out and bought the parts. Fawcetts are surprisingly complex. But now they work fine.

Also, I have a waterfall in my pond. Before Covid, I had it fixed -- but the on/off switch is inside the pump box, and to access it I risk a broken ankle. Could Nestor move the switch outside -- maybe affix it to a nearby tree? He could -- came yesterday, but needed an electrical part to complete the job. He came by today and completed it. I now can turn on and off the waterfall like a good actress controls her tears.

And -- his price was very reasonable. I even gave him some extra bucks -- he's an Argentine and loves red wine -- I told him to buy a bottle on me.

Last night we had a record long Zoom cocktail hour. We honored Kenny -- he had literally saved a man's life -- a fellow collapsed at a park, and Kenny and his son and wife Joelle did CPR and used the AED unit -- the fellow is doing well.

Kenny signed off, and Barry and his boys signed on -- we drank and chatted until after 10:30. Wifey even went to sleep before I did -- I think a first since the pandemic.

Later we see the Little Man, and enormous puppy. A fine weekend awaits.

And I get some long missed waterfall time...

The Morass of Obama Care

 Wifey has asked me to stop mentioning her age, and so I will, but I am VERY happy that come December she will be on Medicare. Ah -- then only one of us will have to deal with the high cost and absurdity that is ObamaCare.

My law firm has only two of us, and my partner is on Medicare plus a supplement, and so Wifey and I have to have our own plan. It's a Silver one, through Florida Blue, and this year the monthly premium is just over $2000.00.

Of course, for that enormous premium, we have low deductibles and co pays. Ha. As if! In network deductible is $8500 per person per year, and out of network is over $16,000.00.

Well -- we had a claim recently, and I assigned the family mule to process it. That mule is me. Bills have been pouring in, and, thankfully, Florida Blue has been very helpful. They assigned us a case manager named Jill, and she calls weekly and gives great advice. Rule number one, she said, do NOT pay any bill until Florida Blue vets it, and makes sure the provider gets the correct amount. Trying to get a refund from a doctor or hospital, she said, is tougher than removing your own appendix. Oh -- and far more painful.

It is funny to see how different hospital systems operate, though. Baptist sent a bill before the bed was cold. They are the richest health system in the Southeast. Jackson has yet to send a bill -- I actually called today to request one. I was told it "wasn't ready yet." Jackson is perpetually in financial peril.

It is truly easier when you're on Medicare and a Supplement. I remember handling claims processing for my mother -- between the government and the supplement she had through AARP -- essentially everything got paid.

The entire experience shows why you MUST have coverage, even if it only covers catastrophe. I know several people who had cancer or heart surgery without insurance. Their families lost essentially all of their assets except for their home.

The Ds know this. When D2 was switching jobs, I absolutely required not a single day go by without her covered. Thankfully, both Ds and sons in law have excellent coverage through their employers. Come December, I'll be the only one left with the porous Obama Care. And that's ok.

Given my age, the premium for me alone with be about $900 per month. The deductible will still be in the 4 figures. Big Man willing, I won't meet it. I never have.

Of course, ObamaCare is more affordable when you can get help paying for it. As a wise man I know always says -- it costs a lot of money to be well off...

In a related matter, I got a notice from the water company. They noticed a HUGE increase in the coming bill. I expected it, as we had the pool redone, and I figure it holds about 20K gallons. The notice said you can request a credit for emptying/refilling the pool once per year. Yay.

I called in, and learned the credit was only towards a sewer bill -- we have a septic tank. They ain't given me no free water. Harumph.

Another very wise man, Norman's Dad, famously says that a problem that can be solved with money is not a real problem. He is so correct -- particularly if one is blessed to have money. And so I'll pay the bills, and use the water. Hell -- D1 even turned us onto a new, expensive treat: Aloha Bars. They're vegan snack/protein bars that taste like Girl Scout Cookies. The things cost $2 apiece. I just ordered another two boxes -- call me a spendthrift.

Hopefully this is the last of ObamaCare claims. For Wifey at least -- we need to make it another 9 months.