Wednesday, April 7, 2021

Finally! Something Good For The Rich White Man

 So a lot of talk lately has been about "stimmies," a great term coined by, I guess, millennials, to describe the economic stimulus checks being sent by the government to help us recover from the plague. The Trump Administration sent a couple -- $600 each - and now Biden, being a Democrat, had to out do him and is sending $1400. Alas, Wifey and I don't qualify on account of the fact that, despite my best efforts to slink away from the law business, somehow cases keep coming in and getting settled.

However, my ancient suegra is poor -- we paid down her remaining assets to the Palace years ago to get her on Medicaid, which helps pay her tuition at this college for the declining no one really wishes to attend. As a result, she got the stimmies, and was due for another one. But this caused me worry -- to keep Medicaid eligibility, you can't have more than $2000 in assets. The damned stimmie checks threatened to put her over the limit, and, in my paranoid mind, make her too rich to be poor enough for Medicaid.

Well -- I was wrong. The stimmies don't count as assets. So, sure enough, this am I checked her account, and the $1400 was auto deposited by the IRS. Since we pay monthly out of our own pockets to keep my suegra at the Palace, the stimmie DOES help us -- saves us the $1400 we'd have to pay. So there IS an economic benefit to this rich, white man, after all. I love the Democratic Party!

Snark aside, we had a great day yesterday. D1 and Joey's nanny was recovering from her 2nd jab, and the younguns needed help with the grandson -- both had work calls which his happy cooing would interrupt. So Wifey and I fired up the SUV and drove to their house -- and played with him, and took him for walks.

I wheeled him down the street to Biscayne Bay. He loved it -- babbled happily, and waved at a passing seaplane and flock of pelicans. We spoke to my parents, whose cremains are in the ocean, which is, of course, connected to the Bay. I told the Little Man about my family's history, which is, of course, his family history. His middle name is my father's. I think on some level he understood.

After Wifey fed him his dinner, we handed him off to his beloved Daddy and Mommy, and left for home. But wait. If seeing one D was good, wouldn't seeing the other make the day even better? We called D2 and she was out walking the enormous puppy. Would she like to meet for dinner? She would -- Jonathan was working late, anyway.

So, she called a few places -- figuring Tuesday night would be empty. But the Grove has become freaking Manhattan South, and 3 places we called for outdoor seating were already filled. But we went to the Peacock Cafe, newly renovated, and large dog friendly.

It was lovely. I had some delicious fish, as did Wifey and D2. We got lamb chops to go for the late working finance man. We walked D2 and Betsy home along Bayshore Drive -- the breeze was delicious. And then we headed home.

A package was waiting -- D1 surprised me with a new book: "A Year of Dangerous Days." It's about 1980 in Miami -- the year after I moved here - and the confluence of events of race riots, Mariel Boatlift, and Cocaine -- the three pillars that make my beloved City so great. I look forward to reading it.

Today I plan to resume my constitutionals -- on partial hiatus on account of strained quads and hamstrings.

Watching the toddler for 3 hours yesterday reminded me that child care is for the young. I thought of my former next door neighbor, Alfredo. When he put in a commercial level playground, I told him (this was 3 years ago)  I hoped to someday have grandkids play there. "Grandkids? David -- you're MY age -- have more of your OWN kids." I guess he looked past the fact that his wife is 30 years younger than mine -- or figured -- hey -- it's Miami -- get a young mistress to broaden your legacy.

No F-ing way! Even with child care, I am WELL past the parent of young children stage. I just hope I keep the stamina to keep running after the grand son, and, dare I hope?  - more grandkids, too.

Off now to write Wifey a note -- gotta move that stimmie. Not a bad morning...

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