Reflections Of Tragedy And A New Beginning

 So I'm up early, as usual, drinking coffee and reading the online Herald. I still get the print edition, like an old habit  can't kick, and it's silly -- by the time I read it in the morning, I have already read most of the articles online. But it no longer comes on Saturday, so that makes the choice easier.

In addition to the heavy coverage of the Plague's Delta surge, they've been running very lovely profiles of the Surfside disaster. I just read and forwarded one to my family: a young couple who met at UF and recently married. The man, Luis, was living with Jonathan's cousin Moises, and another young man, along with his wife Nicki. They could have been D2 and Jonathan -- the way they loved their families and friends. Heartbreaking.

Another tale was about the Rovirosas -- the man was my age, and had become a major leader, through his family's originally Cuban business, of Port Everglades and PortMiami. All of his associates described him as I know my closest would describe me: fine in business, but only had sparkling eyes when talking about his two beautiful daughters and THEIR accomplishments. I would have been friends with Ricky Rovirosa, I have zero doubt.

Life is so fragile, fleeting, and precious. Wifey put me under a strict prohibition for my birthday weekend -- no talk of tragedies, deaths, dread diseases. I kept to it, mostly, but as we joked on our cocktail Zoom last night, since then I've had to make up for lost time.

In our funny macabre way, with Kenny, Eric, Josh and Barry and Scott online, Barry and I played a sort of high stakes misery poker. Barry shared the tale of a delightful 17 year old with his "top 5% of nicest families ever" who was vacationing with them in Naples, standing on the beach, when struck by lightning. It stopped his heart, his Dad did CPR, and he was eventually helicoptered to Barry's hospital. He was covering in the ICU when he met the family. Ultimately the boy died, and donated organs. It was a classic tale of doing everything right, and still having tragedy visit.

But then I RAISED Barry's tale on the poker table of awfulness. I recently heard from an old friend, now a lawyer in Orlando. We had always bonded over the fact that our beloved Dads both died around the same age -- his was 62 and succumbed to ALS, the terrible Lou Gherig's Disease.

Well, my friend is the middle of three brothers, and his youngest was just diagnosed, too. Worse -- turns out they have the"familial" kind -- which means my friend and HIS brother each have a 50% chance of developing this worst of all diseases, too. For their Mom, it's a terrible medical "Saving Private Ryan" going on now. Plus, each of the 50 something brothers have kids of their own -- will they carry the fatal gene?

I've been emailing my old friend, and sharing some advice, which fortunately he already knew. Turns out UM's med school has a leading ALS Center -- their director is a top researcher. My friend already knew about them -- he's seen one of the docs there.

I just pray those tests, literally a coin flip of the future, come back the right way for him and his brother.

And yet, as these sharks of terror swim around us, there is hope. We look to the future.

Tonight I'll be officiating at my dear friend's wedding -- marrying his beautiful, long time fiancee. He's nearly 71; she's 57, but looks no older than 40. There'll be 40 of us gathered to celebrate this affirmation that the future IS something to be hopeful for.

Of course, with the Delta surging, there's a good deal of tensosity afoot. But all the guests are vaxxed, we'll do our best, and hope that by the mid week no one starts feeling those dreaded symptoms. Of course, with the jabs, the sheer terror of Covid is modulated -- the fear is of feeling crappy for several days, and most likely not going to the hospital or dying.

I have a feeling that after a few drinks tonight, and the beaming smiles of the couple and their family and friends, the fears will melt away.

So there it is -- life as a poker game. I never really played, but it's an irresistible metaphor. You hope to be dealt a fine hand, but you play whatever hand you're dealt. You bluff, you bet, you try to outwit the other players sometimes, but ultimately the game ends -- maybe with you in the chips, maybe not.

And as we get older, and therefore allowed to stay in the game awhile, an even more delicious metaphor comes into play -- the one my very smart friend Kenny uses: playing with the House's money.

Jewish tradition says a full life is three score plus 10 -- 70. The Big Man gave me nearly that number of years -- and I hope He gives me more, and lets me attain that rarefied status -- playing with the House's money.

For now, I play with my own, I guess. and the game is the only one in town.

The Avoided Doggy Play Date

 So the enormous puppy Betsy is staying with us, and she loves to romp with other dogs. In her usual home of Coconut Grove there are plenty of opportunities, and then here, she met Jagger.

Jagger is a Lab/Golden mix, and when the two dogs get together, it's joyful to watch. Jagger was being dog sat by her owner's daughter's boyfriend Jeremy, a recent UF Aerospace Engineering grad. I asked him if he had one of those great T shirts that read "As a matter of fact, I AM a rocket scientist." He did not, but loved the idea. When Jeremy was here, Jonathan and he would meet daily and the dogs would romp.

Alas, Jeremy is gone, and Jagger's Mom, Daria, only walks in the afternoons. Betsy runs up to the house when Jagger is inside alone, and wags her tail. Jagger emits a lone, sad, "woof."

Last night, D2 and I were walking Betsy, and, sadly, Jagger was unavailable. But as we walked down a street, I saw our strange, malcontent neighbor whom I'll call Lisa -- not her real name. It should be Karen, as she is always complaining about something or another, and has many "contacts" with the Village she uses to turn people in for real or perceived offenses. I typically avoid her, but she does have a sweet retriever, and so I led D2 and Betsy towards her and asked her to go get her dog for a playdate.

"Oh no -- he's inside sleeping." D2 and I did a double take, and should have just nodded and kept walking, but instead, for no particular reason, like Forrest Gump, we stayed to let Betsy run in the grass area in front of her house, after she warned us off her lawn having "just sprayed for bugs."

As Betsy ran, Lisa began her monologue about her life and kids. I now know her youngest works in private equity and was making $150K per year here, but is moving to Boston to make $350k per year.

If she and her husband, who I'll call Ray, since that rhymes with his real name, had only sent their kids to public schools, they would have had "another $2M in their retirement accounts." Her older son works at the finest law firm in Miami, and her daughter attended a very expensive private law school and now works for the State of Florida along with her husband.

Of course, she never once asked D2 anything about herself or her life, nor her husband's, nor any of my family. It was as if she felt we were privileged to hear first hand about the greatness of her family.

Well -- boring braggarts like her bring out the worst in me. I pointed out that had she paid car dealers instead of the private schools, she'd have a driveway full of exotic cars instead of the boring Lexuses. And, I told her in detail about an old friend who mortgaged his house to send his daughter to Duke, only to have her graduate and get her first job on Brickell alongside a fellow hire who had attended FIU.

I even said "What????! You paid 1/4 million to send your daughter to a private law school, and she works for the state???" No -- she corrected me. It was more like $350K if you factored in her expensive rent and travel and expenses.

D2 and I and Betsy walked away chuckling. I figured my passive aggressive jibes had done the trick.

And then...Just this am I was walking again, on the phone. There was Lisa, this time with the dog on a leash. She ignored the fact that I was on the phone, and said "Oh great -- I'll walk with you."

I told her I was on a "private call involving high levels of security in the US government" and turned around and walked the other way. I think she believed me.

Ah, people. Recently D1 was honored as a local health care leader in South Florida. They interviewed her, and asked her most important advice. She credited me with teaching her to always be a student of human nature. I was proud.

Sadly, Lisa is never a student. She can't stop talking about herself and her family. What a bore.

THIS is the Country That Beat The Axis?

 The Plague, at least in the US, should have been distant in our rearview mirror by now. Brilliant scientists and doctors came up with a wildly effective vaccine in record time, and it proved miraculously good at ending Covid. All that we, the public, had to do was get either one or two jabs, get the vaccine to poorer countries, and be past this misery. Instead, barely over half of the eligible citizens in the US have gotten the jab.

I've spoken to several of the refusers. Their reasons range from outright nuttiness (the wife of an about to be arrested Q Anon nut) to uncertainty (I don't trust something that was rushed like that).

It's funny, though. I haven't once heard the correct answer, which is that we, as members of a society, are obligated to take the small risk of the jab to keep others healthy and alive. Somehow it's become purely an individual choice.

I grew up the son of two members of the Greatest Generation. I'm pretty certain my Dad did not choose to give up his ok son of immigrants life in The Bronx to go join the US Army to fight the Axis powers -- the greatest military power in the history of the world. Yeah -- the Italians were pretty worthless, but the Germans and Japanese? Wow.

To be an American meant you thought about the nation first, understanding that only in that way could you have a decent life for your kids and grandkids. Our present citizens can't be bothered.

It's funny -- I was chatting with a Cuban friend recently about why the Castro Regime and its progeny remain in power, despite all the noise and protest. She said she blamed Cuban mothers. They weren't like American or other national mothers -- they would NOT send their sons to war, even if it was for the freedom of their nation. Oh sure, Cuban AMERICAN Moms talk tough, but you rarely see the anger and rhetoric yelled at Versailles on SW 8th Street turned into action in Havana. Instead, the anger is against President Biden: "Do something!"

Comparisons suffer, but when Israel was fighting for independence, they won their war largely because of Jews from around the world who went there, AFTER serving in WW II for the US, Canada, Great Britain, France. The entire Israeli Air Force was composed of those heroes. 

The point is -- freedom comes at a high price.

And in our pathetic nation, nearly half won't even pay the price of a couple of jabs in the arm. Even Republicans are starting to understand that -- the Alabama Governor came out and said it the other day: Blame the Refusers. Wow. Alabama.

So we'll just remain as careful as possible -- without going into the full lockdown we had during the first half year of the Plague. The jabs are quite effective -- almost no one of reasonable health who got vaccinated is seeming to die or get awfully sick.

Still -- the damned thing ought to be over. And the fact that it isn't embarrasses me more to be an American than just about anything in recent memory -- even worse than the fact that we elected Trump.

Quieter House

 So after hosting Edna and Marc at our house, in addition to D2, Jonathan, and the enormous puppy, it's gotten quieter here.

Yesterday we roused the Atlantans and were out the door by 12:45, on our way to Stephen's Restaurant in Hialeah, home of some amazing sandwiches. My nephew of another mother Josh met us there -- he had some business later in the area, and the 5 of us enjoyed our meal as the skies opened up outside.

Edna had their famous "Newman's Jewban," a cross between a Rueben and Cuban sandwich, and pronounced it her favorite meal of the vacation -- and the food at the Ritz Carlton was excellent. We then dropped them at the Delta part of MIA, which is tiny compared to ATL, where Delta lives, and Wifey and I were off for home. She thought she's want to visit her mother, but was too tired, and I took the opportunity for a nice afternoon nap as "Mayday -- Air Disasters" played on the TV. Wifey finds endless humor in my enjoyment of the show, as I tend to be a nervous flyer, and yet subject myself to the manifold ways planes come down. Oh well...

At 6 I resumed my Eric and Dana Zoom shabbat, and started my usual Friday pasta and meatloaf meal. At 7 Barry, Donna, Eric and Dana jumped on the cocktail Zoom, and D2 and Jonathan had Jonathan's friend over for a pregame drink before Ubering to Wynwood for a young person's evening.

We wished Barry a happy birthday, which is today, but since he skipped a grade in elementary school and is an academic year behind us, is only 58. We'll see him later this evening, at the Palm, after we drop D2 off for a playdate with her sister, brother in law, and nephew -- the Case D1 is on the way to the restaurant.

Jonathan is off to Mexico for business for the week -- so the house will be really quiet again. 

And I have a sermon to write. Next Saturday I will be performing a marriage of a dear friend and his very long time fiancee. I've married, I think, close to 20 couples as a Florida Notary, and this one will be a blast. Several of the guests have limited English skills, and my son in law Jonathan will act as translator. We will be vodka fueled for this event -- but not too much so.

The Plague numbers are surging again, but it seems mostly to be a problem for the unjabbed. Plenty of vaccinated people DO get infected still, but rarely end up very sick or dead, as was the case pre vaccine.

Young Josh said it best when I asked if he was still going out: "I refuse to shut down my life because of stupid people who won't get the jab." I agree with him, though we'll all still mask up, and avoid crowds as much as possible.

In the pre Covid Department -- D2 has asked me to resume my physical training, and this am at 10 we're meeting with Enrique for a private session. I really need strength and mobility help. I'm much thinner than I was pre pandemic, but still make comical grandpa noises when I get out of a chair or have to bend down to pick something up off the floor. Then again, I AM a comical grandpa...

So here's to staying vertical, enduring the heat of the Miami Summer, and keeping on keeping on.

Back to the Quotidian

 It's nice to settle back to normalcy after a big weekend. D2 and Jonathan are happily ensconced her, and it's lovely to have some young-uns and their enormous puppy.

Normally Wifey wouldn't DREAM of having anyone else stay here, unless it is her BFF Edna and her man Marc. They're coming tomorrow for two nights, before heading home to Atlanta. The benefit to me is that Wifey is finally cleaning out the upstairs guest room, a space that has acted as a disorganized storage facility for many years.

I was up early to see Nurse Nancy for my 6 month blood draw. They check my levels twice a year to make sure the cholesterol lowering meds aren't wreaking other havoc. Also, have to check that old man marker, the PSA. Big Man willing, all will be fine.

Nancy and Doc Cross wanted to see pix of the grandson, and I complied. Also, Nancy was all happy about a lovely hydration bottle from D1 -- a thank you for a client referral.

I came home to see D2 working out to a Peloton video. Their actual machine is in storage until they move. Vienna and Bo are sitting on the couch watching. Betsy thinks she needs to participate, which she does by interfering with D2's balance exercises and stealing the smaller weights.

Covid is surging again, thanks to the idiot anti vaxxers amongst us. The good news is that even breakthrough infections are tending to be mild. Dr. Barry shared the news that 95% of the patients are unvaxxed, and the other 5% mostly have issues like transplant meds.

It's amazing. Our country defeated the Nazis and Japanese when my parents were young. Now we can't even be bothered, many of us, to take a damned shot in the arm, to end a terrible threat. I hope my grandson's generation can make things better. As of now, it's tough to be optimistic.

I have a few miles of walking ahead of me. D2 put on the press for next level, and Saturday we'll both meet with Enrique my fitness guru, to resume some private training. Jonathan wants to join us, but he has to travel for business.

We spoke with Enrique yesterday, and his business is doing wonderfully. I'm thrilled for him -- he and his partner have put so much into their business. He told us he was phasing out of actual training -- he has a nice stable of folks to do that  -- he's all administrative. But he digs us, and will give us a few sessions.

As for the rest of the Summer -- in two Saturdays, we have a wedding, and I've been asked to perform it. Jonathan will translate. It'll be a ton of fun.

In mid August, we have a family vacation to Ocean Reef -- thanks to D1. It's a private Club, and she can get us rooms at the hotel since they're clients of hers. It'll be lovely to hang with the little man for several days -- and maybe some cocktails after we put him to bed at night.

So life moves along nicely. The everyday is the sacred. I never forget that.

Beginning of the 7th Decade

 Well, I woke up Sunday morning, elbowed to my right and left, felt no wood, and knew I was still alive! And it was a banner weekend.

Friday as Wifey and I drove to Key Biscayne, I got a call from my Development rep at FIU, Smilka. I mentioned where I was going, and she said she was friends with Karim, the Ritz owner. Smilka knows lots of rich folks. She said she would call Karim and tell him we were coming. Turns out Karim is CEO of a huge hotel owning company, based in Miami -- Four Seasons, Ritz Carltons, etc all over the world.

We arrived early, and I asked for a room upgrade based on my using AMEX. The clerk said it had already been taken care of -- Paul had intervened and got us a spectacular ocean front suite -- the better to entertain. The room wasn't available for awhile, and so Wifey and I retired to Dune, a poolside place, and had delicious corvina sandwiches and shared a pina colada. Afterwards, Paul and Patricia arrived, and we decided we would "share one martini." We ended up sharing 4 of them.

Donna walked by, and pointed out Barry in the lobby, on two Zoom calls. I had a Makers brought to him.

At 4, the room was free, and we went to it. We were greeted by cake and balloons and wine, courtesy of my nephews of another brother, Scott and Josh, and Scott's lady Sam. It was lovely.

The crew was all there by 5:30 and some earnest drinking ensued. I had brought an "arm" of Stoli Elit. We polished it off. Wifey and Donna and Patricia walked to the Club, and even though we didn't have access, brought some apps. Finally something good for the rich white people!

Dinner was terrific, at Cantina. The fajitas with prime beef were a bit above the usual Mexican fare. We toasted. And drank more. By 10 I was wiped.

Saturday was breakfast, and a literal moment on the beach. I like to look at the ocean but not really swim in it. And the pools, while beautiful -- same thing. So we snacked and napped, and then convened at Eric's at 5:30. He put together a lovely video of our friendship. 

Oh -- and Karim and Smilka had sent a 2010 bottle of Dom. That went fast.

At 7:30 we met at Lightkeepers -- me leading the group like a tour guide for Asians, but with two bottles of Stage Leap instead of a flag. It was delightful, of course, and Eric took pro level photos. More toasting. More laughter. More catching up of old friends.

Sunday there was breakfast, and then hours of talking over coffee in our suite. Little by little the guests left, except for Marc and Edna -- staying until Wednesday.

We drove home, and then the fun continued. We fetched D2 and Jonathan, and drove to Capital Grille, our old go-to business celebration place. We feasted more. D1 and Joey came. And D1 showed me what she had done -- contacted many friends and compiled a book of their memories or thoughts of me. I was truly humbled.

Turns out to most people I'm NOT an asshole. I guess that's the best one can hope for.

Alyssa and Freddy made a late appearance -- a final round of cocktails. And then I called for the bill. Instead the manager came to say the bill was paid for -- Paul and Patricia had struck again. I felt guilty for ordering the seafood tower as an app.

I drove home, and kept hearing Kris Kristofferson's song "Why Me Lord?" in my head. I changed the lyric Jesus to HaShem, but the sentiment was the same. I am the luckiest son of a bitch I know. I'm Lou Gehrig at Yankee Stadium WITHOUT his disease. That's the best there can be.

So today, back to normal. D2 made me promise to start again with Enrique, our trainer. She and Jonathan will participate, too. I know Covid is still around, but we'll mask, and all are vaxxed. Big Man forbid Covid finds us, hopefully it'll be mild. Too much life awaits living to hunker down again.

I have emails and letters to write. I got one from my old friend Harlan -- we rarely speak, but he still thanks me for keeping him sane when we took the Bar exam Summer of '86. We both have grown kids and grandkids now, and as he says, a fistful of dollars.

Indeed, extremely lucky Daddies in the USA.

Vacation -- All I Ever Wanted

 So Wifey and I are leaving in a few hours to stay at a hotel for the first time since D2 and Jonathan's wedding -- and that was January of '20! The Plague, of course, has kept us home, but tonight and tomorrow night we'll venture out. I'm turning 60!

Originally I thought about heading to Key West, but that idea never got legs, as they say. And then Edna and Marc said they were coming down -- and getting rooms at the Key Biscayne Ritz Carlton -- why didn't Wifey and I make that my birthday weekend? Well, word got around, and Mike, Barry, and Deb all have birthdays around now, so next thing I knew, it was a plan.

The prices are absurd. Normally in July even luxury Miami hotels are less than half price what they cost "in season," but with Covid shutting down a lot of international travel, domestic prices are soaring.

But, as Wifey figured out, thinking about how much we DIDN'T spend on travel during the last year and a half justifies the cost. And, I do like to celebrate my birthday bigly, as The Donald says, on the turns of the decades.

D1 and Joey are, coincidentally, away in Marathon, with Joey's family, and so their dog Madeleine is here. D2 and Jonathan will thus be running a true house for dogs. This am D2 was up early feeding them all in separate areas -- Vienna and Betsy get a bit chippy when one tries to steal the other's food, and so the morning is a process.

Speaking of Betsy, she has a new neighborhood best friend. Jagger is a delightful puppy -- half Lab and half Golden -- but looks all Lab. Yes -- his family loves the Stones. Jagger and Betsy met, and immediately big dog frolicked together. Jagger is currently being dog sat by the family's daughter's boyfriend -- a tall, handsome fellow named Jeremy who is a recent rocket science grad working at NASA.

This am, Jonathan was walking Betsy, and she ran to Jagger's house and started barking and scratching at the door. Jagger was let out and they had an early am play date. Ah, dogs.

To set the mood for my fellow Key travelers, I sent out two messages. The men got a news article about a Brazilian man who, drunk, went into the ocean to pee and was eaten by a shark. I warned my brothers against that. The ladies got The Go Gos "Vacation," to set the mood, even though for most of us this is a true Staycation. 

I'm packing two small cases. One has my resort wear. Ha. A couple of extra shorts and underwear, plus the medicines and supplements fit for an old guy like me. Cholesterol drug. Check. Prostate drug. Check. Fiber. Check. 

But the OTHER case has the truly essential supplies: an arm of Stoli Elit. A bottle of Macallan 18 year old, which is now probably 25 years old, since its sat unused in my liquor cabinet. A few bottles of Stags Leap. And a bottle of Corley wine, which apparently sells for $150. My friend Pat sent it to me as a holiday gift. I'm not a wine guy, but I figure my friends who are will enjoy it.

So the plan is a lot of not much -- except drinking, eating, and enjoying the gorgeous property. Years ago, Sir Paul spent a month there before starting his US tour, and spent his 65th, I think, at Cantina, the Mexican place where we're having dinner tonight. I figure if it's good enough for Sir Paul, it's more than sufficient for this commoner blue collar Jew from Long Island.

We'll check out Sunday, and Sunday evening I have dinner planned for the Ds, their men, Wifey and me. And that ought to be the end of celebrating my 60th. Like the song, it's all I ever wanted...

The Worst Day Of My Life

 So the Jewish holiday of Tisha B'Av is Sunday -- considered the saddest day of the year, as it commemorates the destruction of both holy temples. Also, apparently, other bad stuff happened on the same day. Oh well, it also happens to be my birthday -- I'm turning 60. So in all due respect, I don't plan to be very somber on Sunday. I happen to think the Big Man is ok with a little mixing and matching...

On the other hand, July 14, 1982 WAS the worst day of my life. I tell the tale each year, but the event of that day is one I never got over, and never will: my Dad died, in my arms.

I was having a wonderful, early 80s, college man Summer. I had come to terms with the fact that I was NOT meant for medical school, and my grades the last semester were a perfect 4.0. I was thinking what I might do with a BA in English -- long before the "Avenue Q" song, and pretty sure I'd apply to law school in the Fall to begin the following year. The first real love of my life had broken up with me the prior January -- not wanting to end up with some schlepper English professor, or worse, starving writer, and I had come to terms with the fact that it was for the best.

I was working a summer job at Jordan Marsh in a mall in Boca, with great co worker friends there and a comically inept manager named Jackie who told us all she was French when she was Haitian. My friend and co-worker Michael, like me an undergrad but at Michigan State, LOVED to accidentally on purpose ask Jackie "Back in Haiti, um I mean France, Jackie..."

My dear UM friends Eric and Barry were also working -- Eric as a camp counselor and Barry at the Movies of Plantation, and we'd get together and party well. All in all -- a great summer for this rising senior.

And then it wasn't. Dad had a heart attack, and recovered. He was home for a week, and set to see his doctor, Heller, for a follow up. I had plans to go to the beach with my friend Donna and her cousins from Wisconsin, and Dad asked me to go with him and Mom -- "in case the doc wants me back in the hospital -- to be there for Mom." I was annoyed -- I had been there for him during the hospital stay, and he was clearly all better now -- couldn't I go party? I could, of course, but never turned Dad down -- and off we went, first to the doc, who said he was fine, but maybe eat better, and then to lunch.

We went to Morrison's Cafeteria, and I chose the brisket. Dad hated fish, but said "Well, might as well start with more fish now," and thus chose what would be his final meal something he didn't like. I never turn down the NY Strip...

After lunch, he wanted a haircut, and so we went to a strip center with a Publix -- Mom went to do some shopping, and I sat in the chair reading SI. The haircutter was a young girl, about my age, with a mohawk and piercings, but very friendly and nice. And then Dad slumped over, and she freaked, but called 911, and we both gave him CPR until the Delray paramedics came. But I knew he was gone.

Mom walked in on the scene, and froze. I hugged her and said everything would be fine, but I knew it wouldn't. We followed the fire rescue truck to Bethesda Hospital, and were directed to a waiting room. About 30 minutes later the young ER doc came in, and wouldn't talk to us -- protocol I guess demanded a social worker be present when informing of a death. The poor fellow nervously fumbled while waiting, and finally I said "Listen doc, just tell us -- my Dad died?" He nodded. I couldn't abide stupid protocols -- even as a 20 year old.

And we went home. Without Dad. He wanted no funeral, and so the Neptune Society came and got his body and he was cremated and his cremains were spread in the ocean off Pompano Beach, according to a letter they sent us.

I spent the next days, including my 21st birthday 4 days later, picking up my then LI sister and her family, and California sister and her baby boy. Eric and Barry met me at a fern bar near FLL -- I drank too much beer and probably ought to have let my brother in law Dennis drive home, but hey -- what are ya gonna do?

And all of this was 39 years ago today. Wow. Nearly 4 decades.

Of course, July 14 has good stuff, too. My man Norman's wife Deb's birthday is today. I hope they're celebrating well. My dear friend Mike turns 60 today. I hope he and Loni are playing "Strict teacher and the naughty student" as I write this.

Yesterday D2 and Jonathan went to the funeral for Jonathan's cousin -- finally recovered from the Surfside collapse. Wifey drove to see the grandson. All three got stuck in awful traffic, as local Cubans decided the best way to win freedom for their old country was to shut down the Palmetto for the afternoon, causing a carmageddon. It's ok -- they all made it home fine, and Jonathan and I hit some Stoli Elit and I played old songs on the Sonos.

But man, I still miss my Dad. Terribly. I wish so much he had been around to see me graduate college. And law school. And marry Wifey, and have the Ds. He'd have laughed at my making some shekels, too -- always able to afford the double stuffed corned beef sandwich at the local deli.

So here's to your spirit, Dad. The obvious lyric to me has always been Dan Fogelberg's: "My life has been a poor attempt to imitate the man." Actually, not really a poor attempt.

A Funereal Evening

 So after a weekend of schlepping stuff, D2 and Jonathan and Betsy finally moved into Villa Wifey yesterday. There was early tensosity between the ladies. Jonathan and I drank and laughed.

Wifey and I headed over to the former Shula's, now Public Square (in my opinion an awful name -- but still great food) to meet Ruby, for an informal memorial for Elizabeth. Harris was under the weather, and opted out. We sat, and toasted our dear friend, and told tales -- Ruby from their childhoods, Wifey from college days, and me since I met Elizabeth in 1984. We're still shocked about her sudden death, but it was comforting to remember her. She used to LOVE Shula's -- we probably took her there 25 times.

We brought home some Branzino and salads for the new houseguests, and learned the sad news that they finally found Jonathan's cousin Moises in the Surfside collapse. It was not unexpected, but still awful.

Our Rabbi Yossi was part of the notification team, and he called Jonathan last night. The funeral for the young man is either today or tomorrow. Awful, but I'm sure there is some comfort in the conclusion for the family. May his memory be a blessing.

Today Wifey is headed up to D1 and Joey's, to spend some time with the beautiful grandson. She'll return with a Spoiled Spaniel -- the humans are headed to the Keys this weekend for a getaway with Joey's family. That means that D2 and Jonathan will be in charge of 4 dogs: the Spoiled, now elderly Spaniel, the Special Needs Spaniel, the strange rescue dog, and their own dog, the enormous puppy. Talk about a truly dog infested house!

Wifey has requested that D2 take me for a Daddy/daughter pedicure -- lest the sight of my gnarled feet scare all the guests this weekend at the hotel. Last time we did that was Summer of '19. D2 was on the phone with Jonathan, and overhearing their talk, gleaned that he had accepted the offer with the private equity firm in Miami, and the two would be moving home after 5 years in NYC. I made believe I didn't hear, but tears of happiness streamed down my face.

D2 looked at me, and said "OMG -- are you crying????" "I must have some type of allergic reaction to the stuff the pedicurist is using." But she knew the truth.

I anticipate our next outing will be less dramatic.

Meanwhile, our normally quiet house is much more lively. Jonathan's doing work in the dining room, D2 is continuing to unpack, and one enormous and two smaller dogs are walking about, as if on some mission unknown to the humans. It's lovely.

Summertime -- and the living is lively. And that makes me very happy.

"The Man Hanging Off the Cliff," by Willie Makeit

 Ah , peaceful Saturday morning. Next Sunday I turn the big 6-oh. It appears the Big Man will get me there and let me see that fine milestone in life.

But events over the past months teach one can NEVER take that for granted. Wifey's health crisis, the sudden death of our dear friend Elizabeth, a new terrible, terminal diagnosis for my brother Paul's best friend, a damn condo collapsing, killing 140 less than 20 miles from here. Oh yeah -- the worldwide plague, too. In a NY minute, everything can change.

Wifey and the Ds wish me to let up on the Debbie Downer stuff, and they're right. But I know it's just my whistling past the graveyard, as the terrific cliche says. I guess I ought to just whistle to myself.

On Monday, we'll welcome house guests: D2, Jonathan, and the enormous puppy. Their new house in the Grove is still "close to finished," and their extensions from their landlord in Yacht Harbor have ended. They hired a pod company to schlep their stuff to a pod, which will be stored, probably out in Medley or somewhere, awaiting delivery to Coconut Avenue.

In the meantime, we'll welcome them here. At first, I was trying to figure out their separate sleeping arrangements, but then I recalled they've been married nearly 2 years. They'll take D2' s old bedroom, which has a queen sized bed, and Betsy sleeps on the floor beside them.

On Eric and Dana's Zoom last night, I shared that the only thing I require will be Jonathan joining me in evening cocktails every few evenings after he returns from his day of high finance. Dana's brother Steve remarked "Wow Dave - you run a tight ship!"

I'm really looking forward to having them. D2 will be working daily -- I think from the quieter library than the dining room where she HAS been working here every second Thursday. Betsy can work wherever she chooses.

The beautiful grandson has been enjoying his summer -- camp and swimming and soccer lessons with his friend Tomas. Wifey watched one on Thursday -- soccer lesson -- and sent a video of him and his signature happy yell "G-yay!" Best we can figure, it's a combination of "Yay" and "goal!," which he hears when he watches soccer with Joey.

D1 sent an adorable photo of him at breakfast the other day -- serious face. I thought the caption was "I was told there would be pancakes," but when I sent the photo to my Friday night group, Kenny instantly saw the correct caption was "This one time, Kay, I'll let you ask me about my affairs." Kenny always gets the right answer.

So the plans are in for a terrific rest of summer. Next Friday we're checking into the RC on Key Biscayne with a few fellow birthday celebrators, and Sunday night I have plans for dinner with the Ds and their men. Two weeks after that, a dear friend is getting married, up in Aventura, and I have been asked to perform the ceremony -- dusting off my old notary stamp. I think I have married 20 couples now -- it's a delightful task. And following the latest, there'll be a delicious steak and martinis awaiting, along with folks I haven't seen in awhile.

In August, we're set for 3 nights in a "Full Squad" trip to Ocean Reef, a very exclusive resort open only to members, many of whom are mega wealthy Midwesterners. But D1 has them as a client, and so we riff raff are allowed in. That will be a nice getaway -- with hopefully my nephew of another mister house and dog sitting -- for FOUR dogs!

Joelle and Kenny have invited us to their beautiful Maine house in September, and I think we'll take them up on it. In Spring, I truly doubted Wifey was up for that kind of excursion, but thankfully she has recovered spectacularly, and it would be terrific to get a taste of Fall -- especially with dear friends at their lake house -- a scene reminiscent of "On Golden Pond," but with younger actors!

So as I listen to the passing morning thunderstorm this fine July morning, I feel as I always do: I am one VERY lucky and blessed Daddy and GRandaddy in the USA. And I plan to celebrate and honor the Big Man accordingly.

Young, Impressive People

 My friend Carole the banker have a long and happy history of friendly cocktail hours -- dating back to when I first met her as a banker for SunTrust in 1988. Carole is unfailingly happy and upbeat, and we share tales of life and a little about finance.

I've followed her as a client to Bank of Boston, for its short tenure in the 305 (not the right culture mix) and then to Gibraltar, and now to Iberia, which bought Gibraltar. I've referred Carole several "private banking clients," and as a result we usually get her employer to pay for our happy hours.

Carole has a niece, Colleen, who's as close as a daughter. Colleen went to J School at Florida, and interned for the NY Times, and then got her first job at the St. Pete Times. Her hometown Herald lured her back a few years ago, and she has done wonderfully. Alas, Tampa poached her again, offering a LOT more money than the snootier Herald would match, and so Colleen is off to "The Poor Man's Miami," as a famous SI article once labeled Tampa.

And Carole has been wanting me to meet Colleen for years, and last night it came to pass. We gathered at the bar at Captain's Tavern, and had several adult drinks and delightful conversation.

Even though Colleen reports on Education, like every other reporter lately, her beat has been the Surfside collapse , and she shared tales with us that would have curled my hair if it was long enough to still curl. But, as I had read, the upside is that our mayor, Daniella Cava, is LEGIT. Colleen says she has acquitted herself wonderfully, and knows what she doesn't know. Also, there is, for the first time since 2016, true bipartisan cooperation -- liberal Debbie Schultz and conservative Marco Rubio working together to help the victims' families.

Spending an evening with the young, ace reporter brought back to me how wonderful it is to hang with younger folks. The world is their oyster. They're on the make. Discussions aren't about doctors, and chronic health conditions, and which urologist or hormone replacement doc is the best.

As we shared stories, Colleen remarked that I was a journalist, too. I had a sense of sharing a tale with a beginning, middle, and end. I got the concept of the lead. Why didn't I write more, and maybe for profit. Easy answer: I'm too damned lazy! She laughed and got it.

So we three made our final toast: to meet again. It'll either be when Colleen returns home, or, if by some chance I make it to the Tampa area, at Bern's Steakhouse. I admitted that as a Miami guy, I tend to think the 305 has the best of everything in the state -- but Bern's is an exception. They truly are the best steakhouse.

Our waitress came back, and summoning my best Sinatra, said "Ketel martini -- the glass doesn't get empty." We all laughed -- Colleen has an old soul.

Politically, she likes Bernie. I scoffed -- an embarrassment to my people. We agreed to disagree. And then I threw her aunt under the bus, as I know Carole is a Republican. Colleen couldn't believe she voted for Bovo, a Trump-lite, over Cava. Carole looked down. It was that kind of evening.

So - here's to a continuation of the cessation of the plague, and more time with the young ones. They bring so much more life to things.

A Surfeit Of Bathrooms

 I felt privileged as a child, relative to my close friends. We had 2.5 bathrooms, and just 3 of us living in our house full time. My friends all had Levitt houses, with exactly ONE bathroom, and some of them were families of 7!

We had one stall shower, in my parents' bathroom, which I used all the time, and another bathroom with a bathtub/shower, which was really only used for visiting babies -- my niece and nephew, in the mid 70s.

And now? It's almost embarrassing to admit, but Wifey and I have 5.5 bathrooms for just the two of us! And yesterday the absurdity of that reached a new height.

We'll be welcoming D2 and Jonathan and the enormous dog next week, staying here until their new house is completed. They'll take D2's old bedroom, which has a new-ish queen sized bed, and adjoining bathroom.

And Wifey announced that Edna and Marc may be staying for a few days as well. We have a sort of guest house above the garage, but the bed there is an uncomfortable pull out sofa. Plus, the room always has a mustiness to it.

No problem -- we have a bedroom on the second floor, and it has a full bathroom right outside. It has a bathtub/shower, which Wifey has used as storage for the last, oh, 20 years. It occurred to me that we NEVER used that bath/shower. Sure enough, after Wifey took all the stuff out and turned the spigot -- very little water.

I figured I needed a plumber, but played with the spigot awhile, and sure enough, the water flowed. I guess it just needed to wake up. I realized the shower head was broken, though, and ordered one this am on HomeDepot.com. It should arrive this week, and even I, no Bob Villa, can install a new shower head.

But the bigger issue is how fortunate we are. Really -- 5.5 bathrooms? As the Ds always note -- the height of First World problems.

Meanwhile, Wifey spent the 4th decluttering -- making space for the coming houseguests. She has quite a bit to go -- Betsy is a very large dog and needs room.

Other than that, I spent our Nation's birthday exercising my independence to do nothing. I didn't even walk -- and somehow the day flew by.

At fireworks time, I tuned into the Macy's show from NYC, and, alas, it was pre-empted by the live news of the demolition of the remaining part of the Surfside condo. So the explosions were the height of sadness this year. Just as well.

My 60th is now less than 2 weeks away. I look forward to thanking the Big Man for those lovely 6 decades.

I'm so thankful. Particularly since I never have to wait to pee or shower.

Erev July 4

 Ah, the 4th of July. It was the favorite time of my childhood. School was out, and it was my birthday month. I loved fireworks. And in NY, where I grew up, in summertime the living was easy.

We finally got to celebrate Jonathan's birthday last night. Wifey and I fetched D2 and J in a Coconut Grove rain, and drove over to Nave. Nave is a great upscale, sort of Italian restaurant located where the beloved Taurus used to be. They kept the main old Taurus building, and built a large condo behind it -- Nave is the latest restaurant there, and it was terrific.

Jonathan ordered for the table -- rigatoni, oysters, a salad, mushroom pierogies, and a wonderful snapper dish -- Milanese, I think. For dessert we shared some great bread pudding and a chocolate bar with ice cream in the center.

The service was excellent -- a friendly waiter from Medellin, and helpers including a talkative middle aged Grove gringa who was home from her usual summer in Cape Cod. I told her my sister of another mister was there for her first time.

The drinks poured -- tequila for Jonathan, craft cocktails for D2, just water for Wifey, and some new kind of local vodka for me. Wifey was the DD, as the millennials say.

We toasted and laughed. Wifey was telling a story about a "leatha sofa" and Jonathan accurately copied her B and T accent. You can take the girl outta Canarsie...

There was also a re-telling of Wifey's famous "feesh" story from NYC, where she asked a Central American waiter what she was served, and he said it was "feesh." Wifey asked "quiche?" No -- "feesh." D2 and Jonathan were horrified -- worried the waiter was being mocked for his accent, which was the farthest thing from the truth. Wifey always says "I can't understand accents!" Maybe it was a "ya had to be there," but we all laughed deeply last night.

I told the group it was my friend Stuart's birthday, and I wished for him a year without worldwide plague, dying in his sleep in a Utah hotel, not getting crushed in a building collapse, and not being diagnosed with terminal cancer -- all horrors suffered this year by those close to us. I figure if you can avoid that -- it'll be a pretty good year.

Speaking of building collapse, Jonathan has a service today for his cousin -- still missing in Surfside. D2 will stay home to pack -- they're moving out of Yacht Harbor July  12 or 13 -- and coming to live with us. We look forward to having them and the enormous puppy -- but they're anxious to move into their new house. We're cautiously optimistic it'll take place in August.

Meanwhile -- back in time in my memory. It was July 4 of 1977. My crew and I were all 16 or so. We had NY IDs, which were paper cards, and we realized the print was the same as a typewriter I had. So we surgically altered the year of our births, and made ourselves all 18. Fake IDs in hand, we went to the Nassau Mall, which had a Beefsteak Charlies, a classic 70s era place with a salad bar and all the beer, wine, or sangria you could drink.

The IDs worked! We were served, and had our fill. We stumbled out onto Hempstead Turnpike, and walked miles to Eisenhower Park, where they had the local fireworks show. We thought we'd find foxes. No foxes, but lots of laughter, and fine fireworks.

I think my Dad fetched us afterwards in his huge Cadillac Sedan DeVille -- we piled in.

Years later, I heard a song by Mellencamp, who I call the Hoosier Springsteen. He sang "Hold onto 16 as long as you can." They were wise, wise lyrics.

South Central -- Represent!

 So I grew up in Wantagh, a hamlet of the Town of Hempstead on Long Island. It's in the south, central part of Nassau County, so I've taken to telling people I'm from "South Central" for street cred.

Actually, the part of Wantagh where I lived, not on the water, is very working class. My friend Joel calls me the "blue collar Jew," in contrast to most of his Miami Jewish friends who grew up far richer in Pinecrest (then just East Kendall) and Coral Gables.

Yesterday we watched the indictment of Trump's CFO Allen Weiselberg. Wifey thought he looked like a Central Casting character for a nerdy Jewish accountant, and so Googled him. Sure enough, he was Brooklyn born, and drove a cab in Canarsie, where Wifey grew up, while he put himself through Pace College for his accounting degree. He went to work for Fred Trump, and met The Donald, and became The Donald's financial consigliere. Now Cy Vance, Junior, is after him and all the Trumps.

And , it turns out, Weisselberg moved to Wantagh in 1978, the year before we decamped to Florida. I didn't know him, but he apparently bought a modest house, probably like ours, and lived there until 2004. Trump came over for a shiva call and got out of his limo and exclaimed "My CFO lives here? This is embarrassing!" Yes -- a real man of the people that Trump was.

Shortly after, the CFO moved to a Trump condo on the Upper West Side, so I guess his boss was less embarrassed. He also bought a condo in Boynton Beach.

Wifey learned he was also a Democrat until 2016 -- gave money to Chuck Schumer. It just shows what saps Trump supporters are -- truly they thought he cared a lick about them. He didn't.

So Wantagh is in the news. Not much famous happened there. 

Meanwhile, tonight is a milestone. I am missing my Zoom happy hour with my buds for the first time since the plague began. We want to celebrate Jonathan's birthday, which was Wednesday, and planned to get together tomorrow, but his family is having a service for his missing cousin at their local synagogue. So, instead, D2 and Jonathan asked if I might miss a Zoom and have drinks and dinner with them instead. 

Of course, I said. And, I already put my Publix meat loaf in the oven to cook -- I'll eat it over the weekend.

I emailed my crew, and Scott replied that it was a true sign that Covid was ending. Indeed. 

In other news, Tropical Storm Elsa is floating around -- looks like it'll miss us. It'd be great if we "let it go." I never saw "Frozen" but know that song!

I still live in South Central -- now South Central Pinecrest. So I guess I get to keep the street cred. Actually, people have started using the term "North Pinecrest" -- the richer part of town. Houses in our area go from $1-$3 million -- in the North part of the Village, they're more.

Tomorrow night we'll be in one of those stately mansions. Chris, Mike and Loni's boy, is marrying Rachel, whose parents live in, apparently, a $4M house. We're invited to their engagement party.

Rachel is NOT from South Central.