Tapas Twice

 There's a pretty good tapas place that opened in the Falls -- actually an addition to the parking building. They have a nice sized outside area, and Wifey and I have been a few times. On Monday, my sister of another mister Mirta met me there -- we celebrated her birthday early, with a shared burger and some delicious paella.

Last night, my friend and financial advisor Pat asked to meet. He's in town helping Steve, a retired cop, set up a private account, now that Steve can move his pension money out of the state system. Pat said Steve was coming, too, and wanted to stay close to home - and so it was to Bulla again -- second time in a week.

It was lovely outside -- we caught up on finances, and strategies in investing in light of the coming (now here) Russian invasion of Ukraine. Steve's lady Ruth came by, and we all ate well. The couple left, and Pat and I stayed another hour -- nursing some local craft beers.

Russia. Sons of bitches. My first thought today was that my Republican friends, dating back to the 80s, were right about them the whole time. Putin is scary. I naively thought we were past the point of invasions like Putin's. Boy was I wrong.

It's funny -- my paternal grandparents were born in Czernovits, in what was then Romania. It's now Ukraine -- and I have zero affinity for the place. For Czar era Jews, "Russia," which was what they called the entire area, was a place to happily be FROM. I never heard my grandmother tell any happy tales about her childhood in Europe -- to her,  America was truly the promised land.

I read an interesting article in the Times by Thomas Friedman, one of my favorites. He traces the invasion back to the years NATO added some FSU countries like Hungary and Poland to NATO. This was a thumb in Russia's eye, and Putin was just awaiting his chance to get revenge, by taking back control over a major country.

I just hope peace comes fast.

My friend John, a retired CIA agent, now does defense consulting, and is back to his original "Account," as the Agency calls countries -- Russia. We have plans to meet in early April when Wifey and I travel to D.C. -- but if this kerfuffle remains hot, he likely won't have any time to get away.

At the gym this am, there was black humor among the younger guys about needing to get in shape in case the US went to war. Wow. That scary scenario is somehow no longer absurd.

Closer to home, we look forward to hosting my nephew Henry tomorrow for a few nights -- he's in town working for a SF company hosting a big event here in town. The Ds already made reservations for a nice family dinner, and hopefully Saturday we spend some time here with the Little Man, too.

Meanwhile -- Covid is in clear retreat -- and now global unrest for another reason. It's truly, as Roseann Roseannadanna said, always something.

Good Parking

 So Sunday night, Wifey and I took our friend and neighbor Gloria to dinner. I picked Captain's Tavern -- first, because they have very fresh fish, and also because I enjoy being on the younger side of patrons for a change. Eric and Dana report that going out in Boca means they're usually the youngest dines. In Miami, we're typically the oldest.

But another reason, I reported to Gloria that I enjoy going to the Tavern, is free and accessible parking. Yes -- I've become that old guy who considers that an important factor in choosing a recreational venue. That which I used to make fun of has become my reality.

A decade or so ago, I never cared about that, unless we were toting my Mom or in laws along. They were old, and had to be dropped off in front, and a place with distant lots just meant more of a hike for me. No problem. Now, Wifey has, hopefully temporarily, limited range -- so that's one of the factors.

Also, though I can afford well even over priced parking, I really resent it. On Christmas Day, we went to the Peacock Cafe, and next door was a sign that said Public Parking. It was, but owned by a private vendor -- and the cost was $25 for the 2 hours we were there. My annoyance was disproportionate to the cost. Again -- another sign of aging.

Today -- back to the post President's Day routine. I meet Juan my trainer this am. I enjoy his company but not the workout. If left to my own devices, I would avoid it -- but the trainer appointment assures I attend, and at least twice per week do stuff more rigorous than my daily walks.

Tonight I have plans to meet Mirta, my sister of another mister. She's been very Covid safe, especially since she has a boyfriend who had a nasty long bout of it, and lives with her sons and a grandson. But I think she's finally ready to go to a restaurant, and we'll meet at a tapas place nearby, in the Falls.

Tomorrow night my friend and broker Pat is coming to town. I referred him an old friend, whose investments were tied up in the state system, and Pat used to simply advise him, in exchange for free board when he returned to Miami. The friend is retiring, and now Pat can actually manage his investments -- and they have to set things up. I'll catch up with Pat afterwards.

And then Thursday my nephew Henry is due here. He 's in Miami now doing his video work for a client, and plans to drive to Pinecrest then -- staying with us for 3 nights. I haven't seen him since D2 and Jonathan's wedding two years ago. I told him he'll get to know 2 new cousins -- one with fur, Betsy, and one without, our Little Man.

Henry and his lovely wife Val are major dog lovers, and had Rocco for many years. Rocco was huge like Betsy, with the same energetic,clumsy personality. I have a feeling Henry will enjoy the canine company.

It's been a joy watching Henry grow up -- Wifey met him at MIA in 1984 when he was only two -- a platinum blonde toddler. Wifey called him a Swedish meatball. We'd see him typically only once a year, but he was always on a great track -- star swimmer in high school, skateboarder, the object of many girls' dreams. He turned into a man who could be related to Steve McQueen -- with an extremely creative streak coupled with business savvy.

He started and built up a video company -- they do promotional work for major companies -- fine enough that clients fly him around the world for his work. I'm guessing he might be here for one of the Bay Area companies that have moved here. I'm sure he'll tell us.

His Mom, my California sister, is jealous. She adores her son, for great reason, and enjoys being with all of us. I told her FaceTime will have to suffice this visit.

And who knows? If D2 and Jonathan want, to show Henry some cool places, I may just agree to go to places without good parking. I guess you have to get out of your comfort zone every now and again.

In Search Of The Right Antonym

 It's been a lovely weekend so far in the 305. Dadber dropped off D2 for her trip to Savannah, and Wifey and I drove to Edgewater to meet D1 and Joey at a nice restaurant -- Mimi's, on 25th and Biscayne. We caught up, and Wifey drove home, and because we were still feeling young and crazy at evening's end, we stopped off at the nitrogen yogurt place for a couple of kiddie cups.

This am, we left early and parked at Joelle and Kenny's place, which is steps from one of the entrances to the Grove Arts Festival. Kenny, retired US Navy Captain, scored us a nice discount -- $10 entrance instead of $25. We talked about how much folk who can well afford full price still get disproportionate happiness from a bargain.

Our friends bought a very nice piece for their new house, and Wifey and I enjoyed the venue, but bought nothing. We're still in serious decluttering mode -- many framed paintings are still awaiting placement -- so the last thing we needed was to add to the pile.

We walked to McFarland, and Joelle scored us a table at Harry's Pizza -- it also occurred to Kenny and I that probably never in our lives have we refused to eat pizza. Wifey was way tired -- we had walked near 2 miles, which is a lot for her, and so Kenny accompanied us to his building, to get us out, and Joelle stayed and walked the St. Stephens show, which goes on along with the larger Grove fest. They needed to meet to schlep home their new artwork.

A lovely afternoon nap awaited us -- me for an hour, and Wifey for 3. Tonight we have zero planned -- Jonathan is himself in the Grove, and D2 enjoying her girl time in Savannah.

But this tale involves a word search, of the Yiddish persuasion.

I had an unsettling call with someone earlier in the day. The details don't matter, but her comments and thought processes made me think of the Yiddish word sechel -- which means, loosely, common sense, and savvy -- the type of practical intelligence one needs to advance in life.

This person had and has zero sechel -- a total absence of any real sense. And so I wondered -- what is a good antonym for sechel.

I probably know more Yiddish than most of my peers -- third generation Ashkenazi Jews -- as my parents were both fluent in it. Sadly, they never taught it to us -- it was the language they used when they didn't want the kids to understand.

Wifey learned it -- along with her first language, Hebrew, and at 4 years old, English. She always claims to be able to "understand fluent Yiddish," as it was the language she heard at home.

Certain words came to mind immediately -- schlemiel and schlmazel, of course. But a schlemiel is more of a klutz, and a schlmazel his victim -- not a true antonym of a person with common and intellectual sense.

Barry came up with tom -- a favorite of his Dad's, which translates roughly to fool. Closer, but still I searched.

The suggestions came via text: putz, schmo, schmeggy -- Norman added these. They were all acceptable, but Yiddish is famous for having the perfect word for an insult, and these fell a bit short.

Well, as I drove to Edgewater, Wifey searched on her phone. And she came up with a term that describes, at least, the behavior of someone I was looking to describe: narishkeit. It means, roughly , foolish or stupid behavior. I don't think there's a noun that goes with it, like narish, but plan to continue my search.

It brought back warm memories to me -- the days as an English major, parsing word meanings in class. I wish I spoke Yiddish fluently.

Flying Children

 So today D2 is off to Savannah, for her dear friend's pre wedding weekend. On account of her being a blood relative or Wifey, she was entitled to Dadber, which is Uber by Dad. I dropped her off at MIA.

Jonathan must have passed us on the Palmetto. He returned from business in Nashville. I told D2 that she needs to contact JonBer for her ride home from MIA on Sunday night.

Meanwhile, with the Plague seemingly on the run, Wifey and I have social plans all weekend. Tonight we're meeting D1 and Joey at a restaurant up in Edgewater. It'll be great to catch up with them and hear the details about our Little Man -- we haven't seen him in 6 entire days!

Tomorrow, we're off to the Coconut Grove Arts Festival -- we haven't been in several years. It started out 58 years ago as a couple of hippies hanging some paintings on clotheslines, and has turned into THE premier outdoor art festival in the US -- I think there are 250 artists from around the world there.

As an aging curmudgeon, I avoid events where parking is a problem, but, alas, Joelle and Kenny now live right by the main entrance, and have invited us to park at their place and walk over. The caveat is we need to get there early, lest we be traffic blocked from accessing their place, and Wifey ain't liking doing nothing early these days. But she will make an exception tomorrow.

We've been going to the Festival since we met. I don't know that we ever bought any art, but we've certainly eaten our share of felafel and gyros.

Speaking of flying, we've booked our first plane trip in a very long while. I last flew in December of 2019. But my nephew of another mister, Scott, has invited us for a visit to D.C., and we're flying up, in hopes of catching cherry blossom season.

I suggested a feel good activity, so Scott is seeing if he can get us tickets to the Holocaust Museum. We've never been, and Wifey's parents sent them some materials. Seems like we owe a visit.

Sunday night we're taking our neighbor Gloria to dinner. Wifey and I really like her. Sadly, her husband Ben dropped dead of a heart attack 3 years ago. Ben was the picture of health, and 60. He forms one of the trio of healthy people we know who have died young -- along with another former neighbor, Evan, and out dear friend Elizabeth. All were meticulous about their health, and two died of sudden heart attack, and one from a brain tumor.

As Warren Zevon advised, when he knew his days were short -- enjoy every sandwich.

We'll take Gloria to Captain's Tavern, even though I was just there Wednesday night. I love it there -- it's one of the few restaurants in Miami where I'm one of the youngest diners.

I have little doubt that tonight in Edgwater Wifey and I will be the Abuelos...

But that's ok. Hopefully the plague stays on the run, and normal life can resume.

And in late March, I get to sing to Wifey Come fly with me. Love that song. Love its modern meaning.

Pinecrest Roomies Rock On

 So D2 and Jonathan moved in for a month last July, since their rental apartment was being sold, and their new townhouse not yet completed. We just passed SEVEN months of being, as Jonathan labeled us, Pinecrest Roomies.

It's been fine, but all of us are ready to go our separate ways. The house is plenty big, and we're all fairly even tempered, but the millennials want to get on with their lives, and the Boomers are ready for a return to our senescence.

Last weekend D2 hosted a party for her 30th. Wifey and I were invited, along with a few Boomer friends lest we bother the young-uns. It was a very fun evening, and it drifted into a small gathering for the Super Bowl.

Still -- I feel, especially for Jonathan. He happens to have the coolest, most generous suegro of all time -- but a hard working man like him wants to go home at night to his own place.

My late suegro, Richard, may he rest in peace, was sometimes at my house in the evenings when I got home from a long day. I was always respectful, but was thinking "When are these people going to get the F out of my house?" Richard would say "Go put on da short pants" as he knew I would shed the monkey suit when I got home. But to me, it was a matter of switching from one boss to another, and I didn't much care for it.

We had all hoped for a closing next week. Not going to happen -- still issues with permitting -- but we're all cautiously optimistic that the closing is near. If not, the kids may look for a short term rental -- despite the huge cost. I get it -- I couldn't have lasted 7 DAYS living with my suegros, let alone 7 months.

Still -- we realize how lucky we are. My immigrant grandparents, and parents, lived in tiny quarters in The Bronx with far more people. Neither Wifey nor I come from money. So if we had to go on this way for months more -- it's not really much of a hardship.

We've fallen into nice rhythms. I know D2's corporate speech by heart now, as she handles her calls in the dining room behind where I spent much of the day. Wifey camps out in her recliner, and often has long talks with BFF Edna, where her voice quickly rises to outdoor voice levels. I've gotten used to an eye rolling D2 come over and shut the door separating the family room from the dining room. I chuckle to myself each time.

Speaking of Edna -- she's in South Florida to finally close out her late parents' safe deposit box. She's checking into a beachside hotel in Hollywood, and Wifey is going to stay for a few nights.

I asked D2 what we planned to do in Wifey's absence, and she missed her opportunity to cite one of my favorite punchlines: Who's WE, paleface?

And then Friday, D2 is flying up to Savannah for a bridal shower weekend. Wifey and I are having dinner with D1 and Joey in Edgewater. Of course Jonathan is invited, but I'm guessing he may spend some time with his friends and family.

Hopefully there'll be updated news next week, about the closing. If not -- we can certainly endure.

But it'll be sweet to host the first happy hour on the 3rd floor patio of Jonathan and D2's new place -- and then leave them in peace!

Valentine's Day -- You Don't Bother Me As Much As The Other Girls Do

 When D2 was in grade school, probably the last of the days when kids were actually allowed to celebrate Valentine's Day, she brought home a card from a boy named Jake. I think she was in 3rd or 4th grade, and the card, a simple cut out paper heart, became part of our family lore -- it was pinned to a board in our kitchen for years. It read:

Dear D2. You're pretty when you smile. You don't bother me as much as the other girls do. Your friend, Jake.

How perfect is that? Ultimately --what more can any of us truly ask for in a mate other than to be annoyed LESS than might otherwise occur? And today is Valentine's Day -- and I remember Jake's sage words.

In the 38 years since Wifey and I have been together, of course, from time to time, the thought pops into my head that maybe it is time for a change. I KNOW that as I have gotten older and far more crochety, that thought must occur to her.

I mean, has life been a picnic for her? Well indeed it has -- but that's another story...

The point is, I look to friends who have divorced and married anew. Do I envy even a single one of them? Not even close.

Now -- many of the splits had to happen -- issues cropped up that made marriages simply untenable. My personal favorites are when one partner realizes after a comically long time that they're gay. Hey -- like a Jack Nicholson character once said, many times I wish I could be gay -- being around only dudes is far simpler -- especially during football season.

But now that Wifey and I have made it to this stage in life, with an absurdly adorable grandson, and two amazing sons in law -- nah -- I'm pretty happy I stuck it out.

Do Wifey and I annoy each other? Sometimes wildly so. Lately, our Pinecrest roomies have taken to referring to her as Irna Kristofsky, a comically annoying Jewish woman character from "Curb" played by the brilliant Tracy Ullman. Wifey doesn't like it, so I have stopped using the reference.

And me -- with my increasing OCD, and politically incorrect references all the time? Not so easy either, I don't suspect.

But Saturday night, at D2's birthday party, we danced, and Wifey said to me "Do you believe our little baby girl is 30, and may make us grandparents, like her sister did?" And it was a moment of true intimacy -- and I savored it.

We stuck things out and get to sow what we reaped.

So tonight, with or without our Pinecrest roomies, Wifey and I will sit together and wish each other happy Dia de Amor, and once again be thankful we don't bother each other as much as others might have. That's everlasting love.

Afterglow

 So D2's 30th was a smashing success. Her friend Carson planned and executed it beyond the level of a party planner -- Carson is a marketing exec at City Furniture, but could easily transition to event planning.

She hired Sara Sharpe caterers, and they were amazing -- delicious food, charming and competent staff. Jonathan was the DJ through Sonos and the music played well all night.

We ate, and drank, and danced. Old friendships were rekindled, and new ones formed. Many of D2's friends go back to Middle School, and it warmed Wifey and me to see how they had become accomplished adults.

Early on, it was baby hour. Our Little Man was there -- playing with balloons from the balloon sculpture, which a friend pointed our looked rather phallic. Later Jonathan's niece, an adorable redhead, arrived, as did two more toddlers. They toddled around, and one little girl, not 2, already knows how to throw up a U! I was impressed.

The toddlers and their parents left between 6 and 7, and the music got louder. There was delicious cake. As I walked some folks outside, a car drove up -- Uber Eats. I told the driver it must be a mistake -- we hadn't ordered anything. But she showed me the address -- it was indeed ours -- and then I realized it was a pie from Fireman Derek's -- sent by D2's dear friend Ali, in NYC. It was readily consumed.

Wifey went up to bed around 9:30, and I watched the poolside karaoke, with Fredy, Alyssa's delightful husband. Fredy is 45, and he said to me, pointing at the raucous group, "That's 30 for you." Of course, to me 45 is amazingly young, too.

They had a delightful time -- lots of their era songs, and plenty of Spanish tunes, which even the gringos could sing. Around 10:30 I slipped upstairs -- and heard the singing until about midnight.

This am I was up early, per usual, and drank my coffee. Instead of my typical WDNA Sunday jazz, I put on Boz Skaggs' "Silk Degrees," and album I would always play when cleaning up from college and grad school parties.

Most of the cleanup had been done, but I still basked in the nice afterglow. Jonathan woke, made coffee for D2 and Ashley, who had spent the night, and then Ashley left on an Uber for Aventura, where she was meeting her Boca Mom.

Carson, the planner par excellence, and Andres are over now with breakfast. Carson's Mom Caroline told us how much she adores D2, and it was her pleasure to plan the party. I told Caroline I adore my friends, but I would no sooner plan an event for them than get voluntary dental work.

It's a rainy day -- we lucked out -- last night was beautiful. Today we'll watch the Super Bowl, where I have zero rooting interest. 

And we'll appreciate and savor a night of normalcy -- no masks -- little if any talk of Covid.

Ahhhhhh.....

That Buzz Before A Party

 We've lived here since '01, and I truly enjoy hosting parties here. Wifey -- not so much -- but she's usually a good sport.

We moved in in February of '01 and my friend Dan Pals, who was acting Dean of Arts and Sciences at UM, came for a visit. He loved our place, and had a humble request: could the College use our house to host the farewell to outgoing UM President Tad Foote? They would handle all catering and set up -- but it would be probably 75-100 people. Wifey agreed, and she and our friend Allison went on a tear -- getting the place decorated in record time.

The College did a fine job -- even hired a valet service and a piano player -- and it was a lovely event. I welcomed The President, and told him a tale he loved. When he first came to UM, in 1981, he visited my on campus apartment to see how they housed Honor students. Barry and Eric were there, to our less than luxurious quarters.

Tad loved it -- things came full circle, and an alum who graduated under his watch had done well enough to at least buy a big ass house. My Mom was there, and he thanked her for letting her son come to UM. It was touching.

When I turned 40 we had another big event -- a clam bake. There was lots of eating an drinking, and our firm's associate Albert and secretaries Norma and Andrea chipped in and hired a banner plane -- it flew over with birthday greetings. I stood up on the second floor balcony overlooking the guests, and smiled. I fantasized I was Gatsby.

We had many Passovers, breakfasts, Thanksgivings, and parties for the Ds and Wifey, too.

But lately, on account of the Plague, there have been no events larger than the 15 we had for TDay last November. This changes tonight.

D2 and Jonathan asked to host D2's 30th birthday here, and later today about 40 millennials will descend upon us, with a stray Boomer or two, for the party.

Their friend Carson planned the whole event -- she's an exec at City Furniture, and one of these tall, beautiful young women with whom one does not mess. She directed everything like a pro party planner -- similar to the way D1 operates. She hired the caterer, moved stuff around, and came last night with her handsome, dutiful husband Andres, Jonathan's work colleague, and Michael, another dear friend and work colleague. They did a LOT -- the house hasn't looked this clutter free in quite awhile. There are now colorful blinking lights -- Sonos music coordinated everywhere, and lots of adult beverages awaiting mixing and consumption.

My job has been to stay the hell out of the way, and I am, if I don't say so myself, acquitting myself well in that regard. As I write, I have Tom Petty playing. Things will switch to hip hop this afternoon.

And there IS a wonderful energy here -- excitement, anticipation -- for the Ds' dear friends. One, Ashley, flew in from Atlanta, and will stay here tonight. I DID have to fix a shower curtain in the guest bath, and did complete that task...

Most importantly, the Plague seems well in retreat. All the guests are triple vaxxed, and many have had breakthrough infections. After Wifey's recent bout -- 3 days of a crappy cold, and then total recovery -- none of us fear the virus like we have for most of the past 2 years. 

Besides -- Russia seems poised to invade Ukraine -- we have other risks to deal with.

But for this afternoon -- it's Livin' the D2 Loca.

And it's nice to feel our collective mojo back.

Hot Guys In The House

 So we never cook, but Wifey decided we needed all new appliances. So in August we visited Bouche, the local retailer of high end stuff, and ordered a new oven, gas cooktop, refrigerator, dishwasher, and trash compactor. They all had to be stainless steel, which went out of favor in favor of white, but is not back in style, apparently.

Around September, the cabinet maker Abraham, an affable Israeli, took out our old, but working double oven, and built a drawer to take up some of the space. The new model is a single oven with a microwave on top, which excites Wifey beyond normal explanation. She LOVES being able to get rid of the free standing microwave which takes up counter space.

So since September, we have been oven-less, and again, since we never cook, it hasn't been a problem. For T Day the caterers brought in warming trays, and we all ate well. And then, in December, the oven and all appliances EXCEPT the fridge were delivered to our garage. The fridge? Maybe March -- and it's ok, since I have a temp model that I got free from Home Depot when they screwed up the order.

Anyway -- the installer came by and did a "pre installation." Miguel is a very nice Venezuelan fellow, and Wifey told him we really needed the oven by Saturday the 12th, on account of another party. D2 is having friends over for her belated 30th -- with napkins that say "Party Like It's 1992."

But then there was a delay...the installer said he could come Monday, Valentines's Day. Uh oh -- the caterer NEEDS an oven for these fancy apps. 

So Wifey called, and Miguel said he could come by today, and indeed, he did, with his lovely wife, and assistant, a Cuban American guy who acted as translator. They got the new unit in -- and turned it on -- said it needed 3 hours to set itself. But it works!

Ah -- joy in Pinecrest. The party is set to go -- 35 or so Millennials with a hip hop playlist. They have a bartender, and my goal is to clear out stuff I've had for too long -- anyone want some 20 year old Goldschlager? I'm betting they do not.

Miguel was going to come back Monday for the rest of the job sans fridge -- but I told him not to bother. The other stuff works fine, though it's of the wrong race -- white, not steel -- and we might as well wait for everything to come in and finish the install.

It WAS time for an update -- we moved here 22 years ago, and stuff gets old.

I doubt the new oven will get more use than the old one. I estimated that from 2000 through 2021, the old oven might have been used 30 times -- mostly as a heater for catered food.

Nice to have these issues -- and happy 30 D2!

An Awkward Admission

 So most of us want to be seen as nice and proper people, and attempt to do the right thing. Often, socially, we are compelled to invite people to events we'd truly rather they don't attend.

I have an admission: I have done that over the years, and am secretly ecstatic when the unwanted invitees can't attend. It's awful -- and as I get older I do it less and less. If I have an event, I only invite people I wish to have there with me. But there's always that "problem spouse," ...

Well, yesterday I experienced a relative of this situation. It involves a friend from many years back, who's going through a crisis. The details don't matter, but he feels he cannot be alone. Several fellow friends and I visited last week -- and the fellow was a chore to be around -- the deepest of depressions -- near zero affect. Each time someone suggested a different treatment or strategy he might try, he dismissed it and basically told us he was never coming out of this black hole.

An ex girlfriend of his has undertaken his care. She moved in with him, and is with him each evening -- cooking dinner, making sure he takes his meds, making sure he eats.

But he told us the girlfriend was going out of town this week -- and he truly didn't know what he was going to do -- he hadn't spent an entire night alone since December, when his witches' brew of psychiatric hospitalizations, etc...started.

The other two visiting friends, who live in the north part of Miami Dade, nodded. I volunteered -- I would pick an evening, fetch dinner, and come visit -- at least to break up one of the long nights.

In truth, I dreaded the encounter. We're no longer close friends, and I try to surround myself, as much as possible, with those who elevate me -- not bring me down. But I felt I should do it.

So yesterday, I went to the office for a few hours, and then texted the patient -- how about I fetch some Italian, and come by around 630? An hour later he replied: his brother, also now his legal guardian, had come down from Boca -- he would be eating with him, so he needed to cancel.

 A  more pure hearted person would have been disappointed -- no -- I had committed to this mercy visit, and I ought to offer to reschedule. Not me. I was privately elated -- as if I was going to take a difficult exam in school and learned it was no longer required.

I texted back "No problem -- another time" and it may indeed come to pass. But I felt I was given a HUGE pass -- avoiding an awkward evening of sadness and darkness.

I wish this fellow a recovery -- I sincerely hope it happens. I know a lot about serious mental illness -- it runs deeply on my mother's side of the family. My mom was one of 5 -- and each of my aunts and my uncle had a child or grandchild with serious mental illness. My oldest first cousin Arlyne spent a lot of her adult life in mental hospitals -- she lost custody of her sons in the 70s -- my parents took in the toddler for several weeks.

Another first cousin, herself a frequent flyer in mental health hospitals, had a son who died young -- either suicide of accidental overdose.

My own family has not escaped this cures.

So I know that often the answer is an artful mix of psychotropic meds, and intense therapy. I hope my friend gets it, and bounces back.

But I have to admit -- I was relieved to be excused from a sad duty last night. Sainthood will not be an option for me.

Back to the MF Gym

 Other than walking, and playing softball 30 years ago, I truly do NOT enjoy exercise. When I played high school baseball, and we were forced to run for miles, I NEVER enjoyed the sensation of being out of breath. I did it, but determined that as an adult, I would run only if chased by a large animal.

Well, several years back, the Ds had an intervention with me and got me to agree to exercise, on account of they were willing to wait a bit for their inheritance, and besides, Wifey will likely outlive me and spend their money anyway...

Kenny and Joelle started working out at a local gym called Sensory, and I began to go. Kenny and I were the oldest in the class, which was very nice for the visuals, but I realized I was the class dunce. Kenny is blessed with the same weight he's had since high school, and kept up just fine.

As for me, I hired one of the co-owners, Enrique, for personal training. And indeed, it was life changing. I was still fat, but less so, and able to move better and longer. We became friends. And then, of course, came the Plague, and I stayed away for quite awhile.

When I resumed, after Delta subsided, Enrique pawned me off on Juan -- in order to focus more on administration. The place is booming. Juan was terrific, too -- D2 and Jonathan went with me for many sessions -- and it was helpful. Then came Omicron -- so our plans to hit January running were crushed.

Well -- I made the calculation that my regressing fitness was worse than Covid, and so decided to start up again. But, alas, Wifey caught Covid, and needed a week of butlering, so that was out. Finally, as February began, I did, too, and am now back. I meet Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Wifey cheerfully says "You really enjoy it!" I respond like Leon in "Curb" -- I Fing hat the MFing gym. Juan is great, but I would much prefer to meet him for breakfast and take a fitness pill -- but so far, such a thing doesn't exist. So off I trudge.

This am was particularly grueling -- a LOT of cardio in the form of fancy hopscotch -- getting me some balance and mobility back. And then there was a form of pushups using exercise bands -- the younger, fitter guys were apparently impressed I was as strong as I am.

I do enjoy the camaraderie -- it's mostly fellows in the back room, though the co-owner, Guillermo, is also a P.T., and he was in an alcove stretching an older patient today. Of course, I told a non me too joke, about a grandmother seeking birth control pills -- but luckily the client, about my age, found it very funny and not offensive.

So I shall continue to go. Juan and I talk adult beverages -- he told me he likes a bourbon called Buffalo Trace, which he can't find locally. I found it online, and today a few bottles arrived. One is for him -- one for Dr. Barry, who is a bourbon man, and one to keep at my house.

Maybe when I give him his bottle, Juan will go easier. Nah. He's a professional, and on to my attempts at microaggression to avoid too much pain.

I hope there's gain.

Crystal Cruises Demeaning End

 Well, it took 5 years, but the poetic justice I had wished for Crystal Cruises has been meted out. My story began when Wifey and Edna were getting ready to celebrate a milestone birthday, whose number cannot be revealed, but it was 5 years before they became eligible for Medicare.

Edna had been on a luxury cruise line with an old boyfriend, I think Seaborne, and reported to Wifey that it was incomparable to the experience of more pedestrian lines like Royal or Celebrity. She assumed that Crystal would be just as fine.

So we invited Norman and Deb, and we three couples met on a Crystal ship on the Hudson River. D2 and Jonathan were then still living in the West Village, and we got to spend a great evening with them before the trip -- and then we mustered with the other two couples. The itinerary was the Maritimes -- the northeastern Canadian islands, like Nova Scotia and  New Brunswick. We also stopped in Boston and Newport.

The cruise was fine, but I noticed we had the same itinerary as a Royal ship, and during one of the underwhelming shore excursions, met some folks from the Royal ship. The had a suite for 1/3 the price what Wifey and I paid for a small, cramped cabin -- with a shower that was a narrow plastic tube that reminded me of Star Trek's transporter chamber.

A highlight was one small bar, where Norman and I befriended a talented young pianist (not 9 inches) who each evening would play Alan Parsons Projects's "Time" for us as we got buzzed on our cocktails.

The birthday ladies enjoyed it, and I guess I went on a bit long about how we were so blatantly overcharged. Wifey eventually banned me from talking about it -- but then recent news made that impossible.

Oh yeah -- almost forgot. A month after the trip, we got an email from Crystal. Maybe everyone aboard our voyage ought to see a doctor -- one of the kitchen staff was diagnosed with hepatitis. The news of possible liver damage upset me so much, I immediately began drinking more alcohol. As far as  I know, however, none of we cruisers had to join the liver transplant list.

Anyway -- seems Crystal's luck and money ran out. They skipped out on some millions in fuel bills, and under Admiralty Law their ships were seized -- two in the Bahamas, and one in Argentina.

I'm not a vengeful guy -- ha -- yes I am -- and this news brought a smile to me. Rip me off, you mediocre, snooty, and overcharging by 3 times business. You deserve the ignominy of your dreadful end.

In fairness, I'm not really a cruise type of guy. Lately, I'm not a travel at all type of guy. We may well cruise again -- Kenny and Joelle were telling us last night about a European voyage in the Fall -- ports we've never visited. And the truth is, when I'm with good friends, I have a good time regardless.

And I did enjoy a river cruise I took with the Ds years ago. Wifey had to skip it on account of her bad back, but I loved seeing places along the Danube, though afterwards the Strauss waltz left me with a legendary earworm.

Maybe Wifey and I will do one of those.

But as for Crystal, cue the Simpsons' Nelson: Ha Ha.

Earthly Affairs To Settle The Soul

 So months ago our beautiful friend Elizabeth died suddenly and unexpectedly -- of a heart attack in her sleep during a hiking trip to Utah. We were stunned. Still are. We miss her so -- she was a true aunt to the Ds, and a sister to Wifey and me.

Her sister Ruby and Ruby's longtime boyfriend Harris called the other day. Could we meet for dinner, and a transfer. Transfer? Indeed -- Elizabeth had bequeathed some of her possessions to Wifey, me, and the Ds.

So we met in Peacock Garden, where we had celebrated Wifey's birthday on Christmas Day, and we caught up. Ruby has been working a full time job as Elizabeth's personal representative -- and her normal gig is managing Harris's medical practice. And she takes her duties VERY seriously.

Fortunately, she's gotten most of the work done: selling Elizabeth's Orlando house and Mercedes, and getting her investment accounts to the correct recipients. But Elizabeth, ever the OCD person, left a curveball: specific instructions to 45!!!! separate people she wished to have her possessions.

I told Ruby she was a sister above all sisters. Frankly, I won't have to act as my sisters' PRs, but if I did, and I found a list like that, I would have "misplaced" it, simply called in an estate liquidator, and handled it that way. Ruby thought I was kidding when I told her that -- I was DEAD serious. Ha.

Anyway, we had a lovely dinner, talking about favorite Elizabeth stories, and comparing notes about grown kids -- Harris has two, about the Ds ages. His son made him a grandpa, and he loves the gig, but was jealous of me having our Little Man in Miami -- his grandson and parents live in Chicago.

After dinner, Harris drove his car next to our SUV in a parking lot, and unloaded the bounty. There was two paintings, several small sculptures, and a box containing 8 Limoges boxes. She wished the Ds to have these, and though the Ds are minimalist, anti clutter types, will indeed keep this lovely gift from their beloved aunt.

I received a ceramic wall hanging, which, truth be told, I haven't unwrapped from the bubble wrap yet. I REALLY am not a stuff guy.

Wifey received two lovely paintings -- she had admired them when she visited Elizabeth's place -- one is a waterfall, and the other a nude. Being at heart a junior high level guy, I remarked that the nude painting was definitely from the "Bush period." Wifey smirked at my wit.

Ruby was headed to UPS today, to ship gifts to friends as far afield as Oregon. Harris joked last night that if he ever really did NOT like someone, he would appoint them his personal representative. It's a huge pain in the ass.

Paul called and I shared the information with him. He shares my disdain for stuff. He asked if I wanted any of his stuff when he died, and I said not really, except for those fancy coins he has from South Africa. He agreed -- he would take MINE as well, as well as any unaccounted for shares of Apple, or maybe the stray tax free muni bond.

We texted Ruby after we saw the stuff. I made her feel very good with some wisdom from our sages: in Jewish tradition, it is said that the soul of the departed is only at rest once all earthly affairs are settled. So Ruby, by following Elizabeth's wishes, was giving her beloved sister's soul rest. Ruby is an Evangelical Christian, and found comfort in that.

As for me, other than the aforementioned investments -- I would welcome the Ds t simply back up a big dump truck to my house and haul all my stuff to the transfer station -- picking out, I guess, anything suitable for charity.

In the end, as Eccliastes teaches us, all is vanity, anyway.

Turning 30. All My Stupid Friends Are Having Stupid Children

 So Sunday February 2, 1992 was a lovely day in Kendall. Eric and Dana were down from Boston, where Eric was doing his medical training, and they had a one year old birthday party for their girl Jennifer -- at Eric's parents Norma and Marvin's house.

D1 was running around, and playing with an adorable little girl named Marissa. Decades later they'd become friends and fellow Dietitians -- Marissa would do her internship with D1. 

And Wifey was pregnant. VERY pregnant -- two weeks past her due date. Her docs had scheduled a C Section, and it was set for the following Monday am -- the baby-ectomy I called it.

It came to pass -- early Monday at South Miami Hospital -- the place we bought D1 three years and a few months before. When the large headed D2 was born, my inlaws brought D1 in for a visit. She kissed her new baby sister on the top of her head. I melted.

And so the band was complete. Our Beatles had our Ringo. The four of us began our lives together in a house in what's now called East Kendall -- 107th Avenue, West of the Falls.

Six months later, a tropical cyclone of historic intensity, commonly known as Hurricane Andrew, literally ripped apart our house. We ran from room to room and found refuge in my Mitsubishi Diamante parked in the garage -- Wifey, the two Ds, my Mom Sunny, and two dogs that comically leaped in as well.

And after all that destruction, the year got much better. Insurance paid us for the losses -- and how! I brought home my first jumbo check for a case I had brought into the firm. And the storm's fury gave us a critical lesson -- all material possessions are just so much crap -- easily replaceable, or better yet, NOT to be replaced. The sanctity in life is the people. I carry that lesson to this very day.

And D2 was a joy -- a fiercely independent preschooler -- one of her less than skilled teachers at the JCC told Wifey "I feel bad for you." And then she started Kindergarten, and I sheepishly went in for a meeting with Mrs. Tables, her teacher, expecting to hear similar tales, and instead was told that she was brilliant, fun, and immensely popular among ALL the kids in class. Wifey looked at each other -- was she talking about the same child? She was.

She had tons of fun through Middle School -- getting decent grades -- and then in high school, self motivated, she got down to business. All As in all AP classes. She still had tons of fun, but realized maybe some of her long time friends were not headed for academic glory -- and she moved on.

She sailed into admission to UF, and got a Master's degree in a year. And most importantly, she met a tall, handsome, Caracas born Jewish boy, and as she said on FaceBook last week, "tricked him into marrying her."

She's comically humble, despite being beautiful and brilliant. We find out about awards, raises, and accolades from Jonathan, or her other friends -- rarely from her directly.

She adores her family -- especially her Little Man sobrino -- and really adores her over sized (now 90 lbs) puppy Betsy.

We had an early celebratory dinner the other night, and today she and Jonathan are headed to LA and Palm Springs for a friend's wedding. Next weekend she's having a 30 for 30 at our house -- an outdoor party of friends to celebrate the 3 decades. Thankfully, Wifey and I are invited to attend this Millennial gathering.

So my baby girl is three decades old. I adore and love her so. She makes me proud. Every once in awhile, we get under each other's skin -- largely because we are SO alike. And it passes -- even though we've been comical roommates now for 7 months on account of delays in her and Jonathan's new house.

Happy 30 D2. It's been a joy. And the best is, I know, yet to be.

Service Like The 1950s

 So I awoke today and noticed some landscape lighting hadn't shut off during the wee hours, as it's programmed to do. Sure enough, I diagnosed the problem: the timer  box motor was broken.

Our friend Norman had referred us a great electrician, Bill, but he's retiring, and so I recalled that my friend Donna had spoken highly of a local company: Arcs and Sparks. I called, and said I actually had 3 projects, none of which were a rush. But, alas, they had a cancellation. Could they come at noon today? They could.

I met Juan, my trainer, for the first time this year. At the end of December, we planned to take my fitness up a notch, and then Covid said "Hold my beer." First surging Omicron, and then Wifey got it, and so today was the first day I could reasonably attend. If they indeed come up with a pill for fitness without exercise -- I would take it immediately. I do not like to exercise, other than walking. But Juan is a fine motivator, and knows a 60 year old guy not interested in playing sports, other than running around with my grandson, needs balance  and strength work. I no longer care how I look in a Speedo --other than for humorous effect.

Anyway, I came home, and at 11:45 the company was at my gate. They were two Millennial guys -- Eric was a former Canes baseball player who transferred to FSU and got an engineering degree, but went into the family business instead.

They fixed the time box in about 10 minutes, and gave us a temporary fix on wall lights around the pool -- they work, but the fixtures need replacing. The same goes for halogen floodlights under the roof -- Eric said he could repair them, but why? They're 100 watts each; the new LEDs use 10 watts, and will last 15 years. 

So they're ordering the new parts and will return in a few weeks, and the repairs they did were perfect and about 30% less than I had anticipated. I believe I have found the right company going forward.

Keeping the 50s vibe, both young electricians had uniforms! I plan to refer them to everyone I know.

So, I admit I was a bit shocked at how good they were. Ha. They must hear that as often as the elevator repair guy hears he works in a business with its ups and downs.

So, with the workout done, case managing the electricians done for the day, and a little investment tweaking -- it's time for an afternoon nap.

D2 enjoys no such luxury -- she continues to grind it out on the phone and computer in the dining room.

Indeed -- hard work is for the young. Now -- move over a bit, little dog -- you're hogging the sofa.