Getting Back To Normal

 Ah -- but for a bit of a lingering cough, the Plague seems mostly gone. I'll keep masking until next week, but it is such a relief to have that nastiness pass. All the cliches come to the forefront -- without good health, you have nothing. Cliches are true.

Meanwhile, I took a short drive with D1 the other night, to drop off packages and pick up dinner, and we faced the fact that she and Jonathan and the enormous puppy are moving next week. It's been a near 9 !! month stay.

We were so happy that there was truly just a minimum of tensosity, to use my late friend's neologism. And truth be known, I've really bonded with the enormous and annoying dog. But I have zero doubt we'll be watching her, a lot, as the millennials always travel. Betsy is very welcome here now.

The kids are planning their honeymoon -- more than 2.5 years after their wedding. Again -- damned Plague. Betsy is already looking forward to a fortnight or so back here in Pinecrest, in July.

Wifey and I were supposed to be getting ready to leave for MIA early this afternoon -- a trip to D.C. Whomp. We have until February to use the credit on the tickets -- hopefully some new strain of the Plague lets us travel again.

So this weekend will be one of tumult here. D1 and Joey are bringing the Little Man Sunday -- they're confident that I'll no longer be a threat by then. And I imagine there'll be a LOT of packing -- Monday is moving day.

They're going to a really cool part of Miami Beach -- Sunset Harbor -- away from the crazy tourist part of South Beach. They have many friends there -- you can walk to food stores and restaurants -- and Lincoln Road and the Beach are within walking distance, too.

Our family friend Mike, budding young superstar lawyer, lives there with his wife Sari, D1's good friend, and their toddler. He told Jonathan that fears of traffic leaving the 'hood to get back to the main land are unfounded -- he commutes daily to Downtown -- and the good thing about being on the west side of the Beach is a quick jump to the causeway.

Wifey is already saying SHE wants to move there, too -- part of the pattern I have noticed of women of a certain age. They don't really have a clear view of what they want -- but they want CHANGE, damn it!

Conversely, we aging men want stuff the same -- familiar like we like it.

Wifey may get some of her wish -- if D2 and Jonathan's Grove townhouse gets finished, there may be a few months left on a lease. I told Wifey she and BFF Edna could move their. The two have fantasized since they were in junior high school that someday they would be old ladies together on the Beach. Maybe they'll get a taste of it now.

In the mean time, I plan to keep savoring the days. It sure feels good to feel good again.

Well THAT Was a Crappy Three Days

 Thursday night, when I got up from my game watching chair and started shivering like I was left on an ice floe, I KNEW I wasn't in for any garden variety cold or flu. And, as it turned out, Covid-19 was as advertised.

It was the worst I've ever felt, from a flu bout I had years ago, compressed into three days. I felt awful -- watching the clock for the next allowable dose of Tylenol, and drinking gallons of tea and soup to stay hydrated.

The wedding I was supposed to officiate for went off beautifully -- I got lovely pix. But by the time of the ceremony, my voice was nearly gone from laryngitis -- so even my offer to do the thing via Zoom would have been worthless. Thankfully, the bride's best friend and cousin performed admirably.

Late last evening, after the Canes blew their game against Kansas, I finally started feeling a tad better. The kids ordered in Akashi, which is Japanese for "good sushi but a cluster of a place to visit -- so only get it on Uber Eats." I ordered the juvenile chicken teriyaki, and it was the first food I enjoyed in awhile. I LOVE to eat, and am always hungry. The fact that this coronavirus took that from me said volumes..

I made it to bed after the Oscars were on, but before Will Smith punched Chris Rock. No big deal -- it'll be replayed for months to come.

Don Rickles was lucky he performed in another time. With his insults, Will Smith would have busted a 9 cap into his tuches. Rock got off easy.

I eschewed the Tylenol PM with a bit of trepidation -- and was still able to sleep. This am I awoke, and heard Gloria Estefan's song "Coming Out of The Dark" playing in my head as I descended the stairs.

I'm still only about 75%, but feel FAR better than I have the last few days.

Turns out that Covid 19 is some pretty serious crap after all.

So I plan to treat Villa Wifey, for the next few days, like one of those old European sanitoriums -- sitting on rocking chairs, drinking tea, and taking the fresh air and sunlight cure.

It sure sucks to be sick. I truly hope this is our family's last dance with the Plague.

I was talking last night with Dr. Eric -- he's still not ready to travel by plane. I totally get it. But Wifey and my tickets to D.C. on AA were non refundable -- so they DID offer us credits. We have until February of 2023 to use them. Hopefully by then we'll be ready to jet off somewhere again.

As for today, I feel like the old Jewish lady in one of Wifey's favorite jokes: in a Pullman car in the 40s, she whines incessantly "Oy am I thoisty!" Finally, her bunkmate gets up, walks through the whole train, and finds her some ice water -- giving it to her so he can finally get some rest. As he is about to finally drift off to slumber, he hears the old lady: "Oy, WAS I toisty!"

And so it is with me -- was I miserable! Thankfully, it seems to have passed.

I'm Late To The Party

 I'm always a bit late to appreciate trends and current events. I only started listening to punk rock/new wave in the late 80s. I didn't dig Seattle Grunge until a solid 10 years after Kurt Cobain died. And so it is with Covid.

D2 woke up sick Tuesday, with bad cold-like symptoms, and Jonathan was sick a day later. Oh well -- both must have caught bad colds -- they're out and about quite a lot, including a surprise engagement party on Miami Beach Saturday attended by more than a hundred guests. They stayed home and worked, and we thought little about it.

Thursday afternoon I had a doctor's visit, to remove a chin wart, and on the way home I felt a bit pro-dromic -- the word my doc friends explained to me that means you feel like you may be coming down with something. I was a bit concerned, as I had a busy weekend and following week planned -- Bob Dylan art show Saturday with Jeff and Jim, officiating at a wedding in Davie Sunday, and Wifey and my first plane trip since 12/19 -- to D.C. -- to see cherry blossoms and our nephew of another mister, Scott, and his lady Sam.

Still -- I felt ok, and we all watched Gonzaga lose, much to D2's chagrin, as she had them winning the championship in her bracket. And then...I stood up, and it was if I were put onto an ice floe. 

I started shaking uncontrollably -- shivering. As the serVER of my family and never serVED, I said nothing to anyone, and just struggled upstairs. I took Tylenol and got to bed. Wifey came to bed and asked why it was shaking -- it was my shivering. Man -- it came on hard.

D1 texted to say that the party D2 and Jonathan attended Saturday night was a superspreader event -- several guests tested positive for Covid. D2 took a rapid test -- one of the boxes Joe Biden sent us -- and it was positive. Friday am I took a test, too -- the red line appeared in record time. I had Covid, too.

I really thought we were past this. Miami Dade has a "low" spread rating. The cases keep dropping. Hospitalizations are record low levels. All I know is,  I felt as bad as I ever did from a flu.

I summoned the energy to call my friends Iris and Jacqui. The Jewish minister was out for Sunday's wedding. I felt awful -- the wedding had already been delayed from January due to the Omicron surge. Jacqui had a nasty bout of Covid -- she was sick for 2 weeks. No worries, they said -- Iris would do the ceremony. I still felt terrible about it -- particularly since Wifey and I  were abandoned by our officient -- though that was due to a free trip for Mark Kram -- not illness.

I also called AA -- actually did a chat. When I told the chat bot I had Covid -- they cancelled our reservations pronto. Next was AMEX, to cancel our hotel. They called back, which was good, since holding the phone while waiting was too draining. The very nice Sub Continent person likewise cancelled without issue.

The rest of Friday sort of slogged by in a fog. I had Tylenol PM, and kept popping it, even though you're only supposed to take it once at night. It let me blissfully sleep for a few hours at a time.

Today, mercifully, I'm better. D2 gave me some regular Tylenol. I still have ZERO appetite, which for me never happens. All I could eat was a banana and an Aloha bar -- and I feel as if I had my usual huge breakfast.

More mercifully, D2 and Jonathan are MUCH better. Wifey, who had Covid in January, never got anything -- she must have super immunity with her 3 jabs and recovery from the actual disease.

As I type, she is holding court with the young-uns about whether or not to pursue their complicated house purchase in the Grove. I'm still too fatigued to take part.

So I guess this is the "new normal." We get vaccines, like for the flu, but still may have to deal with this nasty virus. As long as it's awful for 2-3 days, it's ultimately tolerable -- like the 2 day long Florida Bar exam I endured in July of '86.

Of course, after that event, we got to celebrate at Bern's Steakhouse. I don't have the appetite for that -- as of now.

A Troubled Artist Turns 40

 So today my nephew PJ turns 40. He has led a troubled and turbulent life. He's in a state of unrest again. I truly hope and pray for him that, as he enters his 41st turn around this planet, he finds a peaceful path.

When he was born, I was finishing my junior year of college. My parents flew out to California to help my sister with the new baby. My Dad got to meet his third grandchild -- I have the pictures of him holding the adorable baby boy. 

But my parents returned to Florida far more worried than joyful. The problem wasn't PJ -- it was his father Pat. Pat was, well, opposed to working and supporting his family. Working and supporting one's family was, for my father, the essence of any man. My father was shocked and in disbelief about his son in law, and upon return home, set about planning to go back to work to support my sister and her son.

His concerns didn't last very long -- he died a little over 4 months later, at 63.

PJ grew into an adorable toddler, and got a baby brother when he was 2. His Mom kept things together -- the boys' father set new lows for worthlessness as a human -- at least to my view. But PJ went to school, and grew up -- always a quirky young man, but sweet and artistic.

As a teen, he LOVED to cook. I remember one visit to California, when he was a teen, and he ran the barbecue. He was meticulous about the burgers he prepared -- and justly proud of how delicious they came out.

But after high school, he started community college in pursuit of an architecture degree. He didn't do well -- dropping classes he didn't enjoy, and sort of beginning a pattern of never truly finishing anything he started. Along the way, he wrecked several vehicles, including a used truck I sent him the money to buy. But thankfully no one was hurt.

He was floating along as a young adult, and then, it seemed to me, there was a path! He would join the USAF. I was thrilled for him -- always recalling the sage experience of my friend Kenny, who retired as a US Navy Captain. He often told me that the military was a place where he saw directionless young man enter, and leave with discipline and purpose. Ah, I thought, that would be the deal for PJ.

Also, his other uncle, my brother in law Dennis, was a USAF vet -- the early Vietnam War years. The Air Force let him see the world for the first time -- East Asia -- and he returned far more wise and experienced than when he left for service. He was thrilled for PJ, too.

He got through basic training, and there are pictures of my beaming sister with her handsome son in uniform. Finally, I thought -- he will find a way.

It wasn't to be. I suppose the rigidity and demands of the military clashed with PJ's essence. It was the time of "Don't Ask/Don't Tell," and he told -- of a relationship with a fellow young airman. It was then adios USAF.

After that, things spiraled down for him. He disappeared, and was discovered in Utah, I think, telling people on a bus he was a savior of some sort.

A sad pattern emerged. He would come home, move back with his Mom, and then go again on his walkabouts.

There was a period of hope. His Mom founded and owned an art gallery, and he became artistic director. He painted, and sold some paintings. Maybe there would be some life success as an artist?

It would never last, and then he disappeared for years. My sister and nephew went looking for him -- up the Cali coast, especially in areas that attracted the homeless. They couldn't find him -- until: he turned up in Boise, Idaho -- in the jail there. He was arrested , I think, for trespass, or panhandling, or some homeless-type crime.

His Mom sprung him, and brought him home. Again -- things would be stable for awhile, and then spiral again.

He was diagnosed with schizo- affective disorder. He was also a drug addict -- crystal meth. There were multiple suicide attempts -- chemical, and one Rube Goldberg event, where he rigged a concrete block to fall on his head. That one did some facial nerve damage, I seem to recall.

My sister NEVER gave up on him. She was his champion. She always saw worth and talent when it seemed the rest of the world saw a lost cause. And then, when PJ was, I think, about 30 came the worst.

He jumped off the third story of a parking garage. Probably a taller building would have ended his life, but instead he ended up in a coma and multiple fractures. He had months of hospitalizations and rehab.

This was going on during my Mom, his grandmother's, final year of life. Of course, we told her nothing about this latest tragedy -- she probably couldn't have processed it.

But with his mother's undying love and support -- somehow PJ recovered. But victories would prove short lived.

At his brother's wedding, he made a scene, followed by a vomiting into the circle of the gathered guests.

A few years later, D1 and Joey were to be married, and I told my sister I could not have PJ to the wedding. It was my daughter's big day, and I wanted the focus totally on her. My sister was appalled -- she didn't come, and couldn't believe how heartless I was. But I knew what had to be -- PJ was already showing he didn't do well in the world of the mainstream, and I wasn't going to focus on that at D1's wedding.

After that, he left again -- this time for LA. He was homeless and doing drugs. He was arrested for what would normally be an old timey sort of crime: arson. Unfortunately, in Cali, with the devastating fires, arson is a much bigger deal than it would have been in, say, Florida.

He went to the LA County Jail. It was Covid time. He spent a LOT of time there, but got clean, and after he reached a plea deal -- there was light again for him.

He was placed in a lovely apartment in Hollywood -- all paid by the state. He began to paint -- maniacally -- literally hundreds of colorful works he dashed off. He sold some to friends and family.

My sister and the rest of us were thrilled. Finally -- he was on a good track. He was supported by the state, needed only to keep up his apartment, and keep on painting. Maybe he would even teach art to other released inmates.

Nope. Short lived again -- he wrecked the place, and was tossed out.

His latest iteration is some kind of halfway house in, I think, Long Beach. But last I heard, he painted the walls of his room -- again -- and was placed on suspension. Since he's on probation, I guess the likely course is a trip back to jail if he keeps up with these actions. I hope that doesn't happen.

Man. 40. For me, that age was the height of my powers. I was very lucky in my career. I bought a big ass house for my family. The Ds were tweens -- passing to adulthood themselves.

Paul and I truly felt the world was ours for the taking. If we wanted a case -- we got it. We prosecuted our cases aggressively. We gave charity -- including a large no interest loan that let our friend start his Jewish Center -- which just broke ground to build one of the largest facilities to help special needs kids in the state.

It was a golden age for my Dad, too. At 40 he had the luxury of finally supporting his family with a single job: salesman. At 43 he bought his first house -- and moved his family from Queens to Nassau County -- for a poor son of immigrants who grew up in The Bronx -- he had ARRIVED.

For most of my friends, 40 was a wonderful age, too. No real annoying, chronic health issues, but the wisdom of having lived 4 decades.

I hope against hope that my nephew "comes to himself," to use one of my late Mom's favorite expressions.

His brother Henry has lived a life with successes that are the polar opposite of his brother's failures. He's also a gifted filmmaker, and is nearing completion of a documentary about his brother.

The best documentaries give focus and understanding about their subjects. I have a strong sense that's what Henry's film will provide. He tells us it won't be an easy film to watch.

As his brother turns 40 -- I hope for a miracle. Maybe at 50, he'll have found his footing in life. I truly hope so.

Time Passages

 So it was a lovely Saturday here in Pinecrest. Wifey was gone -- a pajama party at her friend Cara's on Miami Beach, and Joelle and Kenny came by at 6 for a bottle of wine. From there we went to Platea, a newish Peruvian Steakhouse that opened here in Pinecrest.

It's curious -- Pinecrest has a very high earning demographic, and there have always been no or few good restaurants -- you have to go to the Gables or Grove for good eatin'. I mean -- I love Thai and pizza places, but every once in awhile it's nice to go more upscale.

Well, the smart Peruanos must have figured this out, and opened Platea -- prime beef, and great ceviche. We had ordered it in, but I wanted to try it out, and we three were very happy. Joelle knows wine, and couldn't decide among 4 offerings, and so the waiter brought her samples of all. She picked, and we shared a NY Strip that was The Palm level great, and some fine ceviche and sides. The place was lovely -- not at all over decorated, and it was packed. It will definitely become a go-to for me for nice dinners -- and it's all of a 5 minute drive away! Ah -- the things that bring happiness to an aging white guy...

Speaking of aging, I can't get past my visit to my suegra at the nursing home. I have lots of experience in this arena -- my Mom and father in law both spent their final time at Miami Jewish -- but that visit the other day really got to me. 

I always think about the aging maven Mark Agronin -- head guy at Miami Jewish, and an internationally famous geriatrician, and what he once explained to me when I asked him why more people didn't commit suicide rather than decline in a nursing home. It was the theory of the frog, he said.

If you place a frog in cold water,and slowly turn up the heat, it will stay in the water and boil to death. If you toss a frog into boiling water, it will hop out. The point is, it can't sense gradual senses in its environment.

Likewise, the doc explained, it's not like you go from healthy to nursing home, absent a major accident or medical catastrophe. You decline gradually. First you walk slowly, and then with a walker. Your bowels and bladder weaken. Your thinking very slowly goes from sharp to dull, along with vision and hearing. You sort of ease into that final stage -- like the slowly heated frog.

I told Wifey I planned to commit the awful stench of my suegra's roommate's diaper to memory -- and hopefully defeat the theory of the frog. I do NOT wish to exist that way -- with my beloved family having to see me in that state. Hell -- my friends will be dead or crapping in their diapers next to me -- so I don't worry about them.

Like everything, I know it must be left to the Big Man -- but I hope he gives me plenty more years until, when my number is up -- I check out rapidly. Maybe just one final uncontrolled bowel movement...

On the other side of things, at the 6 pm Zoom Friday, Eric and Dana's girl announced she was pregnant again. Now THAT is newsworthy -- my co-hort adding grandkids like orthodox Jews, or classic Catholics! The next generation -- I prefer to look ahead to that, instead of the degradation that awaits we oldsters.

Wifey and I are headed out later to see our Little Man, and then to her friend Crazy Sheryl's son's house on La Gorce -- a very tony part of Miami Beach. Andrew graduated from UM and got into stock trading -- apparently doing quite well. We were going to meet at his place for cocktails and then out to dinner, but he invited his Mom's several Miami friends for dinner -- he loves to cook. I told D2 he raised the bar for hosting Boomers. She has no desire to reach that bar.

But time passages...

Millennials On The Move

 So D2 and Jonathan, our roommates for the past 8 months, truly hoped to be in their Grove townhouse by now. The builder is proving to be a piece of work who would shame a used car salesman, and so they have now realized that closing on the unit will be a long, litigious slog. Likely, the builder is hoping that the buyers who signed contracts last year will walk away -- as he can get probably 25% more for his new units than their contracted sales price. But he picked on a strange demographic to try to rip off -- all of the buyers have plenty of money and resources, and are going to fight him to the end, even if they have to ask a Court to take over his company and appoint a receiver.

In any event, even though I am the best suegro in the history of suegros, and Wifey is a patient, albeit very eccentric suegra -- the kids want to move along with their lives. I certainly don't blame them. So yesterday they signed leases for a rental on Miami Beach -- a 'hood called Sunset Harbor, where several of their friends live. They'll likely move after Wifey and I return from our D.C. trip the first days of April -- so we'll get one last dog sit from them.

In the mean time, D1 was down at Ocean Reef on business, and stopped off at the house on the way home, lest she sit in intractable traffic from our place to NE Miami. It was lovely having the Ds together -- only they truly get what it was like to be raised by their quirky, albeit unconditionally loving parents. They're as close as, well, sisters.

Jonathan came home,and they all ordered in from the healthy place, Carrot Express, that they like. I poured my Friday evening drink and joined Eric and Dana's shabbat, and cooked my traditional Publix meat loaf and pasta. At 7 I opened the Zoom, and it was Josh and Barry for a bit, and then I begged off and retired to the Dining Room with the Ds, Wifey, and Jonathan.

Wifey was in hyper questioning mode -- about a plethora of topics -- and in my 3 drink chill, I actually just sort of observed with a sense of wonderment. She jumped around from Jonathan's job, to her need to travel, to the Ds' upbringings. I suggested to Jonathan that he take the 5th rather than answer some of the interrogation that would later come back to haunt him. We wisely followed his suegro's advice.

Earlier in the day Wifey and I spent time in a way that I know must have set her off. We visited her Mom -- now 97 and a few weeks ago moved to a nursing home from the ALF. The care is fine, and the place is well kept, but as we arrived, my suegra's roommate was having her diaper changed. She's an ancient Cubana -- totally out of it, like Rachel is.

We went to my mother in law's bed, and something happened to me, probably for the first time in my adult life. I nearly vomited from the stench of the roommates excrement. I am NOT a squeamish guy -- it's extremely rare that anything grosses me out. When I was pre med, I observed autopsies at the Dade County ME's office -- the young pathologist reveled in making his work as shocking and splattering as possible -- but I kept it together.

Yesterday the room's odor seemed a combination of rotting dead animal, fetid sewer, rotten eggs, and some other components of stink I never before smelled. Wifey's sense of smell is blunted, and so she was fine, but I felt myself literally gagging.

Thankfully, when the aid was finished, the smell returned to the level of a garage with maybe one dead rat hidden somewhere out of view. It was tolerable.

Meanwhile, my poor suegra had zero idea who Wifey or I was. This was a first -- she always recognized me. Wifey asked the nurse to put her dentures back in (she prefers them out) and Wifey fed her mother pieces of a protein cookie. She was otherwise non conversational.

Still -- she remains physically strong, and may go on in this limbo for months -- even years. I texted my friends that I plan to ask the Big Man for a different kind of exit from this mortal coil.

So maybe that's what set off Wifey's comical hyper activity last night. Either way -- it added to the charm of the evening -- and D1 returned home happy and safely.

Today, Wifey is headed to her friend Cara's condo on Venetian Island for a dinner and pajama party with another friend, Anna. It was supposed to be long time friend Linda, but Linda, poor thing, has shingles. She's anti vaxx, and so avoided Shingrix, the miracle shot that prevents the misery -- so what are ya gonna do? To each her own.

The millennials are off to a surprise party for a friends' engagement, and I plan to head down to the Redland and check out a newly renovated tropical fish farm. I rarely buy fish, but love to see what's newly swimming in that world.

At 6, Joelle and Kenny are coming by for a pregame, and then we have dinner at a new Peruvian steakhouse in Pinecrest. We brought in their food the other night, and it was delicious -- so tonight we'll go to the actual restaurant.

But last night's memory of the Ds together -- talking conspiratorially and laughing -- well that's been a sacred sight for me for the past three decades.

During Wifey's manic phase, she said to the Ds "I'm going to live to 97 like my mother so you'd better figure out what you're going to do with me." Somehow there was talk of a trip to Switzerland...where they have a terminal tourist attraction. I may well sign up for that, as opposed to a toxic smelling nursing home roommate, as well.

St. Purim's Day

 So by a quirk of the calendar, two festive holidays happen this year at the same time: Purim and St. Patrick's Day. Alas, I won't be celebrating either of them, but am happy for those who are.

I grew up on LI with many close friends of Irish extraction -- including my brother in law Dennis. For years I thought that corned beef and cabbage was an old tradition brought from the old sod, and then my first time in Dublin at a pub I ordered it. The pubkeeper looked at me as if I had two heads.

Turns out, corned beef and cabbage is not Irish at all, but an American creation. The Irish immigrants feasted on mutton, which was hard to find in turn of the century America. Their neighbors, the Ashkenazi Jewish immigrants, ate a lot of corned beef, which was a cheap cut of beef made delicious by brining. So the Irish borrowed the Jewish meat, and mixed it with their beloved cabbage, and it became a major tradition. I love that history.

Purim was something we'd celebrate when the Ds were little -- their Hebrew schools would always have them dress up, and tell the tale of the amazing Queen Esther, who used her feminine wiles to save her people from the evil King Hamann. 

When we attended Chabad services, Rabbi Yossi explained that Purim was a holiday where it was assumed we would all get drunk -- drunk enough that we'd confuse the evil Hamann with the heroic Mordecai. I rather liked that tradition, and as the Book of Esther, also called the Megillah, was read, I was "L'chaim Boy," continually filling up shot glasses and toasting. My sister Trudy even made me a L'chaim Boy shirt, which I wore the following year.

Alas -- this year we're skipping out, though I do plan to stop for breakfast this am at LOL after my workout, and bring home some hamentashen, the triangle shaped pastries meant to symbolize evil Haman's tri cornered hat. So at least some of the spirit will be in the house, though our carb averse D2 and Jonathan will likely avoid the sweets. Wifey and I will carry on.

My most memorable St. Paddy's Day was years ago in NYC. I was there on business, and stayed at the Plaza. I finished my meeting early, and wandered onto 5th Avenue to watch the parade. I was truly stunned at home many police and firemen there were in NY -- thousands of them, ruddy faced in the cold drizzle, marching down the avenue.

I popped into a pub on a side street, which was a "Firemen's Pub," and recalled from my childhood how my friend Michael Monahan's Dad Bobby, a NYC firemen, explained to us that though both cops and firemen served the people, there was a tremendous rivalry between the two groups. At his local watering hole in Wantage, the Pin Up Bar ( initials spelled PUB) there were two sections -- one for the cops, and the other for the firemen, and rarely did the twain meet.

Michael's mother was Italian, and a great cook, and so I never turned down an invitation to "eat over." Often we'd have to go to the Pin Up to fetch Mike's Dad for dinner, and this was a place where I began my introduction to political incorrectness.

We'd stroll up to Mr. M, and he'd great us with a hearty "Hey guys -- youse know my son Mike. This is his Jew friend Dave." Everyone would laugh, and many would ask "So Dave -- is your Dad a lawyer or broker or something?" Nah, I'd answer, just a salesman. Everyone would laugh.

I wasn't offended at all -- it was just identity. We all referred to ourselves that way -- Mark the Swede (Swedish Dad, Italian Mom), and Gerry the Mick, and tall John. John was Irish Catholic, too, but his height was more remarkable than his ethnicity.

To this day I don't get people's being offended by this sort of thing -- but I guess I'm just a dinosaur.

So I plan to enjoy the holiday spirit. I'm sure there'll be lots of wearing of the green. I still recall D2 coming home from grade school one year -- we forgot and allowed her to wear orange -- and her teacher Mrs. Cochran pinched her, playfully -- and I think D2 learned to fear the Leprechauns on St. Paddy's Day.

So by now, the revelers at shul ought to be finishing up the reading of the Megillah (hence the great phrase "the WHOLE megillah" when referring to something either told or given in great completeness and detail. And the St. Paddy's celebrants will begin their drinking later today.

May the positive vibes continue.

Every Village Has Its Assholes

 So we've lived here 21 years, and in all that time, so have our strange neighbors, who I'll call Risa and Ray, since that's very close to their real names, but alliterative. I like alliterative.

Risa is, I'm pretty sure, bipolar. Several years ago, she cornered our friend Marc, visiting from Atlanta, and talked at him for a solid 30 minutes. She does that -- if she gets an audience, she goes on and on about her life and kids, and never once asks you about yours -- as if she lives this Princess Diana-like life that anyone truly cares about.

Ray is a commercial lawyer, apparently fairly successful, and their three kids do well, too.

Early during the plague, Risa cornered me one afternoon, and out of sheer boredom, I let her go on and on about how her kids were SO successful -- even though it sounded like they had rather boring, expected of rich white family jobs -- like public lawyers and finance. I laughed myself the entire time, as I allowed my internal clock to run just waiting for Risa to come up for air and ask a single question about my family. It never happened.

She's also a sneak -- calling the Village on neighbors who commit awful crimes, like failing to have trash piles collected on time. And Wifey has a favorite story from years back -- involving some signs the HOA posted.

We have off duty FHP troopers patrolling, even though there hasn't been a serious crime here in well, probably since the late 80s. The Board bought some nice signs, wooden, and posted them at our entrances -- stating that our 'hood was patrolled. Well -- Risa called Wifey in a major fit -- thinking Wifey was solely responsible for the signs, and stating, without irony, that she had family "Coming to visit from Boca the following day, the signs were ugly, and she expected them to be removed!"

Wifey, being an adult, simply ignored her call, but now "I have people coming from Boca!" has become family lore -- a phrase we use when we want to express complete Karen-like behavior. Actually, Risa was a Karen before the term became ubiquitous. We're trend setters here.

Well -- the latest kerfuffle involves dogs. In fairness, I must admit that D2 is a scofflaw -- she walks her large puppy without a leash. The dog is sweet and never would hurt anyone, but leash IS the law. Risa and Ray have a Labrador they apparently show. The damned thing is nasty -- growling and jumping all the time -- giving creedence to the saw that dogs are like their owners.

I know that Risa and Ray have complained about Betsy -- and they have every right to. D2 says screw 'em -- she's moving out sooner or later, and has her Dad's independent streak. She DOES make sure Betsy doesn't poop on the jerks' lawn, though. They have cameras which I'm sure bored housewife Risa monitors all day, and have literally bounded out of the house when a dog attempts to poop their lawn. A few weeks ago, D2 watched as she scolded a few young boys with their sweet dog -- claiming that their dog gave the nasty show Retriever worms. Whatever.

Last night, D2 and I were walking Betsy and the strange rescue, Vienna, who I DO leash. From down the street came a booming voice -- from Ray, who sounds like a self important asshole: "Leash your dog!" D2 had a lanyard that holds a shock collar transmitter, and she fashioned a leash for Betsy, and we kept walking, to keep the peace.

But as we passed, the nasty, leashed, Retreiver lunged at the strange rescue dog -- nearly pulling Ray over. I was going to keep quiet, but I couldn't, and said "Ok -- my daughter will keep Betsy leashed -- how about you learn to train YOUR dog?!!"

They were flummoxed. Entitled assholes aren't used to anyone questioning their moral authority. We kept walking and I honestly didn't hear their reply except for a "thank you!"

D2 wished I had kept silent -- why did I engage with psycho neighbors? I explained that they were bullies -- not of the schoolyard types -- but of the rich white type, and you have to take bullies to task.

I plan to stand down. Next time I see either Ray or Risa, I plan to turn around and walk the other way. The only problem is, Betsy's best friend Jagger, a Lab/Golden mix who is as sweet and playful as the assholes' dog is nasty, lives 2 houses away. In fact, last week Jagger darted to the show dog to try to play -- Risa acted as if he was a snarling Pit bull. And she went inside, yelling at Jagger's dog Mom Daria. Jagger, to make a point, pooped in front of their door. I love Jagger.

So -- each Village has its assholes, and these are ours. Hopefully they don't have Betsy arrested. She's big but not tough -- she won't do well in gen pop at the pound.

How To Anger A Customer Of A Certain Age

 So Wifey decided it may be time to upgrade our internet to fiber service. She likes the idea of wireless "cable boxes" for the TVs, and I mentioned ATT was running a special on the new, improved internet. So she called, left her number for call back, and was reached by a nice young man.

He promptly asked the account number. No way Wifey had that. Then a passcode. She got it wrong. Then he got to a challenge question "Who is your favorite singer?" She quickly answered "Joni Mitchell," and the young agent chuckled.

Wifey asked him what was so funny, and I began to laugh, too, explaining that her choice immediately identified her as a woman of a certain age. She countered that I might have said "Frank Sinatra" -- did that make me a WW II era guy? No -- Sinatra is timeless, I answered. Even millennial hipsters dig Sinatra -- but Joni Mitchell -- well -- she was the provence of Boomer females. Simple as that.

Ah -- aging. We got a text this am from friends visiting from Boston -- did we care to meet for dim sum at Tropical Chinese? I thought it sounded good -- but Wifey remembered she had to get a Covid test ahead of a routine diagnostic test coming Monday.

It occurs to me we need some younger friends -- as do friends of ours. Our 30 year old houseguests seem to have a lot more fun. Hell -- I'm looking forward to a Zoom cocktail party tonight -- the Canes will be on playing Duke in an ACC semi final game. If I was younger -- I'd go watch the game at a local sports bar. I prefer to stay home.

On the other hand -- age does have its benefits. I spent a delicious afternoon with my grandson -- walking with him to another toddler's park, observing a swim lesson, and having dinner together. I really hope the Big Man keeps me around long enough to watch him grow to a young man. That would be something.

Meanwhile -- we're in a March heat wave -- temps in the high 80s today and tomorrow. Tomorrow night will come probably the final cool front of the year -- probably my last use of my fire pit. Oh well. Adios beautiful weather.

It'll be nice until May, and then the tropical stuff will be here. I definitely see the wisdom of the snow bird, as much as I made fun of them when I was younger. Hopefully we'll get to some cooler climes this summer and Fall.

Two dear friends told me separately today they'd really love to retire. They have high pressure jobs, and at 60 and 58 it's a bit much. I totally get it. If I had to, I would of course go back to work full time, but I very much savor the part time gig.

In the mean time, I plan to go onto my different accounts and change my favorite singer to "Drake." We'll see if that gives the smarmy young agents a chuckle...

Nice Family Press

 I'm blessed to live in a gorgeous house. I drive a girly Lexus sedan -- the type of car a retiree would favor. I have a few cheap watches -- and shirts from years ago. In fact, yesterday at D1's, we noted that in a picture taken when the Little Man was 1, I was wearing the exact same polo shirt I had on yesterday. In short -- I'm not a possessions guy.

I'm never impressed when I hear how rich someone is. I AM impressed when I hear how much they give to charity. Jeff Bezos is a schmuck, albeit a rich one. His ex wife Mackenzie is a hero. That's how I see it.

When I started making money, Wifey and I started saving -- our goal was to allow the Ds to attend any college and grad school they chose. We ended up saving quite a bit -- and indeed tuition at private schools was already in the $50K per year range when they attended.

But then -- they threw us a curve ball. Both chose to attend UF, and both did so on Bright Futures Scholarships -- a program designed to keep top kids in Florida. It worked -- UF is now incredibly competitive, and why not? Unless you're from a rich family, what right minded kid wants to borrow hundreds of thousands of dollars to go to a Duke or Emory, when UF is essentially tuition free? The answer is plenty of people -- those non Ivy places do quite well still.

When D1 decided to go to grad school, she knew she had a choice, once again. Maybe NYU? The Masters tuition there would have been in excess of 6 figures.

D2 wanted a Masters, too, in Business. She got one at UF in a single year -- and part of her tuition was paid by a scholarship, as well. The bottom line was we saved a LOT in tuition costs.

D1 chose FIU for her MS in Dietetics. I think the total tuition cost for her credits was about $15K. So when she started, I met with her program director, and said I felt compelled to at least give some of that savings back -- maybe they could pick a deserving student, and anonymously pay her tuition -- from us? No -- they had a better idea, and it involved part of the MS training.

It turns out that all future dietitians MUST do an unpaid series of internships -- and they are full time gigs. For kids who rely on their income while in school, or even help to support their families -- this is a major hardship. So the FIU folks said how about we set up a scholarship fund, to pay these kids during their internships -- with hospitals, schools, commercial kitchens? The State would match some funds, and 2 kids per year would benefit.

We agreed. And that was 9 years ago, and since we contribute yearly, the fund has grown into a nice endowment. So far -- 10 students have benefitted. D1 sits on the selection committee, and has even hired some of the recipients as consultants for her Nutrition company.

The PR Department thought this would make a nice story, and so had a woman with a very exotic name contact me. Her nickname is Tani, and I assumed she was Latin -- this being Miami. Nope -- she's very WASPY -- from Minnesota. Her name is Finnish, of all things. I guess she left the frozen north to thaw out a bit.

She interviewed me, and D1 several months back. I forgot about the whole thing -- we also sent in a family photo which is a favorite -- the Ds, their men, and the Little Man at Pace Park Downtown. The spoiled Spaniel Madeleine and enormous puppy Betsy are in it, too. Joey took the shot with his cell camera on a timer, and when Dr. Eric saw it, he went to work -- photoshopping it into a treasured photo. We have it framed at home, and Eric was able to get me the file to send to Tani. The photo leads the article.

Part of me felt guilty about publicizing it, but I thought about it -- I AM damned proud of what we did -- so far helped 10 young dietitians along, with many more to come.

Years ago, when I gave my first substantial gift to UM, I joked with the "Development" person that I might keep it secret from Wifey. The fellow's advice was sage: Keep Philandering secret; shout about your philanthropy from the mountains. In other words -- encourage others to learn how sweet it is to give back.

So FIU will be our main target of giving. Years ago I MORE than repaid UM for the assistance they gave me -- probably 200 times. And the truth is, UM is a very rich college. Any doubts about this were erased when the last president Donna Shalala approved a $1M vanity bridge across the campus lake -- 30 feet away from the old student union, which gave fine access. It was almost as if they didn't know how to spend the money they got.

Jackson Health is different -- we'll still give to them, and their mission of caring for the community. But UM? My yearly Hurricane Club donation to get my football tickets and nice parking will be it going forward.

So proud of my family. Go Panthers!

Man Date

 So over the last months at the gym, I've met a nice fellow -- he works out with Enrique, one of the owners, and my personal trainers. I joke that Enrique left me for Frank because he's younger and prettier, but the truth is, Frank and his buddies brought 10 clients to the gym and Enrique works Frank out as a favor -- he's transitioning to total administrative work, anyway.

But Frank and I chat -- he's the father of a 2 year old girl, and like me a rabid Canes fan, even though he's an FIU graduate. He's also is WAY better shape than I am -- but less funny. When he benches 250 lbs (far more than he weighs) I joke that much less weight would be much easier for him.

Anyway, last week he asked me on a date for coffee. I guess this is what happens in real life with single people who meet at the gym -- they chat, and later go out, and maybe things heat up from there. But Frank and I are pretty obviously straight -- or so it appears! I kind of figured out he might be wanting to see if I had interest in investing in his company -- he's a mortgage banker.

So yesterday I met him at Pinecrest Bakery on 121 Street. He was drinking a Cuban coffee -- he bought me a cortadito. He was wearing a white sweater and well fitting jeans. Ha. It wasn't that kind of date.

We chatted for well over an hour. In fact -- his company had PLENTY of funding. He just wanted to pick my brain about running a successful small business -- Enrique had suggested this -- and how I had networked my way to semi retirement at 60.

He was already on the right path -- his company was doing well. He has several employees - his "sweet spot" for deals is houses in the $1-$2M range, but he always takes a smaller deal knowing the person might well later come back with a larger one.

He's a classic Miami guy -- born to Cuban exiles -- his Dad owned 3 gas stations. He went to Colombus High, and then to UF. His grandfather, who was a second Dad to him, got sick, and so he moved back to Miami and finished his studies at FIU. I told him his path was like Wifey's -- her one year stint at FSU was truncated when her Mom got ill -- and she too transferred to FIU.

His wife taught at South Miami -- she's a UM grad. But they have a gorgeous 2 year old girl -- and like Wifey after D1 was born -- his wife simply can't leave their little girl to return to work. He suspects she will soon -- the toddler is starting pre school next month.

I shared with Frank two life changing stories -- how I got 2 career changing cases as a result to doing much earlier favors for people. He ate it up.

I offered to send him contact information for several real estate lawyer friends -- he gets deals from them, and realtors, and divorce lawyers! After a divorce, there's typically the sale of the marital house and then purchase of two new ones. I hadn't made that connection, but it makes total sense.

He's a winner, this young fellow. He's also caring for his aging parents -- he's an only child - and his Dad had a fall recently, fracturing an elbow. I told him he might want to take Papi to my friend Lew -- an excellent hand surgeon. He was going to set that up. 

I told him that back in 1991, a woman called me about a med mal case I knew wouldn't be a case -- but I had her come to my office thinking maybe Lew would get a new patient -- he had just started his practice. The woman showed up with a grievously hurt child -- who ended up our real client -- and changed the course of my professional career.

It's nice to mentor young folks on the professional make -- especially when they're truly interested in learning what you have to teach.

In related news, D1 is back behind the podium! She was asked to teach a class at Keiser U, a local college that has a Dietetics program. They're paying her nicely, and she's driving up to Miramar a few mornings a week -- live school again, thanks Big Man! She is a truly gifted professor -- and has a lot to share with puppy dietitians about their chosen careers.

Frank and I agreed to keep seeing each other once in awhile -- for coffee and lunch. I have little doubt he's a young man on the rise.

Staycation

 No Norman texted on Friday -- if he could score an outdoor table at Lazy Lobster, in Key Largo, would Wifey and I like to join him and Deb? We would, he did, and we went.

It's a 50 minute drive from Palmetto Bay, but a lovely drive. Waze confirmed we ought to take Card Sound Road, and we crested the bridge in the near sunset light -- it was gorgeous.

The trip gave us a nice chance to catch up -- we hadn't been together with our couple friends since July, at my 60th birthday meetup in Key Biscayne. Covid's kept Deb close to the ground, but she's been feeling stronger every day, as Chicago sang.

Lazy Lobster is a favorite -- we had one subpar meal there, only, on our way home from Key West with Kenny and Joelle, but the dinners have been fine. Last night was the same -- delicious fresh fish -- and just iced tea for me. They only have beer and wine, but also Ketel Spritzers. I told the server those are an affront to vodka, in my view.

The two couples have 7 grown kids among us, and it's nice to compare notes as they move along on their life's journeys.

The drive home was right up US 1 -- and we were treated to a Cheshire Cat grinning moon to the West. The time literally flew by.

I awoke to see that our Millennial houseguests had come home near 3 am -- my electronic lock gave me the beep. They had gone out to celebrate their friend Tara and Scott's birthdays.

And then I got a text and email from my bank -- there had been "suspicious activity" on one of my cards, and they declined the charges. It was several Uber charges of amounts ranging from $75 down to $4. I texted back they weren't mine, and they said they'd cancel the charges and send me a new card.

I followed up by checking online, and there were a few more charges and credits, so I called the bank fraud number and spoke to a very lovely young lady in Delaware -- she cleaned those up, too. Again -- part of modern life.

And then, in a humorous twist, a tired D2 came in to tell me it wasn't some European fraudsters -- it was her and Jonathan! Turns out that I had given Jonathan my credit card to use to order Uber Eats a few weeks back, and it somehow stuck in his account. As they Ubered their way back from Miami Beach, and tried to alter the trip to drop off friends, the algorithm of my card -- knowing an old kvetch like me NEVER charges at 2 am, let alone Uber, declined to pay.

The young-uns simply switched to their card and made it home fine. And I get a shiny new card in the mail this week.

Today the roommies are hard at work, and Wifey and I were hard at rest. Maybe we'll bring in dinner together.

Most importantly for Wifey, a strong breeze is blowing. She LOVES breezes. And last night in Key Largo, there was a lovely one. We had it all -- just like Bogey and Bacall...

Additional Properties

 So yesterday I had breakfast with Mike and Chris, and Mike was understandably excited about a closing that just took place -- he and Loni bought a vacation/rental house in far Western North Carolina. It's about 2.5 hours west of Atlanta, where they have some family, and the plan is to spend family holidays like Thanksgiving and maybe Christmas there, with their LA daughter who'd fly to ATL and meet them.

He reminded me of the excitement Kenny and Joelle have about their place, where Wifey and I visited -- a lovely home right on a lake NW of Portland, Maine. They consider it their real home, even though they're snowbirds, and just bought a spiffy new condo in the Grove. They wouldn't consider renting out their Maine house -- instead scheduling visits for the whole Summer of friends and family. We begged off last year on account of my fear that Wifey might have trouble navigating a connecting flight -- there's no nonstops from MIA to Portland, and only an hour between planes at LGA.

I have always enjoyed being around people who love their hobbies, even if the hobbies don't interest me. Years ago, when Eric returned from Boston a golfer, and local friends Pete and Gene would play with him, after a few weeks of my destroying greens with my ineptitude, I took to being the guy who drove the cart -- I enjoyed the fraternity, but not at all the game. To this day, golf holds zero interest, which may become more of a problem, as I know my golfing son in law Joey will want to golf with the Little Man. I guess I'll have another gig driving the cart.

But as for owning an additional house -- absolutely no way for me. As Mike was telling me the details of his new place, all I could think of was the hassle of overseeing repairs and renovations -- and I'd run from that.

Just this week, as Villa Wifey turns 25, I hired a roofer and electrician for repairs. We have some pool lights that haven't worked in awhile, and some outdoor halogen lamps under the roof eaves that burnt out during the 2nd W administration. They're being replaced with LED lamps that, the young electrician assured, would last "longer than the house." I told him they just need to outlast ME.

As for the roof, every few years I replace rotting decking -- fortunately over the outside areas -- so no leaks. But these two jobs together exceed $12K -- the cost of ownership, I know.

Wifey and I were discussing it last night. She and I are in total agreement -- she NEVER wants to own another house. She figures it would make her feel she had to visit there -- and we've learned we love family vacations in various spots -- spending the money on more luxurious hotels for our Full Squad.

And as far as being the owner of, essentially, a part time AirBnb? As I told Wifey, when I buy shares of Apple, Tim Cook never calls me at 9 pm on a Saturday to report a problem with the money I invested. The same isn't true of even a property manager one might hire.

So -- as Dirty Harry said -- a man's gotta know his limitations. And for me, I'm limited to a single house, and can't imagine ever having that change.

I guess my whole aversion to owning stuff was always there, but it became set in my psychic stone after Hurricane Andrew. I saw as all of our belongings got wrecked -- and getting a check from the insurance company made me much happier than looking at the various tchtockes on shelves and walls.

I do love our house, and never want to move. But I recognize the responsibility of maintaining it/ But to add to that burden? Not for me.

So I'm thrilled for my friends and their various additional properties. May they be venues for precious memories with loved family and friends. I totally get that -- but after the vacation is over, I prefer to simply sign the AMEX statement and leave the cleanup to others.

Speaking of which, the new kitchen appliances we bought in September are STILL in our garage -- except for the new oven. Supposably, as we say in the 305, the new fridge is due in early March. Que annoying. One set of that is more than enough for me.

Neighborhood Chisme

 So years ago, our good friend Diane, after divorcing Charlie, sold her house to an interesting couple. The wife was in her late 20s, and her husband about 30 years older. Also, the wife was very attractive, and not in the way typical of a suburban mom, but rather more in the way of an escort.

They were fine neighbors, though we never became friends. The husband, a wildy successful lawyer, built a wonderful play are for their new babies. He had kids the Ds age from an earlier marriage, and adopted his young wife's son, and then had 4 more kids with her.

When I complemented him on the play area, and told him I hoped to bring my grandkids there someday, he chided me -- I ought to have more kids myself, like he did. I reminded him that Wifey was, um, no longer fecund, but he said that was ok -- I could still father more. Nah. I was fine with my 2 Ds -- grandkids, if I was so blessed, would be plenty for me. I was so blessed.

Anyway, they sold to a lovely young couple, with an adorable 2 year old girl, and a baby brother due in August. Indeed, we bring the little man over to play on the lot -- he loves it.

Well -- the other day my fellow Herald readers and I saw a story about our local Middle School. A Mom apparently lost it during a conference about her son, attended by the teacher and principal, and struck the teacher. She was arrested the next day, and charged with assault and battery.

My 'hood was atwitter. Everyone saw it was our former next door neighbor. She hired a high powered lawyer -- I'm assuming she'll get some anger management classes, and that'll be it.

But I feel for her son -- a very sweet but troubled young man. I guess he's 14 now. Facebook friends of the former neighbor report that the young man has been shipped to a military school in Georgia. I hope he does well there.

But the entire affair gave me shivers. The thought of being a Dad to babies or teens now, at 60 -- oh boy. As Dylan sang, it ain't me, babe.

Yesterday Wifey went up to visit D1 and the Little Man. She played with him awhile, and then he grabbed her hand and wanted her to walk with her to his friend's house down the street. Wifey begged off -- she was simply too tired after several hours of keeping up with the toddler.

So D1 sent him out alone. Ha. As if! But the point is, clearly, kids are for young adults to raise.

Guys my age need to be concerned with talking about medical issues -- prostate glands and such. Behavioral issues of troubled teen sons? No thank you very much.

Meanwhile, I look forward to my Zoom happy hour tonight. It was canceled the past three weeks -- which is a good thing. It meant we were able to go out live -- dinner with D1 and Joey, and last Friday dinner with my nephew Henry and the Ds and Jonathan.

But tonight, virtual again, and I look forward to it. And then tomorrow night, we have plans with dear friends for the Keys -- an outdoor restaurant for some fresh fish. The wife is just now ready to dip her toe into the normal world -- very Covid afraid. And I surely understand -- everyone has dealt with the past 2 years of Plague their own way. I'm just thrilled it seems very much on the wane.

And I am NOT dealing with Middle School drama. That's for more active 60 something dudes than I.

All Along The Watchtower

 So the Plague truly seems in retreat, and now we have to worry about the Russians. As Roseann Roseannadanna said, it's always SOMETHING.

I started yesterday with a meeting with Juan, my personal trainer. I admitted to him that I describe him like Leon, Larry's houseguest, describes people he'd rather not see. "I Fing HATE the MFer..." He got it -- knows I truly DO like him, but would rather not exercise, especially vigorously, involving squats and other means of self, or Juan imposed, torture. But I figure that if I want to run around after the gorgeous grandson, I'd better give myself a fighting chance against becoming an immobile old F.

From there, it was off to Dania, my haircutter for 25 years! I started going to her when D2 was in kindergarten -- her daughter Lindsay and D2 were classmates. In all that time, I was unfaithful to her exactly once. I got annoyed that she wouldn't fit me in when I needed it for a trial, and went to a barber in Sunniland. I ended up looking like Anton Chigarrg meets early 60s Bob Dylan. I came crawling back to Dania -- she forgave my trespass.

Her daughter married a Leewood classmate after UCF, and both moved to Texas. Alas, they had a baby girl, and moved back to the 305, and just closed on a house in Palmetto Bay. Dania is very happy about that, although her husband, not Lindsay's Dad, wants to move. His name is Juan, and he grew up in Hialeah, but says Miami is "too Cuban." That cracks me up.

Anyway, from there I cruised up to Aventura, and a true business meeting with Paul and Stu at Mo's. I got there early, and the hostess asked if I was alone. No, I replied, I was looking for 2 older Jewish man. As hardboiled as she was, she cracked up. "Well -- got plenty of 'em here." I can still kill at the deli -- I AM my father's son.

We strategized a coming battle against a guy I call Fredo, since he's a treacherous prick. We'll see how that turns out.

Wifey came home after I did, after visiting her Mom. Alas, my suegra is mostly out of it, mentally. The Palace finally got her a bed in the nursing home, across the parking lot from the ALF. There was red tape in that -- had to switch hospice providers, for one thing. But she's well fed, bed sore prevented, and comfortable. I hope I die before I get to her stage. I know I likely will.

And then we watched Biden and his SOFTU address. The old fellow acquitted himself pretty well, I thought -- certainly in contrast to the putz he beat for POTUS.

Of course, Putin is very concerning. Hopefully his generals and/or oligarchs get him to back off this worst move since WW II. In the mean time, we just watch, and hope.

The Busy, For Us, Week

 The Ds have correctly pointed out that Wifey and I, particularly during the Plague, do very little. Wifey DID go to ATL (and came home with Covid) and had another 2 nights on South Beach with her BFF Edna, but I have been most happy to travel little and do little as well. Hey -- I'm 60! Given my paternal line of longevity, I'm an old freaking man.

But last Thursday my nephew Henry came to town. He was here doing a video project for one of his Bay Area clients, and, alas, came with a nasty stomach bug, which his lovely wife Valerie had as well. His work days in Miami were a slog, and when he came to us on Thursday, was still under the weather.

Still -- the Ds were committed to show the only first cousin they have contact with a fine time, and made reservations for Friday and Saturday nights. We had a great time.

Friday am I took Henry to LOL, my go-to deli. He lives in Boulder Creek, a small town East of Santa Cruz, and that part of California is bereft of delis. We caught up on our lives, and I was so happy to hear how well his company does -- he now routinely has to turn away clients he would have died to obtain in his early days.

Also, he's nearing completion of a documentary about his brother and his challenges with mental illness and substance abuse. As well as Henry's life has turned out, his brother's has been an utter challenge. Henry is a gifted filmmaker -- I look most forward to seeing his finished product.

Friday night we met on Brickell -- at the SLS's Michael Schwartz restaurant. D1 drove down to meet us -- Joey was in Cartegena on his annual brother/cousin golf trip -- and we enjoyed fine food and great conversation. Henry couldn't drink, on account of his stomach, so I felt it my uncle duty to make up for him. Wifey drove home.

Saturday D1 came over with the Little Man, whom Henry hadn't met. We walked next door -- the neighbors have a great tot lot -- and watched the Little Guy climb and run and laugh. Tio Jonathan made him some "Special coffee," which was whipped and warmed milk, and the Little Man drank it up, leaving a comical milk moustache.

Saturday night the Ds met for facials, and we repaired to the Commodore, the bar in the Grove. As Jonathan, his friend Michael, Henry and Wifey sat with our cocktails (not Henry or Wifey), I saw a familiar looking fellow, most spiffy in a tailored tux. It was my dear friend Barry's boss -- Dean of the Med School. I struck up a conversation with him and his lovely wife, who is a lawyer, not yet licensed in Florida. They introduced me to a visiting peds surgeon from LA, where the Dean worked before coming to the 305. They were delightful.

From there we walked to Planta, a vegan restaurant. Henry finally ate -- he much prefers plant based food and was feeling better. And the food was tasty and creative. But what can I say? I'm a steakhouse kind of guy...

Sunday am we loaded Henry's video equipment into Wifey's SUV and it was off to MIA. He made it home fine. Wifey and I napped while D2 and Jonathan visited his family in Aventura.

In the afternoon I booked a trip to Atlanta -- Edna's girl Erica is having an engagement party. And then, as I was booking the hotel, I realized I had a conflict -- my friend Jacqui's wedding. Jacqui asked me to perform the ceremony, which was set for January and then omicroned to March.

Wifey called Edna. It was sad -- like telling two 9 year old girls that their trip to Disney was canceled. But, alas, my commitment trumps an engagement party. Hopefully we get to make the wedding.

We're still on for D.C. last day of March. If the trip happens, it will be my first time on a plane since December of '19. My nephew of another brother, Scott, who we're going to visit, reported last night that the cherry blossoms ought to be in full bloom.

I also hope to see my childhood friend John, a retired CIA agent who wrote a great book about Saddam Hussein and his interrogation of him. But now John is doing consulting work about Russia -- he may be a tad busy when we come to town.

Still -- we're doing more than we have. Hopefully the Plague stays at bay. It's nice to do things out of the house.