A Lovely Weekend

 So Sunday D1 and Joey and the Little Man came over. I offered to make Daddy pancakes, but would have done so with Publix mix. Ha. I might as well have offered D1 toxic sludge cakes -- she is a much healthier eater than to allow the mostly corn syrup successor to Aunt Jemima. We ended up bringing in sandwiches from Boulangerie.

It was a lovely visit -- the Little Man is joyful to us. He fed the fish and tortugas, and ran around playing. D1's childhood friend Nicole came by to drop off a basinet she had borrowed. Nicole and D1 met in Middle School and now they both have kids -- Nicole lives close by, in Palmetto Bay. Nicole's Mom and Wifey met when Wifey moved to Miami in 1972 --both daughters of Survivors. It's so sweet that the friendship has transcended generations.

Meanwhile, up in Canada, D2 and Jonathan had Covid drama -- Jonathan's mother tested positive after the big Canadian Bar Mitzvah. She's ok, but couldn't fly home from Canada with a positive test, and the other guests, including D2 and Jonathan, decided to fly home a day earlier, just in case. Fortunately they made it back Sunday night, and Jonathan got to stream the Heat game. Our team was kind enough to end the season at Game 7, so we could go back to getting to sleep earlier.

Yesterday, we took the enormous puppy to Deli Lane in South Miami, to return the dog and close out our Hotel for Dogs. My longtime waitress Carmen was there -- I hadn't seen her since Covid, and we enjoyed catching up. We got to hear all about the Canada trip, and Betsy reluctantly went home with her actual owners -- she prefers the big yard of our house, I think.

Edna had suggested I might enjoy a new Prime series, "The Offer." It tells the story of the making of "The Godfather," one of my all time favorite movies. I probably quote one of the three movies at least weekly, most often "This is the life we have chosen."

I did something for the first time: I blasted the entire available series -- 7 episodes. Wifey slept through 5 of them, and there are 3 more not out yet. 

It's fictionalized, but I checked: much of the stuff, involving Sinatra and the Mafia's opposition to the book and movie are indeed true, as was the drama with Paramount and Coppola and the producer Ruddy. I truly enjoyed it -- and texted Edna this am to thank her for the tip.

This am it was back to the gym, and Juan having me continue the fight against decrepitude and decay as I near my 61st birthday. 

And then I ordered InstaCart -- my weekly chore. When Wifey does it, somehow it becomes a long, drawn out process. I'm decisive and get it done quickly. Wifey is wise -- like the husband in days of old who purposely stuck the baby with a diaper pin, to buy himself freedom from changing diapers, Wifey gets me to take over many tasks that way. It's fine -- and Rolando is already on his way here, less than 45 minutes after my order.

Tomorrow it'll be back to the office, and then, Sunday, we're having a two week early Father's Day. D2 and Jonathan will be in Atlanta on actual FD, and so we moved it up.

That's ok. FD is at best a very poor relation to Mother's Day, as it should be. I requested we bring in bagels and lox, and it be late enough that my sons in law and I can have a few cocktails. That would be a perfect FD for me.

Everything's Quiet On Memorial Day

 It cracks me up -- so few Americans get the difference between the three military holidays. Veterans Day celebrates those who served. Armed Forces Day celebrates those currently serving. And Memorial Day celebrates those who died WHILE serving. Jeez. It's not that hard.

I'm so old I recall my parents calling Memorial Day Decoration Day, which it used to be until well after WW II. It also makes me laugh when folks say "Happy Memorial Day." It's a day of reflection, not mirth. It's like saying "Happy Your Dad's Funeral Day!," or "Happy Yom Kippur!"

Ay. Whatever. All I know is so many died fighting for the US, and lately, at least, we honor their sacrifice by sucking as a nation. We're terribly divided. Wearing a mask to prevent others from getting the plague is political. Strangely, many of those who say the government has NO right to force them to wear masks thing the government has every right to tell a woman what to do with her body.

And there's this latest school tragedy, in Texas. It is so obvious how many "leaders" are bought and paid for by the NRA, and watching them perform the gymnastics of not blaming the availability of automatic weapons to 18 year old nut cases is blackly hilarious.

Australia had a similar shooting, and the next year bought back the majority of guns. And the Aussies are no leftist bleeding hearts like, you can argue, Scandanavians are. But it worked -- no shootings there since the late 90s.

Here, the NBA teams dare to urge people to action, and little weasels like Little Marco Rubio, as Trump called his now lapdog, whined about "Don't make this political!" He doesn't say that when he gets his millions from the NRA. Sickening.

One of my FaceBook friends, Jay in North Carolina, said it best: "After Sandy Hook, we did nothing. Let's be honest -- we're a nation that truly thinks killing little children is ok." He's correct.

I try to remain an optimist, thinking that politics is a pendulum and things have just swung too far to the right. I hope that's the case -- maybe the quiet majority, who is pro choice and at least partially for gun control, will wake up and vote in the coming elections. If not, the VERY active voters, angry white trash and their fellow travelers who blame immigrants for their loserhood, will continue to control things.

And the Democrats have a lot of blame, too, allowing power to creeps like AOC and Omar. Where have you gone, Bill Clinton? Our nation needs a charismatic centrist again -- and maybe it's safe for even those with over active sex drives now after Trump got elected after his "I can grab 'em by the pussy" claim.

Well, thankfully we're having a nice MD weekend. D2 and Jonathan are in Canada, and we're dog sitting the enormous puppy. Yesterday Donna and Barry hosted a brunch at Mo's in Aventura with their boy Josh and Paul and Patricia. They gave us the back room, and we sat and ate and talked for hours. Both owners came by -- Mo, the hilarious Egyptian man, and Paul, the gregarious Venezuelan Jew.

Paul is running for Aventura City Council. The entire council is Jewish. Aventura has a total of 12 synagogues and zero churches in its borders. We all found that hilarious. Josh asked about diversity.

I assured him there were BOTH Ashkenazi AND Sephardic congregations.

Today D1 and Joey and the Little Man are coming over, early. Wifey remains asleep -- I figure the Little Man will enjoy getting to wake her up when he arrives.

With our new stovetop with working exhaust fan, I can make pancakes again -- that will be on the agenda. And maybe a visit to Amalie Park -- our next door neighbor's amazing tot lot. 

Tonight we'll watch Game 7 of the Eastern Finals. I think Wifey is more into the Heat than I am, but I like it when they win. It truly raises the spirits of a city when there's a championship, and the Heat have delivered three already in their relatively short existence.

D2 and Jonathan are due back tomorrow evening, and probably Tuesday there'll be a dog exchange again.

And tomorrow I WILL spend some time reflecting and giving thanks to all of our greatest who died for all of us. I will also pray their sacrifices weren't, ultimately, in vain.

A Cool and Frozen Ending

 So we ordered our new absurd refrigerator last September, and on account of Covid, it was delayed coming in. Delayed nearly 9 months! We could have had a baby. Well, not Wifey and me, but a fecund couple...

Anyway, it was due to be delivered Wednesday, and I told Wifey she could handle overseeing that job. Somehow when I'm there, I always get sucked into some kind of homeowner drama, and I chose to avoid it this time. The delivery folks said they'd be there from 11 to 3, and I spent the day at the office.

At 530 I headed home, and as I would have guessed, no delivery. Apparently the truck broke down. But now I was on a quest -- a quest to stay away from this simple task. Everyone ought to engage in stupid and futile gestures every once in awhile, and this was to be mine.

So I pulled into Captain's Tavern, ordered a martini, and got text updates from Wifey. I had the grouper -- amazingly fresh. I struck up a conversation with some fellow gringos at the bar -- a retired criminal lawyer who was good friends with some of my friends, and the longtime corporate counsel from Ryder Trucks -- now 88 and awaiting his "hot young wife." She showed up -- she's 65. I guess everything is contextual.

Now it was 8, and the delivery guys had arrived, but needed backup. This damned built in is SO heavy -- I would never have bought it, except our kitchen was designed for a flat, built in.

When flat screens came out, they were absurdly expensive, but now are cheap. Flat fridges went the other way in price -- when we bought a replacement for the original one in '07, it cost $6K. Now it's over $10K. And they last, if you're lucky, only a decade. We'll see...

I drove home and saw the blinking yellow lights of the van parked next to the delivery truck. I parked next to Jeff and Lili's -- now bound by ridiculous duty to NOT go home until the work was done. It was 8:45 and I listened to the first quarter of the Heat game. Finally, at 9, Wifey called -- the job was done.

The new behemoth was in the kitchen, and the free HD unit in the garage -- the simple garage fridge taken away, with a case of Bud Light I told Wifey to have the delivery guys take -- leftovers from D2's party in February. I drink little beer, and when I do, like the World's Most Interesting Man, it is NOT Bud light. The guys appreciated it.

So I drove home, figuring the guys were just hanging out chilling. We watched the Heat lose -- the Finals ought to end tonight in Boston.

At 11, I took out the trash -- and the truck was still there! The driver, a very nice fellow from Detroit, said he was waiting for a tow truck -- no easy feat for something to tow a big box truck on a Wednesday night. I invited him in, or offered some cold drinks. "I'm fine," he said "enjoying the beer from your wife. Thanks." Finally at 11:30 they towed him away.

So this latest classic First World Problem seems over. Wifey is happy with her new appliances.

I told the story to neighbor Ellen today, and she smarmily said "Oh -- so with state of the art appliances, your Wife's going to cook now?" Ha. As if. Not at all, other than the pasta I make, along with the Daddy eggs and pancakes, but it does look spiffy.

Meanwhile, Betsy is here for the weekend. D2 and Jonathan are north of Toronto for Jonathan's nephew's bar mitzvah. I imagine spirits will be lower as the rabid Leafs fans saw their team stink again this year. But they'll have some nice, cool weather -- they're due back Monday night.

In honor of their Canadian visit, I'm playing Neil Young, though I think he may have become American. That's ok. D2 and Jonathan just landed safely, and I sent them a bunch of Canadian stuff -- the MaKenzie brothers, and the trivia nugget that Rick Moranis and Geddy Lee, two famous Toronto Jews, grew up together. Moranis is much funnier.

It's Memorial Day weekend, and we plan to see D1, Joey, and the Little Man Sunday. And Monday I WILL remember those who died for our now divided country -- with the hopes that we somehow stay together even though many of us care more about outlawing abortion than they do about protecting school age children from mass shootings.

Oh boy. Better to worry about expensive refrigerators.

Death and White Butterflies

 So the other day I mistakenly texted something to my cousin Barry, instead of my usual recipient, Dr. Barry. Cousin Barry loved --probably some politically incorrect humor my friends and I share -- or maybe the type of hot woman Wifey loathes when she sees it. Whatever.

Barry used it as an excuse to call, and we caught up. My first cousins are all third generation Bridge and Tunnel Jews -- grew up in the suburbs surrounding The Bronx, where our parents were born and raised. But Barry has totally kept his identity -- he talks like he could be a Jewish associate of the Sopranos -- lots of Yo! and Geez!

He's 69 and grew into a Trump Republican, like many of my cousins have, even though we all started out Democrats. The leftward shift of the party of our grandparents and parents has done the trick.

Anyway -- Barry married a lovely woman when he was in his early 20s -- Jackie, who hailed from England. Jackie was a favorite immediately -- smart, funny, and immediately adapted into the world of NY Jews. Barry and Jackie had one child, a son, later in life, and he's turned into a charming young man -- a salesman like his Dad -- smart but uneducated.

Jesse is even more of a Trumper. We're FaceBook friends, and he often gets put into FB jail for anti vax, the election was stolen sort of crap. Jesse got married a few weeks after D2 and we were invited, but skipped out. But it worked out -- they then invited "Plan B" guests, and so other folks got to go. We sent a generous gift.

Well -- at the wedding, Jackie was on her last legs -- ravaged by early onset Alzheimers.  Barry was a wonderful caregiver -- kept her home to the last, with the help of nurses. He adored Jackie, and her death devastated him.

When we spoke the other day, though, he shared with me the details of  Jackie's ending. She was cremated, and paid the funeral director extra to have her cremains (love that word) spread in the Atlantic quickly. Barry found out the cremains languished -- the guy was waiting for more customers before chartering the boat -- and Barry was livid.

He's a big, tough guy, and told the fellow if Jackie wasn't interred in the sea right away, the funeral director would be. He complied.

A few weeks later, Barry and Jesse and Jesse's wife went to the beach, to offer a prayer. Here's where things got unusual. Barry reported that as they were by the seaside, a gorgeous white butterfly flew by -- and he had never before seen one there. He took it as a message from his beloved wife.

I got some chills when he told me that, and then, though it's not easy to get in words with my talkative cousin, shared my tale.

Back in May of 2013, when we had my Mom's cremains, I took Wifey and the Ds to Matheson Hammock, to spread her into Biscayne Bay, an estuary of the Atlantic. We walked through the mangroves to do the task, and WE saw a group of white butterflies, too -- and likewise, in my 40 years of visiting Matheson Hammock, had never seen that before.

So -- who knows? Jackie and my mom Sunny always really dug each other. Were they likewise talking to us together from the Great Beyond? It sure is a beautiful thought.

First World Problems

 Nobody knows the trouble each of us has seen -- nobody knows but the Big Man (and his alleged son, if you're Christian). But it's nice when the problems are decidedly First World, and I've had a few of those comical ones lately. 

First -- new kitchen appliances. Wifey decided that it was time for new matching stainless steel appliances, and so she said not to worry -- she would handle all aspects of that project. At the same time, I said I would be starting at First Base for the Miami Marlins. Neither event happened.

I dealth with the entire project, which we put in motion in September of last year, and now, 9 months later, the refrigerator is supposedly here! Wow. nine months. We could have had a baby in that time, but for the menopause thing. Well -- the installers are scheduled to come Wednesday, and I will be at the office, and so Wifey is tasked with overseeing that -- the free refrigerator I finagled from Home Depot on account of they're idiots, and instead of giving me a credit for a botched delivery/removal of the old built in, credited me the entire appliance -- $1800! Finally something good for the rich, white man! Anyway, that puppy needs to go in the garage, and the old garage fridge taken away.

Lord willing, Leche Dave will ride again this summer, and I need the extra freezer space to help distribute "human milk," the new politically correct term for breast milk, to needy Moms in Miami Dade -- assuming our skinny daughter becomes cow-like again, like last time.

And then came the new First World problem, which turned out to be pretty comical. We're planning our first big trip since Covid. Kenny and Joelle have asked us to accompany them on Joelle's 60th birthday trip -- a lovely river cruise from Lyon to Avignon, France, in late October. Wifey is major jonesing to travel again. I'm content to stay local -- maybe an away Canes game, but that's it.

Our pattern is , and has been, that Wifey is the engine behind our trips, I'm lukewarm, and then I have a great time and I'm thankful Wifey pushed me to go. Hopefully that will be the case this time, and we're not slaughtered by Euro terrorists, or an errant Russian missile, or one of the many mishaps I have come to learn with my addictive watching of Smithsonian Channel's "Mayday -- Air Disasters."

Anyway, Joelle did all the research and found a charming trip -- basically consisting of eating great food, drinking great wine (I'm sure they'll have vodka) and walking around the places that inspired Van Gogh, Gauguin, etc... Apparently Lyon is a MAJOR food place -- even more than Paris -- and so this trip has my name on it.

I was on one Euro river cruise -- the Danube -- with the Ds years ago, when Wifey couldn't travel on account of her back. The Ds and I enjoyed it, even though I was the youngest passenger except for the Ds, who despite being in college and high school, were essentially infants.

And infants brings me to the latest daunting task. Last night, after a few cocktails, I went on the AA site, to make, at least, a temporary reservation for our trip. I can no longer multi task, and several times I asked Wifey to please stop peppering me with questions as I attempted to input all our info -- I promised I wouldn't buy the tickets until we discussed it -- and so Wifey kept peppering me with questions until I exploded, Ralph Kramden-like, and told her SHE could book the freaking trip -- she wanted to go, anyway.

She apologized, and asked me to do it -- she knew it was probably beyond her ADHD capabilities -- we'd end up booked to Chile in 2024 instead of France this October -- but I stormed off.

I actually just made it to the other computer, where I continued my work -- only to get stymied by the dreaded "please correct these nine errors" before continuing. And the "errors" were that I failed to give information about the infant that would be sitting on my lap!!! Infant? I'm nearly 61, and not one of those pathetic guys with a much younger wife and accompanying infants! 

So I called American, and was told the wait time for help was 3 hours. I then stormed off to bed and told Wifey -- "Your airplane. Good luck."

But in the light of a new day this am I tried again. And this time I got creative -- I asked for "internet help" on the phone instead of "help with reservations." And Chris, a lovely woman with a subcontinent accent (can you say that anymore?) got on the phone and was most helpful.

She asked what browser I was using. I told her the one with the blue and green wave looking icon. Ah -- Microsoft, she correctly concluded. Did I have Google Chrome? I did.

She talked me through the process like a gifted air traffic controller, once  I switched to Chrome, which apparently doesn't make crap up like the Microsoft browser does, and Voila! That's French for "Son of a bitch -- it works!" I was able to get 'er done, as they say in Avignon.

So I placed to reservations on hold. I have to go find the ticket number for our aborted trip to D.C. in late March, which we had to cancel on account of I got Covid -- and apply the credit to this new trip.

For now, at least, First World problems solved. Also, it's a trip that shows my love for Wifey. I'll be missing the home FSU game. Maybe they have Le ESPN in Southern France.

Not Judging The Conspicuous Spenders

 So earlier this week I was chatting with someone without much money, and she was telling me about some reality show where crazy rich Asians, I think, spend absurdly high amounts of money on parties, possessions, houses, etc... I think she expected me to join her in the disgust about these lifestyle choices. I kept mum.

And then I remembered how I used to share those populist sentiments, and how my dear friend Eric called me on them. It involves cars.

It was 1984 or '85, and the car my parents had given me in high school was wrecked by a red light running woman in North Miami. Actually, it was '84, because Wifey was living on NE 135th Street, having moved to get away from me in Kendall, on account of her wishing a different relationship than the one I was perfectly happy to have. But that's a different story.

Anyway, the Firebird was wrecked, and the insurance company gave me a rental -- a Dodge Omni. It was the most basic car you could buy at the time -- Chrysler's attempt to compete with Toyota on cheap, small cars, and I loved it. It was boxy and therefore roomy for a small vehicle, the AC blew cold, and it even had a decent stereo. I drove it for the 3 weeks my car was in the shop.

One night, Eric and I went out, and I proclaimed that a car like the Omni was all anyone ever needed -- good, basic transportation. Eric was more into cars, and he disagreed -- hoping someday to have something far snazzier than his 10 year old Celica. Not me, I proclaimed -- no matter what - -I was an Omni type guy.

Well -- fast forward to 1994 -- a mere decade later. Paul and I had started the firm, and I was driving a Mitsubishi Diamante, a sort of fake luxury car. I still recall the monthly lease price: $199. Paul correctly decided that we, as new guys seeking clients, had an image we needed to project, and Mitsubishi wasn't that image. He already had a big, black Benz.

So I went out and leased a Jaguar -- I had gone from populist to James Bond, in my mind. I drove it by Eric's house, and he took it for a spin -- it performed well -- and we tooled along the Palmetto.

When we got back to his house, as he was appreciating the fine walnut dash, he turned to me and said "Wow -- it's amazing how Dodge upgraded to Omni." I was busted.

The lesson came home again earlier today, when I got a call from Al, our appliance guy. Wifey wanted new appliances -- we needed a new refrigerator -- and the one for our kitchen is a large built in. We ordered it last Fall, and it took until today to come it -- Al was calling for payment, and to set up installation tomorrow.

With tax, the fridge cost just over $10K. We replaced it previously, and it was about $6K, but they've gone up a lot. Somehow, 4 figures for a single appliance made an impact.

Many of our friends have even more expensive appliances -- one friend has a $30K fridge. But for me, paying the bill via my credit card reminded me that this thing was more than 1/3 of my first salary as a lawyer -- back in 1987.

I guess in many ways, you can never take the working class Long Island out of this Miami boy.

As for the car thing -- I returned to my more humble ways, sort of. I lease a stripped mid sized Lexus -- not the car to impress anyone. But it's comfortable and reliable -- a plusher version of the Omni, after all.

But as for those crazy rich reality TV folks -- hey -- party on! I'd much rather watch or hear about people pissing away money than I would hearing about them hurting each other.

I mean -- I don't think I'd ever pay six figures for a party where the kid has to decide what kind of pet to get -- but then again -- you never know.

Playoff Fever

 So both the Heat and Panthers are hosting late round playoff series -- the Panthers advancing out of the opening round for the first time since 1996, and the Heat trying to make the Finals for the seventh time.

Wifey and I watched the roundballers last night, even though the game didn't begin until 8:40 -- often about the time I'm getting ready for bed. It was a close game for awhile, as the supposedly tired Celtics played great, but the Heat, as they often do this season, put the game away in the third quarter.

The Panthers, alas, apparently collapsed in the final quarter and lost to, as Dave Barry says, the Canadians from Tampa. Also, the Marlins were at home, and beat the Senators, um, Nationals, badly.

It's cool to live in a city with the Four Major pro teams. When I moved here, the only team was the Dolphins. I was privileged to see the very first Heat game, first Panther game, and first Marlins game. The Heat and Panthers played at the Miami Arena, long since demolished. The Marlins played at Joe Robbie, the football stadium before it got a roof and was re-named Hard Rock.

And it's funny -- I can afford to attend any of the matches I wish, but would rather watch on TV. Except for the Hurricanes -- those games, with their exquisite tailgate parties, are must attend for me.

I guess there'll be a time when those become TV, too. I well recall my friend and mentor Ed, like me a double Cane, and huge supporter of the program. Back in the day it was allowed, he'd host the freshmen who didn't travel to away games at his house. I got to meet Bernie Kosar, Daniel Stubbs, and other future stars.

Ed loved hosting tailgates in the East end parking lot. And then, one year, when he was, I think, about 62, he told me he was watching a big game at home. It may have even been Notre Dame. I was shocked -- how could one NOT attend the holy ground of the Orange Bowl for a game like that. But now I get it -- the hassle of parking, schlepping to seats, dealing with crowds -- this stuff becomes more and more daunting as I age.

Wifey and I use that word more and more: daunting. Things that were second nature now require focus.

Just the other day, we left for D1's, and as I got on the Palmetto, it began to pour down rain. I never cared about that -- and that day I felt I truly needed to focus and make our way through the storm. Ah, aging...

Speaking of which, we visited the ancient suegra yesterday. She's nearly totally incoherent, but still physically strong. After a half hour or so, I told Wifey I would wait outside -- she typically stays an hour. But she came with me, noting her mother really didn't even appreciate her presence.

We came home via Sunset -- to fetch Wifey's SUV at the PT office, a building I had visited MANY times. It was owned by Larry Forman, our go-to rehab expert. Larry sold it, and now the complex hosts many different offices.

I saw a Sports Grill, and we stopped there. I thought about ordering a healthy salad. Our dear friend Elizabeth always ate healthy and clean, and was meticulous about exercising. At 63, she had the body of someone 20 years younger. Still, she died in her sleep of a heart attack. 

I ordered and savored the patty melt.

It truly lifts a community's spirits when a team wins a championship. I remember standing in front of my Brickell building when the Heat's championship parades went by -- everyone was high fiving each other.

And each of the Canes 5 (should have been 6) rings put my friends and I in happy moods for the entire year following.

Hopefully it happens again. 

Liberal Guilt

 So yesterday there was a despicable shooting in Buffalo, in a market in a Black neighborhood. A skinny loser white kid, who actually bears some resemblance to the skinny loser white kid who shot up Douglas High in Broward, drove to Buffalo and killed 10 people.

The victims were salt of the earth types, at least the two identified. A retired Buffalo cop working security and the mother of the retired fire chief.

May justice be swift for the racist scum who did this. May the web pages like 4chan where he learned some of the hatred that fueled him, be taken down, and their writers prosecuted as well. It was a tragedy.

But just a bit ago, I read an article in the Sunday NY Times, about the segregated history of the neighborhood where the shooting happened. The subtext was that Buffalo had a nice Black middle class hood, like Overtown was in Miami, and racist planning put in a highway, the Kensington Expressway, in the early 70s, that "ruined" the area. And...so?

Had they not put in the road this wouldn't have happened? Like the psychopathic killer couldn't have found a majority Black group somewhere else to carry out his evil plan?

I have little hope for the future of the Democratic Party because of thinking like the Times' writer. Of course there were segregationist city planning policies -- all over the US. They need to be reversed, of course, in the courts.

But the ultra left doesn't seem to get that elected officials appoint Federal judges, and as long as the Trumpians are in power, ain't nothing going to be done to help.

And the only way forward for the Dems is appealing to centrists -- not by alienating people by telling them THEY'RE the problem.

I heard a great line by Mark Caputo on the radio Thursday -- not sure if it is his or not. He said that the language of the Democratic party used to be the union hall, and now it's the elite college faculty break room.

In Florida, Cubans were always GOP voters, largely, but the rest of the Hispanice tended Democratic. No more -- the I-4 corridor, largely Puerto Ricans from Orlando to Tampa, is skewing more conservative.

DeSantis is going to win re-election so hugely it'll be absurd.

I really dislike losing -- whether a different law firm got a case I wanted, my sports teams, or my political party. And when I DO lose, I despise excuses -- "he didn't play FAIR."

And in current politics, I don't blame Republicans -- they're just outplaying the Dems on so many levels. It took a sociopath president and a centrist Joe Biden to get rid of Trump. If the Dems don't find another Bill Clinton before 2024 -- it'll clearly be Trump 2.0, or DeSantis 1.0.

So of course I feel terrible for what happened in Buffalo. But do I blame the 60s era Buffalo City Commision and Department of Transportation for it? Of course not.

The Travel Bug Only Bit One Of Us

 With rare exceptions, Wifey has been the engine behind our travel. When I was younger, I yearned to visit places, but as the years went by, and I had, like Johnny Cash, been everywhere, man, I was happy to stay close to home -- other than visits to the Ds when they lived in Gville and NYC, and the stray Canes away game trip.

And the pattern was the same: Wifey would plan a trip, like our 2 Med cruises, and I'd end up having a terrific time.

Well, as the plague seems in retreat, Wifey is Jonesing badly to travel again, and I'm the wet towel. I think our typical pattern will return.

As of now, we have tentative plans to visit our friends Kenny and Joelle at their gorgeous Maine lake house -- probably over Labor Day. AA has a non stop from MIA to Portland, so getting there should be easy.

After that, Joelle has found and suggested a French river tour -- and sent an itinerary for October. It includes the Rhone River, and basically consists of eating and drinking amazing food, and walking as much as you want through the vineyards. I must admit -- it's right in my wheelhouse. Hopefully we get it together, and that trip takes place.

Wifey has long wanted to go to China. I have less than zero desire -- the only place in Asia that holds any interest for me is Japan, and it's not on my list of must see places. And Africa? My friend Norman has said he never had any desire to go, and it turned out his was the trip of a lifetime -- he wants to go again.

For me -- eh. I'm not that into animals, other than dogs, and that seems to be the big draw to go there.

Wifey and I agree on Sedona -- that'll likely make the list. Dr. Eric and Dana have been several times, and have ready made itineraries.

I met three neighbors this am all of whom have big upcoming trips. Karen and Robert are leaving for Iceland this weekend -- a full week driving around, seeing herring and hobbits.

Ellen is headed to Colombia. I told her a must see in Cartegena is the Inquisition Museum -- a place I learned a lot about an event I had fully understood.

And Allison and her family are off to South Africa, where they honeymooned 25 years ago. This time they're taking their boy Jack, a rising Iowa sophomore.

I look forward to hearing about their journeys when they get back to Miami, but hearing about the trips stirred no desire in me to go.

Yes -- Wifey will have to push -- again.

You're GOOD -- Yes You Are!!!!

 So several weeks ago, I developed a nagging pain in my right hip. Not debilitating, but probably pain of 6 out of 10 when I moved certain ways.

I couldn't trace it to a single event, though probably the jumping and movement I do with my trainer Juan triggered some or it. Plus, being overweight isn't helpful, nor is my family history of very bad hips.

My Mom had both of hers replaced, and my California sister was the recipient of one of the first artificial hips, implanted at Columbia Presbyterian in the early 50s. Both Ds have had issues -- D2 has something called "clicking hip" which is what it sounds like. Fortunately, our local ortho, Julio Robla, says none are surgical candidates.

My local gym has several PTs on location. They do "concierge PT," which means you pay directly -- no insurance taken. The PTs are well trained, and the thought is when you combine the PT with the expert training, it's a seamless way to get better.

My man Juan suggested I see Dr. Mike. And so I did -- he evaluated me carefully, and was confident my pain was NOT joint related, but rather muscular. Of course, he said, at nearly 61 there was some arthritis, but most of my issue could be helped with special strengthening exercises and stretching. And so he did -- moving my right leg in ways it hadn't moved since I was an undergrad.

Juan told me to skip the next workout session, and resume the following week, which was last week. Well -- today, the problem is essentially gone!

I saw Dr. Mike  this am and, since like me he's a fan of The Sopranos and mob movies, did my best DeNiro from "Analyze This," saying "Doc -- you're GOOD -- yes, yes you ARE!" He laughed, and appreciated the well earned compliment.

And I was happy to avoid the whole orthopod/insurance PT/anti inflammatory thing. I'm sure that'll come at some point, but for now I'm good to go with one PT session.

To "celebrate" my recovery, Juan had me do twisting exercises with a ball -- again moving me in ways that haven't happened in decades. Another trainer was working with a gorgeous client -- probably a woman in her 40s. I told Juan he had drawn the short straw by having me -- he ought to try to switch with Jonathan. Again -- more male based laughter.

I really DO need to lose weight. I probably lost 40 lbs during the early part of the pandemic -- I walked daily 10 miles and ate little out of anxiety that my family might be lost. Well, now that it seems the plague will spare us mortality and serious morbidity, I walk less and eat too much.

But at least I DO move more, and am getting more flexible and stronger. Fat but strong? Maybe that's not a great marketing slogan for a gym.

Meanwhile, my old gig as Leche Dave, the keeper of D1's frozen breast milk for distribution to appreciative Moms, is long ended. My new gig is Uber/Hotel for granddogs.

Betsy spent the day and Sunday night here, lest she be lonely while D2 and Jonathan were at the F1 race. Last night I met Jonathan at a great Italian place in South Miami -- Wifey met us, too - and we had a fine dinner before I gave back the pony-dog.

Tomorrow, after a late lunch with my S Fla visiting sister and brother in law, we go fetch Madeleine, the spoiled Spaniel, for 2 nights -- D1 and Joey's house is getting tented for termites. Friday I have to get Betsy again, as her parents are going to a luxe Miami Beach hotel, courtesy of Jonathan't company.

So we'll have a hotel for FOUR dogs.

Good thing I have the flexibility to herd them all.

Ah, Sunny

 So today is Mother's Day, and as I, using my typical maudlin sense of humor reminded my family at Friday's early MD dinner, I'm the only one our family ain't got no mother.

We had a lovely time -- D1 picked out a place called Tigre, right near her house. We fetched D2 and spent some great time with the Little Man, and then Joey came home and we all lit the shabbat candles, before we watched him go into full very smart toddler mode and begin his negotiation for more play time before bed time. He is precious.

Tigre sits on the Little River, and is a gorgeous setting. The food was good, but the "for 2 to share short rib" was for 2 super models to share -- and Joey and I are no supermodels. I contrasted the portion with an enormous steak we shared at Cafe Royale in NOLA years ago -- now THAT was manly beef! Still, the mothers in our group enjoyed the evening, as we did. 

But no Sunny is around -- and hasn't given me a living Mom to celebrate for MD since 2013. Wow. 9 years as an orphan for me.

When Dad was alive, and we would discuss MD plans, he'd sing an old TV jingle from the 50s "Every Day is Mother's Day for Me." And it was -- we treated Sunny like the queen she was.

The Ds' memories of their Grandma are all pleasant -- she was already quite old, but always loving and gentle with them. I'm so glad they got to know her. D1 finds it endlessly amusing how clearly my charming passive agressivity is so clearly from her. It was never "I'm hungry," but rather "Ok -- who wants me to treat them to Fuddruckers?"

Paul reminded me of a great MD story from either the late 90s or early aughts. Wifey was working three days per week as a marketing director for an Ecuadorian flower company, and Paul asked if we might get roses directly from them. We could, and so drove to her company in Doral to fetch a case -- I think it had 2 dozen roses, all bundled up and fresh from the cooler. We put it in the trunk of my Jaguar, and drove towards the office, when we came upon an attractive young woman with a broken down Mercedes. We pulled over to help.

It was a well known local news reporter, Michelle Gillen. She was all aflutter -- she needed to be at the station for the noon broadcast. We offered her a ride, and while at first she had Ted Bundy fears, she got in. Paul and I were dressed in our expensive lawyer suits, and she took a chance, and I drove her to the station. We chatted happily. We arrived, and she got out, but I said "Just a minute, ma'am," and opened the trunk and gave her a dozen roses."

She went into reporter mode: "So let me get this straight. Two good looking guys in a Jaguar cruise Miami, looking to aid damsels in distress, and then send them off with beautiful roses?" "Yes, ma'am, that's who we are and what we do." She laughed, and gave the then single Paul her card and asked him to call her. Unfortunately, back then he didn't date damsels so close to his own age, and never called her.

We arrived at the office, and put our young staff to work -- arranging the flowers into vases. The lunchroom looked like the back of a floral shop. Our man Uncle Lou was in town, and we hired him to deliver the flowers all over town -- to secretaries we worked with, female staffers at referral firms, etc. 

But Lou's first stops were in Palm Beach County -- Paul's Mom Lillian, and my Mom Sunny each got 2 dozen roses, for MD. And Sunny had Lou in and made him one of her signature tuna sandwiches. It was lovely all around.

Lillian and Sunny are both now long passed. And Michelle Gillen, the reporter, died last year at 66 -- never having married, I think.

But my thoughts today are on Sunny. I am so blessed to have had her. I can't imagine, or actually I can, how tough it must be to have had a mother you couldn't stand. We all know the cliche about women with Daddy issues. Probably a man with mommy issues is MORE screwed up -- he has the ability to truly make his life partners miserable.

So if there's an afterlife, I hope Sunny is soaring in it today and for all eternity. She always made me feel so loved; so important. And today is her day -- even though it's in the Great Beyond.

Early Mother's Day

 So the Ds and their men are headed to the Formula One race Sunday, which is causing an early Mother's Day for us. Wifey and I are leaving around 3, fetching D2 on Miami Beach, and heading to Shorecrest to spend a few hours with the Little Man. We have dinner reservations at 7:30 at an Argentinian place right by D1 and Joey's house, after which we'll drive D2 back to her place. I told her never Uber when Dadber is free.

I thought about getting Wifey something for MD, even though she my baby mama and not actual mama. And then I hit on the idea that always is a good one: tzedekah. I gave a donation to Lotus House in her and D1's honor. D2 is a great dog mommy, but that's different.

Lotus House is amazing -- it's the largest shelter in the US for only women and children. NO men are allowed. Wifey and I think the Ds have been there to visit -- it's an amazing place. The founder was a corporate lawyer who married a very rich older man. After their divorce, this became her life's work, and it's soaring.

I figured better to help some moms whose decisions about MD are tougher than the mothers in my orbit. D1 agreed -- sent me a beautiful email. I know Wifey and D2 agree, too.

Of course, I think about my mom on MD. Wifey just found a picture of herself outside of her parents' candy store, circa 1965. She was dressed like the Madeline cartoon. It was in Garden City Park.

It's funny -- I was living just a few miles to the east, and I was 4. A local lady, Mrs. Nash, ran a primitive preschool out of her house, and several neighborhood kids were sent there. I attended for a few weeks, but wasn't happy that going prevented me from watching "Leave It To Beaver" reruns -- my favorite show. I told Mom I didn't see the need to attend, and she let me have my way, as usual.

D1 said it was an early example of my charming passive aggressivity. She was correct. I remember about that time, my Dad said we were going to East Broadway School, where I would attend kindergarten the following Fall. I was to get a sugar cube to eat. Of course, it was the polio vaccine -- I still remember the nurse putting it in my mouth and telling me not to chew it, but to let it melt.

Ah, Mom. My memories of her come into focus when I was in kindergarten. She'd pick me up in her 1965 gold Pontiac Catalina, and we'd drive to McDonalds on Hempstead Turnpike for lunch, which we'd eat in the front of her car. The glove box door had little indentations for cups, and I would put my orange aid there.

After lunch, we might shop. If there was a reason, like a positive school report from Miss McNamara, I might get a Tonka truck. It was a lucky, happy childhood.

Ah, Miss McNamara. I actually looked her up about 10 years ago -- she was retiring as the longest serving teacher in the Levittown School District. We emailed for awhile -- I guess she's in her 80s now -- never married. Supposably, as Miamians say, it's because she was closeted, and long time partners with my pretty third grade teacher Miss Dempsey. Ah -- the secrets people had to keep back then.

But after tonight, we'll have celebrated MD properly. Sunday I'm driving to the Grove to pick up D2 and Jonathan's enormous dog -- they don't want her to be left along all day while they're at the auto race. D2 is indeed a devoted dog mommy -- I hope someday to see her give it a shot with a human or humans.

For now, though, MD is here. And it's a nice mix of memories and current experiences.

All of the at home DNA testing has amplified that we may not know who our fathers are, but we all know who our mothers are. And this is their day.

All Jabbed Up And Nowhere To Go

 So Wifey and I drove over to the Pinecrest Covid Center, at a local park. A very nice nurse was there all alone -- complete contrast to the days of Covid frenzy when cops needed to direct traffic. We had decided on Moderna for jab number 4, even though our first three were Pfizer. After 35 years of marriage, you get variety where you can find it.

The nurse noticed that my Covid card had my birth year wrong -- 1955 instead of 1961. Hmmm....how did THAT happen, I wondered? But she drew me up a new one, and now I have an accurate record of my shots -- sort of like our dogs at the vet. Bill Gates has all the records anyway.

We celebrated with a lunch at LOL. By evening, Wifey's arm was sore; mine not so much. Yesterday it really hurt her, again with mine, not so much. This immune system is a many splendored thing.

Yesterday am I did something for the first time in awhile: I attended a Zoom Court hearing. I put on a jacket and tie, but left on the shorts. I considered honoring Jeff Toobin, but thought better about it instead.

I was there as a party -- not a lawyer. We have a lawyer, Scott, representing us, in a fee dispute with a TV lawyer I call Saul Goodman, since his advertising firm is just like Saul. The owner is a smarmy prick, and 4 years ago he hired away a lawyer from our group, who stole some cases. The one at issue is the final one for Paul and me -- and Scott is fighting to get us paid for the six!! years of work we did before the midnight theft of the file.

If there's something more unseemly than lawyers fighting over a fee, like wild dogs over a carcass, I don't know what it is, but when you associate with conmen like Fredo, the name I gave to the former close friend who betrayed us, sometimes these unseemly things occur. 

I spent the rest of the day chilling -- using the jab as an excuse for fatigue that in truth is here because I'm old as fuh, as the young ones say.

Today I'm off to the office to  take a look around, see which way the wind blows, as Morrison sang. And this evening Wifey and I are hosting our HOA Executive Committee, a 7 member Board for our voluntary homeowners' group. We plan an annual party, keep after the landscaping at the entrances, welcome new residents, and generally keep our finger on the pulse of our great community.

One of the members, LeeAnn, is off to see her youngest graduate from Colorado, and so won't be there, but Gloria, Ellen, Allison, and Denie will all attend. They're a cool group of women -- smart and "get 'er done" types. I'm the only member with a Y chromosome, and I play the role of the clueless husband/dinosaur guy who tells silly jokes. We all get along swimmingly.

The Ds and their men are going to the F1 race Sunday, so Mother's Day will be celebrated Friday evening. We'll drive to D1's and spend some time with the Little Man, and then D1 has reservations at a local Argentinian place right off Biscayne, on a canal that apparently attracts manatees. It also pours a nice drink, I am told.

D2 and Jonathan called last night, concerned that the enormous puppy would be lonely left home alone during the long F1 day. Could we watch her? We could, and so Sunday I'll drive to the Grove to do a dog exchange. 

Somehow the first quarter of 2022 just flew by. That seems to happen a lot lately -- 6 months to my 20 something self was a LONG time -- now it seems like a fortnight, to use a term we ought to use more.

We're well over 2 years in the Covid era, and living with it, it seems. I spoke to Mike yesterday -- as far as he knows, the superspreader rabbi only infected our friend Jeff -- and that was because they shared a long car ride. I was happy to hear that -- I had predicted Her Holy Viralness might have done a lot more damage that night.

The other big news is that someone leaked a Supreme Court decision which is overturning Roe v. Wade. Everyone knew that was coming -- now it'll be up to the states. I'm hoping that maybe the right wingers have gone too far, finally, and the majority of people who don't wish a Handmaid's Tale nation will finally get off their asses and vote the bums out. We'll see.

In the mean time, I have advised all young men I know that the safest strategy is to only date post menopausal women -- the surefire way to avoid unwanted pregnancy.

If we can't laugh at these absurd times, we have a real problem.

Oh yeah -- post menopausal women who have all 4 vaccines. One must be careful in all ways.

Lovely Weekend

 So our friends from Stoke were in town, staying at the Palms Hotel, (not the Royal Palm, as I learned later) and Wifey and I met them at South Pointe. Wifey and I arrived and the skies were threatening, but the host assured us the rain had passed. It was beautiful -- right on Government Cut, watching the boats go by, but on Thursday evening, none of the behemoth cruise ships were there.

Wifey actually got a prosecco, and I my usual martini, and we toasted our blessings. Sandra and Dave arrived, and it was a lovely reunion. We met 18 years ago, under strange circumstances. We were on a Med cruise, and D1 became friends with 2 British girls, Sorrel and Esther. Sorrel is Dave and Sandra's only child.

On Mykonos, D1 sliced her ankle VERY badly, requiring a taxi ride (no ambulances there) to a clinic, and a stitch up from an Italian trained doc. Thankfully, the coral slice missed a vessel, or things could have gotten much more dicey. But still, we got her back to the ship, and I went to the clinic to borrow crutches. Nope -- they had ONE !!! pair, and it had been given out earlier. to, strangely, a Miami lawyer who broke his ankle on a rented scooter. Really -- no other crutches?

Well -- Sorrel had an answer. Her Dad Dave had lost a leg to cancer as a young man, and traveled with a special cane and had an extra set of crutches! Of course D1 could use them -- and so we bonded with them. Also, Sandra, a nurse, was kind enough to do D1's wound care, and sat with her so Wifey and I could see some more sights. Dave is a doc in England, and was terrific, too. A very lovely friendship developed from D1's injury.

We've stayed in touch over the years. We never made it to Stoke, but did meet them in Ireland for a very fun few days while D1 was visiting the girls in their town. Dave and Sandra, and Sorrel and Esther, have stayed with us, and one time I met them in NYC, on a supposed couples' trip. Alas, Wifey missed out on account of her back pain, so my sister Sue filled in "There will be a substitute. Dave: A prostitute?" Yes -- we share a sense of humor.

Anyway, our teen girls are now grown ass women -- Sorrell has two boys, married to young Dave, to distinguish him from Old Dave -- and D1 has one and another on the way. Lovely to pass through life together.

After dinner, we drove to D2's apartment, for a nightcap, and to fetch Betsy. Wifey had to drive, on account of the drinks. and I directed her to the Royal Palm -- which Sandra and Dave recognized as NOT their hotel. The correct one was just a mile away.

Yesterday, I drove to Shorecrest and spent a delightful few hours with the Little Man and his parents. Joey was building his bed, so he can relinquish his crib to his baby brother, due to join the band in July. He cracked us up actually helping -- he loved hammering some pieces together, with his VERY handy Dad, while his NOT handy grandpa watched.

From the youngest family member visit, I drove to the Palace to see the oldest: my suegra. She keeps on rolling along, like Ole Woman River. There was another awful odor -- I ignored it for an hour, and then had to leave. Wifey's less sensitive sense of smell served her well.

I had dinner plans with Dr. Captain Kenny. I arrived early, and heard a hearty hello from the bar: my urologist Dr. Bob. He was meeting his brother and sister in law, and came over to chat with Kenny and my. It occurred to me I was with one of my oldest friends, along with the man who knows my physically better than any other man. Laughter ensued -- nothing like a good prostate rectal exam joke to bring out humor in men of a certain age.

Today is a chill day. We still have the horse sized dog -- D2 and Jonathan are due back from Austin tonight -- I'm guessing they'll be too cream crackered, as the Brits say, to come fetch her. So the Betsy return will be tomorrow.

So a lovely weekend -- may there be more and more of them.