Maybe Everything That Dies Someday Comes Back

Fox's Sherron Inn -- a place I passed by all the time in college but never stopped in. In undergrad, my friends and I would go to Monty's and Bananas, clubs in the Grove, as well as the occasional jaunt up to Ft.Lauderdale for the places there. Fox's seemed like an old peoples' place.

Fast forward to 1985, and I was a 2L at UM, and under the law and life tutelage of Ed Perse, my friend Mike's Dad. Ed was a larger than life guy, who had become a legendary appellate lawyer in town, and a huge house behind Baptist Hospital where he hosted Canes away game watch parties, back when you could. One Saturday I sat next to Bernie Kosar and several other future NFL stars as we drank beer and watched our beloved teams.

Anyway, I was clerking Downtown, and Ed asked me to fetch him at the Mercedes dealership in the Gables, and drop him home. I wasn't only happy to do this, I was thrilled, as there would undoubtedly be a life lesson or two during the commute. After we passed UM, he turned to me and said "The young lawyer will soon make a left, into Fox's, and he and the old lawyer will have a couple of martinis this fucking big," holding his hands a foot apart. I did as I was told.

Inside, I couldn't see a thing. It was the darkest bar I had ever entered, and smoke filled, in those days before smoking was banned inside. I came to learn years later that the darkness was by design -- the doctors at across the street South Miami Hospital demanded it, as they took their mistresses there, and, after their eyes had accommodated to the darkness, got a jump on any temporarily blinded wives who came in -- slinking out the back. That might be a Miami urban legend, but it's a great one.

The bartender clearly knew Ed well, and Ed turned to me and asked if I was a vodka or gin man. I was not yet either -- I had never had a martini. I asked Ed his choice -- it was vodka -- and so I became a vodka man as well. That has been my only real drink in the more than three and a half decades since.

I became a Fox's regular -- taking Wifey there for dinner -- and often stopping in for a drink or two. After Hurricane Wilma, in '05, Wifey took the girls to Atlanta until the power was restored. Across the street neighbor Susan took her kids to Orlando, leaving Pat and me to live like cavemen in the darkened houses. Pat took me to his CC, Riviera, and we had a fine time, but the Gables had a curfew of 11. I told Pat we could go to MY country club, and took him to Fox's, where we had our nightcap before returning to our dark, quiet houses.

D1 liked the place so much she hired out a dining room for a UF New Year's Eve party. Longtime server Nelson took care of her group. He was a delightful guy -- a flamboyantly gay NY Rican. After the party I asked how it went, and he said, and I recall precisely, "Your daughter is a dream. How did such an exquisite creature come out of you???" I asked if he was SO gay that he really thought babies "came out" of men? We both laughed, as he brought me my Ketel One and a sidecar.

Well, in 2015, Fox's closed. The 'hood of older garden apartments was giving way to more luxurious buildings, and the owner decided to sell to a developer who was knocking down the 40s era structure. We were there, a bunch of us including Ed's boy Mike, to say goodbye. And then, nothing happened to the building. And last year, we heard of a renascence -- Fox's was coming back!

My mentor Ed's grandson Chris wanted to go close to the beginning. He looks just like his late grandfather, and has his brains and sense of humor. Mike and his bride Loni were away, on a Euro cruise, but Chris said let's go anyway -- and he got reservations for last night.

He invited his suegro, Anthony, and I had signed on to make sure Dr. Barry didn't starve while his son was in Israel and wife in D.C. So Barry agreed to drive back to the 305 on a day off, even though he makes a daily commute for work.

And so we 4 gents met -- and had the afore mentioned martinis -- except Anthony, who had a margarita. We toasted Ed. Barry had met him once -- in Fox's! Barry and I were having a cocktail while he waited for Donna, then a NICU nurse at South Miami, and Ed walked in. He joined us for a nice time of drinks and conversation.

They did a great job with the renovation, though the original place had the bar in front, and small, walk up package store in the back. It used to recall Willie Nelson's favorite sign at a honky tonk: "Liquor in the front. Poker in the rear." Now, the package store will be in front, on South Dixie, and the bar and booths are in the back.

They were out of stuff, and we all ended up having very delicious burgers. I think Chris was scheming to pick up the check, and so I begged off to visit the bathroom. Instead, I intercepted the server and took care of the bill. When Barry protested, I asked if he wasn't proud of my prostate -- I really didn't have to pee after all! Indeed -- it was a men's gathering last night.

Neighbors Alex and Hilit walked to the table -- they're neighbors and longtime UM Med colleagues of Barry. They were at the bar, and Hilit texted me after he visit -- Alex recognized Anthony froma BBYO trip to Israel in the 70s! We joined them at the bar -- sure enough -- the two had met decades earlier.

So it's clear Fox's is immediately that kind of place - our authentic Cheers. And that, to me, is a community asset.

I'll go again when Mike returns from Europe. The place isn't really the Ds and their men's kind of place, but maybe I'll manipulate them in for an evening.

I just know it's nice to have this beloved tavern back.

Keeping Track of Time

 So six Falls ago, we took a Maritimes cruise to celebrate Wifey and her BFF Edna's 60th birthdays. I have been strictly prohibited from ever again bringing up how Crystal Cruises charged us three times what Royal would have, based upon insufficient pre trip investigation, but we ended up having a fine time, despite the mediocre Crystal service. It was three couples -- Norman and Deb came along -- we figured with Deb, an exotic Canadian in our group, we'd have the necessary street cred.

A favorite memory of the trip was a particular piano bar Norman and I found. The great young pianist, taller than nine inches, indulged Norman and my desire to play 70s songs, and the fellow did a great version of Alan Parson Project's "Time." It's a lovely, haunting tune that reminds us that time keeps flowing like a river... to the sea...where it's gone forever. Norman and I will always share that song, like Bogey and Bergman shared Paris...but not in a gay way.

Anyway, I thought of that song this am, thanks to FaceBook (tm)'s helpful "Memories" feature. Today came a post from 2010 where I noted that my Uncle Abe had died. We weren't close for the years before his death, since I don't think my Mom ever really cottoned to his replacement girlfriend Arden following her sister Lorraine's death years before, but I have only fond memories of Abe.

He taught me how to fish, in the 70s during our Miami Beach vacations, and he taught me to love the 305. His sister Claire lived in the Gables, and I remember finding it way cool that people actually LIVED here, as opposed to just staying in hotels on vacation. That probably planted the seed in my mind that I might live here someday, too, and I have -- for now 43 years.

But Abe's funeral was also a sad reminder of another family milestone -- the last time I spoke to a young man I now refer to as my "ex nephew."

He had cut off contact with all of us, in his family, during a contentious divorce from his wife, and I had accepted it. But at the funeral, his Dad, my brother in law, and I followed the funeral with a meeting with my brother of another mother, Paul, at a Houston's in Boca.

Paul, bless him, used to then be in "Then Came Bronson" mode -- the guy who rode into town, fixed the problem, and then rode off into the sunset. Paul cheer led my brother in law into "taking control, as the MEN of the family," and bringing my nephew back into the fold. We followed his advice, like 60s era Green Bay Packers players under Lombardi, and called the wayward son for a meeting the following morning near his home in Davie. I remember it well.

I still had my yellow T Bird convertible then, and I drove it up in a clear morning, to a local Two Jays. My brother in law and his son and I sat down. Things immediately turned bad, as the younger man let loose with his position -- all of us were entirely responsible for his shitty life -- based on, best as I could make out, his family's "manipulation" to keep him living in South Florida, when he wanted to move to North Carolina for a teaching job, and had he, his wife wouldn't have cheated on him, he would have been living a "more real life" than the plastic, fake life one was forced to live in materialistic South Florida, etc, etc...

I drove home sad but clear -- there was no repairing this relationship. Paul's attempt to deem a family close again had failed miserably. And that is the last time I saw my ex nephew.

In the years following, my Mom declined, and we had to move her to a nursing home. The ex nephew was her favorite grandchild -- he was the first, and a golden boy my Mom always treasured. Because of his demons, I guess, he never once visited her in the nursing home during her final 11 months of life.

At first, Mom would tearfully ask me why he never came -- did she do something to make him angry at her? I would make up a silly excuse "Well he's just SO busy, Mom, that's why he can't visit," and then eventually her fog of dementia caused the pathetic questions to cease.

Well -- that did it for me. If there ever was to be any sort of reconciliation -- it would now never happen. I guess the small percentage of Italian DNA I supposedly have comes through -- someone messes with my Mom -- well -- that's unforgivable. And my ex nephew doesn't likely care at all about my forgiveness, anyway, and that's fine.

I hope he finds a happy and good life -- he sure is very bright and talented. But we shall never speak again, despite our closeness over  the first three decades of his life.

So -- nice to go back over time, of course, and I thank the now questionable social media platform for that. Indeed, time keeps flowing like a river, to the sea...and then it's gone forever.

Early News Memory

 I never answer those group questions on FaceBook (tm) like one's favorite music group, or pet's name, since I was taught they are data miners. Apparently they can use your answers to figure out passwords, or challenge questions, which they sell to hackers. But Bill Maher's site caught my eye with a question, and it took me back memory lane: What is the first news story you remember?

For me, it was the Apollo 1 fire. As a kindergarten boy growing up in the 60s, particularly in the NY metro area, two things were important: astronauts and the NY Mets. I more got into the Mets after I started playing baseball, at age 7, but loved astronauts since I can recall. And in kindergarten, in Miss MacNamara's class, all my friends and I wanted to be astronauts. Even as little boys, we knew there was a planned moon shot, and the program to do it was Apollo.

So I have a clear memory of TVs being brought into our class so we could follow the disaster of Apollo 1, where a fire during a test of the rocket ship ended up killing three. It was the first time, I think, that all the networks went live from a news site, and Miss McNamara explained to us what was happening. Some of the class started to cry when the news reported that all three astronauts had died. I don't think I did, but was very sad.

Ah, Miss McNamara. Years ago, I found her on FaceBook. She was getting ready to retire, as the longest tenured teacher in the Levittown District. She claimed to recall me, a talkative boy, but I think she was just being charming. I recall well she was ALWAYS hanging around with my third grade teacher, Miss Dempsey. I'm pretty sure, in retrospect, they were a closeted pair -- but at the time two happy spinster teachers, as far as was officially reported.

Anyway, here in steamy Summer Miami, later I get to fetch Wifey, who has received sterling reports as our new grandson's night nurse. Joey and D1 sing her praises -- Joey especially, who has returned to work with a bit more sleep time than he would have had without his suegra's help.

I have a big day of schlepping planned, after a stop at the office to fetch some last minute stuff. The office is moving this weekend -- from the 6th to the 2nd floor -- and I need to make sure any papers I need make the move. Afterwards, I'll get Wifey, and then we have to stop at D2's place on Miami Beach to fetch the enormous puppy, who we will watch for about 2 weeks as D2 and Jonathan leave for their 2.5 year delayed honeymoon.

Wifey and I spoke last night, and together we counted our blessings. The best college friend of one of my closest brothers is likely on his way off this mortal coil, from brain cancer, which was diagnosed, as Wifey noted, "just like that." The fellow, who I know well, is turning 71, and expecting his fourth grandchild. Like me, he has 2 amazing daughters, and was still working in a very lucrative career. But his days are now very short. I have tremendous gratitude that for now, ours remain less short.

Meanwhile, on the happy side, my sister of another mister, Mirta, and I met last night at Bulla, our go-to Tapas place in the Falls. We shared a delicious paella, and when the bill came, she grabbed it from the server, almost violently. She KNOWS my rule is patriarchal -- chicks never pay. But she insisted on taking me out for my birthday, and I changed to meekly accepting her generosity.

I'm so happy for her life, especially lately. She has a great boyfriend, with whom she shares travel and motorcycling. They each have grandkids and kids, and savor their time together, and Mirta is wise enough to know she also needs to keep her independence. She's doing well financially, as a result of hard work as a single mother, with now grown sons who are both doing well, too. It's her salad days time, and I love sharing it with her.

And, my nephew of another mister, Josh, actually is in Israel! He was reluctant to take the great Birthright trip without his older brother, Scott, and I feared he would miss out, as Scott doesn't seem inclined to take off the needed time from work to take the trip. But Josh did it -- we followed his preparation and boarding of an El Al 787 for the trip, and he is now in the Holy Land. I have a feeling the trip may be life changing for him. I can't wait to hear all about it.

So off for the morning constitutional. Lots of news today. Hopefully nothing about aeronautical disasters, like my earliest news memory.

The Reluctant Birthday Boy

 So we had a delightful Friday afternoon at D1 and Joey's house. Our consuegros were there, as well as Joey's little brother Alan, home from an amazing wedding in Monaco. He hadn't met the new baby yet, and loved doing so -- the little guy looks a LOT like Alan.

Joey brought up a tray of drinks, and Alan, Joey, Jacqui, and I toasted the new addition. It was really lovely, and then I left Wifey for her gig as nighttime helper.

So far; so good. Joey pronounced Wifey MVP helper. D1 have her a high compliment, too: she was back to 1997 form -- the height of Wifey's powers as a Mom. The weekend is going well there, fortunately. 

Meanwhile, my brother Barry's birthday is today, and I called to see what he was doing to celebrate. Nothing, was his reply.

I used to be that way, too, except on the decade turns, like 40, 50, 60...I was self deprecating and thought celebrating one's birthday was no big deal, until I spoke with Rabbi Yossi. He set me straight.

Assuming you believe in the Big Man, and that your life is His doing, then foregoing a birthday celebration, the milestone of your existence on the earth, is a form of ungratefulness. Ever since that conversation, I always celebrate, and make sure to celebrate those closest to me.

So Barry, Donna, and Josh drove to Captain's Tavern, whose food they love, and I Ubered over. Josh didn't drink, but Barry and I did, and we had a wonderful meal of their freshest of fish. Josh was the only 20 something there, and we three Boomers were definitely among the younger diners. And that was ok.

Josh is leaving tomorrow for Birthright trip to Israel, and I'm thrilled for him. He's very proud of his heritage, and needs to see the Promised Land. We toasted to a safe and wonderful journey for him.

After dinner, Josh drove me home -- mission accomplished. A truly great man, Barry, was properly feted on his latest milestone. Next year he joins the 60 club -- hopefully he celebrates in a big way.

Meanwhile, today I did my long walk in the tropical summer heat, and took my typical post walk dip in the pool,enjoying the fact that the pool is totally secluded, and I can swim naked without getting arrested or scaring any neighbors. A Sunday afternoon nap was followed by watching the Marlins -- they're up a run in the bottom of the 8th. Now top of 9th -- against the Pirates, who last made the Series in 1979, my college freshman year. Long, long time ago...

I'll probably go visit D1 and her family tomorrow. Tomorrow night I have dinner with Mirta, my sister of another mister.

Last night I told Barry a simple truth. We're fortunately gotten together a lot lately -- July 4th, Grandson Bris, and last night. And I noticed something: the more time I spend with him, the happier I am.

My wisdom, for what it's worth, is that as one ages, they ought to be more generous and charitable with their money, assuming they can, and far stingier with their time. And so I try -- I turn down many invitations I might have accepted when I was younger. And I always tell my friends -- if I'm spending time with you -- I really savor it. Time is too precious to waste.

As my Mom used to say -- money is round -- it rolls in and rolls out. But time, once spent, doesn't roll back in.

I think I extract Wifey on Wednesday, and then Thursday hopefully another dinner with Barry. Josh will be gone, and Donna is heading to D.C. to visit Scott and attend Pitbull's show there. If I can work the logistics, maybe dinner on Miami Beach before I fetch Betsy, for 10 days of dogsitting.

D2 and Jonathan are FINALLY taking their honeymoon -- 2.5 years after their wedding. Covid postponed it, but Friday they're off to the Amalfi Coast and then Santorini. I've been to both, but just for the day, on two cruises Wifey and I took. We always said we wished to return to Positano for more than just a lunch.

I'm thrilled D2 and Jonathan are getting that opportunity, and Alyssa and Freddy, dear friends, have been there many, many times, and advised them on can't miss venues. Enormous puppy Betsy loves to stay here, and we love having her, too.

So a fine birthday was properly celebrated. I think the Big Man smiled.

A Hot And Quiet Week

 So other than the absence of our typical afternoon rains, it's been a pretty standard Miami July week.

The birthday bris was a grand success, and thankfully little Saulito is recovering from having the toughest role to play. He's about his baby business -- nursing, pooping, and sleeping -- the last less prodigiously than his hermano grande. But, as we had hoped, D1 and Joey are having an easier time with him -- the typical learning curve of baby number 2.

Wifey and I are headed there later for a visit, and Wifey may spend the weekend -- helping with the overnight feeds, as D1 is still C section recovering, and Joey needs a bit more sleep. My plan is to drop her off, be home for my usual Friday night Zooms, and spend a quiet weekend walking a lot and taking dog naps. Monday I'll go fetch her.

We're still dealing with the case involving the case Fredo stole from our group. We spent a LOT of time recreating the hours we put in, and in return received an affidavit from Fredo claiming we did nothing. It's patently absurd -- we handled the case from the time it came in and up to it being set for trial -- BEFORE Fredo infected our firm worse than the plague. But that's ok -- we have a very competent lawyer, Scott, and it's his job to right wrongs, seek justice, and get us paid.

Man -- I don't miss the full time practice of law. I speak often with young Mike, one of D1's good friends, and he reminds me so much of myself when I was in my mid 30s -- working long hours, while balancing fatherhood. He loves to hear my tales, and I assure him within 10 years he'll have even more than I do to tell.

So speaking of earning money -- our neighbor Denie, fellow HOA Board member and full time employee of Coral Gables Benz, tells us she's "all about the side hustle." And she's been very successful at having her house hired out for film shoots, as well as Air BNB. Pinecrest has limits on both, and she follows them, but, for example, a few months ago a company used her place for two days to film a commercial starring the football player Odell Beckham, and she made a LOT of money for it.

Years ago, we let a company use our house to film a scene for "Burn Notice," and at the time was so enchanted with the coolness of that that I got seriously underpaid. Denie is not so naive, and referred me to the companies she uses to get the film business.

Well, Wifey and I agreed, but then lost that damn tool: the round 'tuitt. But Denie then told us she had a NEW side hustle -- she would be the agent for the agents, and for a 10% share of any money we earned for the shoots, would do all the work for us. Now she's talking!

So yesterday she and her Minneapolis born and raised husband Mason came by, and took a LOT of photos. She is convinced that her contacts will want to use our house -- with its unique pond with a stone bridge, and unusual pool area.

They sent me the portfolio they're going to use, and it was impressive, especially since we're her first clients.

So maybe we'll have some fun, and have more bucks to leave to the kids and grandkids. No AirBNB for us, though -- we still don't like the idea of strangers sleeping here -- but the film crews are fine.

The Summer slogs on. We booked our flights to Maine for September 1, for 4 nights with Joelle and Kenny. I look forward to a bit of cooling off, though a Facebook memory popped up reminding me that the last time we were there -- July of '18, they were having a heat wave with temps hotter than Miami! Thankfully those are rare, and the lake water is always blessedly cool. Most importantly, the company is always terrific.

So the cooling afternoon rains will start, eventually. And I continue to give thanks to Willis Carrier, for inventing AC. I truly don't see how people lived here before its invention.

And as for the family, well, the Big Man gets all the thanks for them.

And So It's My Birthday. And What Have I Done?

 61 today. Wow. Old dog. I can never escape the frustrated English teacher in me, seeing symbolism everywhere. I think in puns, which can be funny, but also onerously boring. Hey -- what are ya gonna do?

I was up early performing my few tasks before the onslaught of bris guests arrive. I walked the dogs, and put them away in the room above the garage, which thankfully has a new AC, so I won't have to deal with dead dogs on my birthday. I parked the cars on the street. I placed the balloons on the mailbox, as a beacon for first time visitors -- some of Joey's Colombian family is coming for the first time, I think. And then the wonderful catering sisters arrived -- longtime friends of my consuegros from Bogota.

And then I dropped some letters in the box as outgoing mail -- affidavits to Bank of America to close out my suegra Rachel's account. The balance was $100.17. B o A can be terrible with paperwork -- I already told Wifey that if  they require more documentation, I plan to do nothing, and let them send me years of correspondence to get that $100.17. It will eventually escheat to the state, and then the Ds can retrieve it when they get one of those "you may have unclaimed government funds" emails.

But the symbolism, of course, is that as we welcome the newest baby into our tribe, we've just said goodbye to the oldest. Circle of life.

And speaking of life, I had an unexpected visit last night. I was surfing on the computer, as I often do, and my neighbor Will called. He generally only calls with an issue, and he wanted to tell me that a pair of guys had a black Benz parked, and were taking pictures of my house from the street. They "don't look very menacing," but he figured I ought to know -- it was kind of late for realtor shots --- and we ain't moving, no-how.

I walked to the front and a pair of gents came closer -- it was Richard, the fellow we bought the house from, and his friend, and Italian born architect who he was visiting! I welcomed them in, and gave the architect the tour -- Richard wanted to show off his masterpiece.

He had a star crossed life after he moved to West Palm. His beautiful wife Jennifer had serious mental illness, and several years back, shot and killed their two beautiful kids, and then herself. It made international news.

I was never sure how Richard lived on after that, but he did -- building his realty business in West Palm, and becoming a major fundraiser for Dreyfoss School, which his kids attended.

And, to show he really has moved on, he has a new girl friend -- a Russian born swimsuit model! He was here in Miami because she was part of Miami Swim Week, where the designers all show off their newest swimwear.

If I was a viejo verde, or dirty old man, I may have wished to attend that event.

Anyway, Wifey came home while the gents were visiting, and Richard showed us pictures of Anastasia. Later, I asked if Wifey felt bad for me that I didn't have a Russian born swimsuit model girlfriend. She said she did not feel at all bad for me.

But again -- here a man who built the house where we have had so many precious, nay, priceless memories, himself suffered such a tragedy. And now, he must bury his grief in the arms of a 25 year younger model.

Kidding aside, it shows you never know what life is going to throw you.

But for today, I'm thrilled to be here -- meeting our now one week old grandson -- colds all well in the past -- and celebrating his entry into our tribe.

Not a too shabby birthday at all. And I give thanks to the Big Man, as always.

Erev 61

 I like to make sort of big deals out of birthdays that fall on 00s or 5s, and sure enough, last year, for 60, I did just that. I had most of by BFFs decamp to the RC on Key Biscayne, for a weekend of serious drinking, eating, and laughter. It was delightful. 

The following Sunday evening, the Ds and their men met me at Capital Grille for ANOTHER big meal, and a wonderful time. I eased into my 61st year in grand style, just as I hoped.

Tomorrow I turn 61, and as the Mike Myers' character Linda Richman said, no big whoop. Except it is, by coincidence: D1 and Joey have given us our second grandson, and we're hosting his bris at our house. Grandson #1 had his bris in December of '19 at our consuegros' house, and so the kids figured it was our turn.

D1 and Joey hired a caterer, and Wifey has been puttering around the past days getting the house ready. It's turning into a bigger event than we had originally thought - -probably 50 people. But if you're gonna have a party -- might as well have a PARTY, I always say.

There'll be a smoked fish station, and cheese station, etc...Since the mohel and our friend Rabbi Yossi and Nechama are glatt kosher, a mashgiach, or kosher supervisor will be there. Yossi is just back from Israel today, where he was there with, of all things, a group of Evangelical Christians touring the Holy Land. My man gets around.

I joked with him that in our 27 years of friendship, this is the first time I can serve him and Nechama a proper meal at my house. It's about time!

Unlike the last big party we hosted, D2's 30th back in February, this time there will be no DJ. But there WILL be some day drinking -- several L'chaims must be observed, as is tradition. Unfortunately, Eric and Dana can't make it -- Dana is in, hip hibernation, as D1 called it - keeping away from anyone before an elective surgery on Wednesday -- but I think my nephew of another mister, Josh, is setting up a Zoom link for them, so they can at least have some virtual whitefish and babka.

So I figured that was it for my 61st, but D2 and Jonathan weren't having it. They invited me to lunch today, at a place called Osaka -- a Japanese place on Brickell Bay Drive. D2 had been there and loved it, and indeed it may have been the finest lunch I've had in recent memory.

Of course, being old as fuh I WAZED the place as Kyoto , and found nothing. Once I got my Japanese city correct, I made it there easily.

We had a terrific lunch, and they gave me the gift I always love: a bottle of Stoli Elit. It's already in my freezer being prepared for shots or martinis.

Wow. 61. I had just finished my freshman year at college when Dad turned 61. I was home from UM for intercession before returning for Summer session, and Mom and I took him to Gentleman Jim's, a restaurant in Boynton Beach. They had a great salad bar, as did many places from that era. I remember thinking: boy is my Dad OLD! Sixty one to a 19 year old may as well have been 80. Of course, now that I'm playing in that stadium, it seems like there is indeed a BIG difference between 61 and 81.

On Thursday, I was in the office and saw Stu's Dad for the first time since the plague. He's 87, and still works two days per week, but he is bent over like a pretzel. He has begun using a walker. He told me a funny tale: Florida requires more frequent eye tests for elderly drivers, and he saw a local eye doc -- he was cleared for ONE year. Bill sent the form in, and got a license renewal for 8 years. "95! No way I'll be alive then!" But I reassured him -- you never know.

Since Dad died when he was 63, I've lived my whole life assuming I wouldn't live too long either. I have statins to take now, which he never did, and I try to exercise much more, and shed the anxiety he kept inside. Mom lived until 93 -- so if it's a split, I'll get to 78. Hell -- I'd sign up for that right now!

But whatever the number, I am thankful for each day.

And tomorrow ought to be a banner one!

Clipped

 There's no denying that as I age, I am becoming far more OCD. In college, for instance, I was an unrepentant slop, as were my roommates. In fact, after one Spring semester, I believe it was 1981, all four of our parents got bills for "excessive filth" -- my mother loved that, and kept it pinned to the refrigerator to show her friends all Summer. Part of the problem was that we cleaned the bathroom zero times, allowing a black rug to form, composed of the pubic and body hair of 2 Ashkenazim, 1 Italian, and one Cuban. It was a glorious mosaic of disgustingness. 

Well, I guess like most guys, I grew up, and now like things neat and clean. The problem is that my current roommate of now 37 years, is still in the same mindset she was back in college. One of the favorite pictures of herself, from FSU in, I guess, 1976, shows her eating cold Campbell's baked beans out of a can. Little has changed.

Wifey has manifold wonderful qualities, but housekeeping, or even ensuring our once a week housekeeper does the job, is not among them. And that's ok, particularly since my semi retirement gives me plenty of time to clean up after her, like each am when I scrape the caked on cereal or chocolate from the bowl she left in the sink overnight. I'm just thankful, like the mother of a teenaged boy who at least makes an effort to pee in the bowl, that the encrusted plates make it to the sink. 

When I point this out, she assures me she WAS GOING TO get to it, after letting the dish soak over night. But my OCD doesn't allow for that, and so I scrape, and then place into the dishwasher.

Well, there's another consequence of our different lifestyles. Wifey uses things and doesn't put them back, or loses quick track of where she left them. "David -- call my phone" is heard around here more often than the screech of our local peafowl. Usually the phone is close by, though there have been several events where NEW phones were required -- only to find the lost phone, as D1 did in a dresser drawer where she was looking for Wifey's jewelry to take, knowing Wifey would never miss it, a full year after it went missing.

So probably 15 years ago I treated myself to a nice pair of finger and toenail clippers -- by Tweezerman. I was determined these would not fall into what I call Wifey's maw -- to be misplaced after she used them, and never seen again. So I placed them into a ceramic candle Wifey had placed for decoration on my bathroom sink -- covered and out of view. Wifey found them, and used them, and I pleaded she not lose them, in my full OCD mode. Life went smoothly in the nail cutting department...until...

It was determined that the candle had to go. Wifey took the Tweezermans out, and placed them in a place that I could NOT find this am, when I went to use them. She sleeps very late, and I wasn't going to wake her to learn where my prized Tweezermen were.

So, I just ordered a new pair on WalMart.com, my favorite shopping site. They're due here this week. And then, I will hide them better than a spy hides top secret messages from an enemy country. The Tweezermans will be mine, to only be used on my OCD finger and toenails, and then placed into a safe hiding place. And nail peace shall return.

All kidding aside, as I age, I try to avoid stressers, and not knowing where stuff is is a big one of those. When I come home, I head directly to the key hook in the kitchen and put my vehicle's fob there. Bruce Springsteen could be sitting on my front porch, and I would wave, walk past him, return my key, and THEN be amazed that the one celebrity I ever wished to meet was waiting there for me.

Hell, Shakira might be poolside, cavorting, and asking me to come join her, and her pleas would have to wait for me to replace my key fob. I TOLD you I had become far more OCD...

I guess we all become harder to live with as we age. Last night, I admitted to Wifey she was watching the transition of a man from people pleaser to curmudgeon.

Luckily, I can still summon the former. I still try to be the magical man when I can.

Just don't misplace my nail clippers...

Making the Magical Our of the Mundane

So new little man had his first doc visit today, and happily is "textbook," as Wifey said of her mother after her first pediatric visit. His hermano grande was due for jab number 2, in our 'hood, and since I haven't seen him since July 4, decided to meet up.

First of all, he taught me a new Spanish word: vacuna, which means vaccine. He knew why he was there, and got distracted with orange slices during the jab. But then, afterwards, he went out of the treatment room at the mini clinic for his "queso," cheese, and marched right back to the chair where he got jabbed. The PA was gracious, and let him have his dairy reward right there -- she said she was the mother of two small boys herself, and got them.

Afterwards, Grandpa Dev, as he calls me, said that his bravery deserved a toy, and he picked out a beach truck. Also, we bought flowers for D1, as well as the nanny Lisette, who is really now part of the family.

As I drove home, it occurred to me that the trick in life is simple: making a mundane task magical. So many of us seek "big events" to make us happy. Today, happiness came in being a part of my grandson's now routine Covid prevention.

Meanwhile, the typical summer rains of Miami haven't really started, and so we've had more of a Las Vegas kind of heat, or a drier heat. It's still hot as hell, though today's walk was bearable thanks to a nice breeze.

Still, Wifey and I are ready for a break, and today I booked flights to Maine, to accept Joelle and Kenny's gracious offer of a few days at their lovely lake side house in Oxford. That little respite from the Tropics in summer ought to be lovely -- and we thoroughly enjoy their company.

As I write, Wifey is in full puttering mode -- moving stuff around in preparation for Monday's birthday bris. It's my birthday, and the bris of our new little, little man, or hermanito, as his brother calls him.

I may actually go down to the Redlands tomorrow, to Angel's Hatchery, to buy myself a koi or two as a birthday gift. We'll see.

What Bastille Day Means To Me

 July 14th. Bastille Day in a country Wifey and I are set to visit in a bit over three months, with friends Joelle and Kenny -- cruising down the river from Lyon to Avignon, eating and drinking well. Ought to be grand.

Today is also the birthday of Norman's exotic foreign wife Deb. She's Canadian, and since it always seems to me Canada might as well just be a 51st state, with usually better hockey and an always better health care system, I always joke about it's exotic nature -- like Deb was from Nepal, or something.

Another birthday in our orbit is Edna's daughter Lauren. When I met Wifey in September of '83, she showed me newly developed (ha -- how's that for an ancient reference) photos of holding her best friend's baby girl -- and telling me with disgust how her cool friend had become a mother -- as if she had become a crack whore. Well -- that little baby is 39 today -- mighty close to official middle age.

Also Mike's birthday -- he is 4 days older than I. I always got a kick out of thinking about how 4 days apart a baby was born in Coral Gables, and another in Queens -- one to conservative Midwestern transplants and the other to liberal Bronx natives, and these 2 boys would become close in law school 22 years later. Loni and Chris and Rachel are taking Mike to dinner tonight -- I hope to meet them and share a pre meal celebratory cocktail with him -- probably in that very native city, Coral Gables, where he was born. I'll invoke the memory of his Dad, Ed, who was a true mentor to me, and who I credit with a lot of my career success for the connections he shared with me.

Speaking of great Dads -- July 14, 1982, forty years ago today, was also the worst day of my life. My Dad Hy died in my arms, in the chair of a barbershop in West Delray Beach,  as I and some young woman haircutter, punk rock looking, tried to give him CPR.

I've recounted the details of his last day so many times, but one keeps jumping out in my mind and informs my life today. His last meal. At his doctor visit earlier that morning, his hapless internist, Dr. Heller, told him maybe he should try eating more fish, to bring down his cholesterol, in those pre statin days. We went for lunch at Morrison's Cafeteria, and I of course picked the brisket. I don't recall what Mom chose. But Dad made a face and got the fish.

So it turned out his last meal on this earth was something he didn't even like. I always thought that was a final insult -- hell -- condemned murderers get to eat their favorite food before the chair or needle.

If you ever see me at a great steakhouse and I order a salad, or a great Italian place and I order some sauce-less fish -- you will know I have lost my mind. We typically don't know which meal will be our last, and I ain't takin' no chances!

Wifey had on Billy Chrystal's "700 Sundays" the other afternoon, and my life mirrored that far more talented man in many ways. I grew up on LI like him, and his Dad dropped dead when he was young -- 15 in Billy's case. And he talks about how he looked in the mirror the next day and no longer saw a kid -- he saw a man he knew he had to become to take care of his widowed mother.

I was older -- about to turn 21 - but in that instant, I also knew everything would change. Sunny had never handled any of her financial affairs, and I gave myself a crash course in adulting, as the millennials call it, in order to do things for her.

Well, as bad as that day was 40 years ago, yesterday was at the opposite end of the spectrum. D1 and Joey sent multiple videos of the meeting of our grandsons -- big brother Jaco and baby to be named Monday encountering each other.

Wifey had predicted that Jaco would see him and walk away uninterested. But something very different happened with the 2.5 year old. He clearly understood something sacred had been brought into his young life -- he kissed the newborn's head, and stroked his back gently. He played with his hands. I cried with joy at these videos, and later, on a Facetime. Damn colds are keeping Wifey and I away from this holy scene 20 miles away from our house in person, but we've already met the new little man in our hearts.

At the end of "700 Sundays," Crystal recounts his major life events like he's analyzing a poker hand he's been dealt. Each card is something like "Dad dropped dead when I was 15," and then more happily "I married my true life partner and we're together decades later," and, like me, "I have two amazing daughters" and "I have amazing grandchildren."

He looks up at the imaginary dealer, which an English professor would clearly see symbolizes G-d, and announces "I'm holding right here!"

In other words, a man who realizes that with the tragedies and setbacks, he still appreciates greatly the hand he was dealt.

On this anniversary of my life's worst day, I say a resounding Amen.

Compare and Contrast Filter Buy and Slice

 Most of us engage in e commerce, and the other day, while recovering from a nasty summer cold and being annoyed I couldn't see the new grandson yet, I dealt with two disparate companies. The great news is that D1 is coming home from the hospital today, with her and Joey's NEW Little man,and I plan to race on up to the house and hold the lad. I also miss his big brother, who has thrived in his parents' short absence, with his paternal grandma spoiling him even more than usual.

Actually -- I spoke too soon. Turns out Wifey has a bacterial throat infection following HER cold, and she's on antibiotics. So even though I'm recovered, we'll hold off meeting the new guy until Monday -- at his bris. FaceTime will have to suffice for the next few days.

But back to e commerce. Monday night, Wifey and I decided to celebrate the birth with pizza. I use an app called Slice, which apparently pizza places much prefer over Uber Eats, since they charge very little. Our last pizza came from old standby DiNapoli, and it was kind of dry. So I went with another nearby place, Chicago Manhattan Pizza. We ordered from there years ago, back when I had to actually pick it up, and it was ok, but I figured let's give them a chance. I put in the order at 7:30, and the app said we'd have our pizza and wings by 830 at the latest.

830 came, and I went outside, fending off cannibalistic mosquitoes. The app said driver was "arriving now." He was not. So I texted the customer support guy, "Noah," and he said he would contact the restaurant. Meanwhile, our neighbor, who used to own the sports bar next to the pizza place, drove up, and I mentioned I was waiting for pizza from his old business neighbor. He said it should be quick -- Manhattan Chicago was "dead" -- bunch of guys standing around -- and they were probably happy to have the order on a Monday night.

Noah gave me corporate speak answers. "The restaurant is slammed tonight." No, I told Noah -- an eyewitness told me they were quite the opposite. The back and forth lasted a full several paragraphs, and finally I told Noah to just cancel. He said he could not -- the restaurant had to.

Why, I asked Noah, could Slice take my money, but not cancel the order? No answer. Finally, at 930 or so, the driver arrived -- apologetic. He said Slice never sent the order on time. A Ha! The pizza was mediocre, also.

So Spice is off my app list. Lying, slimy jerks.

In complete contrast is Filter Buy, the place I get my AC filters. I have used them for years, and although they might be a tad more expensive than Home Depot, they always have all sizes in stock and ship in three days.

I had a new AC unit installed in the Bonus Room, and it uses 17.5 inch filters. Problem was, in September I had ordered 4 14 inch replacements. Filter Buy said purchases within 60 days were completely refundable. But I wrote them anyway. The 4 filters cost about $50, which is my tipping point for following up with stuff.

I got an email the next day from Paolo. He said to give away the old filters to charity -- apparently Goodwill accepts them, and, to thank me for my customer loyalty, they were sending SIX new ones for free -- a $70 gift!

I told Paolo to pass on his company now had a customer for life, and I have 4 separate AC units! Plus, I would be happy to sing their praises on Social Media.

The food in NYC is so good because of all the competition -- any crappy place gets ignored quickly. Miami is fast approaching that status, too -- plenty of good pizza within a 10 minute drive of our house. Also, plenty of working apps to arrange delivery. We have sliced away SLICE.

But these are just minor inconveniences. We're just hoping for smooth sailing until Monday, when we will host the new little man's entrance into our tribe.

We have a hell of a band going -- sort of like the American Jewish version of the Rolling Stones, or The Who. Nice when we add a new member.

When The Change Was Made Uptown and the Big Man Joined the Band

 Well, in our case, it's a new LITTLE MAN -- D1 and Joey welcomed a bouncing baby boy yesterday! Thanks to the true Big Man, all went well, and it even appears our dear friend Rabbi Yossi will be back from Israel in time to preside over our new grandson's joining of the tribe this Monday. At that time, his name becomes public, but our kids already brought Wifey and I teary eyes by choosing names that honor my late mother and Wifey's parents. Since Sephardim handily allow naming after LIVING relatives, the new guy honors some of Joey's people, too. Talk about handy!

So last week Wifey came down with a nasty cold late Wednesday. I escaped it, I thought, and met Dr. Barry and his crew up in Weston Friday night after a negative Wifey PCR test showed I wasn't a Covid vector. It was delightful -- Scott and his lady Sam were in from DC, and we all caught up -- hadn't seen them in too long, as the Plague canceled our planned trip to them in April.

Anyway, late Friday evening my waterworks started, and I was treated to a classic nasty wet cold that is thankfully better today, finally -- my typical 4 day run. It was almost a relief to have a good old fashioned non Covid illness, though it kept us from seeing our latest grandson just yet -- Barry ordered NO contact until fully over colds -- not good for newborns.

But back to the positive. D1 and Joey checked in, and things went swimmingly. D2 said Barry and I were Mafia like -- Barry even had his NICU colleague "spying" on the OB suite, even though there was no medical indication the new man would need that care. Wifey is totally bummed to have missed meeting the boy right away -- asked me if I felt the same. Honestly, I replied, not really -- with Barry there, I'm fine.

Meanwhile, big brother is happily about his summer camp business, under the comically loving care of Joey's parents, and enjoying the final days before his days as the center of the known universe get rocked. Jonathan's parents tell an adorable tale: when they brought him home, big brother Dan came over and smacked him on the head -- he saw no need for an intruder into his bucolic life in Caracas. The joke is that Joey will get the baby a helmet.

Also, Jonathan played a great practical joke on his brother and sister in law. He told them that the baby's name is Paco, which is, apparently a very funny old timey Mexican name, and not one that modern Latin Jews would ever pick, but that D1 and Joey did because it rhymes with Jaco, big brother. We all found great hilarity in this -- I think by now Jonathan came clean.

Meanwhile, we have been tasked with hosting the bris, which we much look forward to. Unfortunately Eric and Dana have to miss it because Dana has surgery the following day, and is avoiding any gatherings on account of Covid. D1 charmed Dana this am by saying she understands Dana is in "hip hibernation." Dana called specially to tell me how much she loves that neologism, and plans to use it.

Also, we live in what the Cubans call Casa Carajo, which translates roughly to "way the hell out there," and the party is set for 9 am Monday. It also happens to fall on my 61st birthday, and I can't imagine a better way to spend my birthday! Well -- there was that one year back in 1981...but who remember that now?

Wifey is feeling better today, and is atwitter with getting the house ready for the latest gathering. Rabbi Yossi presided over Wifey's mother's funeral less than one month ago. It'll be joyful having him preside over this much happier occasion. We're literally living out the Laura Nyro lyric: "And when I die, and when I'm gone... there'll be one child born in this world to carry on, to carry on."

Hopefully D1 and new Little Man get sprung from the hospital by tomorrow -- it seems that 2 nights following a C section are the minimum.

And as for me, I continue to than the Big Man -- most recently for the new little man.

Turning 61 can be just fine.

A Wistful July 4 Memory

 So we had a fine time with Deb and Norman last night, along with Barry and Donna and some lovely neighbors of Deb and Norm. We ate well and laughed, and wished Deb happy travels as she leaves for Canada this weekend -- enjoying the cooler weather until September.

Tomorrow evening, for the Fourth, we had tentative plans to meet Barry and Donna again, at Captain's Tavern, but I called and was reminded they're closed Mondays. No exceptions for the holiday.

So I called an audible and got us a reservation at the Palm -- a place we also all love. We were last there last July for Barry's birthday. It's time for another visit.

But then I recalled another July 4 at the Palm -- must have been 2011 or 2012. They ran a special: $17.76 for a NY Strip, in honor of the US. Our dear friend Elizabeth was staying with us, and we went there, also with Deb and Norman. We feasted, as I recall, and afterwards went to D1's apartment on Brickell to watch the Bayfront Park fireworks.

If I recall, those were blocked by the Brickell high rises, but we DID see other displays: Doral, Hollywood, and maybe others.

Well, of course Elizabeth is gone, now, dying tragically too soon. We still miss her terribly. 

Earlier today, I stood and reflected about her -- by a small garden she had planted during one of her many visits. Wifey bought a metal sign calling it "Elizabeth's Garden," and indeed it is. She was so beautiful, inside and out, and it still doesn't feel real that she is no longer alive. And the July 4 of a decade or so ago just brings the memories into focus.

Today, D2 and Jonathan dropped off the enormous puppy -- they're at a barbecue a few blocks away. Betsy whined when they left, and then promptly plopped down beside me. This is comfortably her second home.

D1 and Joey invited us over tomorrow afternoon -- so we get to see the beautiful grandson as well. And, the logistics are perfect, as they live about 15 minutes away from The Palm.

Meanwhile, the Plague is still around. My man Paul tested positive this week, though fortunately with mild symptoms. As a 4 time vaxxed, had Covid guy, I'm really over it myself. Barry reminded us last night that of the people hospitalized in his system, 75% are unvaxxed. 

It appears we're just going to have this stuff around -- and after nearly 2.5 years of fearing it, the fear has simply faded. It may be naive, of course, but that seems to be a reasonable approach.

We have neighbors, two married women, in their mid 60s and early 70s, who remain petrified -- posting constantly on FaceBook about constant testing and fear. That ain't me, baby -- not any more, anyway.

So my 60th July 4 is upon me. As a kid, July was my favorite month -- a favorite holiday, and my birthday a fortnight later.

July also became the month of my beloved Dad's death -- July 14 - so that's tempered a bit. But it's still a fine month.

Actually, they all are.

Coolest Guy In The Biz

 Years ago, Norman referred me to Danny to fix AC problems. He originally from Argentina, but might as well be Swiss. When you call him, he responds comically fast -- as I imagine service people must do it in Zurich.

I have texted him at 11 pm, figuring he'd call the following day, and I get a call at 11:05 -- "What's up my friend Dave?"

Since Wifey requires we live in a too big house, it actually has 4 separate AC units. The three large ones were installed when the house was built in 1997, and were Trane, which I was told was state of the art. Well, the state of the art each crapped out at about 10 years, which Danny explained was the new normal.

He said I could replace them with with Tranes, which are very expensive, but he warned that it was tough to find Trane parts -- if something broke, it might take a week to get the part. On the other hand, Rheem parts were everywhere -- he carried many on his truck. I went with his advice, and now all 3 units are Danny's -- and I never go more than a day without air when something breaks down.

I joke with Norman that I actually look forward to AC breaking, since Danny is so affable. I spoke to him today.

After we moved in, we completed a "Bonus Room" above the garage. It became my football room/guest house, but we rarely use it. When people stay, they stay in the main house, and I tend to watch games in the family room.

In another sign that the house Wifey makes us stay in is a bit too big, a month might go by without my even setting foot in the Bonus Room. And so it was today. And the heat hit me -- the AC was off.

That unit is a small, 1.5 ton guy, and was originally installed when the room was finished -- probably 20 years ago. Danny said the smaller units last longer.

I took photos of the compressor and handler and sent them to Danny -- asking him to call next week, after the July 4 holiday. He called right away -- on vacation in the Keys. "Danny -- no rush! You know that room -- the AC might well have been broken a whole month." "Nah -- today is a regular day -- the holiday is Monday!"

He had me measure the air handler, and whether there was extra room (there is) and will get my new unit in next week. Danny rocks.

Meanwhile, we have a getty tonight with Deb and Norman. Deb, an exotic Canadian, is calling it the "Day After Canada Day Party." To annoy her, I keep calling it the "Two Days Before Independence Day Party." She may toss me into the pool tonight.

Tomorrow D2 and Jonathan may come by -- leaving the enormous pup with us while they attend a barbecue at their friends Elyse and Brett's Pinecrest house.

Monday we have plans for dinner at Captain's Tavern with Donna and Barry. The past three times there I've had their halibut -- it's flown in daily from the NE and is awesome. Maybe afterwards we'll repair to the house and watch fireworks on TV.

When the Ds were young, we'd often rent a cabana at the Biltmore on the 4th. We'd spend the day swimming and drinking, and then walk to the golf course for the Gables Fourth, which had great fireworks and a pops orchestra. It was lovely -- maybe we'll resurrect that tradition when the Little Man gets a bit older.

I was reminiscing about my first July 4th with Wifey the other day -- July 4, 1984. The Beach Boys were giving a concert on South Beach, and we drove to her friend Yvonne's the night before and shared a single bed -- probably the last time we did that. Yvonne lived in an old building on Washington and 2nd, and we walked over to the beach probably at 11 to get a decent spot.

We spent the entire day there -- Yvonne, Wifey, me, and Wifey's friend Jeannette, down from Brooklyn. Jeannette's cousin Dennis met us. I drank the entire day -- not vodka in those days -- beer and wine. By nightfall, I was quite happy, and the next blanket had some incoming UM freshman, sharing some weed. I was going to teach Freshman Comp that Fall, and told the group I might be their instructor -- which got us some weed.

The show was terrific -- probably 500K people there. The Boys had played at the DC Mall earlier, and flown to Miami -- I think it still holds the record for how many people any band ever appeared before in a single day. They brought guests -- Ringo Starr, and Justin Heyward and John Lodge of the Moody Blues. When Ringo appeared, Jeannette flew towards the stage -- she's such a lifelong Beatles fan. We managed to somehow find her afterwards, but I was so wasted, Wifey had to lead me back to Yvonne's apartment, and drive home. She did so without judging me -- I probably knew then I'd ask her to marry me and someday agree to move into a too huge house with her.

I'm guessing this year's 4th will be a bit tamer, and that's ok. Main thing is, the AC is working in most of the house.