So it had been months since we heard from our old friend Crazy l, as I call her. She lives in Boston, with her wonderful partner -- together probably 20 years now.
I call her Crazy , since she is, in a good way. Once she had her drive us to Ocean Reef in Key Largo, where she had been a member back in the early 90s, while married to her husband David, who came from a rich family. Ocean Reef has amazing security -- its members are captains of industry from all over the US -- but somehow she talked her way in for us, and we enjoyed a wonderful lunch there -- my first ever visit.
On the way home, she got a berry farm to stay open later than they wished -- so we could get milkshakes. Crazy is a bundle of energy, and her man, more laid back, enjoys it and the vitality she brings.
We last saw them months ago -- her son and his lovely wife hosted us at a barbecue on Miami Beach, where they bought a lovely house on a golf course. They got in right before the pandemic, and the house has doubled in price, and they feel lucky. We chatted about her boy's childhood in Miami -- we met when D2 and Crazy's youngest, were in kindergarten together. After a miserable divorce, she moved back to her native Boston, and in with her parents, and it was tight, but worked out. I took D2 and a friend up there for a Bat Mitzvah, and we got together many times -- she misses Miami a lot and often visits -- her man plays golf here and in Naples, and they're major cruisers on RCL.
Well -- Thursday night she called -- she and her man were coming to Miami for TDay, and were we in town? I told her we were hosting the Ds and their in laws -- we were set for 20 people here -- but we would of course meet one of the days before. She excitedly told me her other upcoming visits here -- December for an extended time with her parents, who winter in Aventura -- and then March for golf.
Then Friday, she called back -- I figured she had forgotten to tell me something, or Cipora (Cipora's friends except Edna always call me, since Wifey "doesn't like to answer her phone any more.").
Instead of up beat, happy Crazy, her voice was quavering -- she was at a Boston Hospital -- her boyfriend had suffered a massive stroke. What??? He was 67, but trim and fit. He always ate better than I did when we went out -- he could have passed for mid 50s. Yes -- he collapsed, and it was bad -- she wasn't sure he would make it through the night.
She was calling to tell us, but also ask advice -- she knew Wifey had a stroke in January of '21, and was nearly fully recovered. Had local doctors done something perhaps her North Boston staff didn't know? I explained that Wifey had been very lucky -- hers was about as mild a stroke as you could have -- just a tiny clot -- and never was a candidate for surgery or anything like that.
I then mostly listened -- a trait I learned from Rabbi Yossi, who deals with many tragedies. People think they are being helpful when they offer practical advice, but often the best thing is simply to listen.
We followed up yesterday, and sadly, things got worse. He has serious, permanent damage, and decisions are being made now about either a merciful fast end, or a drawn out, miserable existence. I know I would wish the former.
But the point is, the song lyric is so sage: in a NY minute, life goes from happy planning about social events, to tragedy. It's a truth I learned too well 4 days before I turned 21, when Dad died in my arms. Since then, I have lived my life truly as if I had very limited days, and put off nothing I truly wished to do.
Many don't follow that philosophy. I have dear friends who dream of travel to certain places, and somehow there are many reasons they never make the trip. Ha -- it's ironic. For me the travel bug is subdued, and Wifey is the reason I move off my lazy tuches and go anywhere.
But I recognize that having money is very nice, but time is the only measure of wealth. And each day must be savored, one way or another.
Yesterday I drove alone to the Canes game, after a great breakfast with Norman and his youngest, Benji. Mike hosted a tailgate, and uncharacteristically, I drank barely a single beer. It was a gorgeous day. Friends, young and old, happened by.
My usual seatmates were under the weather, or traveling to see Fall foliage. I sat alone in our section, and just took it all in -- the crowd noise, the colors. The Canes were awful -- almost clownishly awful, despite spending more on the program than ever before.
But I left at half time, which was prescient. They played even worse then -- losing to a crappy Duke team. I drove to D1 and Joey's, though, for a farewell visit with the grandsons. It was precious -- the toddler hilarious, as always, and the baby a happy, smiling marshmallow, as D1 calls him. Wifey drove up, and one of the toddler's friends, Mason, walked over , with both his grandmas.
D1 joked it was truly "English Day" as both grandmas are gringas, as is Mason. Later, D1's dear friend since Middle School, Nicole, and her Iowa husband Matt stopped by, with their adorable baby girl -- they were close by at a party and just popped in.
It was a happy house, and I savored that, too. Delightful moments. I hope the Big Man has many more in store for me.
As for our Boston friends, I wish them peace and recovery. Storms come so fast, sometimes, even out of clear blue skies.
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