Adios, 2022

 And so another year nears its place in the dustbin of history. I posted Alan Parsons Projects' "Time" on FaceBook (tm) along with my snarky HNY greeting "To those who celebrate." It's one of my pet peeves -- those who wish holiday greetings with the disclaimer "To those who celebrate." Either give the greeting or don't. If I wish someone Happy Pesach and they don't celebrate -- screw them! Same to me if I don't celebrate, say Kwanza. I really should, by the way -- their menorah has fewer candles.

"Time" is, to me, the perfect song to contemplate a milestone in the calendar -- reminding us that time keeps flowing like a river -- to the sea. There's also a funny connection, back on Wifey's 60th birthday cruise, some, well, a few years back. The ship had a piano bar, and Norman and I befriended the pianist, who wasn't nine inches. For reasons I no longer remember, we asked if he knew any Alan Parson's Project, and he knew "Time," and so he'd play it for us each evening with our cocktails. It became our song.

Anyway, speaking of getting annoyed -- I plan, as one of my lesser resolutions, to work on that. Resolution number one is highly unusual and creative. Hey -- it may be unique: lose weight. But another resolution is to judge people and their actions less. Aging makes me more curmudgeonly, and I tend to get far more annoyed, more easily than the water off a duck's back guy I long was. I'm going to see if I can stave off the angry old man thing for a bit longer.

I spent a very chill last day of 2022, but I DID walk nearly 4 miles. I then went to Walgreen's to fetch a prescription, wearing my favorite cap, which is black and says "Miami AF" in white lettering. Young folks always laugh when they see it. The pharm tech was a Boomer, and said "I didn't know Miami had an Air Force!" Yes, I answered -- it's really the US Air Force, but relates to the base down in Homestead. I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth.

I just got off of a lovely FaceTime (tm) with D2, Jonathan, and D1 and the marshmallow. D2 and Jonathan are coming later with the enormous puppy Betsy, and spending the night. They have dinner with their friend Michael, in the Grove, just a stone's throw, literally, from Joelle and Kenny's, where we'll be. 

D1 reported she and her men plan to be fast asleep well before 10. Tomorrow the plan is to start the year at Fairchild Garden -- we'll let the toddler run wild, and get the very white baby some sun. I plan to be up very early to fetch fresh bagels and nova for our houseguests -- D1 reported she and Joey and their men will partake as well, after the garden, nap schedule permitting.

Also tonight, since I am, like the coffee mug I almost bought says, "An Absolute Fucking Delight," I set up a 630 Zoom with Wifey's BFF Edna and her man Marc. I know Wifey savors her friend, and wants to ring out the old, ring in the new with her. So we'll toast and then it'll be on the road to the Grove.

I don't think there is any more to analyze than the fact that there is absolutely no place in the entire world I would rather be than in Miami tonight, and for the coming year.

And, to be truthful to mine own self, I am one extremely blessed, lucky, and overweight Daddy in the USA. Here's to a fine 2023 and all it holds.

Eating My Way Out of 2022

 So the Plague was great for my weight loss. Anxiety about having a newborn grandson with all the unknowns about Covid caused me to walk - a lot. I walked my hood 10 miles most days, and my appetite was limited. Turns out that D1, my Dietitian daughter, is right: eating much less and moving much more leads to weight loss. Who knew?

Well, I kept up with exercise and walking, though not nearly as much. Now most days I try to get to 7000 steps -- about 3 miles. And my appetite, now that I no longer fear awful things happening to BOTH grandsons -- has returned -- to college boy-like proportions. And now I really need to lose a good 50 lbs.

My annual doc visit showed, amazingly, good blood numbers and no high blood pressure. And my twice weekly workouts have kept me somewhat flexible and mobile. But I know the weight has to go -- I don't mind zaftig Dave, but don't want no athletic ability offensive lineman Dave.

So like the immediate world, I plan to start 2023 with more normal eating -- and not the carbs I so love via bread and pizza.

But, alas, the Fates conspired against me these final days of the year. Tuesday night, Barry and Donna came to Miami, on account of the cancellation of their boy Scott's flight, and we went heavy at Cafe Catula -- a local Spanish place.

We had plans for Joe's last night, via Norman's connection that turns the normal 2 hour wait for a table to 10 minutes. And then Eric called -- he and Dana decided to go to Key Largo for Eric's birthday -- would Wifey and I meet for lunch in South Miami on their way? Of course -- so that turned into Cafe Pastis for delicious French inspired sandwiches and pea soup.

And then last night we went HARD at Joe's -- eating jumbo claws and hash browns and creamed spinach and Hawaiian fried shrimp and bread pudding and key lime pie. Oh yeah -- they brought 2 very healthy Ketel martinis, as well.

We had an awesome time. A very large Black man sat next to us, with a very pretty wife and two nerdy looking friends -- one Spike Lee like, and the other an older gent with a beret. I asked the waiter who they were -- at first he said nothing, but after they left said it was Lennox Lewis and his beauty queen wife.

I have little doubt other celebs were there, too -- this is Joe's in December. We had a memorable night -- that will do it for me for another year or so, though.

Tomorrow Kenny and Joelle's son Adam is cooking for NYE. I'm bringing some nice wine and reinforcement of Stoli Elit. 

Since D2 and Jonathan are spending the night, there WILL be fresh bagels and lox on NY Day. And then -- new year, new Dave appetite wise.

The goal is to go from offensive lineman to linebacker, and then maybe normal sized 61 year old non athlete guy. We'll see.

Regardless, I ask the Big Man for a year of great health to those near and dear to me -- and just a little pain -- the kind you get in the belly from laughing too hard. And maybe that belly can shrink a bit.

A Walk Back In Time

 So yesterday I had my annual skin cancer check with Dr. McDreamy, also known as Jeremy Green. For years I saw an old guy at Baptist, while Wifey and the Ds saw Dr. Green, openly admitting to having huge crushes on him -- boyishly handsome, unfailingly sweet -- oh yeah -- and fellowship trained in prestigious programs.

I scoffed, until I realized my old guy missed a lesion what turned out to be a basal cell, and I went to Dr. Green. Turned out I ended up with the biggest crush on him of all. Most of his patients are women, and not at all interested in football. Like me, he's a HUGE Canes fan -- born and raised -- his Dad is the now retired Chief of Neurosurgery at UM, and though Jeremy never attended the school -- he bleeds green and orange. We talked and talked about then new coach Manny Diaz, until his PA politely reminded him he had other patients. So I really dig him.

He sees my whole family, and is particularly vigilant about Jonathan, who is a fair skinned redhead who is most at risk for skin stuff. He always reminds me to remind Jonathan he wants him in a few times per year.

Anyway, he examined me after we exchanged hugs, and caught up about his kids and parents. I pointed to my far too enormous belly and told him I was preparing to help new Canes coach Cristobal on the offensive line this season. "You always look great, David," he lied. Did I mention how charming he was.

Fortunately, there were no lesions to cut off and biopsy, and I left happy about that. I was going to head to Brickell, but the day was impossibly beautiful -- finally warmed up and sunny after a gray, cold few days with London-like drizzle.

Instead, I drove to the University, and parked over by the Lowe Museum. I strolled around -- a lot -- and took in how gorgeous the place was. They finally build the Frost Institute, a $400M center for STEM teaching and research. Phil and Patricia, local billionaires, have no kids. Why can't I be their nephew, I thought to myself?

I purposefully avoided the Law School, and walked to the Gifford Arboretum -- with a Starbucks coffee I had bought in the Student Union. Classes were out for Winter Break, and so the campus was pretty quiet -- just several sets of parents and young kids taking tours.

I sat on a bench among the exotic trees, and an older woman came by -- she was a caretaker and Biology professor -- did I have any questions? I did not, but we chatted about my time as a Bio major there, from '79-81. Did she know my Botany professor, humorously named Dr. Margaret Mustard? Not personally, but she knew OF her. Satisfied that I wasn't a tree vandal, the caretaker said goodbye and walked away.

I strolled past my freshman dorm, the 1968 complex, now a rubble pile. They demolished the two 11 story buildings, and are getting ready to demolish their 960 complex twins, to make way for Centennial Village -- a new complex of dorms and faculty residences -- to be completed by the time UM turns 100 -- in 2025.

I sat for a good long while, recalling the amazing times over my 7 years as a student there. I also taught -- 4 classes, and sat of a couple of Boards for the Arts and Sciences College, which taught me I'm not the kind of guy who does well sitting on Boards.

At around 2, it occurred to me that I was hungry, and decided to cap the day with lunch at Titanic. I sat at a table reading articles on my phone, and a friendly Midwestern family was next to me -- a pretty blonde teen girl and her parents. The Mom said "Excuse me, don't mean to bother you, but are you a professor at UM?" I laughed, and said now, but then chatted with them for a good half hour about my experiences there, over the past 42 years.

They were from a suburb of Minneapolis, and the girl was going to study Marine Science. I told her that to this day, the most brilliant woman I ever met was named Claire, and she was from Roseville, Mn. I left out the part that Claire died very young -- in her later 30s, apparently, in California.

The Dad owned a business there, and asked me a great question -- what was the single best thing about going to school here. I answered that I have amazing friends in my life -- really more brothers and sisters than friends -- and the great majority of them are connected in some say to the University of Miami. I told him most of us still tailgate together as faithfully as the religious attend church.

And as I said goodbye and headed home, I realized that was the main thing.

On The Occasion of Wifey's Birthday

 So two thousand and fifty something years ago, in what is today Israel, a guy was born who became a really big deal. His mother was Mary, and his father was supposedly the Big Man, and this was the only time the Big Man had fathered a child, immaculately, of course, like Franco Harris's famous TD reception 50 years ago. RIP Franco.

But in our family, we celebrate a more modern birth in what WAS Israel, Haifa to be precise, where to two damaged but somehow optimistic Holocaust Survivors, a precious blue eyed baby girl was born, who would, just over 30 years later, become known as Wifey.

And so we celebrate Wifeymas -- the birth of, as my friend Jeff noted, our personal lord and savior.

I met Wifey in September of 1983, as I was starting law school. I was living with Eric, who was starting med school, and she was the girl upstairs. It's funny -- I met Mike and Jeff and Norman the same month and year -- all three remain very dear friends. Must have been something astrological.

We started dating, and I recall her birthday of December 25, 1983 for her absence. A week or so before, we went to dinner at the Chart House in the Grove, and I told her excitedly that during our upcoming break -- early January, I was going to Wisconsin. Back then,  UM Law had a strange schedule -- exams after Christmas, and THEN a week long break. This was because the Dean before we started, Soia Mentshcikoff, wanted to separate the law school from the rest of what was then known as SunTan U, and I guess she figured giving the school a weird schedule would help. Ironically, the academic reputation of the rest of UM has soared since then, while the law school's has stumbled. The best laid plans..

Anyway, Mike had invited me to go with him and another friend Dave to Northern Wisconsin, where his family had a vacation home, to go snowmobiling. I had never been, and was very excited. But Wifey had assumed I would finally have time to spend with her, and when I told her I was fleeing, she wrote me the first of two Dear Dave letters and broke up with me.

Happily, by her next birthday, December 25, 1984, we were a couple, and have celebrated her day together ever since. Wow -- that's creeping close to 4 decades.

When I asked her to marry me, in the Spring of 1986, I told her I wished us to build a foundation together of a life. Boy -- did we! Our precious Ds, and later their wonderful men, 2 grandsons, and a variety of dogs of all shapes and sizes. We have been blessed in so many ways, beyond and dreams we would have dared dream back in the 80s.

A lot of it has to do with our shared values, and yet diverging beliefs. We're both solidly proud Ashkenazi Jews, with roots in Eastern Europe, and yet over the years my belief in the Big Man has strengthened greatly while Wifey's has waned. She calls herself a terrified agnostic, but as Kenny pointed out during our recent trip to France -- that's not really a belief -- pick a team -- either believe, or not.

It's funny -- there's been a divergence with the Ds, too -- D1 has become a more observant Jew, while D2 tends to the Secular Humanist thing. I wonder if that will change should she and Jonathan be blessed with human child or children to go along with their beloved enormous dog Betsy.

Either way -- I hope to experience it with Wifey.

It's funny, though -- she put on a PBS special the other night -- all about "Fiddler on the Roof." I already knew all about that play -- from early memories of my Dad singing "If I Were a Rich Man" in our living room on Long Island, through scholarly writings about it.

And still, it resonates. We like to think we stand on solid ground, and yet our lives are indeed precarious -- like a fiddler trying to keep his footing on a roof.

January 15 will mark an anniversary far less festive than Wifey's birthday -- it was the day she suffered a stroke. I was in total fear that day -- of losing her, of losing the life we had together, of her being awfully incapacitated.

I dealt with it by acting the way I do -- circling the wagons, with Team Wifey, with my three brilliant doctor friends Eric, Barry, and Kenny -- leaning on them about all of the medical decisions, as well as the emotional support of brothers. 

And although I always dug Kenny's wife Joelle, the weeks where Wifey was away in rehab, I saw a side of Joelle I hadn't before. All of my friends offered their company -- Joelle DEMANDED it. I didn't even realize I was lonely -- and Joelle would say, in her scary law professor way, "You WILL join us for dinner tonight at 6." And I did, and it hit me again that one can go through this life without friends, but I don't truly see how.

We're spending NYE with Kenny and Joelle and their visiting grad school son Adam. I have no doubt I'll get teary eyed after a few drinks and thank her again.

Anyway, after Wifey was discharged from the gorgeous new JMH rehab, after daily visits from too busy Dr. Barry, and the Ds there every day, I realized she would indeed recover -- nearly completely. And she has.

I'm reminded of the lyrics of Greg Allman, in "Ain't Wasting Time No More," in which he sings that with the help of "G-d, and two friends," he can do it all. In my case, it was, I am confident, the help of the Big Man and more than two friends.

But anyway -- back to Wifeymas. She's picked as her birthday venue Gianni's -- the restaurant in the Versace Mansion, a place she always wanted to visit. Jonathan, who shares my sense of humor, says he plans to order a bloody Mary, to commemorate what happened to Versace on the steps there 25 years ago. Hopefully there are no untoward experiences for us.

South Beach is a bear of a place to visit, especially during Xmas week, but the place is truly special to us. On the beach across from where we'll be, I asked Wifey to marry me, before we walked to the Cardozo for a shared drink -- probably a Kuhlua and Cream -- what we drank in those days.

For our 10th anniversary, in January of 1997, we left my nephew of another brother Scott's bris, dropped the Ds at Century Village, and drove to the Betsy Ross Hotel for our anniversary weekend.

And in February of 2020, right before the Plague hit, D2 and Jonathan were married at the now named Betsy Hotel, in a ceremony surrealistically beautiful.

Also, my Dad LOVED South Beach -- some of my happiest memories with him were of Winter and Spring Breaks where we would come for a week or so, staying in either the Ocean Haven or Seacrest Hotels, in an area now called SoFi (South of Fifth Street). He would check in to the room, put on his bathing suit, and head right towards the ocean, breathing in a huge breath of what he called the best air in the world.

So we're headed later to a venue DRIPPING with spirit of place.

And we shall celebrate a birthday whose number cannot be named, not even in references to a song and show about a highway that connects Chicago to LA and how one gets their kicks there.

Happy birthday, Wifey. Here's to a whole bunch more!

Remembrance Of Things Past

 For Proust it was madelines that triggered memory. For me, it was martinis and steak.

Yesterday Stu hosted his holiday party at a NY transplanted steakhouse called Dirty French -- located in the spot that housed Morton's on Brickell for decades. Morton's was one of our go-to steak places back in the day -- I recalled a dinner with Wifey, Mike, and Loni where I was in the men's room next to a muscular but very short man -- it was Sylvester Stallone!

Morton's grew tired over the years. The last time I visited, I took the Ds -- D1 was living a few blocks away off Brickell, and we three had a lovely early dinner, but the carpet and furnishings were all the originals -- and they looked it. As rents rose, Morton's couldn't keep up, and now a much cooler, flashier, but still delicious steakhouse is in its place. I plan to return.

Paul came with Stu, from Aventura. I met Carla and Amanda, and Stu's young lawyer Josh came, too. Later we were joined by Stu's childhood friend Susan, a pediatrician who took the Bright Line from Boca to see her girl Jayde, a young lawyer living on Brickell. Stu fixed Susan up with Steve, his Emory Law classmate and good friend, and the two have been married decades now.

But when Paul entered, one memory of poignancy came back -- this was also after 2 Ketel martinis.

It was 2001, and Paul and I prosecuted a case with our old boss Ed. It involved a fire where a young girl got burned up in Broward, and Ed did liability while we did damages. It was one of our contrived specials -- we sued because the smoke detector in the cheap apartment didn't work -- there was always a major issue in those cases whether the early warning would have made a difference.

In that case, we at least convinced the insurance carrier that it would have, and they paid us millions of dollars. The clients and the little girl came to our office to sign the papers. Thankfully, the girl was doing well -- the burns were on her arms and legs, and though she had a long road to recovery, she would be ok.

As I drove up US 1 on the way to the meeting, Wifey called me in the car. "I sure am glad your office is on the ground floor. It's all over the news that an airplane crashed into the World Trade Center."

Of course, it was 9/11, and as we finished our meeting with the clients, the small black and white TV in the office showed the second tower collapsing -- as we learned about the Pentagon, and crash in Pennsylvania.

The clients left, we told the staff to go home, and Ed, Paul, and I made sure our families were safe. All were -- Wifey had fetched the Ds from school, and all were home watching the news.

Ed, always the gourmand, said "Well -- we might as well go have a civilized lunch, as civilization is in peril," and we went over to Morton's.

We sat in the bar watching CNN, and drinking martinis. It was surreal. But we toasted defeating the bastards who did it. We had no idea it would take years before President Obama finally had the SEALS put a bullet in Bin Ladin's eye.

Wow. Had 21 plus years really gone by? They indeed had. Paul and I now have 6 grandkids between us. Ed is still alive -- retired and living up in West Palm -- at or right near 90.

So much has changed, but luckily the important things haven't -- those sacred and close to me have largely remained the same -- with the slight exception of, for example, the premature death of our sister Elizabeth, and a couple of friends who are now former friends.

And today is Xmas Eve, and Chanukah night #7. Wifey's friends Maureen and Diane are taking her to the Falls to see a movie for her birthday. I just assembled the new fire pit and plan to put it to use for the record cold expected tonight.

Young Josh, my nephew of another brother, called -- he finished a run in the Grove and was headed to breakfast there. Did I have plans later? I did not -- so he'll stop by for some TV football.

So the steak and martinis acted like Proust's biscuits. Funny how the mind works.

Whose Streets These Are I Think I Know...They're All Owned By The Village, Though

 So as I read about awful winter conditions in much of the US, and a liklihood of a rare white Christmas in my ancestral home of Long Island, here it's a warm, drizzly Miami day. I began my constitutional in a bare mist, but alas the skies opened a bit, and I cut my route short in the London-like drizzle.

Still, the rain is apparently a front coming through -- the first real cold one of the year. Supposably as we say in Miami, temps will dip into the high 40s this weekend. Ah -- for me that means firepit weather.

I joke that my cheap Target firepit was one of my favorite possessions. But at the end of last chilly season, Wifey decreed it had to go -- on account of it was nearly rusted through, and looked more appropriate for Sanford and Son's junkyard than our lovely patio. So she bought another one, and it's sat in its box for months in the garage -- I need to overcome my lazy inertia, I guess, and bring it to its spot and maybe even gasp! assemble it.

I would have just kept the old one, but this is consistent with a talk I had with Mike at Fox's the other night. It seems to me as my male friends and I get older, we tend to like to keep things the way they are. The women? Exactly the opposite -- especially those who no longer work or have kids to mind. Many of them WANT A CHANGE -- not sure what -- BUT  A CHANGE! Mike says he's not sure Loni will even return from their vacation house in NC after New Year's -- so it's true in his house as well.

Meanwhile, Wifey is headed up to D1's today, to help watch the boys so D1 can get some stuff done. The little marshmallow man is sick with one of the many URIs going around -- affecting essentially everyone we know. D2 got it, too, from Jonathan, who picked it up in Atlanta.

Wifey's birthday lunch is Xmas -- this Sunday. Hopefully everyone is sufficiently recovered by then -- otherwise Wifey's birthday celebration will be delayed until further notice.

Her friends Maureen and Diane are taking her out to a movie Xmas Eve -- Diane celebrates Christmas, but is going full gringa and only doing the Christmas Day thing -- not Noche Buena like much of Miami.

I plan to watch football on Wifey Birthday Eve, and then hopefully make the trip to South Beach for her birthday lunch.

Keeping with the holiday spirit, Stu is hosting his firm luncheon today, and I'm attending. He's doing it at a new steakhouse I've been wanting to try --Dirty French. He's doing it at noon, which is truly breakfast time for him, but we can rally and have a few martinis despite the early hour.

Hopefully the rain clears. And we glide easily into 2023. For I have miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.

Generational Adult Beverages

 So Wifey was pressed into service up in Shorecrest, to help with the large toddler and marshmallow little brother, and Mike mentioned Amanda was in town and they were headed to Canes/UVA basketball game that evening.

I sent a text to them, including brother Chris -- how about we meet at Fox's for a pregame drink or several? I also invited D2, as she and Amanda are literally lifelong friends, and Jonathan. D2 had to work, and Jonathan was under the weather, and so they begged off.

I Ubered to Fox's, and Mike and Amanda were just pulling up. I adore that girl -- always have. She lives in LA following school at USC, and has a great job and great boyfriend who I have openly pressured to "put a ring on it." I believe it will happen soon.

Anyway, we sat down at the newly renovated classic place. Mike's Dad Ed, my mentor, bought me my first martini there -- probably around 1984, "This fucking big" he said as he held his hands nearly a foot apart. He asked if I was a gin or vodka man. I was neither -- I drank beer and college type stuff -- wasn't a martini like William Holden movie sort of thing? Ed was a vodka guy, and so I became one, too.

Chris showed up, and as we were ordering, the bartender said of Chris, "Oh I know what HE wants." What? Chris had become a regular? Sort of, he admitted -- he stops in a few times per month on his way home. The fact that the grandson of a wonderful Fox's regular is now one himself warmed me.

We also ordered reubens, and thumb bits, which are their famous tenderloin tips on French bread. Amanda had a salad. Mike got the frogs' legs -- an old favorite, which I have never, nor plan to ever, try.

It was a glorious night -- we tried to recruit Norman to come, pre game, but he had plans with his nephew and grand nephew.

We talked of times, past and yet to come. Amanda and Mike left for the game -- Amanda sent us a photo of her Dad having "2nd Dinner," as they provide food in the Hurricane 100 Club before ACC games -- and the Canes upset #6 UVA, or the Grapes, as we call them.

Chris drove me home, and I bored him with early tales of his parents and Wifey and me. He's a great sport about hearing those things over and over.

Meanwhile, earlier in the day, there was a meeting about a legal dispute, and I learned our opponent thought I wasn't Jewish and indeed said anti-semitic things in an email that I inadvertently forwarded to him. I found this hilarious.

Yes, African Americans can freely use the N word, and when I'm with fellow Chosens, I tend to use spicy, Yiddishisms. Wow. Dave the anti-semite -- that's the best Chanukah gift I ever received.

Meanwhile, Xmas draws nearer, which for us means Wifey's birthday. We confirmed lunch at the former Versace mansion -- the gorgeous, mini Versailles he built for himself where he lived until the nut case killed him on the front steps. Hopefully we have a better day than the former owner did.

It's indeed that most wonderful time of the year. Welcoming friends from across the country, planning celebratory meals, and being told I'm a hater of my own people. It's as good as it gets.

Well THAT Went By Fast

 Today is our grandson's third birthday! And boy did those three years fly by.

Coincidentally, I read an article in the Huff Post just this am about why time flies when we're old but seems to drag when we're young. The obvious answer is that a year to a 10 year old is a huge part of her life, while a year to an 80 year old is a fraction. But it goes further -- our brains process changes, and the older we are, the less new stuff we do or take on. So while my grandson, for example, might meet new friends in school weekly, and have soccer games, my routine is pretty stable -- so there are fewer "brain changes" for me.

I remember the day well, of course. D1 called about 3 am -- her water had broken, and her wonderful doc, Yasin, told her to rush over, since there had been some meconium. I called Dr. Barry, and left out the meconium part, and so he said we might well be in for a long slog -- but when he learned about the "distress," he bumped up to Defcon -- he would meet us at his hospital.

We saw D1, all fully pregnant and ready to go, and shortly afterwards Joey came out beaming -- telling Wifey and his parents that the baby and D1 were fine! I thanked the Big Man, of course.

I didn't realize they had changed stuff over the years -- and no more nursery. So we went to D1's room and met our grandson. He was so beautiful. My thoughts went back in time, to something I don't recall, but experienced: how my beloved Dad must have felt in July of 1961 when he was handed a much smaller newborn, me, for the first time.

Of course, Barry was there, making sure D1 got VIP treatment, and then one of his colleagues came in, a tall surfer dude looking fellow, and checked out the baby -- to Joey's horror. He thought the doc was rough with him -- but Barry explained newborns are much tougher than you think. Hell -- in ancient China, I told Joey, recalling a Bill Cosby routine, the baby gets born into the rice paddy and immediately starts picking rice along with the mother.

They were golden days -- still are. On Christmas Eve Day, the little man showed up at my consuegros' house for his Bris. Eric and Barry, recalling my previous experience with vaso-vagal response, stood behind me in case I went down. Ha. No problem at all -- I did my baby holding part well, though Ricardo was the Sendak -- the ceremonial holder of the baby during the Bris. I got that job for Jaco's baby brother a few years later.

So the little man went for a bike ride on his beloved Papa's bike, and we got photos of him by Biscayne Bay. To me, that means he is with the spirit of his greatgrandparents Hy and Sunny. Indeed his middle name is after my Dad.

He also got soccer practice, and then a chill day. Tomorrow we all gather at a soccer place in Aventura for his party. I have already acquitted my task: getting beer and water and wine for the parents.

The party takes place during the World Cup Final, which I can't care less about, but there will be some very excited South Americans, I have zero doubt. I assume they're pulling for Argentina over France. I have zero rooting interest.

Tomorrow is also the first night of Chanukah. Wifey and I will find some latkes somewhere, and turn on the electric menorah we've had for decades. Alas, it will finally be retired after this season -- the small bits of rust have now spread, and the poor thing looks like it's been on a ship at sea.

Next Sunday, is of course, a huge worldwide holiday -- celebrating the birth of a sacred person in Israel many years ago. Oh year -- it's Xmas, too.

As for us, we have Wifeymas, and per her request, D1 scored some reservations at Gianni, a restaurant at the former Versace mansion. We've never been there, and it's been on Wifey's list, and so we shall go.

I am positively, 100% prohibited from mentioning her age -- not even allowed to say that this year she can get her kicks on a certain road that runs from Chicago to LA.

 But first we have a grandson's birthday to celebrate! Willie Nelson noted how it's funny how time slips away. Indeed -- but for this moment, we celebrate the magical boy who has brought so much joy into our lives.

Got a Call From An Old Friend, We Used To Be Real Close

 So I caught up with my friend Steve the other day, after a radio silence of a few months. He's now retired as a Miami Dade cop, on account of a crippling neurological condition -- still not definitively diagnosed.

He played football through early college, and was a local star in high school, and at first it seemed he had chronic traumatic encephalopathy -- the condition many ex football players get from repeated concussions. It seemed he also had an overlay of clinical depression.

But last time we spoke, he asked me if I knew what Lewy Body Disease was -- apparently a neurologist thinks his signs and symptoms point to that. Sadly, I did know, on account of Robin Williams -- it's a very fast moving sort of dementia -- Alzheimers on speed, I read one doctor call it. It can only be confirmed on autopsy -- I sure hope the person who thinks he has that is wrong.

I saw Steve in a Homestead nursing home -- one that specializes in younger patients with cognitive issues. I've been in worse places, but it was still depressing. I noticed a long line at the hair salon on premises. I learned it's because none of the residents are allowed to have any scissors or razors of any type, lest they be used for suicide or homicide. Caramba.

But Steve made it home -- with full time aides during the day, and his longtime girlfriend watching him at night. Fortunately, he has plenty of money, even though he divorced years ago. He always worked off dury like a banshee, and built up a retirement account equal to many doctors and lawyers I know. He also owns his house outright, which, in crazy priced Miami, is now worth likely $1.5M.

So with millions at stake, of course there are issues. He has a grown daughter who he raised, and one about the same age that he learned about years after his, well, little adventure with her hotel manager mother. Sadly, he's estranged from both of his daughters.

Years ago, I referred Steve to my friend who is a financial guy, and that friend, along with Steve's brother, has been managing his finances. Now, apparently, he is planning to marry his long time girlfriend. I had thought Steve was put into a guardianship, but I was mistaken -- so he is free to marry, and change finances, etc.

I think he plans to disinherit his daughters, and leave everything to his soon to be wife. It's an age-old story.

Wifey totally gets it, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I die first, and the Ds don't visit and take care of her, "They get nothing!" I asked about potentially innocent grandkids. Wifey paused -- well, maybe THEY would get her inheritance.

I told her about Shaq, and his recent pronouncement that he was financially cutting off his son, who he sent through college and was now just sort of drifting along. The son protested -- what about the family wealth? Shaq said: "WE ain't rich. I'M rich. You done, lazy ass."

Steve's money questions may well become moot, if he lives a long time. The cost for private attendant care has a way of whittling down even 7 figure investment accounts sooner than later.

As for me, if Wifey departs this mortal coil first, I can't imagine anything my Ds could do that would make me disinherit them. I wouldn't WANT them to become my caretaker -- that's a job that would be handled by a gorgeous if not necessarily well trained Latina nurse. I mean, ya gotta have SOMETHING to look forward to, right? Not that I am doing any advanced planning in that regard...

My friend Stu and I talked about it last night. He called while I was walking the enormous puppy Betsy, staying here with D2 and Jonathan visit Atlanta for a wedding. Stu's take is that if his kids didn't talk to him, it would probably be HIS fault. Luckily, he is quite close with his young entrepreneur son and high school senior daughter.

Stu also said that if money was what made one happy -- he could never truly be happy. That had to come from your life's loves -- and your own appreciation of each day you're above ground, or not a sack of cremains (there's one of my favorite words again!).

Anyway, I plan to go visit Steve later this am. The visits aren't enjoyable -- he rambles on, repeating himself a lot. Worse, the fun memories we share are largely lost to him.

He and I used to bring out the adolescents in each other. One year, at Halloween, we realized we couldn't stand the same lady -- we knew her from the JCC. Rumor has it that two 30 something men actually egged her house. Assuming Steve was involved, he likely no longer recalls that absurd thing.

And that's the tragedy -- far more important than his money and where it goes. We truly collect experiences and turn them into memories. If those get stolen -- well -- that is awful.

Still Not Out of The Plague Woods

 March 13, 2020 was the day Wifey and I entered Covid lockdown. I remember being at a pizza place with Stuart and Allison, and hearing on the way home that crap got real. We began a long slog of keeping people out of the house, and only greeting people outside. When I took walks, neighbors and I would pass each other with a comically wide berth. I recalled this the other day as I walked with neighbor Evan, who is a Seinfeldian "close talker" and kept literally getting in my face as he told me things. During the early days --no way.

The side benefit is my anxiety took away my appetite, and caused me to walk 15-20 miles per day. D1 and Joey had a newborn, which was the source of my fears -- this was before it was confirmed that Covid was indeed Boomer Remover, and really the only ones dying in large numbers are the olds. Hell -- once you live past 65 -- you've LIVED, or hopefully have --no tragedy when you leave. But a newborn???

Turns out, eating less and exercising more really does work at weight loss. I dropped a good 30 pounds. As the anxiety lessened over the past years, my appetite has returned to college boy levels, along with the pounds. But I keep moving, and so for now have adopted the fat but healthy philosophy. 

Well, even though we've all been jabbed like pincushions, the damned thing is still around. Fortunately it's evolved, for most, into more an annoyance than life threatening disease.

Dr. Barry texted yesterday that the low level transmission lever we've enjoyed has bumped up -- which means suggested masks indoors again. D2 and Jonathan are leaving tomorrow for a wedding in Atlanta, and their host friend Ashley has Covid -- probably got it at her baby shower the prior weekend. The good news is that she'll recover before she gives birth to an antibodied baby! But D2 and Jonathan are now staying with other friends -- Cath and Jacob -- assuming they don't test positive, too. And the overarching hope is the wedding doesn't become a superspreader event.

Closer to home, Wifey's had nasty cold symptoms all week. She's getting better, and pre plague days, we'd have thought nothing of it. But our toddler grandson's 3 year old soccer party is this weekend, and so now I must employ strategy. I plan to give her an at home test today -- hopefully she's negative. If she comes back with the virus -- no party for her -- and I, asymtomatic, will test Sunday am before I even think about attending.

And the party needs me! D1 has tasked me with bringing water, beer, and wine, so we grownups can enjoy watching the little ones play soccer!

So -- given vaccines and prior exposure, the fear of the early days is gone, thankfully, but the strategy remains. Wifey still has a major travel bug, and may plan to go away with friends. With the current state, you have to hope you avoid catching the virus before and during the trip -- lest you get stranded in some airport hotel until you're safe to be around fellow passengers in the sealed metal tube that flies 8 miles high, as the great Byrds song goes.

Happy to be past the early days, but would love having to wait for the other covid shoe to drop. It'll be a relief when we can return to wondering about what OTHER ways we can die -- like the good old days before the plague.

Noisy Neighbors

 Last night, after a long, hot shower, I decided to go onto our bedroom's terrace and enjoy the cool air. I did that a lot during the height of the plague -- just enjoying the night air and asking the Big Man to get us through the worst of the pandemic. He did.

We live on an acre lot, and typically it is very quiet at night, but last night there was a voice from next door, carrying over, in a decidedly Brooklyn accent. It was our next door neighbor Carrie, who occasionally goes outside at night to have phone conversations, in a decidedly outside voice. We rarely hear her, but I guess last night the conditions were just right for voice travel. After a few minutes she went inside, and it brought me memories of far worse noisy neighbors from Wifey and my years together.

In 1985 we moved in together, to a one bedroom/one bath apartment near Dadeland Mall, in a complex called Les Chalet. It got its name from the newer buildings in the rear, which were sort of French chalet style. But the older buildings in the front were typical late 60s Miami suburban architecture.

I had moved there in 1983 with Eric -- he was starting medical school, and I law school. I met Wifey there, and a one bedroom opened up and the rent, about $450 per month, was very affordable. Plus, you could cut across a field to the Metrorail station, which I did often, to get to my clerkship jobs Downtown.

Anyway, our upstairs neighbors were a very good looking couple from Jamaica. The man always wore a beautiful suit, and the woman the same -- they were business people. When you met them during the day, they were well spoken, classy, and charming. But at night, they would have violent, yelling fights often followed by loud sex.

The soft spoken man's voice would become like a yelling Eddie Murphy -- and you'd hear dishes being broken, and furniture turned over. The first time I heard it, I went upstairs and knocked on the door, thinking maybe they were being attacked. Nope -- just the two of them, and the woman offered a contrite "Sorry." But the violent noises would continue -- a few nights per week.

One time my Mom came to stay for a few days. Wifey was a sound sleeper, who had a very early job and slept through anything. I guess I got used to it, but during one session I went to the living room sleeper sofa. Mom was bolt upright: "David -- how can you TAKE this?" I told her I got used to it.

I resorted to leaving notes on the door saying they ought to feel ashamed at their behavior. Nothing worked -- the management just sort of shrugged their corporate shoulders, and told me to call Metro police.

And then, happily, they moved out -- replaced by a quiet couple. Wifey and I moved out when we bought our first house, in September of '86.

Our second house was on 1/3 of an acre, and surrounded by quiet neighbors, though we learned after D1 was born that right next door was an infamous family -- the Finjes. They were from Curacao -- a Dutch accented couple and teen daughter. One day my friend Jose, who later stole from my firm and was disbarred for stealing from clients, came over to watch a Fins game with Mike and me. His firm represented the Finjes -- everyone had heard that the teen son had been arrested for molesting toddlers in a church daycare. Jose said they lived there -- 30 feet from my little girl toddler's window!

No -- I told Jose he was mistaken -- no teen boy lived there. He explained it was because he was in JAIL awaiting trial! Sure enough, the following month the trial took place, and Bobby was acquitted, but the jury sent a note to SA Janet Reno that they thought Bobby HAD done something wrong -- and even though they saw reasonable doubt, "the state should keep an eye on him." Stupid F ing jurors.

I told Wifey we'd be moving -- and sure enough, the next day our block was choked with TV trucks and helicopters overhead.

Luckily -- the family high tailed it out -- back to Curacao, or maybe Holland. I guess Bobby didn't just want to go back to Killian High given what had happened.

Then came Andrew, and we moved out until 1994, and our friend Arnold bought the house behind us and to the side, to sell it for a profit. He did -- to Jamie, a Chilean Jewish guy and his family. They loved to party.

It was nice at first -- Wifey and I would put D1 and D2 to bed, and go dance salsa from their loud sound system. But when the parties extended to the wee hours, and D1 couldn't sleep, it wasn't so nice.

I went over one Monday morning, around 3, and asked Jamie to turn it down. He laughed at me -- told me gringos were too uptight, and invited me in. No -- I had to be in Court in a few hours -- please turn down the music. Again -- nothing worked.

One Saturday night the party went until Sunday at 3am. I was up early anyway, probably at 8. I went over and banged on the door loudly until a sleeping Jamie came to answer. "David -- it's 8 am!" I invited him to go to coffee, in my cheerful American way. He declined -- I think the parties got a little quieter after that, and they sold the house after a divorce. Another neighbor told me Jamie's wife decided to continue the partying with Jamie's cousin at another house one evening. I kind of felt happy to hear that.

So all of that had to do with my desire to have a larger, quieter property. I usually do -- Brooklyn Carrie an uncommon annoyance.

But it also tells me I can NEVER live in a condo. People are great -- from a distance.

Great Company; Clunker Restaurant

 So we hadn't seen Deb and Norman together for awhile, and last night we had a lovely reunion. We picked the new restaurant at a long loved venue -- the former Redfish Grille at Matheson Hammock, now called Noma.

We had gone several months back when it was run by Chef Adrienne, a local (Kendall) chef of some fame, and the place was mediocre -- so we figured it must have improved under this big shot chef from NYC and Italy, Donatella Something or Other (not Versace). Nope.

The place is beautiful -- right on the gorgeous, WPA built atoll where the Ds spent a lot of their childhoods swimming under the watchful eye of my in laws. Before he moved to Pembroke Pines, Richard would go there daily for long swims, and when D1 came along, he insisted on bringing her there several times a week because she needed "Good air," which he said in his heavy accent.

We ordered cocktails, which were meh, and the handsome Serbian waiter was comically distracted. Deb wanted apps so she wouldn't have her gin on an empty stomach, and the fellow walked away before we could order them. He did that several times. But Wifey was excited -- supposedly they had a custom pizza oven, and she wanted that.

When we ordered, the waiter said "No pizza today -- ran out of dough yesterday. Didn't I mention that?" He had not, and so Wifey settled on grilled calimari, which was rubbery.

The pasta was mushy, and my chicken with a sausage sauce was barely lukewarm. Deb asked if the chocolate cake was flourless. The waiter said it was -- it was not. We joked that we were lucky no one had a gluten issue.

I was particularly critical, since the prices were sky high. The bill for the 4 of us, with only 3 cocktails, was $440.

There are too many great restaurants in Miami to put up with that. We ain't going to Noma, well, no ma. I anticipate they'll have a new manager/chef there early in 2023. They may already be on life support -- it was a gorgeous Sunday evening, and the place was no more than 1/3 full. Hot new places in the 305 are typically packed for the first year -- took us months to get into The Key Club, a steakhouse in the Grove.

But -- the main focus of the evening was the company, and it was grand -- catching up about kids, and in our case, grandkids. 

Dr. Barry had mentioned he and Donna never visited Joe's. Norman has a contact there, and so we're trying to set that up in the coming weeks.

That will be an evening with great company AND great food -- expensive, but worth it.

The Original Fun Couple

 So Wifey and I were flattered -- our young, hip D2 and husband actually WANTED to meet us for dinner! They picked Nave in the Grove, and Wifey and I pulled up to see D2 waiting (she had Ubered from the Beach) being hugged by a large Sicilian man. It was our old friend Joel, with his Leslie Mann-like wonderful wife Courtney. They had a cocktail and were headed back to Ransom to watch their soccer playing son take on Westminster Christian. We asked if they wished to meet up after our dinner/their game, and they did.

Jonathan drove up, and we sat outside. Wifey reminded us the venue, although different restaurant, was where D1 introduced us to Joey -- now probably 7 years ago. I was feeling festive, and treated myself to a Stoli Elit martini. And then we looked up to seen another of our favorites -- pretty Chelsea, dear friend, former roommate, and sorority sister of D1.

Chelsea got her doctorate in PT at NYU after UF, and now works with Dr. Barry at Holtz. He and I are huge fans of the lovely young professional. She was meeting some friends for drinks. Again, feeling festive, I walked to the bartender and gave them the AMEX -- round of drinks on the old Dad.

We feasted, and laughed, and caught up. We toasted our families. Jonathan's Irish twin brother Dan and lovely wife Melanie just moved back to Miami from a sabbatical in LA and Kansas City -- so now all of Jonathan's full siblings and one of two half siblings are all in town. My two sets of consuegros and Wifey and I are lucky so and sos...

After dinner, Joel and Courtney walked over, and we went to Taurus, a bar they preserved when they built a new building. Taurus is an old Grove fixture -- there since the early 60s -- my friends and I used to drink there in 1979!

It was crowded with a nice mix of people -- beautiful young ones, dressed from holiday parties, and a few old Groveite hippies -- even older than Wifey and me!

Joel talked...a lot...about his new business, and Jonathan listened...a lot. He and Courtney adore "The kids," and enjoy spending time with them. Courtney's best college friend Jessica is married to a pretty famous comedian I'll call Jerry, since that's his name, and we always get a vicarious kick out of hearing about their time together. Last year Jerry and Jessica and their kids rented a whole floor at the Bal Harbor Ritz for a month.

My fellow LI raised Jewish kid made a few shekels. I still think his creative partner Larry is much funnier...

I checked the time and it was near midnight! What??? D2 asked "Who ARE you people?" Wifey drove us home, and in a show how the worm has turned, D2 texted asking if we made it home ok.

So it was a fine Friday night. Tonight we're awaiting old friends Dave and Maureen -- bringing in food. If my arm is twisted, I'll make martinis, or pour wine. 

Gotta celebrate the days, and we're lucky to do it.

Fat But Healthy

 So today I had my yearly, very thorough physical, from Dr. Mary, who is about to retire. Boy am I old -- TWO of my family practitioners are now retired.

For years, we had Dr. Dave, who we met when our girls were in preschool together. Dave joined MDVIP, a concierge practice, and was kind enough to waive the yearly fees for us, in exchange for legal work I would perform for him. Eight years ago, he retired and sold his practice to Dr. Mary, who moved here from Houston for the gig. She gave us a free year of the service, and we continued on as paying patients, but a few years back, Wifey, on a money saving kick, decided it wasn't worth the cost, and she left the practice. I firmly believe in the adage that you don't fix what ain't broke, and so I stayed on.

Now a young fellow is taking over, and I have to decide whether or not to stay. My alternative is to switch to Dr. Adam, a friend of D1's since Middle School, who now practices with his Dad in the Gables. I'll see.

Anyway, one of the things MDVIP does is an EXTENSIVE blood test, which the doc goes over with you yearly. It measures things like cholesterol particle size. My brother Eric says a lot of the stuff is bullshit -- or at best in the early stages. And sure enough, they lost one of the 8 tubes of blood I gave -- the one they used for the basic CBC. Dr. Mary expects it to be normal, as all of the more esoteric markers were all fine. Still, Nurse Nancy drew another vial.

Dr. Mary also did an extensive neuro exam, and they did a breath strength test, which showed I was above average. I told them the test was unfair, as lawyers are so full of hot air we have an advantage over civilians. Dr. Mary complimented my mobility, balance, and strength.

But, alas, I am fat. Porcine, corpulent, zaftig. I was down to near normal weight during the first year of the pandemic, on account of anxiety. I was fearful that the plague might take my family, including the newborn grandson. And so my appetite was diminished, and I walked. A lot. Many days I got in 15-20 miles.

Well, I still walk, but now more like 3-4 miles a day, and the appetite came back with a college boy-like vengeance. Dr. Mary suggested the obvious -- wait until January to work on it. My numbers are fine, and I AM working out, and, well, I AM going to consume mass quantities over the holidays, ranging from latkes to NYE feasts. But come January I figure I WILL go for the gold -- like countless other saps who diet in the new year. Why not?

One of the things your MDVIP tuition gets you is LOTS of time with the doc, and Dr. Mary and I chatted for quite awhile. She has worked since she was 15, and is a bit fearful of retirement. I tried to calm her fears, as a semi retired guy -- I am NEVER bored. Somehow the days still fly by.

Also, she has a lot of catching up to do. She has grandkids in Texas and around the South west, and she has avoided travel lest she get Covid. She wasn't afraid of the effects, but as a sole practitioner, didn't want to have to close her office for weeks if she tested positive. So now comes grandkid time!

Meanwhile, this upcoming weekend will not lend itself to weight loss. D2 called earlier -- she knows I have Friday Zoom, but wondered whether Wifey and I were free for dinner with her and Jonathan. I told her time with them trumps, pardon the expression, and Zoom cocktails, and so we're meeting them tonight in the Grove.

Tomorrow night we're having the aforementioned Dr. Dave and Maureen over for dinner. I plan to bring in Platea, Peruvian prime beef and ceviche, which we have done before. It'll be great to catch up with them.

Sunday night is dinner with Deb and Norman -- at the latest iteration of our beloved Redfish Grill. Some new chef took over , and the weather promises to be perfect for dining on Biscayne Bay, where the Cuban gentlemen sleep all day...

Yes -- there is a conspiracy to keep me fat. Last night I had a wonderful dinner with Mirta, my sister of another mister, at Bulla. We shared a paella. I brought one home for Wifey, who devoured hers as well.

Why does food have to be so delicious?????

So I'll keep moving, and starting January, eating less. Happy '23.

We're The Young Generation, And We've Got Something To Say

 So yesterday I went to the office to check on the state of some files, and left with Don Henley's "First Laundry" playing in my head: "You don't really want to know how far it's gone.." I was being dramatic to myself -- turns out that different practitioners have different styles, is all, and probably the smarter ones who want to avoid stress take a more hands off approach.

But I had been invited for a cocktail with a young Turk mentee of mine, who I'll call Mike, since that's his name, and the day brightened. To show off my cred, I brushed off his suggestion we meet at old standby Trulucks, in favor of a new hip place opened by the Carbone guy named Dirty French Steakhouse. Well, my cred was off, as they open at 5, and we were meeting at 430, to give him time to make a meeting nearby at 6.

I called an audible and picked Drake's Bar, off the lobby of the JW Marriott. I had been to weddings at that hotel, and its restuarant, but never it's English Club-type watering hole. I loved it immediately -- joking with the Cubana barkeeper -- and then Mike and I caught up over martinis and beer. His wife is expecting their second child any day now -- she's a dear friend and former sorority sister of D1 -- and it was delightful.

Mike deals with life and career essentially the same way I did 30 years ago. He's in the chips big time lately, as his firm is kicking ass and taking names, but he realizes that the chips may roll away any year, and is therefore committed to living below their means. He grew up very middle class, in Broward, as did his wife, and so their current means are well above their childhood means -- but he keeps that sensibility. I shared with him tales of some of my cohort who made some shekels and lived like rock stars -- and then when the shekels slowed, dealt with that stress that comes from painting yourself into a materialistic corner.

He left for his work/social function, and I then did one of my favorite things: ate dinner alone at a bar. I also got a veggie burger to go for Wifey -- causing the barkeeper to ask if I had any brothers who might be available to marry. Ha -- no -- just WAY older sisters.

Today Juan had me do some kinds of movements that caused my legs to say "WTF?" and then I got a lovely text -- from Ellie. Ellie was one of the "little girls" we employed at our firm -- friends of our former secretary Norma's daughter Monica -- they were students at Braddock High, and we brought them in to help with filing and clerical duties. Two of them, Janet and Ellie, ended up staying for years -- through college and grad school, as our job allowed very flexible hours and a great environment.

Janet became a school psychologist/counseler, and now has boys the age she was when she started with us! Ellie went farther educationally -- got a doctorate -- and is now a school principal!!!!

She texted because her family needed a worker's comp lawyer, and I referred her to my friend Dave. But she sent pictures of her baby sons (or so I remembered) graduating college! And she told me she loves her career as a principal at a charter school. But wait, I thought -- she's only 16 -- how can she be CEO of a school?

Of course, the answer is the march of time...

I spoke to an old friend yesterday, who is a long time Broward County caseworker. She got her MSW a bit later in life, early 30s, and has worked over a quarter century for the County. She is miserable. "You're retired! Everyone I know is retired! I need to retire, too!" She hopes to do so, soon -- she shared that the money she spends on therapy to allow her to refrain from "going postal" is starting to equal the income she brings in.

It reminded me of a Brownie meeting I attended for D2 -- probably 26 years ago. One of the Moms was a long time Dade teacher. She went on and on about how much she hated it -- the decades of nasty students, worse parents, and incompetent administrators had taken their toll. She was about to join the DROP program and leave in 5 years. I remember thinking how bad I felt for her students -- stuck with an educator who was so over it all and bitter.

I also thought of her for another reason. She had planned to move away from "Dangerous South Florida" since her sister taught at a school out west. It was a far safer place. I hadn't heard the name until recently -- Moscow, Idaho. Of course, there was just a grisly multiple killing there. Wherever you go -- there you are.

But I guess the point is -- hang around younger folks. They're on the make. They want to effect change. And that is something to say.

Call From Down Under

 Ah, Wifey. Like many in her cohort -- women who have reached a certain age, she is restless. She loves being a grandmother, but as D1 points out, is no longer the "1997 version" of who she was as totally involved and devoted Mom -- balancing working 3 days per week with attendance at and driving to EVERY one of the Ds activities.

She wants to move from this house where I have found my xanadu, and when asked why, there are responses about no longer wanting to be "in the suburbs" or going closer to said grandkids, but when pressed she admits she "just wants a change."

The same thing goes for travel. We just returned from a wonderful trip to France, including land days and a luxury cruise, that all together cost easily more than my entire first year's salary as a lawyer, and she keeps talking about "the next trip."

Conversely, other than long weekend excursions, I ain't going nowhere over the ocean for at least a year -- maybe two. We'll work it out -- hopefully one or more of her friends will go with her, leaving me at peace with the dogs and quiet. We'll see.

Well her BFF Edna is far luckier than Wifey -- she has a husband who ALSO wants to travel -- a lot. Last night they called from a luxury cruise ship in the South Atlantic -- 16 days exploring stuff from Australia to New Zealand. It was cool -- the first time I ever spoke to someone from Down Under -- it was 8 pm Miami time and noon the next day there.

Unfortunately, the seas were rough,  and Edna was feeling it. They hung up in search of dramamine. Still -- it was terrific to hear from them -- and terrific for me that I did so from the place I wish to be -- home.

That said, I did see that Willie Nelson, somehow still alive, is playing Key West in March, at a great amphitheater where we saw John Fogarty with Joelle and Kenny last November. I told Wifey I ALWAYS want to go to KW -- maybe that'll be a trip for us, but not staying at my usual, the Pier House. Last time it was overpriced and tired looking. Kenny and Joelle found a much nicer place -- got to get the name from them. All I need at the Pier House is my usual martini at the Chart Room -- the first American place Bob Marley played, and the bar that gave Jimmy Buffet his start. Also, a hangout for writers like Capote, Williams, and McGuane.

I tell Wifey all the time that one of my unrequited desires it to go to KW and stay drunk for 5 days straight. Problem is, I'm a lightweight. After the first evening of one too many, I'm done. Still, I like the idea of it -- sort of like seeing a MLB game in every one of the 30 stadia in the US. Probably won't happen, but it might...

Meanwhile, I've had perfectly great mornings, and today's wasn't one of them, to borrow from Groucho. I attended a Zoom depo followed by a long conference in the case that simply won't go away -- our battle with a TV lawyer over fees on a case our former associate Fredo stole. It is a waste of time like no case before, and in my 37 year legal career, I have wasted a LOT of time. Oh well -- just have to soldier on, unless we want to cave to a smarmy advertising lawyer who shows pictures of his young wife to somehow prove his masculinity -- but hilariously, although young, she's a mishkeit. Yeah -- gotta go to the mat with that putz.

My wife, getting near a birthday, is MY trophy -- even though she wants to move and travel more than I do. And that's ok.

Obituary Dave

 So I've always had a strange, but not unique, habit: I daily read the obituaries. I guess having my Dad die when I was 20 brought the reality of death closer to me than it did many of my contemporaries -- but actually, to me obituaries are far more interesting than wedding notices, or birth announcements.

My friends make fun of me for being the one to typically report to them deaths that hit close to home. Dr. Barry, in particular, gets comically annoyed when I tell him about someone at or near our age who dropped either suddenly or following a battle with a disease, and so he gave me the nickname "Obituary Dave."

Lately, though, Norman has been making a run for the ring. He was the one who reported to our group news of a murder/suicide involving a Chief Medical Officer of Gables Hospital, and her troubled, apparently, husband. He's also sent news of several other untimely deaths. I need to redouble my efforts.

Speaking of the murder/suicide thing -- it's really too bad the murder part doesn't come first -- unless it's consensual, like the plans of our friends Jeff and Lili. Lili has said that if she and Jeff become burdensome incapacitated elders, she wants out that way -- but she kills Jeff first just in case she changes her mind. I love that!

Part of my black hobby is whistling past the graveyard, of course. By making light of contemporaries' deaths, I deal with the fear I and all of us have of leaving this mortal coil. That said, I used to love ONE thing former office roommate Mark used to say. He was a strange guy -- excellent criminal defense lawyer -- who used to race cars for a hobby. I asked if he wasn't afraid of dying. He replied he feared closed head or spinal cord injury, but "Death I can live with."

A few weeks ago, I called Paul suggesting we contact a lawyer we used to work with about a case. I had read the fellow's obit, and was waiting to answer "Ha. We can't! He's dead!" Alas, Paul shares my morbid habit, and had already read about the fellow.

When my Dad died, many concerned friends and colleagues at UM had lovely, comforting words. Still, only the simple message of one person resonated with me. Jim Ash, then the Director of the Honors Program, and a mentor, said to me simply "Dave -- we all do it."

That's all I needed to hear. Yes -- there was the drama of losing my best friend, father, and essentially grandfather. But he did what we are all of us destined for -- left the Earth. Somehow that idea comforted me the most.

Of course, Jim went on to a colorful fate. He became President of Whittier College, and then College of the Sierras in Nevada. Along the way, that Presbyterian minister started more expressing his latent homosexuality, and doing crystal meth. He was arrested in a cheap motel in Reno, strung out, with a young man. A sordid path of failed rehabs awaited him, and he died young, of an overdose.

Still -- I will always appreciate his sage words. And in a great twist to his story, his widow, Pat, came out, too, and lives with a woman who was a former colleague at UM. You never know...

Last Friday, on our Zoom, I learned of a particularly tragic death -- a young man just in his late 30s. He came from privilege -- his mother a doctor who also won Lotto and became quite rich. Despite this financial boom, he was a drug addict since his teen years, and died last week. His obituary was in the Herald today.

Nothing funny when a young person dies -- I see the humor in high flying grownups who fly too close to the sun, like Icarus, and are brought back to Earth.

On another note, our friend in Boston called last night. She wasn't just catching up -- her Mom was in the ED of a local prestigious eye hospital, maybe going blind from a detached retina. Did I know anyone there who might get her to the front of a long line? I did not.

But her hands are SO full now with her boyfriend, and her own issues. I asked why her two brothers couldn't take over her parents' problems. Nah -- one has a sick grown child, and the other is a selfish asshole, she said. Oh well -- I know how that tale ends -- when the parents die, any closeness she had with her brothers will evaporate in the resentment of her having to carry the whole load. And it's too bad -- she truly idolized her brothers.

As the cheerleader I am, I reminded her she is in a very small class of friends of ours -- with BOTH parents still alive. Most of our friends are orphans, like Wifey and I are. Some have a single surviving parent. But two alive? In the fog of dealing with a health crisis for an 89 year old mother from up the East Coast, she didn't seem to agree it was such a blessing.

Still, I know her parents and they're delightful people. Hopefully Obituary Dave won't be reporting on them any time soon.

Stupid Or Lazy?

 Today I was asked by a lawyer friend about a mutual friend whether he was the stupidest or laziest practitioner I'd ever met? I thought before responding. If you're the stupidest -- not much you can do, but if you're the laziest, there's at least a potential for improvement. So I answered: Laziest!

And then it got me to thinking about lazy people I have known. There's a former member of our family, related by marriage, who used to win the dubious award. This guy worked, I think, a total of less than a year in his life. He always had new and creative excuses -- once even claiming he was fired from a construction crew because the foreman was jealous of how much more handsome he was. When I heard that, I doubled over -- imagining a hard had saying to his guys: "Yeah -- had to let go the guy who we had carrying the lumber. Damned if I have some handsome Dan doing that on MY site!"

Of course, in this stage of life, I am in the proverbial lazy glass house. I had free tickets, courtesy of FIU, to attend Art Basel events -- some that even came with great free food! Nah -- the thought of driving in traffic to the Beach, looking for parking, etc. sounded too daunting for my lazy tuches.

Fortunately, at least one of the events, something called Scope, will be attended by our family -- D2 took the tickets, and is going this weekend with Jonathan and some other friends. Now -- they can walk to it from their apartment on the Beach. Plus -- they're young, energetic, and not lazy.

Tomorrow, Kenny asked me to go watch USA soccer with him. I plan to overcome Saturday am inertia, and head to Titanic, find a table, and have morning beers, hopefully watching us beat the Dutch team. So that's contra-lazy, right?

Sunday the little men and their parents are due over. I canNOT be lazy around the nearly 3 year old -- he is nonstop energy. Joey and I will take him for a long walk -- and maybe a play session next door. The prior neighbors, seemingly running out of ways to spend money, built a municipal park-like playground for their kids. The current neighbors, who we like a lot more, now host it -- and our grandson loves it.

Next week I have several Zoom depos, so the inertia must be overcome. And we're in the middle of family celebration season. Oldest grandson turns 3 soon, and the following week it's Wifey's birthday. She has forbidden me from ever again publishing her age, or even making cutesy jokes about the number, like the fact that this year she can get her kicks on Route...

Meanwhile, as lazy as I am, I DID walk 4.7 miles today, and took a trip to the UPS store to send back some wrong sized water filters. That was a minor comedic thing -- I ordered number ones, and need number 3s. They cost about $50 each, so I was hell bent on getting an exchange, and KitchenAid put me through a Kafkaesque routine, with dropped calls, and failed call backs, before they finally sent me return information. It was supposed to include prepaid shipping, but the UPS guy said no -- cheapest was $13. That's ok -- at least the box of them is gone from my desk now.

So better lazy than stupid, I guess, even though it's pretty tough to fix the former after a certain age.

No One Was Saved

 So Wifey and I had a sad Wednesday -- attended Jeff's Mom Judy's funeral. She was 83. We met her probably 38 years ago -- Jeff and I were 1Ls at UM. Through the years, Wifey wondered what it would be like to have such a youthful in law -- Judy travelled a lot with her husband Norty, who died 6 years ago, and just seemed so much more youthful than our Greatest Generation parents.

She was buried in the small Jewish part of Graceland North, a very historic Miami cemetery. Two rabbis and a cantor officiated -- and standing outside the tent, it was hot as hell. My friend Jim remarked that he understood how the visiting team at Hard Rock Stadium must feel.

To cheer up, we stopped at Tropical Chinese on the way home. Dim sum and shrimp with broccoli can brighten any day.

Today was home errand day -- after a tough workout with Juan, who had me keep one foot on a flexible ball while kicking his hand with my other knee. He told me to go all out, and I imagined myself as Tony Soprano trying to punish a guy who went against his crew. Juan was impressed.

Car washer and waxer Henry came -- and clayed our aging vehicles to new looking status. And then Arcs and Sparks came -- the polar opposite of the gonifs Mr. Sparky. The crew got my lights fixed in about 2 hours, and charged $350 -- the "diagnosis" fee proposed by the con men. After the holidays, they're coming back to re-activate the rest of the outside lights -- to bring the property to the lighting it had back in 2000 when we moved in. Also, Wifey wants the front gate lights to operate on motion detectors -- so when she returns from her strange night walks, she can safely walk in.

Tomorrow I plan to walk -- a lot. And Saturday, in a measure of how much I value my friendship with Kenny, I am actually going to a sports bar to watch soccer. Kenny is into it; I am not. But Team USA is playing, and we'll head to Titanic at 930. Am.

I joked with D1 that they'll be serving breakfast chili and wings. D1: "Oh -- like you wouldn't happily eat that?" She's correct, of course.

Sunday D1 and the Little Men are coming -- assuming the littlest Man gets over his first cold -- I'm confident he will. D2 may stop by as well -- with enormous puppy Betsy. I actually miss the large dog -- haven't seen her in awhile.

On a walk this evening, I DID run into Jagger, her best local friend. He was being walked by Rachel, about to marry into the family, and I praised Jagger for his behavior -- he didn't jump anymore. As if on cue -- he indeed did, but I was able to cover the jones before I buckled over comically.

Later in the walk, I ran into neighbor Mike, in his SUV with his yellow lab. We swapped T Day stories, and compared notes on being lucky grandpas -- his only daughter lives in town with her husband and two grandkids -- close in age to ours. His daughter Katie went to school with D1.

So another weekend approaches -- and finally, hopefully, some cooler weather. I think Sunday there may be a temperature with a 6 in front of it for the first time in a long time. Can firepit weather be far behind? Hopefully not -- got some firewood waiting in the garage. Actually -- Wifey bought me a new firepit, and it's sat in a box for months now. The time has come for me to free the thing and , well, fire it up.

Nice to be vertical. Hope to stay that way for awhile.