So I enjoyed the school holiday light traffic, and cruised up to Gulfstream in the man sized Caddy SUV. Paul and arrived at the same time, and we walked over to see Lou and Dennis awaiting Christine Lee's opening.

We realized our group was bigger than anticipated, as Stu called and pulled his ass out of bed by noon, to fetch his Dad Bill for the party. Paul's brother in law Geoff came, too, with his boy Grant and son in law Adam. So 9 men, good and true, took our seats around a few tables.

It was Eric's birthday, and I was feeling festive, and so took a photo of the First Race roster and sent it to him. I told him I would bet $20 in his honor -- if it lost, I would eat the ticket -- if it won, it would be his birthday gift. He picked a 6-1 horse, and damn! -- it won! I cashed the ticket for $154, tipped the ancient clerk $4, and this am sent Eric his check, as promised. Wow. Some guys are lucky in love AND lucky with horses.

It was a delightful day. Lou brought a bottle of Opus One, from a friend of his who collects wine. Dennis looked it up -- $450 at Total Wine. I brought a bottle of a nice Rioja from my friend/broker Pat -- Dennis looked it up -- $85. Both were decanted, and I tried them. They tasted like red wine to me -- I am NOT a wine guy. But the Ketel martinis were fine -- they made me quite happy.

Lou, Dennis, Paul, and I formed our usual syndicate -- $100 each. We only lost about $20 by the end of the day -- so it was a win. At least Eric, remotely, got the big hit.

We stayed past the last race -- the 10th, and enjoyed each other's company immensely. The bill came, and we paid, though Paul, in hopes of keeping Fate on our side, got Dennis to agree to pay out of next year's fee owed to him. Hopefully we make it for another year -- Dennis will be on the cusp of 82 then, and our firm turns 30 in November.

It's amazing -- Paul and I committed in November of 1994 to ten years of "whatever it takes", with no clear plans thereafter. And somehow another 2 decades happened. How about that?

So the wine mavens loved the 2 nice bottles, the martini drinkers were happy, and we all feasted on classic Hong Kong-type food -- the Chinese of my youth. It was a perfect way to say adios to 2023 for our firm and fellow travelers.

Today I drove down to Homestead to possibly buy some fish for my pond -- my fish farm has an end of the year sale. But, as typical, I left without buying -- paying $30 for a small koi was past my tipping point. Plus, the 15 or so in my pond don't seem too lonely -- especially with their friends the cichlids and plecostomi...

Tomorrow, Kenny and Joelle and their boy Adam are coming over -- for a NYE streaming movie, some Ubereated in food, and adult beverages. I plan to let them enjoy the second bottle of Rioja from Pat -- red wine is really wasted on me. Wifey and our friends will chose the movie.

Wifey's birthday movie, "The Maestro," was a dud -- too much time spent on Bernstein's bi-sexuality. I couldn't care less who the guy schtupped -- I'd rather have learned more about his genius and how he came up with one of the best musicals in history -- "West Side Story." But I guess that's modern Hollywood -- the gay angle is the most important.

As Donald Fagan sang: "The things that pass for knowledge I don't understand."

And then, hopefully, 2024 will be upon us. I had predicted 2020 would be the year of perfect vision. I guess it was -- just so happened that a lot of what we saw was putrid.

2024, and there's so much more, to borrow from Neil Young? Big Man knows -- it's just lovely, as the 9 men assembled at the track yesterday agreed, to be vertical.

Sprinting Towards 2024

 So yesterday was a fine one: to fulfill a birthday wish, the Ds came over to watch a movie with Wifey. D1 toted the Baby Man, and D2 brought Betsy, the enormous puppy. They watched "Maestro," which was boring, since it only talked about Bernstein's gay life. Who cares who the master schtupped -- let's learn more about why he was a genius!

 I ordered in Carrot Express, but refrained from eating my Legal Wrap, as there was another shift for partying. After D1 and Baby Man left to go fetch Little Man at holiday camp, my nephew of another brother Scott and his fiancee Sam came over -- to watch the Canes play their crappy bowl game.

Indeed, the game was crappy, as the Canes lost for the first time EVER to Rutgers, but I poured martinis, and D2 drank Prosecco, and I ordered in Takee Outee, proving to Scott empirically that indeed such a politically incorrectly named place, a holdover from the 60s, exists.

The young journalists left, to go meet family at a restaurant on Miami Beach, and though they invited me to tag along, the martini buzz and thought of MORE football was the stronger draw. D2 left for a "book club" meeting with old middle school buddies, right in our hood, and Wifey left for a dinner with Boston Sheryl and a gaggle of her friends.

Sheryl is amazing -- even though she moved back to her native Boston 20 years ago, she still is able to gather together old friends when she visits -- they went to Catula, a Spanish place we introduced Shery and her BF Mark to years ago.

I stayed home with Betsy and the regular dog residents, and indeed watched MORE football. Betsy barked when my channel surfing stopped at the AKC show.

D2 and Wifey each returned after 10, and D2 decided to spend the night, rather than drive back to South Beach. Betsy agreed with the decision -- she much prefers Pinecrest. They got up early and already headed home, though, on this gorgeous Miami winter day.

As for me? We hold our firm's end of the year meeting at Gulfstream each year, and that falls today. Our comptroller, also known as my bro in law Dennis, is in town from Tampa, and we shall gather with Paul and his experienced horeseman buddy Lou. Lou's expertise seems to insure that we lose our money more slowly over the course of the day -- though the cameraderie is the main reason for the meet.

Poor Dennis has to deal with annoyance. He came Wednesday night, for a Thursday meeting with other clients in Palm Beach County. As he drove to the meeting yesterday, the car was off. Sure enough, the dealer diagnosed the problem: thieves had stolen his catylitic converter from the car parked in the Palm Beach Gardens hotel lot! Bastards. He left the car for repairs, and has a rental, but now must drive home to Tampa tomorrow, and then BACK to the east coast next week to fetch his vehicle. May the thieves get run over by another karma...

But we have a fine day in store. I'm bringing a bottle of a fine Rioja, given to me by friend and stock broker Pat, and Lou bringing a nice bottle of Pinot, from his friend the wine expert. I shall sample each, but my inspiration will come from my usual vodka martinis -- we'll see if today I FINALLY get as lucky at horses as I've been in love.

Sunday the potential plan is dinner with Joelle and Kenny and their visiting grad school son Adam, and then an early night to bed, to wake up to , hopefully, 2024.

It's my brother Eric's birthday today, and I sent him a photo of us in drag at Wifey's shower, held at crowded Victoria Station in Dadeland Mall 37 years ago. It was my idea to crash the party that way, and somehow I got Eric, a future neurosurgeon, and two future lawyers to each dress as women to attend.

We were all WAY pre menopausal then -- now decades past child bearing years. But hell -- those years have been great!

That Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

 I'm the outlier in my family, with a birthday in July, and anyway, my favorite Denis Leary says all men should realize there comes a time in a man's life when he his birthday is no big deal -- and that time is about age 10.

But beginning around T Day, we have D1's birthday, followed by the adorable 4 year old's, and then Wifey's which she shares with, as Mike noted yesterday, his OTHER favorite Jew, and then our anniversary, after NYE, and finally D2's birthday, which is the Day the Music died. Of course, Baby Man has a July birthday, too -- my fellow outier.

Anyway, this makes the time from Late Fall to Late Winter the busy time around these parts -- we're right in the middle of it, now. Yesteday we celebrated Wifey's birthday, and she loved it.

We assembled at 330 at Casa Juancho, a Spanish place in Little Havana that's been there longer than I've been in Miami, and I moved here in 1979, They began opening on Xmas 4 years ago, and we took advantage. Jonathan did all the ordering -- paellas of vegetables, seafood, and two large steaks for all to share. The men each had 2 drinks, and the 4 year old and his baby brother were delightful.

I sent a video of the 4 year old savoring his flan to Dr. Barry, to cheer him up on account of he's working the PICU this week, and he responded that he truly has never seen a child enjoy food as much as our grandson. He's correct.

HIS little boy turns 27 today, and will be fetched at FLL by his Irish twin brother and Donna. The plan is to meet at Mo's, and I will drive to Aventorture, as Allison calls it, on account of the untenable traffic, to meet at Mo's for a birthday breakfast. Wifey told me last night that she MIGHT arise in time to come, too, though I knew that dog was NOT going to hunt, and sure enough, Wifey is PTFO, as expected.

The rest of the week should include watching an absurdly timed (2pm) bowl game for our Canes, on Thursday, and then a visit Friday to Gulfstream, where my bro in law Dennis will meet Paul, Lou, and me, to go over the end of the year Firm's business and slowly lose money to the horses. We do this most  years, and it's a fine time.

NYE hopefully includes a visit with dear friends for dinner, but that may be a game time decision based on some health issues. If that falls through, Wifey and I will just chill.

And our plans on NY DAY is a trip to a place where it's all happening -- the Zoo! Joey got us pedal cars, and he, the 4 year old, and my consuegros will take the little guy around. Last time we were there, he thought every animal was an "oso especial," or special bear. Now he knows about lions and giraffes and rhinos and such. After that, hopefully Wifey meets us for a NY Day brunch at LOL. It ought to be a fine way to ring in 2024.

Next Wednesday our marriage turns 37. Wow. Lots of years there. Wifey wants to see the Van Gogh light show Downtown, so of course it's closed Wednesday. So we'll probably just have a quiet dinner to talk of days past, days of present, and days hopefully to come.

Three years ago I was assembling Team Wifey, on account of getting her through a terrible health scare. Big Man willing, no more of that in store.

So off, soon, to Aventorture. Scott's plane ought to be landing, and I have to make my way. Paul may "sneak over" to join us, though he's in the midst of hosting a lot of Patricia's family in from Peru.

Indeed -- that most wonderful time...

And So This Is Wifey's Birthday...And What Have You Done?

 It's Xmas eve in the city, and I already had a great breakfast with Norman at LOL. Funny thing -- used to be that most places closed Xmas Eve and X mas -- now many are open.

We'd typically be limited to Chinese places to celebrate Wifey's birthday -- no more. Tomorrow the family is all going to the venerable Casa Juancho in Little Havana -- Wifey has a hankering for paella, and theirs is the best.

Meanwhile, Wifey's phone died, and I decided to check my phone's battery health. It came up "serious issues." Turns out the battery only charges to 70% of its original life. Now, if I had the same vitality I had as a 20 something -- I'd be happy, but for phones you can go for the gold. I went on "what to do," and it came up that they'll change the battery for $89 at a Genius Bar. Lo and behold! There is an opening at the Falls Apple Store at 12:15 today, so I'm doing something I never do -- visit a mall on Xmas Eve. I have no plans until the Fins kickoff at 4:25, so hopefully I get this chore done. If not -- there's next year.

I really need a new phone, but am happy with this one -- especially with a new battery. More first world problems.

So it's another year on the planet for Wifey. I am absolutely not allowed to mention her age, anymore -- even the fact that she was born one month after Eisenhower won his re-election in a landslide. She was born in Israel anyway -- so presidential elections weren't a big deal to her parents then.

As I am a cub to a cougar, I was born when JFK was president. I don't recall his Administration, or where I was when he was shot in Dallas, but his son and I were the same age. Fortunately, I never became a pilot, and if I did, would NOT have flown into the gloaming of a NE evening...

But back to Wifey. I bought her a gag gift, and she likes it: a T shirt that says "Who'd Have Thought I'd Become A Spoiled Wife Married To A Grumpy Old Man -- But Here I AM -- Killing IT. It's personalized -- a blonde woman with a gray haired man, with the names our oldest grandson calls us --- Ippi and Dave. It's really Dev, but I figured the T shirt person would screw that up.

It's funny. When I met Wifey, she had just returned from a visit to her friend, who gave birth to a baby girl -- that girl is now 40. When Wifey showed me the picture and made a face. "My friend is a SUBURBAN MOM!", she said, like she was telling me her friend had become a crack whore.

And now, decades later, I think Wifey's identity is fully that of a mother and grandmother to 2 amazing boys. She keeps dropping less than subtle hints to D2 that she wants more of the aforementioned grandkids -- and a red haired baby girl is a special request. Jonathan has red hair...

I guess we'll have to let the Big Man decide. All I know is, I knew Wifey when she celebrated her birthday in 1983, and somehow 4 decades have passed. And her years have been fine ones.

So I'm happy for all our friends who celebrate Xmas, whether they truly honor Jesus's birth, or simply enjoy the getting together with those near and dear. 

For us -- no tree, no lights, and no holiday music. Wifey REALLY DISLIKES Christmas music -- I like the old standards myself, but will stick with non holiday stuff on the Sonos tomorrow.

I plan to rise early, make Wifey Daddy eggs and sourdough toast, and the coffee the way she likes it. She says it never comes out as well when she makes her own -- my secret is continually stirring the milk as the Keurig does its job.

So Merry Wifey's birthday -- oh yeah -- and Xmas, too.

Another Place In Time

 So thanks to the neighbors' barking dogs, I was up well before the dawn this am. With the cooler weather, the windows are open for fresh air for sleeping, but, alas, the transplanted Brooklynites let out their big dogs at 11:30 p.m., which was ok, as the barking stopped, but then treated us to a nasty wake up at 4:30.

Hopefully my friendly email does the trick, and the cool nights are again quiet. Ah, neighbors. We live on acre lots here, so you'd think neighbor noises wouldn't be a problem. You'd be wrong -- especially as our windows are on the side of the house closest to the dogs' yard. It just reinforces my feeling that I NEVER want to live in a condo. A few barking dogs are one thing -- having folks above, below, and to both sides of your walls isn't my thing.

But, since the sun won't rise for another 1.5 hours or so, I did something I rarely do - -read the latest Florida Bar News. Typically I just peruse the Discipline and In Memoriam Sections, and must have missed the E issue that came out December 1.

The Discipline Part is usually the same thing -- lawyers thinking the Trust Accounts belong to them, and they just "borrow" until they can replenish things. That's the undoing of our late friend Alan, who lost his ticket decades ago. He'd settle a PI case, use funds from unpaid medical bills for his gambling and party lifestyle, and then replenish the funds when another case was settled. Finally, though, he told a client that the client needed to wait to get paid after word came from his doctor about a disputed fee. Problem was, the client was the doctor's friend. The client demanded his money, and when Alan couldn't pay, told the Bar. Alan's trial followed within a year.

All told, about $1M was missing. Paul and I are loyal friends, and Paul testified at Alan's disbarment hearing -- trying to convince tough ass Judge Amy Donner that Alan needed therapy instead of disbarment. The Judge asked Paul: "If I can't disbar a lawyer who stole $1M, who can I ever disbar?" It was a good question -- Alan became his former associate Dave's paralegal. 

Ah -- that all happened at another place in time.

Turning to the "In Memoriam" section, I saw a name I hadn't recalled in years: Sybil Meloy. She was the head of a long gone Miami Company, Key Pharmaceuticals', legal Department. She hired me as a law clerk the Summer after my 1L year -- she liked that I was a Chemistry minor in college, and figured that would be useful.

It was. I got some of the scientific jargon in patent applications that may have stumped my fellow 1Ls -- at least I had a working knowledge of research and how it worked. She was a fine lady -- VERY smart, and kind. I learned a lot from her. I heard that after leaving Key, she moved up to Lauderdale and had a long career for a big firm -- there and in D.C., where all of the Patent Law gets done.

And that memory took me back to that seminal Summer of 1984 -- my first with Wifey. She was living with a friend, Stephanie, in North Miami, pretty close to where we now spend a lot of time fetching the grandson at preschool -- Biscayne and 135th Street. She had moved out of Kendall to get away from me after our second breakup on account of I wasn't ready to become, as the Ds find hilarious, "exclusive" with her. Well, we did commit, after a romantic trip to Cancun, back when it WAS Cancun, and a few months later, she moved back to Kendall to the same complex where we had met, and after my commitment to Eric ended , I moved in with her -- I guess that was the Summer of '85.

But the thing we recall most about '84 was our housesitting. My good friends Judy and Bob were off in England for nearly a month with their kids -- Bob teaching Neurology, and Judy researching Medieval Literature. Wifey and I moved into their way cool (to us) Gables house, and loved it. We'd swim at night, and ride our bikes into the Grove.

Wifey was making good money in flower sales, and I was getting paid decently as a clerk, and it seemed we had money for meals and bars in the Grove. We LOVED our time there together -- reading from the immense library that was really most of Judy and Bob's house.

Jeff and his then girlfriend Cheryl would visit, along with Mike and Loni, and there were Kahlua fueled Trivial Pursuit nights. I was 23 and Wifey was 27 -- much younger than the Ds are now.

At night, Wifey and I would sit and wonder -- would WE ever be able to afford a house like that? It turned out we would.

Bob died several years ago, and Judy's daughter Sarah moved into a newly constructed addition with her son -- who is now a high school junior. We attended Sarah's wedding to David at the house -- in a beautiful ceremony in the back yard. Tragically, David was stricken with Alzheimer's at a young age, and has been lingering for years. We last all met at Bob's shiva.

Sarah is a caterer, and we used her company for many events, but the past years, whenever Wifey calls, there are missed connections. A few years back, we saw her at a lovely event -- the engagement of Mike and Loni's son Chris to his intended Rachel. And now, in another leap of time, Rachel is pregnant. First comes love, then comes marriage...

But that Summer of '84 - which will be 4 decades past in half a year, was truly the beginning of our family. Wifey and I had a delightful time -- really getting to know each other, and, I guess, deciding that we would indeed build a life together.

Back then, her Survivor parents were sort of quaint to me -- a throwback to my own grandparents -- Eastern European Jews with funny Yiddish accents. My mother in law was a master of Jewish soul food -- she'd drop off Care Packages for us, since her daughter had zero interest in continuing the cooking tradition. It's funny -- that seems to skip a generation -- both of the Ds cook for their men. Hmm...

Anyway, over the years I would come to learn, first hand, all the damage the Holocaust did, and how it would rear its ugly keppi in strange and varied ways.

Rabbi Yossi would, and still does, invite me to adult versions of the "March of the Living," where American Jews visit the camps in Poland and Germany, before going to the happier Israel. I joke that I need not go -- I had entered into the "Marriage of the Living."

But none of that was an issue in the Summer of '84. It was about sharing the tales of our co -workers at the flower importer, and pharma company. July 4, 1984 was a big day, too -- we spent the night before at Wifey's friend Yvonne's apartment on not yet gentrified South Beach, and headed to a concert with another friend, Jeannette. Turns out, it was historic. The Beach Boys played to an enormous crowd on the Mall in D.C. and then flew to perform before hundreds of thousands of us gathered on the sand. I think it still stands as the most people who saw a band in a single day ever.

Jeannette was over a few weeks ago, and we reminisced about that event. She is a HUGE Beatles fan, and Ringo Starr was a special guest -- Jeannette darted for the stage, with her cousin Dennis trailing. I was too impaired to go. Somehow, we met up after the show.

That Fall, I would start my 2L year, and teach Freshman Composition to undergrads -- a pretty heavy schedule. I taught the Fall of my 3L year, too -- the income came in handy, and it let me get a taste of academia. 

Wifey came to visit my class, and I announced to the kids that I had a confession: I was sleeping with one of the students in the room. I don't think you can make jokes like that anymore -- even when it IS a partner or spouse who visits.

So RIP Sybil. I saw in the Obit she had sons and grandkids -- she made it to 83. And I thank her notice for bringing me back, in my memory, to that special place in time.

The Owner's Manual

 When my friends and I used to sit around the cheap dining room table in Apartment 22 Z at UM, in the early 80s, we thought we had life figured out. Study hard, get into grad school, study hard there, get good jobs, marry a nice girl, and all of life's good things would follow.

By the Fall of my senior year, I had brought a wrinkle to our confident discussions: my Dad had died the previous Summer. That wasn't in the plan -- he was 63, and supposed to proudly attend my college graduation -- the first in my family with a 4 year degree. I guess that taught us the life owner manual we thought we had instead had glaring deficiencies.

My friend and Rabbi Yossi says we DO have such a manual - -it's called the Torah. If we just study this, which the religious believe is the actual word of the Big Man -- well -- life isn't too complicated. There is a time to live, and a time to die. A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing, etc...

I wished I believed in that -- it sure would simplify things. But I'd have to miss my beloved Canes tailgate parties and games -- they violate the sabbath! So for now, I appreciate the Good Book, but don't follow it to a T.

This am I had breakfast with my brother Norman, and we discussed this. How many curveballs get pitched to us? A lot.

Any batter expects curveballs, but maybe we former know it all college students get surprised at the quality and variety of the pitches we face in this life.

We love and educate and support our kids, and some don't launch, as the saying goes. But I guess the answer to that is that each of our kids, no matter how privileged, has to find her own way.

Hell -- I should completely know this by now. January of 2021, we were dealing with The Plague, but coming to understand it probably wouldn't kill us or our loved ones. We were able to hold and play with our grandson, who had just passed a year old.

The Ds were married to fine men. D1 had a lovely house, and D2 was house hunting. Wifey and I were sort of sitting high on the hill, admiring the fruits of the orchard we had planted. And then she called me inside to help her after she fell -- she was having a stroke.

Well at that moment, things could have gone one of three ways. She could have died, or could have been rendered completely disable, or she could have faced a long recovery that would lead her to essentially a normal life.

I assembled Team Wifey -- my trusted friends, who were doctors. The helped us make every medical decision. 

And the Big Man smiled, and now, nearly three years later, she bears almost no effects of that terrible event.

On the other hand, the healthiest of our friends, Elizabeth, who became my ally in trying to get Wifey to move and exercise, instead of sitting in a chair on the phone for hours, was taken. That awful loss is still somehow unreal -- again -- not in the life manual my college brothers and I thought we knew.

So I guess that's just how it is. Sometimes you bet on the favorite, at the track, and he comes in last. But sometimes you take the long shot, and he pays off big.

All I know is, 2023 is nearly in the books. What will 2024 bring? I thought 2020, in my Freshman English symbolism analysis, would be the year of "perfect vision." Maybe it was -- it was just that the vision showed much more rot than I had anticipated.

So 2024? What's it hold in store? The only thing I'm pretty sure of is that it will NOT adhere to the Owner's Manual of Life.

Young People

 I'm agist. With rare exceptions, I much prefer the company to young people to that of old people. Old people, and since a wise writer once said that 60 is the beginning of old age, I include myself, tend to talk a lot about medical issues and infirmities. 

Young people are on the make -- for advancing in life, careers, family. It's truly invigorating.

Last night, I was invited to the Heat game with a young lawyer friend Michael. As fate had it, D2 and Jonathan were invited to the game, too, with their friends Robbie and Tara. So I got the idea for the 6 of us to meet pre-game at Il Gabbiano. It was delightful.

I got there first, and took a seat at the bar to make sure the martinis were up to snuff. They were. D2 arrived next, by Uber, and chose a glass of white wine. Next it was Tara and Robbie, and the waiter took our drinks to our table, where a bit later Jonathan joined us.

It was delightful. Tara and Robbie are young lawyers, and so D2 and Jonathan had to endure a bunch of war story talk, but they were fine with it. Soon we shifted to housing -- Michael and his lovely wife Sari just closed on their house on Miami Beach, and D2 and Jonathan will be moving into their first real nest in the Shores in January.

I don't recall anyone mentioning a urologist, cardiologist, or even a dermatologist. It was grand.

We walked to the arena -- I think now named after a tropical starch -- Casava? Tara's firms seats were awesome -- and 15 rows behind Mike's. D2 enjoyed taking a photo of the back of my head.

Mike's seats were the best I ever sat in for an NBA game -- close to center court, and the perfect height -- just above the 7 footers. The Heat arena is one of the best in the league -- though it seats 20k, it's somehow very intimate.

The game was a great one, thought the Heat blew a lead and lost. But the action was great, and more importantly, Mike and I discussed the law business, and the nature of firms and partners. He is so sharp and savvy -- I'm immensely proud of him. 

And the good news is the senior guys get it -- and treat him very well. They're wise to keep him happy -- he makes their life very easy, professionally.

It's funny -- Mike came from a very middle class background, like I did, and like me, appreciates and is somehow amazed at how far he's come. It's refreshing.

Many young people are, like Jesse Jackson once said, "Born on third base and act as if they hit a triple." I've also seen plenty of people from humble beginnings become VERY affected -- acting like Leona Helmsley. It's not a good look.

After the game, Mike Ubered home to the Beach, and I walked with the young-uns back to the restaurant. Jonathan dropped us off -- Tara and Robbie live right next to my office.

I came home very happy -- so great to be in their company.

Today I have grandpa duties -- got to fetch the Little Man at school and take him home. I plan to enjoy the weather later -- finally true fire pit weather -- supposed to be in the 50s tonight. 

I will light a fire, maybe pour some nice herbal tea, and talk to the Big Man.

Lots and lots of blessings from Him...

I Can See Clearly Now -- The Uverse Is Back

 Ah -- First World problems. The best to have, by far. I never forget I'm two generations away from poor immigrant grandparents who didn't always have "what to eat," as my suegra said. 

Last night, I went to bed after watching a few episodes of "Hard Knocks" with Wifey. D2 and Jonathan got us into it -- Jonathan is a newly minted Fins fan -- I think as the result of his colleagues at his private equity company -- many lifelong Miami guys. Plus, it doesn't hurt that his firm's lawyers have killer seats, and are available -- he and D2 are headed to the Jets game today.

Anyway, we enjoy "Hard Knocks," mostly because of the Fins coach Mike McDaniel. He is such a classic nerd -- looks just like McLovin in "Superbad." And he knows it, too -- the thought of his tiny frame actually playing in the NFL is absurd, but he relates to the monsters he coaches, and they seem to adore him.

I went to sleep afterwards, and at my typical 4 am wake up to pee, noticed the internet was down. Wifey reported it went bad late at night, while she was watching an old movie. I figured it was the windy weather, and sure enough, ATT reported it was a big outage, but we'd be back by noon. 

We were, and my Sonos popped on with my typical Sunday jazz.

Meanwhile, I got word my wine shipment had beed dropped at Walgreens, and I took my OCD self there to fetch it, along with some old man prescriptions. Wifey had said she wanted to bring balloons to D1's later -- it's our grandson's 4th!

Sure enough, Walgreens had a big mylar "Happy Birthday, " and I bought it, and when I returned to Villa Wifey, saw she was on the phone outside. I proudly pulled up, asked her to rise, so I could show off my purchase.

Still holding the phone , she said "Only ONE????" Yes, I replied, they were $4 each, and I figured one was enough to convey the birthday joy. "No -- they're ONE DOLLAR at the Dollar Store. You got that at Walgreens, didn't you???" she asked accusatorily, as if I had stolen the balloon from a little girl.

Oh well -- what are ya gonna do? She knows me well enough to know now that any requests to stop for more balloons will have as much chance of succeeding as a snowball in Miami.

Again -- First World problems.

But back to the reason for today: our first grandson. D1 loves an expression, as do I, that captures the essence of parenting: "The days are long, but the years are short."

And so it is. I remember well having babies and toddlers myself, and sometimes the days would drag and drag, but somehow three and a half decades have passed.

Our Little Man is amazing -- hilarious, smart as a whip -- not a "background child," as Wifey says.

He drives golf balls with amazing ability. The other day, I had him pick up a plastic baseball bat, and pitched him a few. He smacked them all -- one nearly taking out his Grandpa's mostly vestigial cojones.

He brings us so much joy, and his favorite color, pink, will be on his favorite food, cake, today.

He is ALL Boy, and yet loves pink. That's typical him -- full of surprises -- joyful ones.

Tomorrow night there are big plans. Michael, the amazing young lawyer and friend, is taking me to a Heat game. I haven't been since The Plague, I don't think. I mentioned this to D2 and Jonathan, and they were invited to the game, too, with friends Tara and Robbie. 

Well, some Dads in the USA might have just let that pass, but not this one. So the plan is to meet at my favorite Italian place, Il Gabbiano, for a pregame dinner and drinks. I joke that Il Gabbiano is Italian for "Expensive Italian food but worth it," and it's true. So tomorrow night ought to be a fine one.

And when I get home -- I can watch highlights on Sports Center -- thanks Uverse!

Time Passages And A Wealthy Man

 So yesterday I had a great late lunch with friends, which came with a single Tito's martini. Afterwards, I found myself stuck in bumper to bumper traffic, with BB King's Blues station blaring on my radio in the man-sized Caddy SUV, and I was suffused with happiness.

I had, as Chuck Berry sang, no particular place to go, other than home, and there were no evening plans. Indeed, I found Wifey when I returned, in her recliner, busily typing on her phone, on her TCM page. She has become quite the film noir poster -- a post about Cary Grant got nearly 20K "likes." I told her soon she might monetize her talents, but she points out that she already brings in Social Security, so why?

Anyway, in that slow moving vehicle, I was brought back in my mind over 40 years -- listening to the radio in my college car, which was really the high school car my parents bought me. I was lucky then, as I remain -- when I came around, my Dad was earning a terrific salary as a salesman, and worked a single job, as opposed the the 3, then 2 gigs he had when my sisters were young.

When I was 16, I guess he really dug me, and brought me to buy my first car: a 1978 Pontiac Firebird Esprit. It was "Carmine," a blood red, with white vinyl seats which I realized in the Summer at drive in movies had certain draw backs, but oh I loved that car. And it had a good stereo, with speakers in the rear, and an 8 track player, too.

When I would drive it to and from Delray Beach, from UM, visiting my parents, there was nothing better than blasting music as I cruised up the Turnpike. Yesterday I saw that the joy still remains.

I had that Firebird through half of law school. The Summer of '84, as I was driving home from Wifey's apartment in North Miami, where she had moved to get away from me in Kendall before realizing the error of her ways and taking me back (Ha!), I was heading back to a night class in Coral Gables. At the intersection of NE 135th Street and West Dixie, a young woman ran the light, and we hit head on. Luckily no one was hurt, but the Firebird was.

The insurance company gave me a Dodge Omni for several weeks while they fixed my Pontiac, but the car was never the same. It drove like a truck -- bounced all over. My Mom was ready to replace her '82 Buick Century with an '85 Buick Century, and so she gave me that gray box of a car, and I sold the Pontiac, giving her the proceeds. Some muscle car restore -type guy bought it. I think the car cost $6500 new, and I got about $2500 from the buyer. Funny how prices were in the mid-80s.

That gray Buick was the source of humor. It may have been among the most ugly, soulless cars GM ever built. I was still driving it when I had my second lawyer job. Our friend Elizabeth and Pat the rock singer visited -- they were living the high life with souped up BMWs already, and Elizabeth asked me "Oh -- is this like a company car your firm provides?"

Nah -- it was all mine, every boring part of it. From the Buick I moved up to a Mazda 626 -- not much hipper than the Buick, but a better made car.

Anyway, I recall well how happy I was then. D1 was a baby, and I was supporting us both on my $45k per year salary. Between the mortgage, student loans, and all other expenses, there was no extra money, but we were so blessed.

And a joy was always, for me, blasting music in the car.

Fast forward, and it still is. The Torah defines a wealthy man as he who is happy with his lot. Dr. Barry, much more of a Talmudic scholar than I , knows the Hebrew term for this -- it was his 8th grade subject in Yeshiva in Queens.

So yeah -- got a LOT more stuff now. Bigger house. Wifey drives a perfectly serviceable 7 year old Lexus SUV -- I just looked the other day -- it has 33k miles on it, which for a Lexus is nothing.

I have the comfortable, man sized Caddy SUV -- I get in and out of it like a king. And I have the satellite radio.

And yesterday, as I crawled home in Miami traffic, and a Robert Cray song came on where he sings about creating a romantic evening for his lover, with dinner and candles, but she doesn't show, because he must have "slipped her mind," well, I was a modern day Rockefeller.

December 15th -- Two Life Events

 Today is my late suegra Rachel's birthday. She would have been 99 -- and made it to 97. A FaceBook (tm) memory popped up, showing me making one of my "horrible faces," as Wifey calls them, next to Rachel on her 90th birthday. In a world of tough mother in law jokes, I get to the top of the list.

Rachel loved Wifey and the Ds fiercely. She kind of tolerated me, though Wifey says that's not true. I do know her damage never truly allowed her or my late suegro to fully trust me, even after I supported them for decades. When they were finally letting Wifey be a signee on their accounts, with balances of about $15K, they told Wifey "Just you -- not your husband -- you never know!"

But it's nicer to recall the positive, and she was an amazing grandmother to the Ds -- always there for them, asking to change them when they were babies, and begging to babysit. She had energy well into her 80s, and the Ds have precious memories of their loving Sabta.

And sticking to the positive, my late suegros taught me a LOT about who I wished to be as a father in law. I try to NEVER make it about me -- I try to defer to the Ds and their mens' desires and wishes. I'm sure I fail from time to time, but I typically ask myself how my in laws would have reacted to a particular issue, and I take the opposite tack. It seems to have worked out.

But as Barry ALWAYS pointed out, the Holocaust changed everything, and the way they suffered -- having most of their family killed, being slaves, in concentration camps -- well -- they got a pass for essentially everything. We're all damaged -- I can't imagine any more damage than being a Survivor.

On another note: today is the 5th anniversary of a banner family weekend: Jonathan's surprise proposal to D2 in NYC. He planned it for months, and several of us flew up and stayed in the Grammercy Park Hotel to share the joy.

The original plan was that Jonathan had access to the Park, a private one only open to Grammercy Park residents and guests of the hotel. But it had rained, and the snooty Park Trust strictly prohibited anyone going in the park with wet pavement -- lest they slip and sue the Trust. So Jonathan had to call an audible, and instead lured his intended to Washington Square Park, where he popped the question, and then walked her to the hotel.

The hotel didn't have a bartender for us, as promised, and so Paul and I went into self-help mode: we bartended ourselves, pouring guests probably at least $500 worth of top shelf booze. It was most memorable.

D1 couldn't make it -- she was recovering from complications from trying to get pregnant -- and so she and Joey attended on FaceTime (tm).

It was a terrific time, and at the end of the afternoon, actor Ron Perlman was outside -- I asked him to pose with the newly engaged, and he did.

I joked today with Scott, who just pulled off a similar surprise. The night before, he and Samantha met President and Jill Biden at a White House press party. My kids met Hellboy.

In two days, the little boy D1 tried so hard to conceive, turns 4. He's a delight -- smart and hilarious and with boundless energy. He's already speaking like a 9 year old "Will Ippi (his name for Wifey) and Grandpa Dev be SPENDING Chanukkah with us?" We did -- the 7th night.

So RIP, Rachel. I like to think you're smiling from above.

Dave Just Wants His Wine Back

 So early on in Covid, I had bought tickets for "Hamilton" for our entire family, and we were set to go -- April of 2020. And then, alas, the lockdowns came and our competent but not attractive mayor Daniella Levine Cava told us to avoid gathering in large groups.

I contacted the Arsht Center to get a refund of the tickets --about $2K for the 6 of them, as I recall, and was told that the show was still going on. What? How could that be? We're told to avoid superspreader events, and the Arsht Center was, per the direction of the Director, who was a copy of the gay dog owners in "Best in Show," going ahead?

No -- I wanted my money back. Too bad, I was told -- the performance was indeed taking place.

The press has little power these days, but I figured I'd give them a try, and so reached out to a reporter I had met, Doug Hanks, to tell him my plight. Sure enough, he thought it made a good story, as there must be thousands who this precious little dictator was causing to either go against Covid protocol or lose their money, and Doug wrote it.

It worked! The guy relented, and offered full refunds. And the article had a single, pithy sentence: "Dave just wants his money back."

For reasons I still don't entirely understand, my son in law Jonathan and his brother Dan found that hilarious. I guess because it makes me sound like the cranky old Jewish guy I am -- but for whatever reason, it became a family catchphrase. When anyone is being refused a refund, or service, the family says "Dave wants his money back." Maybe you had to be there...

But I thought about it today, as I am now in week THREE of attempting to receive a case of wine from Stag's Leap. I've ordered many times before, with no issue -- FedEx or UPS tells me when the delivery is set, I leave the gates open, and they leave the heavy box under our overhang.

This time, though, they attempted delivery while Wifey and I were in Vero Beach, and the text said it was signed for -- by someone I didn't know!

Oh crap, I thought -- a porch pirate with a decent taste for wine has purloined my 12 bottles. I set about emailing and texting Stag's Leap and FedEx, and finally got the answer: the person who signed for it was Stag's Leap's warehouse manager on the East Coast -- the box had a bunch of broken bottles!

Ok, I thought, no issue -- they'll just re-sent the vino, and they did. It was due in today, per FedEx, by "the end of the day," and so I left open the gates, and made it my day's errand. Around 2, I took a nap, and told Wifey to listen for a door knock, kind of figuring she probably wouldn't notice.

Sure enough, I awoke from my nap to hear a truck driving away, as I got the dreaded text: "We tried to deliver your package, but no one was home!" I added the exclamation point. They said they would try again tomorrow, but I'm not going to be home, and zero chance Wifey hears them when they return.

So I dropped myself into the maw of FedEx customer service, and finally an heavily accented woman got on the line. Would I like to arrange to have the wine left at a drop off point? Where? My very own Walgreens, it turns out! So I said that would be fine, even though the box is rather heavy...

We'll see if this takes place. I wrote passive-aggressively to Stag's Leap to tell them that given all this trouble, they ought to gift me a couple of bottles of something. They certainly don't owe me, but indeed as Jonathan and Daniel have noted, I HAVE become that cranky old Jewish guy.

If no gift vino -- no more online ordering. I can get equivalent stuff cheaper at Total Wine -- and don't have the hassle of delivery issues.

Dave just wants his wine back.

Grandsons

 Among the embarrassment of blessings Wifey and I have, at the top of the list is having both Ds and their men in Miami with us. Of course, Wifey employs the "Yes, but" approach to things, and points out that in traffic, which is most of the time in Miami, the drive to see them is an hour. It's true, though you can make it in 35 minutes during the rare traffic breaks.

But even at an hour, it is awesome to be able to see the family. And we're in a rarity -- we haven't seen the grandkids in more than 2 weeks! We saw them after T Day, and then we left for Washington D.C., and my nephew of another mister Scott's surprise proposal party. As soon as we returned, it was off to Vero Beach for a few nights, and the rest of that week I was fighting a D.C. acquired cold, and wanted to stay away from the Little Man and Baby Man. Last weekend, D1 and Joey were MUY busy, and we had plans Sunday, and then D1 asked whether we could fetch Little Man at school today, so she could handle a client call, and we said of course. So today is the day.

I realize that 2 weeks is nothing, and our friends with out of state grandkids want to kill us for the envy. But we get used to being a constant part of the little guys' lives, and after a week passes, well, it's time.

Sunday am Wifey slept in, and I met Paul and Patricia for a Pillars event at Chabad/Friendship Circle. Rabbi and Nechama invited long time supporters to tour the facility, which is indeed impressive, and, of course, ask for more money.

Every event has to have at least one wise ass, and it's typically me. I told the Rabbi I might well have pledged to "pay" for the mezuzzah outside of the mikva, but someone already took that obligation. He asked about other mezuzzahs, and I said no, I wanted my name to be outside the room women see before they take off their clothes. Rabbi laughed, but said "No, seriously, what about others?" I put him off, for now.

The Miami Dade County Mayor was there, Daniella Levine Cava. She played the true politician she is -- I went up to greet her, and tell her we met when D1 leased space from her husband the concierge doctor. I told her that when he said she was running for mayor, I was skeptical that a progressive Democrat could win in Miami Dade -- particularly a non Latin one, and how I was happy I was wrong -- she was doing a great job.

She sort of half thanked me, and then spotted a much bigger fish than I , an older lawyer very involved in Democratic politics -- and bolted for him as if she were a fraternity brother chatting with a dude and they were starting the wet t shirt contest. I chuckled to myself -- impressive she was elected despite not being charming at all. 

But most importantly, she has been a major supporter to Chabad/Friendship Circle, and that makes me happy.

After the ceremony, Paul and Patricia came over, we woke up Wifey, and then headed to LOL to meet Donna and Barry, who were returning from the Keys. After a great breakfast, we retreated to Villa Wifey, where Paul, Barry, and I drank some wine and vodka, and the ladies talked decorating.

It was another pleasant valley Sunday...

And today we see the boys! Typically Wednesdays I head tot he office to get out of our weekly housekeeper Miriam's visit, but today made an exception, and we're going to fetch D2 and Betsy on the way.

Wifey bought the Little Man an astronaut suit for Chanukah and I have a feeling it's going to become a favorite -- he already has a canvas tent rocket ship and loves to spend time in it talking about space...Now he can dress the part.

So I am MOST looking forward to seeing those guys.

And I also got good news from my annual physical yesterday. I am very fat but surprisingly healthy -- the Cleveland Clinic blood panel shows VERY low cholesterol and VERY low bad cholesterol.

My new doc, Rigoberto, says of course losing weight would be good, but I don't seem to be in imminent position to leave this mortal coil.

D1, the dietitian, was happy with the news, but reminded me it doesn't give me license to freely consume vodka and McDonalds like her late grandmother did. I corrected her: Grandma Sunny was a devotee of Burger King.

We also made plans for the big day, December 25th. Most families gather to celebrate the virgin birth of a boy in Israel over 2050 years ago. We gather to celebrate the regular style birth of a girl in Israel 8 years after the modern State of Israel was born: Wifey!

Last year, we went to the Versacci mansion, and had a fine time, but the Ds were very cold in the outdoor courtyard, so Wifey agreed to instead go for paella, one of her favorites.

We're off to Casa Juancho, which is older than I have been in Miami, I think. I've been a few times -- once a reunion of my old law firm's staff. At that visit, I noticed a guy about my age, wearing leather biker gear, with a woman about his age, eating paella and drinking sangria.

Holy crap! It was Jon Bon Jovi. Few of the other diners had any idea who he was, but the host told me he and his wife come all the time, and indeed in the parking lot there was some kind of amazing Harley they rode over from I think their South Beach condo.

Wifey has a crush on him, but I'm guessing that a New Jersey Italian won't be at a restaurant on Christmas Day.

But, like with everything in life, ya never know...

A Wonderful Chanukah Picture

 So I guess my Cali sister Sue was going through old photos, and she sent us one that lit up our evening like the electric menorah we have in the window. It was my beloved Dad at his Bar Mitzvah, in 1932, posed elegantly in his talis, a double breasted suit, and holding a Bible on a piece of furniture. On the back of the photo, someone, who I'm guessing was my Aunt Anne, wrote the address of where they lived (Barretto Street in the Bronx) and that they held a party in a vacant apartment on their floor to celebrate.

Wow. Talk about a ghost of Chanukas past! I sent the picture to my family, and D1 immediately DEMANDED more of them -- she's the most genealogically inclined of all of us. I asked Sue, and she said that today, following her singing gig last night, she would comply.

I looked long at the photo. Clearly I have my Dad's "visage." He looked pretty grown up for a 13 year old, and indeed, I realized that 10 short years after the photo was taken, he'd be drafted in the  Army "for the duration" of WW II -- a stint that indeed lasted nearly 4 years.

Before he left The Bronx, for stints all around the US that taught him MUCH about our nation outside of his White Ethnic NYC world (most people were either Irish, Italian, or Jewish), he began dating the pretty, charming girl who lived across the street, Sunny.

Their love grew through letters and rare phone calls, and he asked Sunny to marry him. Sunny, who had likewise never traveled out of the NYC metro area, got on a transcontinental train all the way to Pasadena, California. Dad met her at the station, and took her back to the bungalow he had rented up in the hills, and sought a little action. "Not until we're married!," said Sunny. Fortunately for my Dad, that was the following day.

They had a tiny service at the Huntington Hotel, with an Army Rabbi, and my Mom got a job as a secretary to the Dean of Cal Tech. I forgot the fellow's name, but he was the first Southern intellectual Mom had met -- from Vanderbilt, I think. Looking back, he was probably involved in the Manhattan Project in some way.

Mom, embarrassed about being a daughter of Jewish immigrants, sought to blend in with the WASPY Cal Tech office, and was going to work on Yom Kippur. The Dean pulled her aside and said "Sunny -- I won't hear of it. Jews are our older brothers and sisters (I think he was Baptist), and YK is the Holiest Day of the Year. Please honor the Lord and take the day off."

Yeah -- somehow crap has changed on university campuses regarding how the top people feel about Jews...

Anyway, Mom got pregnant in the Spring of '44, they didn't know where Dad would end up, as the War was still raging, and so Sunny went back to the Bronx to have her first child -- my sister Trudy, who was born in January of '45. Dad didn't see her until she was a toddler...

So it's funny -- one photo brings back all those memories and history. But that wasn't it! I posted the shot on FaceBook, and my cousin Gary saw it, and then posted a wedding photo of his parents from just after WW II -- his Dad Harry was my Dad's kid brother!

Wifey and the Ds had never seen a photo of Harry -- and they loved it. He was a picaresque version of my Dad -- always smiling and looking to have a good time. He let my cousins Russ and Gary have firecrackers! My Dad, overprotective, would never allow me that much latitude.

I was young when Harry died -- I guess about 6. His was the first funeral I attended -- he was in his early 40s when he succumbed to bladder cancer. My Dad's theory was that it was caused by a lot of pain and tranquilizer pills Harry took -- his cheerful demeanor belied AWFUL anxiety, apparently.

But he was beaming in that photo -- and looking a LOT like my beloved, late father.

Of course, Proust taught us how a simple memory can lead to an entire novel -- in his "Remembrance of Things Past." Eating a simple cake brought back floods of memories.

And so it happened to us last night -- one simple snapshot taken in the Bronx 91 years ago opened so many thoughts and memories.

I looked up the address on Zillow. A one bedroom co-op in the building is worth about $400K now. The 'hood is, I believe, nearly totally Dominican. It WAS Puerto Ricans, but they've moved to Orlando, or to more upscale parts of the Tri-State area.

But in 1932 it Dad's home -- a serious looking boy becoming a man, according to Jewish tradition.

Oh, what I would give to have had him meet Wifey, my Ds, and now his 2 wonderful great-grandsons, the older of whom has his name.

But people die, and even if Dad had lived past his 63 year old expiration date, he'd still have been long gone by now -- unless he made it to 104!

Thankfully, memories don't die, and last night I savored them.

Strange Days Indeed

 I'm old enough to remember when Democrats and Liberals championed Jews, and much of the US's anti-semitism came from the ranks of country club Republicans. Boy have things changed.

Plenty of folks from all walks of life hate Jews, of course, but it seems lately the worst comes from Lefties. Last week, bastions of the left were put on full display for their feelings: the presidents of Harvard, Penn, and MIT testified before Congress.

The Presidents are all women -- the MIT one Jewish herself. The Harvard Pres looks exactly like Steve Urkel, the ultra nerdy character from an 80s sitcom -- not a distinguished look for an academic, particularly a woman.

Anyway they were grilled about the outright Jew hatred on the Ivy League and MIT campuses, and came across terribly. We all know how things have become regarding political correctness over the past decade or so. Harvard has infamously rescinded admissions to incoming freshman who had social media pages saying stuff like "Nice tits" about women. But when it comes to Jews -- all is fair game.

During my college years, Harvard was 25-30% Jewish. Now it's down to 5-10%. A lot of the new guard, instead of seeing Jews as positives, sees us as privileged white imperialists, whereas African Americans and Palestinians are lionized victims -- so it's acceptable to hold rallies where Nazi imagery is present, and classic Jewish hatred tropes are posted.

Oh boy. Many of the big donors are voting with their gifts, fortunately. And, hedge fund guys like Bill Ackman are spreading the word to prospective employers: know who you may hire to work for your bank.

The problem is, the donors have already made the Ivies so absurdly rich, with endowments larger than many countries, I wonder if the relatively small missed gifts will even matter. I guess time will tell if the Ivies lose their respectability -- CUNY already has. The former "Harvard of the Lower Classes" has become an academic joke -- more likely to produce community activists than Nobel Laureates, which it did, in its glory times.

So far, my alma mater is proving admirable. UM's President Frenk spoke with moral clarity about the terrorist attack in Israel, and we don't hear too much about bad stuff happening.

At the Ds' alma mater, the new president is proving to be the real deal. Ben Sasse is a Conservative former Senator, and when he got the job some said it would hurt UF's prestige. Instead, he has also spoken with moral clarity.

I know anecdotes aren't true evidence, but at least one neighbor I spoke with told me her academic star son, applying to college next year, has crossed the Ivies off his list, and now wanted UF. I hope he gets in -- an already competitive admission there will likely be tougher with other would-be Ivy kids.

I'm glad my family all falls pretty much the same on these issues. Although some of us are more Liberal (D2 and Wifey), we're all very proud Zionists. As my Conservative friends predicted in college, I've drifted much more to the Right myself -- though I keep my Democratic Party affiliation. That's probably mostly because the GOP is led by Trump, who I can never support.

If and when Trump leaves or gets kicked out, the more moderates like Nikki Haley take over, and the Dems continue to fall prey to Squad-type Dems -- well -- there may well be a generational sea change politically, for me.

Still, as the great Daniel Moynihan said, all politics is local. Most attribute it to Tip O'Neil, but apparently he didn't coin that apt phrase. For us, that will mean effects on the grandkids. Somehow our oldest is only 14 years away from college -- that time seems to truly fly.

What will the atmosphere be for him, who will be raised proudly Jewish, and Zionist?

I hope I'm around to see.

Back To Back Trips

 So Fate called with 2 separate requests last month. First, my nephew of another mister Scott contacted us -- he planned to ask his long time girlfriend Sam to marry him -- would we come to DC for a surprise party to honor this? Of course we would. Then Joelle and Kenny called -- would we join them for a few days vacation? Of course we would. Joelle and Kenny were going Sunday December 3, and we begged off one of the days for DC, but otherwise it worked out.

Friday Wifey and I Ubered to MIA, to find the Centurion Lounge, our favorite trip beginning, "oversubscribed." There was a 30 minute wait to get in, so we just walked to the gate. The flight attendant reminded me it was past noon, and there was no reason NOT to have a few Titos, which I did, and slept most of the flight.

We taxied to the Georgetown Marriott, and met up with Scott's crew -- including his Aunt Franny and her girl Marissa, with Marissa's lovely Israeli husband and two boys close in age to our grandsons. We really enjoyed their company -- sort of substitute grandkids for the weekend.

Friday night Barry took the crew to Cactus Cantina, a great Mexican place that reminded me of El Torito's, the Mexican place in the Falls which was the site of many happy law school memories. The next am, Wifey and I met at the M Club, and chatted with Franny -- she met her husband Ron and our girl Donna in Junior High in Queens, and it was nice to compare notes about childhoods in that part of the world -- the Queens/Nassau border, where I was born, too.

At 2 came the surprise event -- a hip brunch place called Lila May, I think. For some mental block reason, I kept getting the name wrong. But we finally got to meet Sam's family -- we've been knowing Sam, as the AAs say, for quite awhile now. Her family was delightful -- and tall! Dad David is 6 4, and warm and welcoming, and Mom Nancy hugged me and we acted as if we were lifelong friends.

We spotted the young media couple entering, and shouted surprise! Sam was ebullient! I told her to watch out for carpal tunnel syndrome as she kept bending her hand back to show off the beautiful ring. We ate, and laughed, and it was a delightful afternoon. 

That night, we Ubered again, to a place called Crow and Crown, for a cocktail party. It was packed with Sam and Scott's friends -- from CNN and radio station WTOP. Sam and Scott were literally on top of the world -- the drinks flowed, as did the love.

Of course, I had to have some devious fun, which I did when a middle aged Jewess approached -- Sam's second cousin. We compared where we lived, and it turned out she lived in Miami for years, but could "never again because Florida is now all fucking Republicans." I listened, and then told her I was Chair of the Miami Dade GOP, and Ivanka Trump had been to my house several times. Her agape mouth was priceless, and I waited a few beats before telling her I was messing with her. Wifey rolled her eyes, and she often does when I prank people.

We left near midnight, and the party was still in full swing. I said goodbye to Barry's future consuegro, and as we hugged -- he kissed me. I kissed him back. Cheeks, of course -- I mean, we don't know each other THAT well yet.

We agreed we would both do some damage together on the simcha front. He was misty eyed -- as I was when my Ds got engaged to great men. David, Sam's Dad, now is experiencing that, and it's grand.

The next am I saw the group for coffee, and then hosted a VERY old friend -- John N! He's the former CIA agent, and his book is going to be made into a series -- "Debriefing the President." Barry and Scott joined us, and we learned a lot about current geopolitics. I had no idea that the Chinese got half their oil from the Mideast, whereas the US is not essentially free from that dependence. John is pretty sure the Chinese will be the ones who settle things down there -- they simply can't afford to lose the oil supply.

We kept the Long Island reminiscing to a minimum, lest Wifey fall asleep. It was great to catch up with him.

From there, to Washington National. Our gates were right next to each other, allowing Barry, Josh, and I to have a few farewell cocktails. But then fog did it's work -- Wifey and I were delayed 4 hours, and made it home Monday at 2 am. Eh.

D2 and Jonathan and the enormous dog Betsy were asleep. Betsy barked at us, and then fled. She has anxiety issues.

In the am, we caught up with them -- they were staying for the next leg of our vacays, too, and Wifey and I finally got ourselves out of the house around 230 pm.

Joelle had wanted to go to Key West, but Wifey asked away from that, on account of it's triggering to her, and so Joelle picked Vero Beach instead.

The hotel was lovely -- Vero reminded me of Delray Beach in the late 70s -- not at all crowded -- you can cross AIA without nearly dying

We met at the hotel bar, and then to a fine place Joelle picked called The Tides, for a delicious dinner. Tuesday we sat at the Beach for hours, talking and looking at the sea. I had a few talks with the Big Man, and the spirits of my parents, too.

Tuesday night, we drove to Downtown Vero, to a craft beer place, and then to a strip center for a place called Fire and Wine, which was excellent. We recalled last year, when we ate together in Lyon. The food was pretty good in Vero, too.

Wednesday am, we said goodbye after I walked miles with Kenny and Joelle while Wifey slept, and then we had the 2.5 hour drive home.

Happily, D2 and Jonathan decided to stay the night, rather than fight the Art Basel traffic. They live in the epicenter of that clustertraffic. I thought that called for a special UberEats, and I brought in Platea -- a prime tomahawk steak and some ceviche. I had picked up a cold in DC, but saw no need to avoid a few martinis with my wonderful son in law.

They left yesterday, and I unpacked and got stuff back into order. The cold is nearly gone, thankfully.

D1 and Joey loved the reports of the Vero Hotel so much they booked a few nights in February. We'll be on grandson duty. If D1 gives the approval, we might have a whole family vacation at Coste D'Este in March. There are LOTS of seashells on the beach, and the nearly 4 year old loves collecting them. Joey may need some industrial boxes for a trip home.

Last night I sat at the firepit and drank tea, and reflected on things -- despite the world turmoil -- things in the family are pretty, pretty, pretty ok.

It seems like a few months ago I held Scott at his bris -- and now he's on the perch of being a married man.

Sunrise, sunset. And what a privilege it is to get to celebrate that.

Taxes and Insurance

 November and December is the time of year I get to pay real estate taxes and my three non auto insurance premiums: homeowner's, flood, and umbrella.

I pay each bill the first day it arrives, under the rip the bandaid off fast theory -- if the bill sits out, it reminds me of the large dollars I owe, and that's worse than just stroking the checks.

The good news with the real estate taxes is that they only rise a relatively small amount each year, and so the tax we pay is based largely on the price we paid for Villa Wifey, which is conservatively worth 3.5 times that amount. It's still a big number, but once I pay in November, I forget about it for a year.

Homeowner's is an area we've also been "lucky." Ten years ago I found a smallish company that specializes in "luxury homes," and our rates have gone up modestly. Am I confident that in another Andrew-like disaster the company will be able to pay? Not at all, but I need the coverage for liability, which I will NOT do without.

On that front, I got a renewal bill from the Arizona insurer that gives us the umbrella coverage. The premiums stayed around $900 or so for awhile, because it's of course unlikely that Wifey or I will maim or kill someone. Over time, the premiums crept up, and last year I paid $1700 for $5M in coverage.

Then I got the premium statement: $6500! What? I called our local agent, and she was at a loss, telling me "how bad the market is," etc... So I did my own research, and found that Progressive would write the same policy for $2K. You really have to shop insurance.

I paid my $900 Flood Insurance bill today, too -- those premiums are set by the Feds.

So now I'm done for another year. It's funny when I think about it: the real estate taxes and insurance bills for the house exceed my salary as a lawyer for my first 4 years of practice.

Looked at another way -- I'm lucky to be in the position to have to pay these.

In other, more significant news, I met D1 at our shared Dermatologist's office for an annual skin cancer check up. We both passed! D2 and Jonathan go next week -- Joey and Wifey are on different schedules.

The Ds introduced me to Dr. Green -- they had crushes on him. I met him and I have the biggest crush -- he's a huge Canes fan, and we always talk football when I visit. Most of his patients are women and not into football -- he appreciates the change.

D2 and Jonathan are coming Friday -- to house and dog sit. We have a raritiy: back to back trips, of two nights each.

And then I hopefully get to travel where I most enjoy the Holidays: nowhere! It's that most wonderful time of the year.

And Miami Dade County can't evict us -- at least until late 2024. That's comforting.

Pipsqueak is 35!

 At the anniversary of my law firm a few weeks back, Paul and I reminisced about our origin story, even though we're just a couple of aging lawyers, and no super heroes. We agreed that we SHOULD tell tales of important life events each year -- as we do for holidays. Does the meaning of the Passover seder change, or the words? No -- nor do the reasons for Independence Day. 

And so I tell again the origin story of the girl, now woman, who made me a Daddy, my best and highest identity on this earth.

Wifey was due around Thanksgiving, and ready to stop feeling like a beached whale. The ultrasounds initially showed she might be carrying twins, but it turned out it was one baby girl and one fibroid -- a big one.

It was early Sunday morning, before sunrise, and Wifey woke me with the news that her water had broken. We were calm, though I always expected to be frantic like the parents to be on all the sitcoms I ever watched. We took her bag and drove the 10 minutes or so from our little house in Kendall to South Miami Hospital -- and they took Wifey in and brought her to a labor room.

Her main OB was Debbie Kenward -- Wifey's age, and a cool, Jewish woman who had started at Miami Dade, finished at UF, and become an accomplished OB/GYN -- back in those halcyon days that docs did both. Debbie wasn't on, her partner Richard Strassberg was, a tall, laconic Midwestern Jewish fellow -- proud Wisconsin grad. Dr. S came in and got Wifey hooked up to the fetal monitor, and so began a VERY long day of labor.

Richard was there, and fortunately for we two football fans, the Dolphins were on -- playing the Jets. It was one of those late 80s classic QB battles between Dan Marino and Ken O'Brien, though neither team was having a good season, and so the Jets started Pat Ryan. Still -- lots of passing touchdowns -- Ken O'Brien came in at the end, and the Jets won. The game was at Giants Stadium -- they hadn't yet given the stadium a neutral name -- the Jets were always the poor child up there, anyway.

Wifey was in a lot of pain -- especially after Dr. S started the pitocin to strengthen her contractions, and despite the fact that she was on an epidural. I think she remarked, looking at the two guys watching football, that she was glad we were having such an enjoyable Sunday, but I reminded her we were missing beer.

The labor continued, and we started watching the late NFL game -- I think it was the Bengals. And then finally the fetal monitor started chirping -- meaning the fetus had some "distress."

Dr. S said he was ok with waiting, but I was already a PI lawyer with some malpractice experience, and knew the catastrophic effects that could come from not taking a baby out after distress. I was finally concerned, and told Dr. S, with Wifey's agreement: "We are NOT anti C section people!"

Upon hearing that, he called in Dr. Kenward to assist, and they brought Wifey into the delivery room, put up a sheet, and did what I called the Baby-ectomy. As soon as the beautiful baby girl was delivered, Dr. S flopped the grapefruit sized fibroid onto Wifey's belly, and said "There it is!" as if he was happy the diagnosis was confirmed. He tucked it back inside, saying it would shrink without the pregnancy hormones, and it did.

But meanwhile, we handed a bright eyed baby girl to Wifey, who asked me "Is she fine?" She was better than fine -- she was beautiful.

I had heard about the trite concept of love at first sight, and it finally happened to me. I was forever in love, unquestionably and without conditions, with this baby girl, whose first name got an M in honor of Wifey's aunt who had died in the Holocaust, Miriam, and whose middle name was an H in memory of my late Dad, Hyman.

I wish I could say that all went smoothly, and it did with D1, but NOT Wifey. A full day of Labor followed by major abdominal surgery took its toll -- causing a frantic, sad call to me at 3 the next morning from her, saying she KNEW she was dying -- no one had ever been in so much pain -- and would I promise to raise our new daughter with love, even though she would have no mother -- Wifey just KNEW she was going to die.

I asked to speak to the nurse, and I could almost HEAR her eye rolling, as she told me to go back to sleep, I would need it, and that Wifey was indeed clinically fine.

The next days in the hospital, D1 started nursing, though we had to help support her on Wifey, and Wifey joined the sad parade of new C Section Moms as they did their shuffle through the SMH halls, trying to expel the gas of the surgery, and recover.

We had one nice dinner in "The Stork Club," South Miami 's early attempt to bring labor and delivery upscale, though I doubt Wifey recalls much about it. They served decent chicken.

By the end of the week, I took home Wifey and D1 -- D1 safely in the car seat of our Mazda 626. I had brought home her blankets from the hospital, as someone had told us to do that so that our current children, Black Lab Midnight and Blonde Cocker Spaniel Alfred, would accept the new baby. They did -- both licked her profusely as they welcomed the new member of our pack.

And then, somehow, three and a half decades flew by. Three years and a few months later, D2 joined the band. Dogs joined us, too, and died. We moved from the little house in Kendall, to a newer, bigger house in Kendall, 2 miles west, which got "mistroyed," as D1 said, in Hurricane Andrew.

We moved to a condo on Brickell as storm refugees, then to Wifey's parents' house in Kendall as they fled to Pembroke Pines, then back to our West Kendall house, and finally, in early '01, to Villa Wifey.

D1 and D2's adoring Grandma Sunny died, in 2013, and then her Grandpa Richard a few years later, followed by adoring Sabta, Wifey's mother a few years after that. Sunny made it to 92, Richard to 90, and Rachel to 97 -- I hope the Ds get all their genetics for a long, long life.

Just the other day, we celebrated D1's birthday with her family during T Day. After, she wrote a thankful email to Wifey, calling her "Mommy." Wifey said she loves it when her adult daughter calls her "Mommy." Me, the wiseass, had to summon Notorious B.I.G, and ask to be called Big Poppa. But Dad or Daddy will do, from the formerly tiny girl I called Pipsqueak, since she was a little pipsqueak.

Long may you run, D1!

Good 'Ole Sunday

 So I had planned a day of total chill, after Wifey and I hosted Kenny and Joelle last night. We had a lovely time -- they shared the nice Cab our neighbor Mariela dropped off for T Day, and we brought in Chana Thai.

They came by ostensibly to watch the new Ridley Scott "Napoleon," but Wifey overpromised. The movie is not out for home viewing yet, and so we hung out eating, and then decided to watch some TV. We brought up the bizarre Brit reality show "Naked Attraction," and that proved fodder for some laughter.

Kenny turns 62 today, along with my dear friend Norman -- two fine gents born the same day on opposite sides of the Eastern Seaboard. Also celebrating is Patricia -- she and Paul are in her native Lima for a party -- the one in Peru, not Ohio.

I got a text from Joey with a deal: he and D1 and the boys would come by, to help organize our garage, which is FILLED with many of their castoffs. The deal was he and I would have a few cocktails, do the work, and they would leave the small Lambo here, for use by the Little Man and Baby Man when they visited. It was an offer I couldn't refuse.

I also got a call from our affable Argentine handyman Nestor -- could he stop by to replace a dimmer switch I had asked him about? Wifey's new dining room chandelier has many halogen bulbs, and overheats the dimmer installed. Nestor replaced it, but said it may not work -- but he had an answer. If I replaced the 24!!!! little bulbs with LED ones, it would use a fraction of the electricity and not cause an overheated dimmer switch. I told him I would buy the replacements and keep them for his next visit -- he is far more agile than I, and I could imagine a comical fall from the dining room table with less than comical results if I replaced the bulbs.

As Clint said in "Dirty Harry:" a man's gotta know his limitations.

This week we're more  booked than usual -- pickup of the Little Man tomorrow at preschool, and Tuesday D1 and I meeting at our shared dermatologist for our annual skin cancer checks. Wifey didn't get around to making the appointment, and D2 and Jonathan have their own couples' appointment. 

Wednesday I'll hit the office, and Thursday we have a neighborhood Zoom meeting about the undergrounding of FPL lines, finally. I look forward to hearing some hilarious dumb ass questions and comments from our neighbors, all of whom should know better. It'll be fodder for talks with those neighbors who are NOT dumbasses.

Friday Wifey and I have a top secret mission, whose details cannot be revealed until next week, and then Monday we're headed up to Vero Beach, and 2 nights with Joelle and Kenny.

Joelle wanted to go to Key West, but Wifey begged off on account of some of my bad behavior there last March triggers her, and so Joelle found the resort in Vero. I'm sure it'll be lovely, and nice to take advantage of the prices pre December 19, when everything doubles for high season. 

When it comes to the beach, I rarely go, but when I do, always say "I really should go to the beach more often!" I'm guessing this trip will be one of those.

D2 and Jonathan have graciously agreed to dog and house sit, and Betsy the enormous puppy will be very happy -- she loves Pinecrest and the big open running spaces, as opposed to more Urban South Beach.

Plus, her friend Jagger the Retriever lives a few houses away, and assuming he's in town, will give Betsy a great dog-cation.

Meanwhile, the couch beckons, for a little NFL football and maybe a nap before the kids come.

Ah, Sunday...

TD '23 In The Books

 So D1 texted about an hour before everyone was to arrive -- she had gone to Ocean Reef to visit a very rich friend, with only Little Man in tow. Joey had bowed out, and he would come with Baby Man. Little Man was PTFO, as the millennials say, and D1 needed to shower, and didn't want to wake Little Man. So I went outside, let her come in, and drove around the 'hood, with a happily sleeping little boy in his booster seat.

I finally parked, and Wifey called -- the guests were arriving. Should she replace me, so that I could start mixing drinks for the guests, on account of Wifey doesn't really know how to open wine or make martinis?

Sure, I answered, but then Little Man awoke, and we were able to join the already begun party.

Les the caterer sent Maria, the Peruana, who we had last year, but this time her son Carlos was there, too. He teaches Middle School Science in Doral, but helps his Mom for extra money on weekends.  Soon the house began to smell like T Day, as Maria carved the turkeys, and set up the sides. I poured wine, and made martinis, and one cosmo!

A late addition guest, Jonathan's brother's suegra, asked for one, and though I don't really know how to make them, I had the foresight to buy premixed cosmos from Ketel One! They served the purpose well, as our guest had 2 healthy ones.

We ate well, and enjoyed each other's company, in a nice mix of English and Spanish. Jonathan's brother in law Yoni bottles his own liquor, and so shot glasses were produced for some of those celebratory drinks.

And then we retired back to the dining room and sang happy birthday to D1 -- she turns 35 next week. Later in the evening, she texted to thank us for remembering amidst the chaos of all the guests, and called Wifey "Mommy." Wifey said she loves to still be called "Mommy." I said I love it when they call me "Big Poppa." Not really, but I always love a Notorious B.I.G. reference.

Maria and Carlos finished the clean up. I asked Wifey what was an appropriate tip, and then of course doubled what she had suggested. Being a big tipper is a label I always wish to have -- and Maria and Carlos were SO happy with the cash.

Today I'm on coffee #2, and already had a brunch of turkey and stuffing. D1 and family are stopping by -- they have a Friendsgiving close to our house. Wifey and I are invited, but one would need a crowbar and crane to get me off my couch today -- Canes play at noon, and Dolphins play at 3 in a never before combination.

The rental folks are due around 4, and I told Wifey she is responsible for dealing with them -- it should be crunch time in the Canes game!

Hopefully D1 and Joey take a LOT of the leftovers -- we have enough for 2 more parties.

Also, there was a knock after dinner. Our delightful neighbor Mariela and her beautiful girl came by -- with a lovely bottle of wine. They are so classy -- we invited them to stay, but they had their own family. Wow -- we're even blessed in the next door neighbor Department.

I think this may have been the final TDay at Villa Wifey. Even with the caterer and party rental, it's a bit too daunting for Wifey, and as she counters, for me as well. Wifey's back hurt just putting out the 23 dishes and silverware, and found the multiple calls and texts with the caterer and rental company very daunting.

That's ok -- it was a nice run. Next year either D2 and Jonathan will host, or I'll set us up at a restaurant, which we did for several T Days. This way, Wifey just needs show up, with none of the thought or prep of dealing with caterers and rental companies.

As the Brits say, we're getting on, and I guess one sign of that is realizing that simple things done by younger people are no longer at all simple.

So I'm particularly glad this TDay was wonderful. We've already heard from both consuegras thanking us for such a banner day.

Now if the Canes and Fins can somehow win...

Be Thankful For What You Got

 So I began this Thanksgiving by playing William DeVaughn's 70s soul hit, where he reminds "brothers and sisters" they can still stand tall even if they don't drive a great big Cadillac, with gangsta whitewalls, and the great neologism "TV-aters" in the back. Years later I read he meant antennae, but it sounded wrong.

And he's right, of course. We must be thankful for all we have. In my case, I DO drive a great big Cadillac, albeit an SUV, FAR less cool than the El Dorados and Fleetwoods Devaugn was referencing. But there is still much I don't have, and I could well dwell on those things.

As I listened to the song, it brought me back to my junior high years, when in fact I wished I was Black. I was a nerdy Jewish kid on working class Long Island, and there didn't seem much cool about my life, and my family, and my friends. But there were these guys like Walt Clyde Frazier, who played for the Knicks, who HAD El Dorados, or Lincoln Mark IVs, and wore fur coats with wide brimmed hats, and just talked and walked in a far cooler manner than I.

I watched Don Cornelius's "Soul Train" religiously, and tried to imitate the dance moves. Well, as Clint Eastwood famously said, A man's gotta know his limitations, and I knew at a young age I would never dance, or sing, like the Black kids.

That's ok. I came to terms with my lack of cool, and figured out other ways to get girls, using charm and humor, and only danced when I had several drinks, which seemed to loosen up my white-ness a bit, although years later, when Billy Crystal mocked us by saying white guys trying to look cool dancing all employed the "White man's underbite," I knew he was a kindred spirit.

So I'd never be as cool as Walt Frazier, or William DeVaughn, and that was ok.

This came to light only yesterday as I had a long talk with a dear young friend -- more of a nephew, really. He's nearing the end of 25 and not yet launched -- living at home, all expenses paid by Mom and Dad except for the small amounts he makes doing gig work, which he uses to travel and party with.

Come to think of it -- not really a bad way, at all --at 25 I was already responsible for Wifey and my aging Mom, and a few years after that D1 would become my charge, as well. Once I neared my mid 20s, I never knew the freedom of being responsible for only myself -- let alone if someone else paid all my way.

But I shared with him something I just read. I'm a sucker for the click bait that says "I worked with many people who were dying and these were their final thoughts and wishes" genre of writing. Most of them follow the same theme: "If I had to do it over again, I would have worried less about work and making money and spent more time with those I love."

The recent article was different. The writer, a LCSW in hospice somewhere up North, said the theme she most detected was this: The dying wished they had focused more on living our their own dreams instead of trying to live up to the dreams and aspirations others had for them.

Of course, this was said classically by Shakespeare in Hamlet: "To thine own self be true." And like much of Shakespeare's wisdom, it resonates today.

And I shared that with the young man, who admitted much of his life is being pleasing to his parents and aunt and grandmother. The irony with him is I think they'd much rather see him living a more independent and productive life instead of being, essentially, their butler, but we all know people fall into patterns that are hard to break.

Long marriages tend to institutionalize us. Sometimes when people hear what I "put up with" about Wifey and some of her less than, um, traditional wife ways, they're surprised. And it goes the other way, too -- I'm sure people tell her she gives me too much latitude on many issues.

But we've made it work together, and look forward to celebrating anniversary 37 pretty soon.

I reminded my young friend of that, too. When I was 25, I graduated law school and took and passed the bar, began my first full time lawyer job, bought a house, and got married -- lot of man-type stuff packed into a single year of life.

And I told him that if his life goes on the way it is, and it IS his true nature -- that's ok, too. Sooner than later, his parents will need care, and when they pass, he and his brother will inherit a by then 7 figure house. He can work, or not. Have girlfriends, or not, but basically keep the life he has -- all the while remaining the good hearted, sweet person he is.

I think that shocked him a bit -- seeing that could well be his future if his path doesn't change. It was funny -- yesterday was the day before T Day, and yet I sort of found myself playing the role of the Ghost of Christmas Future with my young friend.

He will find his path. Everyone does. I just hope it's the path that comes from his heart and head, and not one he follows to please anyone else before himself.

So back to today, and the reason for the season. The rental company delivered tables, dishes, tablecloths, and utensils, around noon. Wifey was out and about puttering in the yard, and I suggested maybe she wanted to begin setting up. Nah. She finally started close to 8 pm, to learn that much of what she had ordered was missing, or wrong.

She started venturing to that land of tensosity, and I quietly told her no -- she was breaking our deal. I had agreed to spare no expense having vendors do ALL the T Day work, so we would calmly enjoy our guests, and if SHE grew anxious and nervous, it would spill onto me, and thereby defeat the entire purpose of hiring others. She agreed, and went about realizing we owned plenty of silverware that might well do the trick.

She also told me this is our final year hosting. Even with full catering and party rental, it's too daunting to have more than 20 people over. D2 and Jonathan should be in their new house by next T Day, and it has a very large, beautiful dining room -- Wifey has made the matriarchal decision that it' time for D2 and Jonathan to assume hosting duties.

Hey -- being true to myself -- I just want to celebrate with our wonderful extended family -- I don't care where it is. If D2 and Jonathan say no -- it'll be back to a local restaurant for our crew. As long as there's turkey, and stuffing, and pies, and plenty of alcohol, surrounded by those dear to us -- I'm good.

So it's nearing 9 am, indeed Soul music is playing on my Sonos, and I'm off to get in a few miles of walking before the feasting begins. We settled on 330 pm to accommodate nap schedules, and I figure by 4 I'll be actively pouring some adult beverages.

I am one absurdly blessed rockin' Daddy and Granddaddy in the USA. At my core, that's who I am, and who I love to be, and for that I thank the Big Man endlessly.  

Hopeful News For Two Great Women

 Two friends, one very close, and one a long time friend from college, are both being treated for aggressive cancers. 

The close and local friend got excellent news recently: after a rough bout of chemotherapy, and coming surgery, her tumor is non detectable. We were thrilled to hear this news, of course, and plan to celebrate the END of her treatment in early 2024. She is a dear sister to us, and we want her to go through life with for decades to come. I have a strong sense that will be the case.

The long ago and distant friend and I reconnected during early Covid. She shared that she was diagnosed with melanoma -- and SO regretted all the sun worshipping she did back in college.

And I emailed to follow up this week -- she has her final immunotherapy treatment this Friday -- after Thanksgiving. Our friend is a doctor, and knows melanoma can be a very bad actor, as she says, but as Eric said -- his money is on our friend -- she is badass.

She has three young adult kids, and I joked with her that I highly recommend the grandparent gig. She is far away from that -- she had her kids later, and none seem close to putting her in the club. I hope it happens.

Meanwhile, last night we had a lovely birthday celebration for our friend Joelle. A young man, Steven, was there -- one of her son's closest friends. When we toasted, he said how Joelle had always been a mother to him -- his was essentially absent from his life. That spoke volumes about our dear sister.

We met at a place that Kenny and Joelle introduced us to years ago: Carajo! It's the convenience store behind a gas station on US1 that probably has the best tapas in town. Last night was on brand, as the millennials say -- garbanzo fritos, and shrimp, and octopus -- all delicious. 

Kenny and Joelle's friends Phil and Adam were there -- a married couple whose life story calls out for a movie. Both are from orthodox Jewish families in Brooklyn -- they met in Yeshiva. Years later, they reunited in college, and realized they had more in common than just required Torah study.

They've been married for years -- one is a Peds Radiologist, and the other an Opthamologist. They have a wonderful life together -- traveling the world, always first class.

I guess the only sadness is their families -- one of the Mom's keeps close, but many of their family members cannot accept their sexuality. It's so sad to me.

Wifey and I dropped off Joelle and Kenny and came home to our Kato Kaelin. She wanted to leave for Cooper City, but we wouldn't have it -- no need to drive home so late.

Instead, as I was having my coffee, I heard Allison loading up her car, and I made her coffee the way she likes (honey and milk) and left the steaming mug on the outside steps. She didn't see me as she picked it up and smiled. I like the innkeeper gig sometimes.

We said our goodbyes -- she has T Day with her siblings and nieces and nephews up in Lauderdale. Hopefully her 92 year old Dad is up to attending -- I spoke with him last night.

D2 and Jonathan bought a house on the same street in the Shores, and Sy wants to host a welcome cocktail party -- hopefully that happens in early 2024.

In the mean time, when I'm having my T Day toasts tomorrow, two great ladies will be in my thoughts.

Fox's on a Monday Night

 So when Allison is here, we typically UberEat in dinner, but yesterday I was feeling a bit au courant, and so made some dinner reservations. She and Wifey did some fine work finishing the living room ahead of TDay, and I told them to be ready by 6.

We climbed into the man sized Caddy SUV, and headed to Fox's in South Miami. Ah, Fox's -- the place I had my first ever martini, in 1984.

Of course, I made Wifey and Allison listen to the tale for maybe the 10th time. My mentor and friend Ed Perse had asked me for a ride home, as his Benz was in the shop, and as we approached Fox's, had me turn in, to "get a couple of martinis THIS fucking big," he said as he held his hands a foot apart.

I had been to Fox's, but had only drunk beer, or grain alcohol punch, or maybe a Kahlua and cream. I was NOT a sophisticated drinker at all -- my family didn't drink, and, well, in college it was all beer and grain alcohol punch.

We sat at the bar, still back then smoke filled, and he asked if I was a gin or vodka man. I wasn't either, but followed his lead with a vodka martini, and that was it. It's been my drink going on 40 years now.

Anyway, my friendly bartender Mark was there - he works at Fox's and Captain's Tavern, and Allison loved meeting him. Indeed he set us up with a couple of vodka martinis, while the Designated Driver, Wifey, had her usual water with a LOT of lemon.

We had great sandwiches -- French Dip, steak, and a Reuben, and shared onion rings and a wedge salad. Mark yelled from the bar "Two more, Dave?" and I told him he had read our minds. He said it was part of a bartender's job.

So we ate, and drank, and laughed -- a lot. We would LOVE to find a good guy for Allison, but it's tougher and tougher to do these days. Guys our age seem to want women in their 40s to 50s, and Allison finds the idea of dating late 70s guys less than exciting. Still -- a friend up in Jupiter has someone she wants her to meet -- and she's going up there in a few weeks. Who knows? Maybe he's be a love connection.

Age is actually ok, Allison says, as long as he's rich with a really, really bad cough. Ah -- she always cracks us up.

Wifey drove us home, and I headed to bed to watch some MNF, but fell asleep at half time.

Tonight yet another dinner -- our friend Joelle's birthday, and we're headed to the gas station. Really. The top tapas place in Miami is located behind a gas station on SW 17th Avenue and S Dixie. We've been several times -- you pick your wine from a shelf, they open is, and you order small plates. You feel like you're in Barcelona instead of the border of the Grove and Roads 'hoods in Miami.

Maybe tomorrow I need to fast, ahead of T Day, although my trainer Jonathan told me this am he takes the opposite approach -- he eats a LOT T Day week to prepare his gut for the onslaught.

Of course, he's 29 and very fit. Rules are different for him.

Meanwhile, the best time of the year is upon us: T Day, D1's birthday, and now the Little Man's birthday a week before Wifey's. Oh year -- Chanukah, too, and then New Year's Eve and Day, followed by D2's birthday the Day the Music Died.

Fox's set the mood nicely, last night.

Minyan Man

 So Sunday was a pretty chill day here in the 305. I got in my 8000 steps, and made it back in time for the Fins game at 1. Wifey and Allison happily worked on the decorating -- big crowd coming Thursday, and Wifey wants the house to look fly.

The Fins won a ponderous game, against the Oakland, um, LA, um, Oakland -- ok, for now Las Vegas Raiders, with a pretty spectacular end zone INT by stud DB Jalen Ramsay.

Wifey suggested maybe sushi for dinner for Allison and me, and chicken satay for her, and so I Ubereated in Sea Siam for a pretty, pretty, pretty nice boat. I poured a couple of Tito's martinis, having returned for a trip to Total Wine to provision for T Day. Allison doesn't like Ketel, or Absolut, and I don't like Grey Goose, but Stoli and Tito's are good for both of us -- so I stuck with the Texas and Ukrainian spirits.

As we sat around watching TV with our sushi and vodka buzz, I got a text from Jeff -- would I join Rabbi Yossi's minyan the next am? I said I would.

It's funny -- Jeff is a VERY dedicated Reform guy, but he's been going to most of the orthodox minyans with Yossi. Jeff lost a young cousin who was more like a little brother to him, and he wants to say kaddish each am.

Even though I'm the dunce of the minyan class, I go -- figure it can't hurt. And today I was indeed the 10th man, so it's a good thing I came along. The Rabbi honored me by calling me to the Torah to read a transliteration of the portion -- I did a serviceable job, if I don't say so myself.

I also like being there when the Torah is removed -- it's the time to ask special blessings for anyone facing health challenges, and we have a dear friend just finished chemo and awaiting surgery for cancer. I took a photo of the Torah today and said I had asked for the blessings -- our friends are not at all religious, but I figure it's like chicken soup for a cold -- can't hurt!

Today Allison is supervising one of the 3 handymen we have -- hanging up some mirrors and pictures, and repairing a buffet door. 

Wifey is playing the role of Golda in "Fiddler" -- assuming Tevye's wish had come true.

And as I drank my coffee this am, I reflected on one of life's greatest blessings: laughter. I got a LOT of it over the weekend, and it's truly great for the soul.

So TDay is nearly upon us -- my favorite holiday. I have plenty of spirits for the crowd. All reservations for the caterer and party rentals are in, per Wifey.

Hopefully all we'll need to do is enjoy .

No wonder I happily went to minyan today -- I have a LOT of thanks to give to the Big Man.

Canes Nearly Done

 I've been a Miami Hurricanes fan since I first visited the Orange Bowl for a game in the Fall of 1979. I hadn't ever been to a college football game, and though the team that year was mediocre, finishing 5-6, I loved the atmosphere -- tailgating with my friends before being bussed back to Coral Gables.

Back then, none of us dreamed of winning even one national championship, and then we were treated to 5 -- really 6 if you count one stolen from us by an Ohio State loving ref.

Our cups ranneth over. Once the UM President Shalala made the decision to not pressure the City of Miami to renovate the sacred Orange Bowl, and instead opted to leave for the shiny new Joe Robbie Stadium, I had a deep sense our glory days were passed us. I decided, as did several of my friends, to get Club Seats. My theory was that with a mediocre and sometimes bad team, at least I would be comfortable -- having the air conditioned Club to retreat to when needed. 

Alas, my prediction has been proven again this year. We all were excited about the new coach, Mario Cristobal. He was himself a star player who went on to study under the best, Nick Saban, and then have a succesful tenure at Oregon. But he was a Miami guy, and when the chance came for him to come home, he did -- last season was his first. The team went 5-6. I wasn't surprised -- the last coach had left him some less than stellar players.

This year the hopes were higher -- Mario had recruited much better players and got some studs to transfer here. But at the beginning of the season, I managed expectations -- I predicted we would go 7-5. It appears I may have been correct, after all.

Yesterday was the last home game, against a Top 10 Louisville team. I gave my tickets to my consuegros. Norman graciously offered me an extra ticket and drive to the game, but I really wanted to do stuff around here.

And then it turned out Barry and Josh had some business with a tow yard over near Tamiami Airport, and so met me at LOL for breakfast. We got back to the house after the first quarter, and watched a pretty close game.

After halftime, I got out the vodka, and poured Barry and I a few. By the third quarter, I gave Josh a decision: Di Napoli or Takee Outee. He chose Italian, and we had some delivered -- which we ate after the Canes lost. It softened the blow.

Later, Allison arrived with her special needs dog Gummy, and we all caught up after Barry and I schlepped in some furniture she had bought for us.

We told Barry about "Naked Attraction," a British reality show where the dating contestants choose based on naked bodies. He didn't believe such a show existed, and so we put it on. Josh had seen it.

The third martini and Allison's gagging sounds when the naked guys were shown caused me laughter that may have stopped my breathing a little. It was that kind of evening.

Allison is here for a few days continuing the design/decluttering project, and helping Wifey spiffy up the house before we host T Day. It's great to have her as our Kato Kaelin.

The Canes play next Friday -- after T Day. They ought to beat BC, and finish the aforementioned 7-5, and then go to some third rate bowl game.

But I remain an optimist -- I think next year they compete for the ACC championship. If I'm wrong -- that's ok, too. The reason for the season is my brothers and sisters and the fun we have at tailgates and game watching parties at home. If our pack of 18-25 year olds is more fleet of foot than other packs of 18-25 year olds -- terrific.

Meanwhile, it's good ole' Sunday morning, as Greg Allman sang, and I'm off for my constitutional. Allison and Wifey will arise later and get after that clutter!

The Dolphins play at 1 -- hopefully they staunch the Miami football losing.

If not, I plan to pour martinis for Allison and I. If they lose: the same!